by L. Todd Wood
Sugar production ruled the world at that time. The European capitals demanded the sweet substance in great amounts for their coffees and cakes. The Caribbean was the sugar production hub of the world due to the perfect climate, growing conditions, and ready-made labor force. The imported African slave population ensured the fields were always manned. Over time the slaves would become a bigger crop than the cane for the North American plantations.
The Spanish, French, English, as well as Dutch fought over and exploited the region for several hundred years. The Caribbean was dotted with ruins of old mills and plantations from Jamaica to Barbados. The pirate trade flourished as well, feasting on the laden cargo ships making their way from the region to all capitals of the world. It was a glorious time.
The sun had made its way below the horizon, and the two of them retired to the bar area near the library of the inn. Shelves of antique books lined the walls, interspersed with colonial artifacts. They ordered another drink. The room was filled with tourists and businessmen staying a few nights at the inn as well as locals enjoying an evening out. It was an Ernest Hemingway moment.
Kate noticed a couple from South Africa by their unmistakable accent as well as a group of English bankers working at a local institution. But what caught her eye was an Asian man in his thirties occasionally stealing glances at them from across the bar. He looked out of place. She might have passed it off as a representative from China here on business. The Chinese were making large investments and loans in the Caribbean in order to increase their influence in the region. Many of the small, sovereign governments were going to China for funds instead of accessing the public capital markets or to the multinational institutions, as the cost of doing so was prohibitive. The strings attached were also much more onerous.
The conversation went on with the South African couple for some time before Kate noticed the Asian man leave the bar and step quietly outside into the now black night.
She turned back to Connor. “I feel at home here.”
He pulled her close and kissed her hair. She felt warm and inviting. Connor let his guard down another notch.
They strolled arm in arm up the winding, small, potholed road that lead up to the landing in front of Oliver’s house. It was such a nice evening and the inn so close that they decided to walk. The monkeys chattered incessantly at the intruders, and the bats flew silently overhead.
Kate stopped in the night close to the house and pulled Connor close under the stars.
“I’m really glad I came here with you,” she said softly and kissed him. He responded.
They both were excited. The full moon beamed down overhead.
“Let’s get inside,” said Connor with a wink and took her by the hand.
She saw the light first, the quick flash of a small beam inside. Someone was already inside the home.
“I see it too,” said Connor quietly.
He slipped up to the window where the flash had been and slowly looked inside. He could barely make out a dark shape walking through the main room, looking throughout each storage space as if he were planning to rob the place. Drawers and cabinets were being silently searched. The penlight flashed briefly from time to time as the intruder methodically went about his task.
Connor crept slowly down the walkway along the plate glass in order to get a better look in the moonlight at the situation. As he did so, one of the monkeys jumped off the roof across his back and scampered into the yard. The abrupt motion startled Connor and caused him to lash out at the animal and he accidentally hit the glass. The monkey shrieked. The intruder turned at the noise.
He saw Connor through the dark window easily reflected against the moonlit sky. He pulled his weapon and fired high over Connor’s head. The glass shattered. Connor hit the floor and the shards rained down around him.
Immediately Kate drew a Beretta 9mm handgun from her purse and burst her way into the house. The man was making his way out of the veranda opening covered by multiple wooden, carved screens. She hit the lights and took up the classic Weaver stance with the handgun: one hand around the pistol grip and seated in the palm of the other hand. Both arms were locked, and her feet were spread wide as she crouched and fired. The bullet splattered against the tiled outdoor grill across the wide open space, and the intruder was able to escape by leaping across the masonry wall and diving into the jungle below. However, not before she saw his face; it was the Asian man from the bar.
Connor tried to understand what had just happened as he jumped up and ran inside, his eyes adjusting to the light. Kate was still holding her weapon as she slowly made her way to the spot where the intruder had jumped and carefully looked over the side, her weapon at the ready. She was obviously well trained.
“He’s gone,” she said and turned to Connor, lowering the pistol.
“Who are you?” said a shocked Connor with an incredulous look on his face.
“I’m sorry, Connor, I lied to you. I’m an agent of the U.S. government, Treasury Department specifically. And I know about the gold.”
Connor’s jaw dropped. “You better start talking right now!” he demanded.
“You’re not the only one looking for it. I’m trying to find out who that is.”
“You lied to me. Everything you said was a lie.”
“No! Not everything.”
He stared at her in disbelief but said nothing.
“Look, we know a foreign government is attempting to find the gold or to find out if it exists. We were tipped off from an asset in the Bahamas that you had somehow found access to it and were attempting to locate it. That’s when I came in.”
“So you set me up! You showed up at the cabana in Eleuthera and hoped I’d come on to you.”
“Yes, and if you hadn’t, I would’ve come on to you.”
“So it’s all a fake?”
“No, Connor, it’s not. The problem is I’ve fallen in love with you, which against all of the rules.”
