Freedom

by David Wood

  Cosenza threw back his head and laughed. “My wife would love that!”

  “That’s why I’m never getting married. Too much Bones to go around. I can’t deprive the lovely ladies of all this.”

  “I like your friend. Where did you find him?”

  “He’s not my...” Dane’s voice trailed away under Bones’ expectant look. “We’re in SEAL training together.”

  “How’s that going, anyway?” Cosenza asked.

  “So far, so good. We made it through BUDS. We’ve still got a way to go, though.”

  “I always knew you’d make something of yourself. I know your dad is proud of you. How’s he doing anyway? I haven’t heard from him lately.”

  “He’s off in Nova Scotia doing his pirate research. I don’t know why he goes back to the same place every summer. You’d think he’d exhaust the possibilities and move on to someplace else.”

  An odd look passed across Cosenza’s face and vanished as quickly as it had come. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. Come on, let’s get going before the night gets away from us.”

  Within half an hour, Cosenza had piloted Sea Foam out beyond the mouth of Boston Harbor. The temperature quickly dropped a good fifteen degrees and Dane breathed deeply of the cool ocean air. As the dive boat churned through the water at fourteen knots, Dane and Bones brought Cosenza up to speed. The university library had held plenty of information about the sinking of the Somerset, and enough information about currents and the ocean bed around Massachusetts for him to make a solid guess as to the ship’s present location.

  “I doubt there’s much of Somerset left to find. A wooden vessel down in the waters of the North Atlantic more than two hundred years?”

  “It’s not probable,” Dane admitted, “but it’s possible. In any case, there might be detritus strewn about, items left over from the wreck. They’ve even found cargo of ships from ancient Greece, and that’s a lot older than what we’re looking for.”

  “That’s the Mediterranean. But, if you kids want to swim around down there in the dark, I won’t stop you. Better get suited up. We’re almost there.”

  They donned their Lycra suits, Dane’s a bit baggy around the middle, and Bones’ too short at the wrists and ankle, and checked their air tanks. The steel AL80 cylinders were in suitable condition and filled to their seventy-seven cubic feet capacity. Dane doubted they’d be down long enough to need it all, but they each took a pony tank just in case.

  Cosenza stood on the deck, arms folded across his chest, a light breeze ruffling what remained of his hair. The searchlight from a nearby lighthouse, high above the shoreline, sliced the darkness with a beam of white light, stretching toward the east.

  “We’re smack dab on the coordinates you gave me. Ready to do this?”

  “See you soon, Coach.”

  Dane and Bones made their final checks, donned their cylinders, and moved to the deck rail. Dane gave Cosenza a quick, two-fingered salute, and flipped backward into the water.

  He activated his dive light and plunged into the ocean’s inky depths, shivering as the cool water enveloped him. A beam of white lanced through the water nearby as Bones activated his own light. Kicking steadily, they went deeper into the darkness.

  Their lights found the silt of the ocean floor minutes later. He kept his breathing regular as the respirator filled his lungs with sweet air. The two men stayed close to one another, sweeping their lights back-and-forth. As they swam, Dane saw nothing but a featureless seabed.

  It did not take long for him to determine their search was likely to be in vain. If any part of Somerset had withstood the corrosive power of the salt water, it had likely been carried away, either by human hands or the strong current.

  Bones’ dive light blinked three times, and Dane kicked toward him. He followed the beam down to the seabed. He couldn’t help but swallow a little extra air as his heart skipped a beat. He recognized the large, curving wooden object immediately. Somerset’s keel!

  They swam down for a closer look at the relic that hadn’t seen the dawn in two hundred fifteen years. The meager light shone on the ship’s wooden ribs, the timbers emerging from the silt like fingers reaching up from the grave. There was, however, no cargo to be seen. They probed the silt, but found nothing.

  Dane’s sense of wonder at seeing this ship out of a pivotal point in America’s history battled with his disappointment. He supposed he hadn’t truly expected to find the lantern down here, but his meticulous personality required him to at least eliminate the possibility. Plus, it had afforded him the chance to do the thing he loved most: dive on a wreck.

