by Tom Haase
St. Augustine, Florida
“Well, glad to see you finally got up,” Bridget said as Scott sat down to join her for breakfast. They sat in a nook in the B&B restaurant. The room was the bar area in the evening. Some of the smells of left over liquor mingling with the coffee aroma remained.
Scott went to get his coffee from the bar. Returning he took a seat, and asked, “Do you think we solved it last night?” Scott glanced at his watch. “It’s only nine now but we didn’t quit till two.”
“Yes,” Bridget responded. “We need to get going and find out if we’re right. I’m confident we figured out the method he used to fix the location. But when I converted the numbers using your idea they all sort of make sense. What gave you the final clue?”
“Let me order some breakfast.” Bridget ordered pancakes and eggs. Scott nodded to the waiter that he would take the same.
After he received his food, he continued, “You said you cracked it when you figured Ponce de Leon used the Spanish name for Florida and left a log of his travels on his last trip here. The writing in the last letter still bothers me. The style of the handwriting differed from the other letters. Those he wrote sometime before the last deathbed one. However, from that letter we know we are now in the right area. He needed to have a way to let someone from the monastery find it if he couldn’t get back.”
“So what did you find about how he would do that?” Bridget asked between bites of her bacon and eggs.
“I ruled out all the modern ways of establishing location as either not invented in the time of Ponce de Leon or unknown then. I thought of what was known at the time and would he have known about it.”
“What method or system did they use?” Bridget asked.
“Well, I had to dig a little but put together a hypothesis that I needed to test. Suppose he had a way of using a compass, knowing the compass wasn’t in use then. How would he have gained knowledge about it and its use?”
“Who would’ve told him about it in those days?”
“Exactly, but the answer isn’t in those days. It lies much earlier. Marco Polo, came from a merchant family in Venice, and when he returned from China, before his death in 1324, his family’s fortune expanded. His merchant sea captains gained an ability to go places faster and surer than his competitors. He possessed something that gave his ships an edge. Some of those sea captains happened to be Spanish. I think he brought back from China a workable compass system and his people learned how to use it. Over the centuries after his travels, the family flourished.”
Bridget sat back in her chair and raised her teacup to him. “Very astute, dear brother. You think a few sea captains passed on the knowledge to the merchants in Barcelona including the abbot’s father?
“Yes.”
“But how did you connect your reasoning to the numbers we have?” Bridget asked.
“The first thing that gave me the idea centered on his use of three numbers. All compass readings come in three digits, basic boy scouting. You deciphered the date from the coded message and there were the two digits.”
“So what’s in two digits?” she asked before poking a large fork full of syrup-loaded pancakes into her mouth.
“That was the last thing I figured out last night after you were asleep. The digits represent an angle from zero to ninety degrees. The date tells us when he measured the angle and on what azimuth he set the compass. The last numbers you gave me concerned the time. He gave the time as midday.”
“So I get up this morning and you, not me, have solved the riddle?” Bridget pointed her fork at him.
“No, but I believe that on August 21st, 1521 he took a sighting along the 270-degree azimuth, and an acute angle of seventy-five degrees. I think that is in agreement with what we know so far and it accounts for the numbers he left in the letter. At least it is a theory to start on.”
“How do we find that location if he left it for the monks?”
Scott took a bite of his food before continuing. “We have to be along the exact azimuth, with a measuring device to set seventy-five degrees. Then we travel along the line to where the arc intersects. Bingo. That’s the spot.”
“That could be a long distance,” Bridget said. She drank some coffee.
“I don’t think it will be over a mile or so. You see they had to be near the coast, so we won’t have to go very far inland. But we need to do some more calculations.”
“Like what?”
“Fortunately the date he put into the code is coming up in two days. We get a good compass and an angular measuring device. Then we need to go out and find the location using the data. Today, let’s start on a practice run to get an idea of where we need to be on the exact date of the letter.”
“Should I continue to double check our conclusions or do you need me for that?”
“Yes. I need you to focus for a day or two and forget everything else? It’s nine-thirty in the morning.”
“Let’s go.” She ate the last piece of bacon and emptied her coffee cup.
“Wait a minute. One of the biggest problems we’re going to encounter is the change, which naturally takes place along the shoreline over time. Before we go off on our quest, I want to spend some time looking up old maps of the area.”
“Why exactly? Only four hundred years ago, not the thousand or two thousand I’m used to dealing with in my ancient ruins,” Bridget said.
“True, but the shoreline shifts from time to time. Remember that Florida is nothing but a sandbar formed less than 200,000 years ago.”
“What do you expect to find on an old cartographer’s map?”
“I’d like to check to discover if there is a substantial difference from a map of a few hundred years ago and now. It’ll give us a reference to evaluate if our starting point on the azimuth line has to be moved.”
“So get on it.”
