by L. Todd Wood
He was halfway through his meal when he noticed a very attractive woman sitting alone in the screened-in area off the deck. Not just attractive. She was drop-dead gorgeous. She had finished her meal and was now slowly nursing her drink, staring out at the ocean. The sun was near setting, and the whitecaps from the breakers glistened in the evening light as they crashed onto the beach. The sound was soothing.
She was darkly tanned with long, dark shiny hair, which complemented the simple sun dress she was wearing. Her body was slim but shapely. She seemed sad.
Initially Connor ignored her as always, but something made him reconsider. Maybe it’s now or never, he thought. Maybe it’s time.
The sun touched the blue horizon. He got up and walked over to her. The bartender saw him leave and raised an eyebrow in surprise.
She turned her head as he approached, and he pointed to the sunset with his drink.
“These should never be watched alone you know. Hi, I’m Connor.”
She smiled and replied, “But what if I want to be alone?”
His smile dropped. “Well then I will go back to my lonely place at the bar,” said Connor with not so feigned disappointment apparent in his voice.
“Oh, what the hell, sit down,” she said. “I’m Katherine. Call me Kate.” She waved to the bartender for another round, and Connor ordered another as well.
Connor took a chair across the table as their drinks arrived. “Thanks, Hal,” he quipped. The bartender smiled.
“Good to see you back in the game. Take care of him now, he’s a regular,” Hal said to Kate and then walked off with a smile.
“What’s that about?” she asked.
“Oh I’ve been coming here for years and usually just sit at the bar. I think he’s impressed with my opening line. It works every time. Took me years to develop it.”
A smile appeared on her face.
“Well this is my first time here. I just drove up from the science institute on the south end. I had to get a little civilization. I’ve been living in the commune for several weeks.”
“Well that’s different! So, Kate, what are you researching there?” asked Connor with genuine interest.
“Sunken treasure,” she replied.
Connor almost choked on his drink.
“Tell me more,” he requested, now sitting up in his chair, having forgotten about the sunset.
“Well as you know these cays are filled with wrecks from the last few hundred years. No one has really made a sincere effort to catalogue them all. I am. In addition, I am working with the scientists at the institute to develop ways to find and salvage these wrecks without destroying the reefs. The government is very interested in this and has given me a grant. I’m here for three months. And then back to Boston.”
“How would you like to go on a treasure hunt tomorrow?” he asked.
It took three hours to reach Brigantine Cays, a group of small islands off Great Exuma, south of Nassau, the capital on New Providence Island. Connor got to know Kate as they cruised down the Atlantic. He found they had a lot in common. He felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time and was smitten by her beauty.
They dropped anchor at noon. The ocean sparkled in the sunlight and the sun glared.
Earlier in the day, Alex had arrived at Governor’s Harbor pier in Eleuthera to pick up Connor at the designated time. Kate was waiting there when Connor arrived ten minutes before the hour. The normal commerce from the small port was thriving early in the morning. The wharf was bustling with activity. Of course, the term bustling was relative when speaking of the Bahamas. They received several inquisitive looks from the locals.
“I thought you might not make it,” Connor announced to her. “But I’m glad you did!”
And he was glad, very happy as a matter of fact. Her long hair glistened in the noonday sun. She was wearing khaki shorts and a loose-fitting cotton top. Her tan skin contrasted with the white fabric beautifully.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she replied, winking at him.
His heart jumped a beat.
Alex was not happy. He made that very clear as Kate went to get her gear from her car.
“You should have cleared it with me first!” he demanded. “No one else should be involved with this. You don’t know anything about her!”
“Look, Alex, I understand what you are saying, but she could be of help. She knows the area and has expertise in this type of thing. And for God’s sake look at her! Help me out here! You know it’s rare I find someone I like.”
“I don’t like it!” Alex replied. “But I guess I have no choice.” He boarded the boat in a foul mood.
Connor and Kate came aboard as well. Alex didn’t say much until they reached the cays.
“He doesn’t want me here, does he?” she asked Connor on the way down. “I can understand that.”
“He’s become very paranoid lately.” answered Connor. “I’m not sure what is going on─other than just good security precautions. Look, this is how this will work. The find is ours. If you can help in some way today, we will give you a cut. Alex and I will decide what your contribution is worth. Fair enough?”
“That works for me,” she said happily. “How long have you and Alex known each other?”
“A long time, ten years,” Connor replied. “We’ve been through hell and back together dealing with crisis after crisis in the markets over the last decade and have helped each other out from time to time. I trust him completely.”
“What’s his background?” she asked.
“He was born in Russia, and his parents moved here after the Soviet Union collapsed. He’s become quite the Bahamian citizen, a real promoter of the islands if you will. He works hard on his island persona. Close friends are hard to find in this world.”