  Bones tapped him on the shoulder and pointed up toward the surface. Dane nodded and they followed their bubbles upward. As they ascended, he spotted not one, but two hulls floating above them. He broke the surface and his vision exploded with white light.

  Bones spat out his mouthpiece and squinted. “What the hell, dude?”

  “United States Coast Guard,” a deep voice boomed. “Come aboard, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Bones looked at Dane. “Babes and bar-hopping are looking pretty good right now, aren’t they?”

  CHAPTER 8

  “I still can’t believe they let us go.” Bones waved a slice of extra crispy bacon for emphasis. When the Coast Guard had accosted them the previous night, Dane, Bones, and Cosenza had all given the Coast the same story—that they were merely searching for the wreckage of the Somerset. They’d been released after a stern warning about the dangers of night diving. Thankfully, Bones hadn’t mentioned the fact that they were in training to be Navy SEALS. Maxie wouldn’t have approved of his charges running afoul of their Coast Guard brothers in arms.

  “It wasn’t my finest moment,” Dane muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Neither was your driving yesterday. It’s a good thing we weren’t in a boat. There was no freaking lighthouse around to keep us off the rocks or, in yesterday’s situation, those pedestrians you almost hit.”

  “I didn’t almost hit any...” Dane paused, staring straight ahead. “What did you just say?” The pieces were suddenly falling into place.

  Bones blinked. “I said you almost ran over pedestrians,” he began, but Dane waved him off.

  “Jillian, do you have the lighthouse book with you?”

  “Sure,” she replied. “Why?”

  Dane signaled for the check and dug a few bills out of his wallet.

  “I’ll tell you on the way. Let’s get out of here.”

  As they headed toward the coast, he filled Bones and Jillian in on what he had in mind.

  ”You got me thinking. Bones, remember what Professor Remillard told us about the Old North Church and how, in 1775, it was sometimes used as a...”

  “A lighthouse,” Bones breathed.

  “Lighthouses of Cape Cod. Professor Andrews had this book for a reason.” The book lay in Jillian’s lap and he tapped the cover for emphasis.

  “So you’re thinking that just maybe...”

  “That maybe when Somerset ran aground, and the people divvied up the spoils of the wreck, somebody might have put that lantern to use.”

  “There was a lighthouse right above where we were diving.” Bones sounded eager.

  “In North Truro?” Jillian asked. “Let me look it up.” She thumbed through the pages. “Here it is. Highland Light.” She read further, her eyes widening with excitement. “It dates back to Colonial times!”

  “Let’s check it out.” Dane stepped on the gas pedal and they zoomed toward the outer cape.

  Dune grasses flanked the path to the Highland Light, which ran through the middle of a small, nine hole golf course. Several people were out on the greens, ignoring the stiff wind that whipped in from the ocean.

  They continued to walk until they came to the lighthouse itself. Behind it lay the waters of the North Atlantic, which shimmered blue as the whitecaps rolled toward the shoreline. Painted white from top to bottom with a pair of small, red-
roofed structures attached to its side, Highland Light made them pause and soak in its grandeur. The glass enclosure at the top reflected the sun’s blistering midday rays.

  They learned that a tour group had just entered the lighthouse, so Dane paid their admission, and soon they were climbing the wrought iron steps that wound their way up to the observation deck.

  Dane ran his hand along the lighthouse’s brick-and-mortar interior wall. It didn’t look or feel like a Colonial Era structure. It seemed much newer. A sinking feeling washed over and he ascended the staircase without much enthusiasm, Bones and Jillian following along behind.

  The tour guide, a short, stocky man with blue eyes and light brown hair, was well into his presentation when they reached the top of the tower. They hung back, listening politely as the man pointed out local landmarks and shared bits of trivia.