“Yeah save that for your next target!” he said angrily. “I opened up to you.” The silence was brutal. “What do we do about this situation?” he asked a few moments later.
“Well I’m going to report in, get someone here to repair this glass, and have a drink. Want to join me?” she asked.
Connor didn’t answer the question. “Who do you think is after the gold, and why are they after me?” he retorted.
“I don’t know. I suspect the Chinese have some involvement, but we can’t be sure at this point. We are trying to find out why they have interest as well, beyond the obvious financial motivations.”
Connor walked silently alone out onto the veranda, leaving Kate in the main room of the house. The anger boiled up inside of him but was soon replaced with sorrow. I knew she was too good to be true, I knew it! After a few moments deciding what he should, Connor walked back into the large, open-air room where Kate sat silently.
“I’m going to bed,” said Connor wearily. “You can sleep on the couch.”
January 10, 1807
Territory of Orleans
Aaron Burr slammed the newspaper down on the tavern table, making a loud sound. It had not been a good week. His men, however, didn’t notice. They were too busy enjoying themselves with the girls for hire at the saloon. Music was blaring and the ale was flowing. The night was degenerating into debauchery.
Let them have fun, he thought. It had been a rough few weeks in the wilderness.
Burr had led a small group of his men into a nearby town for a little rest and relaxation. They deserved the time off from training his army.
He had searched almost every one of the locations that was provided by Hamilton’s maps, which were still safely stored in the trust in the Bahamas. None proved to be holding the gold. There was only one location left, and he had dispatched a trusted colleague to comb the site several weeks back.
He had just received word t
he night before that it too was empty. “It has been moved,” he said aloud. “Damn that Hamilton!” His dream of funding his new kingdom out west was dashed.
And now this new wrinkle, his attention drifted back to the newspaper. President Jefferson had issued a warrant for his arrest for the crime of treason. His supposed confidant General Wilkinson had betrayed him and his dreams to the president. They were to have joined forces against the Spanish with the goal of conquering the Spanish lands for themselves. The general was now waiting for him in New Orleans with his men to arrest him. Burr had been a fool to trust him.
The arrest warrant was printed in the paper. Now everyone would know and he would be a wanted man. His world and his dreams were crumbling before his eyes.
Now the only thing left to do was to get drunk, he told himself. He ordered another ale and waved to a pretty girl alone at the bar.
Nevis
Connor left the house mid-morning; Kate had gone for a run. Breakfast had been quiet and tense as they sipped coffee together on the veranda overlooking the harbor.
Connor was hurt he had been lied to. He felt Alex was right, he didn’t know her. He felt used and didn’t know what to do. The problem was that he was so attracted to her. No, it was more than that. He was in love with her. But now he questioned her motivation and feelings. All of this made Connor confused and angry.
The drive down the mountain was as dangerous as ever. This time it wasn’t the monkeys that were the problem, even as they screamed at him. It was as if they were saying, “I told you so!”
It was the goats.
They walked into the road frequently in front of him, sometimes causing him to stop the car altogether. It was maddening.
Okay relax, mate, this isn’t New York, he thought. You’re wound so tight even they would think you’re stressed, he said to himself. Stop and smell the roses a bit. Enjoy the goats. He laughed aloud.
It always amazed him as he passed the local businesses and roadside shacks that passed as bars how simple life was here. They survived day to day and had no idea of the world around them or how poor they lived. Maybe they are lucky, he pondered. He paid particular attention to the motor scooters that flew by him on the dangerous road with no care in the world.
I guess they haven’t enacted helmet laws here as yet, he mused.
He arrived at the shoreline in about fifteen minutes and turned left along the coastal road, which snaked around the circular island. Again, the ancient sugar mills dotted the landscape intermixed with the clapboard shacks, which housed the natives. He believed it was ultimate the Caribbean destination. The great old windmills built to grind the cane were magnificent.
After reaching the opposite side of the island, he turned back up the mountain on a winding, dirt road. He was on his way to meet Alma.
The road was much worse than what they faced on the drive in from the airport. Maybe it wasn’t even really a road but more of a wide, rocky path. The small SUV he had rented bounced its way up the uneven slope. I’ll be lucky if I don’t crack an axle, Connor thought to himself.
Eventually he reached a plateau on the side of the ancient volcano about a mile up the slope. It allowed him to pull off the road and park. A string of shanties made of tin and scrap wood lined up along the level area facing the ocean. Open fires and iron kettles adorned the small strip of land in front of the cottages. The locals were always cooking something. The smell was overpowering.
He had learned of her whereabouts from, of all places, the hired help to clean Oliver’s house. The two maids had been only too helpful in giving him specific instructions. Alma was a well-known entity on the island and almost a homegrown tourist attraction with her constant discussions of the “treasure.”
“Lay dem talk,” one of the maids yelled at him as he had left Oliver’s home. Her belly bounced as she laughed heartily. He had smiled at her.