64
St. Augustine, Florida
On the Beach
Tewfik watched, with hatred rising in his gut, as the two young murders of his cohort in the Presidential Guard walked on the sand near the shoreline. He followed their every move through his small but powerful binoculars. His curiosity peaked when he noticed them using a compass and a small protractor type instrument. They picked out things in the distance and then walked toward a spot. They stopped and used the protractor to view what he thought might be the sun. What in the name of Allah were they doing?
“What is happening?” Abdul asked. He followed Tewfik checking over his shoulder from time to time.
“I don’t know, but I think they are trying to find the location of the Holy Koran. Perhaps they solved some code or got their hands on a map guiding them to a location. We’ll wait, follow them to whatever they find. Then we’ll kill them. I want to be out of this infidel country as soon as we’re able.”
“Me too.”
* * *
Jonathan finished his breakfast and went back to his room to change for the day. He put on a light blue short-sleeved shirt which he left hanging out over tan shorts. Might as well play the tourist, he mused. After checking his email, he turned on the tracking device.
The Donavans Honda displayed on his digital map, located near the old fort, a few minutes walk. Before he set off, he slid the Glock into the back of his waistband. Now the Iranians reappeared and he didn’t want to be unarmed around them. As a last touch to complete the tourist motif, he hung the camera with the telephoto lens around his neck and headed outside.
At ten, he exited the hotel. The intense humidity pressed in on him. He adjusted to it as he walked toward the fort. The stroll through the downtown area of the old city allowed him to observe some of the finest examples of neocolonial Spanish architecture in America. The city exuded the air and charm of a small Iberian village. From his readings on the life of Ponce de Leon, he learned this historic place was founded in 1521, not long after the visit to the area by the man himself.
He watched for the Honda as he approached the fortress and looked around for the Donav
ans. Not seeing them, he went into the bastion and climbed to the parapet. Out on the beach he spotted them. He scanned the area using the telephoto lens and, behind a small dune, he observed the two Iranians. Damn. He waited and determined the Iranians were watching at this time. He would do the same.
The Donavans walked from the beach toward the massive walled enclosure of the fortress. They were obviously following some plan or perhaps a map. They stopped several times to take what appeared to be a reading on the sun, but not with a sextant, and proceeded toward the fort. It took them half an hour to complete their task before they returned to their car. Jonathan noted the Iranians following and took care their prey didn’t notice them. He remained on the parapet as they drove away. The Iranians scampered toward their SUV parked just below where he stood.
The time to find out more about the Iranians had arrived. He used his camera with the zoom lens to take their pictures. Maybe someone back in the cardinal’s office could track down their identity. He walked back to his hotel room, sent off the pictures in an email, and called the cardinal with a report of the morning activity.
His tracker showed the Donavans at their B&B.
65
St. Augustine, Florida
The Old City House
“Here’s your diet drink,” Scott said when he returned to Bridget’s room after buying them from the machine.
“Thanks,” Bridget said as she popped the lid. “What did we learn today?”
“We learned to take some drinking water with us. It’s too damn hot to be out there without it. Also, I was thinking we needed to get a shovel or two and some rope. We might have to dig up this thing. Ponce de Leon didn’t possess the wherewithal to do massive digging and no buildings remain from his visit. So he could not have stored the goods above ground. He most likely buried it.”
“I think we need to move a little farther north than we were today to start in from the beach. The sun didn’t come in at the right angle on the azimuth we used. I think we need the sun centered on that line to find the exact location. I know it’s a short time but we can practice again tomorrow and that should put us close so on the next day we’ll be where we need to be.”
“Sounds good to me,” Scott said. For a few minutes he stared at the inlet through the window. The ocean view dominated the horizon. He turned back to Bridget.
“Do you still have to do more research with the old maps of the area?” Bridget asked.
“From my examination of the ones I found, I discovered a little change from the present-day maps but not that much in the environs around the fort and the city. The outer reef protects this natural harbor from the ravages of the ocean current. That barrier has undergone major changes but the shoreline seems much the same today as it was in his time. Can’t see any significant changes.”
“Is that why they established a city here? For the harbor?”
“I don’t think so. The old sea captains found the trade winds they needed for a fast return to Europe could be found off the coast at this location. I think merchants decided to set up here to provision the ships before heading back across the pond.”
“Interesting, and with what we have gleaned, we should be on target in two days,” Bridget said and continued to down the rest of her coke.
“Yes, I wish I could think of anything we’re overlooking.”
“Nothing. Let’s get some lunch. Afterwards we’ll find a hardware store to buy the things you suggested. Later today I must call my university to tell them I left Ethiopia because of an illness or something to explain my absence. Don’t want to cut off a possible avenue of retreat.”