  Dane looked out across Truro. The view of the town from this lighthouse atop the bluffs was spectacular, and the view of the ocean equally so. The cool salt breeze bathed his face and he smiled. Nothing was better than the sea.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Jillian whispered.

  “I could get used to this,” Bones said. “Growing up in the mountains was cool, but I’ve always wanted to live at the beach. Maybe some day.” His dark eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed out at the dark line of the horizon.

  Dane had to agree. It was an odd feeling to discover he had anything in common with the big Indian.

  “I noticed you arrive toward the end of the presentation. Do you have any questions about the light?” Dane turned to see the tour guide standing behind them. He had a friendly smile and an easy manner.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. This lighthouse seems awfully sturdy to be from Colonial times. How old is it?”

  “You’re quite right. There has been a lighthouse at this location since 1797, but this particular lighthouse was constructed in 1857.”

  Dane saw his companions’ faces fall along with his heart. His hunch had been wrong.

  “So this isn’t the original lighthouse?” Bones asked.

  “No. The first building was wooden. Obviously, it wasn’t built to last. It was replaced in 1831 with a stone structure, and then this lighthouse was built a little over a quarter century later.”

  “Does this lighthouse sit on top of the old one?” Bones asked hopefully.

  The guide shook his head. “The original was somewhere close by, but no one knows exactly where. Besides, it wasn’t like it had a basement or a foundation to be built upon.” He paused. “This lighthouse will soon be moved. Originally, we had five hundred feet between the light and the cliff, but erosion is threatening the building.” He pointed to the north. “Over there, we lost forty feet in 1990 alone.”

  “So the spot of the original lighthouse might have already washed away.” Bones grimaced and looked down as if the structure on which they now stood had given offense.

  Dane felt like he was going to be sick. He had led them on a wild goose chase. And he had been so certain.

  “About the original lighthouse,” Dane began, “what sort of lights did they use? Were they typical oil lanterns?”

  “It’s not out of the question that some smaller lighthouses might have hung a few lanterns in a pinch, but the spider lamp was the standard of the day.” He saw Dane’s questioning expression and went on. “The spider lamp consisted of what amounted to a bowl of oil with several wicks, hence the nickname spider. Highland Light was a bit higher tech than most of its contemporaries. In an attempt to distinguish it from the Boston lighthouse, it was given a revolving reflector.”

  “So there’s no way Highland Light used an old-school lantern?” Bones asked.

  The guide shrugged. “As I said, maybe in a pinch. Perhaps if the keeper accidentally let the fire burn out and needed to hang a light while he went to get more oil, but it’s not likely.”

  “I don’t suppose there are any remnants or artifacts from the original lighthouse anywhere, are there?” Jillian asked.

  “You might try the museum. They have a lot of Colonial Era items in the collection, some that belonged to previous keepers.”

  They thanked him for his help and descended the stairs in a funk.

  “Do we try the museum?” Bones asked. His voice held no disappointment or accusation. “Might be worth a look.”

  “Might as well as long as we’re here.” Dane tried to keep his tone upbeat, but he failed. “I just hope I haven’t wasted our time.”

  The Highland House Museum, operated by the Truro Historical Society, sat located a stone’s throw from the lighthouse. A woman with iron gray hair and a stern manner greeted them politely, if without warmth, as they entered. Her name tag read “Anne Revere.”

  “Any relation to Paul?” Bones asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I am a direct descendent.” She smiled for the first time. “And proud of it. Didn’t even take my first husband’s name when we married. Drove him crazy. Of course, it also upset him that I insisted on referring to him as my first husband from the day of our wedding.”

  “That’s cold.” The twinkle in Bones’ eyes contradicted his words.

  “I just had a feeling. Now, what brings you to the Museum?”

  “We were wondering if you have any items in your collection associated with the original lighthouse,” Jillian said. “I’m doing some research.”

  Revere furrowed her brow for the briefest of instants, but then her features smoothed. The reaction had been so brief, Dane wondered if the others had even noticed.