Connor exited the car and walked over to the last cottage on the row; the multicolored pastels were a constant reminder he was in the Caribbean, no matter how rickety the dwellings were.
Several of the half-naked kids saw him and ran to announce his arrival. I guess this doesn’t happen very often, he thought. Or then again maybe it does.
An old man slowly walked to the door and beckoned him in. It was obvious what Connor was looking for. Connor stepped into the dwelling and the boards creaked under his feet. The smells washed over him of body odor and fish boiling. He was led into the rear of the cottage past the makeshift kitchen and into a small room, which backed into the mountain.
She sat on a rocking chair in the rear of the room. A woolen blanket draped over her, even though the temperature was close to ninety.
“She gets cold,” the old man muttered to no one.
Connor turned and looked at the old woman.
“So you’ve finally come,” she mumbled to herself before she even looked at him.
She raised her head.
Even that required a Herculean effort. She was very old. Connor couldn’t even guess her age. But he did know one thing; she did not have much time left on this earth.
Her eyes took a while to focus. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She smiled a warm, knowing smile.
Connor walked over and sat beside her on a small cot. He felt off balance, as the floor slanted down into the mountain. Her eyes didn’t leave him.
“You’re his kin.” she said knowingly. “The restless one. You look like him. My momma told me what you would look like.”
“What can you tell me about him and the treasure?” Connor asked.
She ignored him.
“They say he never found it. Did he?” she asked.
“Not that I know of,” said Connor.
“He was not meant to find it. His motives were not pure. You are meant to find it.”
Connor was taken aback.
“Why me?” he asked.
“You have a true heart,” she answered. “It is wounded and not prideful. It was good to finally meet you,” she muttered and drifted back off to sleep.
Connor started to try to speak to her again, to wake her to get the information he was seeking, but the old man grabbed his arm and started to lead him away.
“I guess this was a wild goose chase,” he said under his breath.
He was pulled from the room.
He started to fish for his keys as he was led out of the front door.
“A name is not just a name!” he heard her shouting from her room in her frail voice.
He ran back inside and burst back in to find her eyes burning bright as the sun and staring at him as if in a spell.
“A name is not just a name!” she said again more softly this time.
She glared at him for a brief period but was not really looking at him. Then she drifted back off to sleep.
Connor left the cottage and began to drive back down the mountain.
He sat on the bench at the roadside drinking hole. He was obviously the only non-native there. They are friendly enough, he thought. He sipped his Carib beer that by some miracle of nature was cold. The sun was making its way towards the horizon as the day wound down. He had been here a while, stopping on the way back down the mountain several hours ago. Reggae was wailing softly in the background.
He loved the Caribbean. It was in his blood, Nevis in particular.
The revelation about Kate was still really bothering him, and he didn’t know what to do.
A few minutes earlier, the owner of the establishment gave him a cigar. The flavors were nice as he tasted the regionally grown tobacco. He pondered his meeting with Alma. It was hard to make sense of it. Perhaps he was not meant to make sense of it. Maybe things would just happen. A name is not just a name.
So what’s the next move now? he pondered.
The sun started to cast shadows across the flats at the base of the mountain where
he sat. The effect was striking coming off the gravestones in the cemetery across the street from the roadside bar. The shadows created a checkerboard pattern that began to make its way across the road as the sun set.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Connor said aloud as the realization hit him. The old lady’s words rang in his ears. A name is not just a name!
He knew where to look for the gold.
Chapter Twelve
He made his way in the evening back to Oliver’s house on the side of the volcano. The monkeys were chattering up a storm as he walked the short distance from the parked car to the main structure. The shock of Kate’s deception had given way to a giddy excitement. She was waiting for him, a melancholy air about her.
“I’m sorry, Connor,” she said genuinely as he walked through the door.
“I know where to find the treasure,” he said determinedly, the emotion gone from his face.
“I said I’m sorry!”
Kate didn’t want to talk about treasure. There was a gnawing pain inside her. She knew she had deceived and hurt him; she wanted everything to be okay.
Kate walked up to him and put her arms around him. He stiffened. “Please forgive me. Don’t push me away. In spite of what my job is, I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Connor did nothing for a while. Then he relaxed and slowly put his arms around her waist as well. He felt the small of her back, he smelled her hair. She felt wonderful.
“You are forgiven. I love you too,” he said quietly.
They held each other for what seemed an eternity.
After a while, he pulled away. The determined look was back in his face.
“I’ve got to get back to New York, as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” she responded. “I guess you will tell me what is going on as soon as you are ready.”
“Yes, Agent Kate. When I am ready. And only then,” he said.
Two days later, Connor sat in his office in Manhattan. He looked out over the trading floor. The phones were ringing; customers were transacting. The traders were engrossed in their work. Some were seated but many were standing, their arms waving wildly in the air as they yelled in their headsets and fought to find the other side of the trade.