“Yes they are,” she said wistfully. Connor wondered what the background behind her tone was and if she had lost something as well in her past, but he didn’t intrude on her thoughts.
They arrived in the Brigantine Cays three hours later and were able to anchor in waist deep water near the small cay. Connor was always amazed at the piercing blue, shallow water surrounding each of the Bahamian islands. They hopped over the side of the boat and waded through the warm ocean to the shore. Silvery fish darted in and out around them as they made their way to the dry land.
The cay was a small island about the length of a football field and shaped like an oarlock with two parallel prongs jutting out into the sea. The sandy soil covered the calcium carbonate rock, which poked out of the soil in spots where the two fingers of the island met in the middle. The Bahamas were formed from coral reefs that became dry land when the sea level dropped thousands of years ago.
The three of them walked to the center of the cay where the rock formations were the largest. Iguanas roamed free and paused to study the strange beings invading their home but did not seem disturbed. They had not learned to fear humans.
Alex had used the drawing Connor provided from the trust to match with an aerial overlay of the Bahamas. This island fit the map perfectly.
The ground was full of sharp edges, as the elements had carved their own designs into the rock over the centuries. Connor felt them cut into the rubber soles of his shoes as they explored the island.
“The tide will be high in twenty minutes,” said Alex. “That should give us several hours before we have to get back to the boat. I don’t want the boat to be beached out here.”
“Agreed,” replied Connor. “Although, the high tide may cover some of the search area.”
The back side of the cay facing away from the parallel jetties backed right into the ocean. The water had created a series of caves above and below the waterline.
“Why don’t we spread out?” suggested Alex. “This will take some time to search.”
They searched for two hours
every nook and cranny of the rock formation, which was difficult, as much of it was underwater. The tide began to draw out.
“Maybe it’s a wild goose chase,” said Connor as he and Alex stood on top of the rocks and looked out over the ocean. The beaming sun was taking its toll.
“Maybe so,” said Alex. “Where’s Kate?” he added.
Kate was deep inside one of the small caves; her neck hurt from bending over and avoiding the pain of banging her head into the sharp rocks above her. She had found nothing again. She began making her way out.
As she stepped out of the cave and across an opening to the sea below, she glanced down into the shallow water lapping into the base of the rock. The retreating tide had reduced the water in the pocket underneath her. A curious shape caught her eye. It was a thin rock that was almost too rounded. She had seen formations like this on many of her other successful expeditions and crawled down to the water.
She reached down into the water and grabbed the rock; it was encrusted with minerals which had been deposited over the decades.
I was right, she thought to herself. It’s a coin. She slipped it into her pocket.
She moved to climb back up the rock through the opening when she saw that underneath the rock above there was another cave she had not noticed extending back under the upper formation. It was fairly large but had a small opening; the chamber was flooded during the tides, but the water was starting to drain out. She looked inside and saw the remains of an iron and wooden chest.
She crawled into the space and pulled her flashlight to search the area underneath the pieces of metal and iron hinges. There was nothing there. Whatever was left of the chest was empty.
Upon leaving the cave, she noticed a small, square shape near the rim on the ledge leading to the water. She put the metal object in her pocket and climbed out of the cave.
“It’s been moved,” she said as she climbed on top of the rock formation and approached Connor and Alex.
She pulled the coin and the metal object from her pocket. Alex’s eyes grew wide.
“Show us where you found it!” he demanded.
They searched the entire area again but found nothing more; no clues either as to when or who had taken the treasure.
“It's an American Quarter Eagle,” informed Kate as she cleaned the coin in a small vat of chemicals she had brought in her gear. “Probably eighteenth century.”
She handed the coin to Alex as he drove the boat back to Nassau. The sea was calm today.
He turned it over in his hands. “You are correct,” he reluctantly muttered. “And I must give you credit; I underestimated you.”
“You had every right to be concerned about me,” she replied. “The coin is your and Connors.”
“I want to find the real treasure,” he added.
“Then perhaps this will help.” She pulled also from the vat of solvents a small, silver container the size of a matchbox and handed it to Alex. He looked it over and handed it to Connor. There were initials engraved in the top.
“It’s a snuff pouch, maybe late seventeenth century─more like eighteenth,” commented Kate. “I found it in the cave as well.”
“AB,” said Alex. “Aaron Burr.”
“Yes, now we know he was there,” said Connor. “But where is the treasure?”
Connor then looked at Alex with sincere doubt and concern on his face. Alex saw the expression.
Connor had never told Alex about his connection to Aaron Burr.
The boat continued on the path back to Eleuthera. Not much was said on the trip home; everyone was tired. The sun had taken its toll on them. Connor and Kate did not notice the large, white yacht that had been off the coast of the Brigantine Cays turn and begin to follow them. Alex took an occasional stealing glance toward the craft but did not say anything.