  “There are a few items in the collection that are associated with the keepers of the early nineteenth century, but they are scattered about, and not all are labeled as such. Ours is not so much a lighthouse museum as a general one. Our collection can be broken down into several categories: Farming and Industry, Fishing and Whaling, Shipwrecks, Tourism, Artists, and Native American.”

  Dane noticed Bones’ reaction when she mentioned shipwrecks. For a moment, he feared Bones wouldn’t hold his tongue, but his worries were unnecessary. Bones didn’t spill the beans.

  “Thanks. We’ll look around.”

  “Let me know if I can answer any questions.” Revere gave them a perfunctory smile and retreated through a door behind the counter into a small office. The nameplate on the door named her Museum Director.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bones asked softly.

  Dane nodded. “Somerset.”

  They were disappointed. There were no artifacts from Somerset, only a small display that included a model of the ship, a few paintings, a placard giving a brief summary of the wreck, and an old newspaper clipping about the opening of this particular display.

  “Kind of hard up for news, aren’t they?” Jillian sounded bitter.

  “We might as well check the rest of the Museum.” Dane didn’t know why they were wasting their time. He despised failure, and the thought of it turned his stomach.

  The others agreed to continue the search but, thirty minutes later, they were ready to give up. There were a few Colonial era lanterns, but none bearing Revere’s mark.”

  “I was so sure too.” Dane stood, arms folded across his chest, staring at the Somerset display.

  “Don’t worry about it, dude.” Bones gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “We all make mistakes sometimes, even the mighty Dane Maddock.”

  Dane smiled, but not at the jibe. Something had caught his eye.

  “You’re right. I do make mistakes, but today is not the day.” Heart pounding he moved back to the display and tapped the newspaper clipping. “Look at this photograph carefully. What do you see?”

  Jillian gasped. “There was a lantern! And it’s a dead ringer for the first Revere lantern.”

  “But where is it now?” Bones asked. “Stolen? Donated to another museum? It could be anywhere.”

  “I’ve got a feeling it’s not too far away.” Dane enjoyed their twin confused expressions.

  “Don’t hold out on
us,” Jillian snapped.

  “Remember, the lantern was made by Paul Revere. Who do we know who is descended from Revere and proud of it?”

  Bones whistled.

  “You don’t think...” Jillian whispered.

  “I think Maddock’s right. I doubt she could’ve resisted making it part of her personal collection. Heck, I might have done the same thing. If I were in her shoes. She probably sees it as a family heirloom.”

  “But steal from the museum? She could be arrested.”

  “What if she didn’t exactly steal it?” Dane asked.

  Bones smiled broadly, putting his straight, white teeth on display. “I like your thinking, Maddock. Let’s find out.” He immediately took charge. “We’ll spread out like we’re all checking out different parts of the museum. Jillian, tell Revere you’ve got some questions about one of the displays. Make it the farthest from her office. You only need to keep her distracted for a couple of minutes, if that.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Dane asked.

  “Relax. I’ve been walking the straight and narrow for a long time. It’s about time I returned my roots, or at least paid them a visit.” He gave them a roguish smile and wandered away.

  Dane and Jillian exchanged exasperated looks before splitting up. He selected a room near the front office where he could keep an eye on things. He watched as Jillian lured Revere out of her office and back among the displays. Moments later, Bones, his leather jacket draped over his arm, slipped into the office. Dane kept a silent count in his head. The wait felt like an eternity, and he was surprised that he had only reached a count of thirty when Bones reemerged from the office, gave Dane a thumbs up, and slipped out the front door.

  Dane couldn’t believe their luck. Heart racing with anticipation and a measure of relief, he found Jillian and Revere, apologized for interrupting them, and told them it was time to head back to New York. To her credit, Jillian understood the ruse immediately. No harm in a little misdirection should Revere notice the lantern missing. They returned to the car as quickly as they could without drawing suspicion. Bones waited in the passenger seat, his jacket draped over something lying on the floor board.