66
Castillo de San Marcos Fortress
Scott and Bridget tramped over the spaces outside the fort in vain. They attempted and as far as they could tell, failed to find the line of azimuth they believed would lead to the object of their search. An azimuth, defined as a radial from a center point going out in any of 360 degrees, a line from a starting point stretched out straight theoretically to infinity. They both knew that the word azimuth came from the Arabic language.
“Come on, Scott, we’ve been out here looking, but we don’t have a clue where to start. It doesn’t make sense. The numbers mustn’t be what we think they are. In the first place, like I said, there is no starting point and we could use a thousand starts along this beach and never get to the point we need.” Bridget succumbed to an idea that required her to reexamine the whole situation based on Scott’s growing suspicion they missed something.
“So what do you want to do? You’re the code breaker.”
“Let’s clean up, and start fresh on the data. I think you’re correct. We’re missing something.”
They returned to the hotel, Bridget went to work and didn’t move from the position in front of her computer for over three hours. All at once, she sprang up. “I’ve got it.”
“What?” Scott intoned.
“I suspected we were on the wrong trail yesterday morning when we had no starting point,” she said, clapping her hands. “But it took us going out to confirm the futility of it.”
“So what have you discovered? Are we taking a shot in the dark? Tell me,” Scott demanded.
“The text you copied has the answer.” She felt herself flushing with excitement while at the same time regretting not seeing it earlier. “We, however, looked at the coded part by itself. The solution laid in the text of the letter in which he spoke of the source of rejuvenation, what others now call the fountain of youth. The second reference in the letter referred to the well, which the settlers used before the attack. That’s the starting point and the numbers in the code tell us the distance and direction from the well. They aren’t angles to the sun or azimuths to follow.”
“Come on, sis, what the hell are they?’
“From the covered well, which we located in the middle of the fort, go on a west direction for 275 feet. We then turn seventy-five degree angle to the right for seventy-five feet. X marks the spot. Nothing to it.”
“You’re a genius.” Scott jumped up.
She stood up and practiced her theatrical bow. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s go investigate this right now.”
He beat her to the door, heading to the fort. Bridget went to grab a few bottles of water.
They realized the code gave directions from a specific spot. Now the location appeared to be inside the fort. The central well became the starting point and the other numbers were not azimuth and elevation but distances in feet from that spot and the direction to turn to go on the final leg.
At the old walled fortress, they paced off the distance and found it put them at the far end of the interior quadrangle of the walled bastion. Afterwards they examined old diagrams of the fort and found that there were three original wells, but today one remained visible. The drawings showed the spot they picked as the center well inside the fort.
“We can do this now,” Scott declared.
“Not now, after sunset. We don’t want to let the whole world see what we’re doing.”
They waited in the B&B until sundown. In a short time the moon appeared over the eastern horizon as Scott parked the Honda Pilot a short distance from the fort. In the evening, the parking lot in front of the fortress provided a path to the closed and locked gate by the U.S. Park Service.
“You get the bag with the gear,” he said as he retrieved the pistol from the glove compartment.
“How come I get the heavy job?”
“Because I must scale the fence to get us in and I can’t carry the gear and do that. Besides you need the exercise.”
Bridget hit him in the shoulder and got out. She went to the back of the SUV and opened the hatch, removed the items they brought and placed them on the ground. She retrieved her flashlight from the backpack.
Scott came around and knelt, took out the rope, bolt cutter, and the two folding entrenching tools purchased at an army navy store. He checked them. He held up the sleeve of extra D cell batt
eries to ensure they would have usable flashlights available all night. Some water bottles completed the equipment.
“Are we missing anything?’ Bridget asked.
“No, let’s get moving. Man, it’s hot.”
Scott led the way to the entrance. He scanned the area and couldn’t see anyone. He approached the front gate and scaled over it and released the gate lock from the inside. They saw no surveillance cameras on a deserted fortress at night. The locked gate provided the sole protection.
“Come on and carry this for a while,” Bridget said.
Scott took the gear case and she walked to the center well after shutting the gate to within an inch of the locked position. She wanted the exit route to be easier than their entrance.
Bridget used her flashlight to guide them. She paced off the distance from the well and stopped at the spot she believed Ponce de Leon described in his deathbed confession. She took the pack from Scott and poured the contents onto the ground.
“We have a long time before sunrise, but we ought to be out of here long before.” Scott grabbed the entrenching tools and began to dig. Bridget joined in and they worked for ninety minutes. One of their shovels clanged off stone, the noise piercing the blackness, causing them to stop and look around.
“Let’s carry this thing out of here and take a break. It’s still plenty hot and I’m thirsty,” Scott said.
He helped her up from the three wide by four feet deep hole.
“Did you hear something?” he asked. He scanned the surrounding darkness. His senses went on alert. Then he heard something that clanged against stone. At least he thought he did.
She stood and listened. “Nothing. You’re getting nervous now that we almost have it.”
“We don’t have it yet. You’re an archeologist. You should know that we might never find it,” Scott said. He still had an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