February 28, 1700
New York
Lord Bellomont was in pain as he sat in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. The flames crackled, but the warmth only exacerbated his illness. He pulled his foot away from the heat, hoping that it would help. It didn’t. His big toe felt like it had a knife stuck in the joint. The pain radiated up his leg. He didn’t know it, but he had only a few days remaining on this Earth. The hour was late in more ways than one.
He had woken up at 3:00 a.m. and tossed and turned for a while before deciding to head downstairs to the fire. His wife had grown used to his nightly stirrings, so she slept soundly. He could hear shouting from the pub located around the corner from his home in the city. He longed for the days when he was healthy enough for a drink.
He was a successful, well-fed man living a life of luxury. All of the red meat and wine had led to the gout. The pain was unbearable, and he could no longer sleep more than a few hours. Being the governor of three territories in the New World had taken a toll on his health. New York was so cold this time of year.
At least I have Kidd rotting in the town jail. The thought brought him some smug satisfaction.
Captain Kidd had become a thorn in his side, and the situation would need careful attention to achieve the desired outcome.
Bellomont was one of the original backers of the mission and wanted to receive his share of the booty. However, Kidd had become a pariah internationally. He was labeled a pirate. The British East India Company despised him, and Bellomont could not afford to be tarred with Kidd’s reputation. Well, maybe he could have his cake and eat it too. He could find the treasure himself and then throw Kidd to the wolves and make his masters happy.
He had uncovered several buried chests with a sizable amount of treasure on Gardiner’s Island and elsewhere since Kidd turned himself in. Kidd had buried these upon his return to New England and willingly gave Bellomont the location. The mother lode, however, was yet to be found. Bellomont had sent a ship to Antigua to find the Quedeh Merchant, but the captain came back with only a burnt rope from where the ship had been tied. The ship had been torched and burned to the keel.
Bellomont was not a happy man. And the gout really hurt.
I will send him to London to be hanged, he decided in an angry fit of psychotic rage.
Chapter Seven
March 31, 1780
Nevis
The small boats came at night one by one from the ships anchored offshore. They slaved their way across the breakers crashing in front of them and then disgorged their men onto the beach and waited. Many of the men were slaves.
The caravans went up the mountain after sunset and were down before daybreak. There were twenty African men in each led by five white officers. It was backbreaking work. It was also a very well-planned operation and executed precisely. The boats were loaded onshore, and their precious cargo quietly ferried to the waiting vessels.
The ships, once filled with gold, slipped out of the protection of the reefs around Nevis and proceeded to their destinations. The slaves worked as crew. The officers were trusted friends and professionals. The gold was being moved for a reason.
The American Revolution was winding down. The British, although successful in the southern colonies, were now being harassed by guerrilla and partisan forces, which negated many of the Crown’s gains there. The French Navy was for the moment dominant in the area and would soon seal the fate of King George’s efforts to hold his largest outpost in the New World. It was the nail in the coffin.
The gold needed to be moved so it could now be used for the benefit of a new country rising on the American continent. Nevis was too populated. He could not risk its discovery.
The men worked on. There was no thievery and there were no loose lips. The treasure was deposited in twenty different locations around the Caribbean in very isolated, safe, areas. Unless one had a map, the treasure would never be found.
The man controlling the operation from afar sat in a room alone in the headquarters of General Washington as the war raged around him. He was tired and missed hi
s family. However, his head spun with visions and plans for this new political creation, the United States of America.
He was the only person who could tie it altogether, who knew all the locations of the treasure. He would ensure the precious metal was used to its maximum benefit.
There were many ideas floating around in his head regarding the fiscal operation of his new country. The states all had very high levels of debt from the years of fighting. He wanted the new federal government to assume these debts and institutionalize a strong central government. He also had ideas about the management of the new country’s finances. All of these ideas required money.
The maps of the different locations were spread out on the table in front of him. The man smiled as he finally received word that the operation was complete. The courier had just delivered the news. Silently he folded each of the maps and put them into a leather pouch. The pouch he hid inside his jacket. It never again left his person while he was alive. He was the American commander’s aide-de-camp, Alexander Hamilton.
June 28, 2017
Nassau, Bahamas
Alex sat on the deck of the bar overlooking the harbor. He was into his third vodka and did not feel a thing. Drinking was in his blood. The Russian scourge had taken hold of him recently, and he drank like a fish. He ordered another. It’s no wonder that Russian male life expectancy is so low, he thought and smiled. It was a full twelve years below males in the United States, primarily due to alcoholism.
Better to burn out than to fade away, he contemplated.
He was at the sailing club, where he raced small sailboats. The club was old and had memories of past glory adorning the walls. Pictures, awards, trophies, and newspaper clippings were placed throughout the premises.
