Caribbean Gold

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the spirit of diving for treasure the sea bottom gave up very little. Alicia remembered some figure about there being over a million shipwrecks on the sea floor, with 70 percent of them not found. In three recent finds alone estimators guessed they’d netted $4.5 billion in loot. Somebody once said, “We know more about the surface of the moon than the bottom of the sea. It’s the last frontier.”

One estimate put the figure of sunken loot at $60 billion.

Small wonder then, that thousands of people and mega-rich companies put time and effort into combing the waves for them. She might even do it herself if she had known what the hell she was actually doing. But this diving shit?

She had a bad track record for underwater exploration. Her last had resulted in a subsurface explosion that took out a potential lost kingdom. No biggie. This time, she donned the mask and strapped on the air tanks with some trepidation and sank below the waves in no hurry at all. The team had spent hours in fruitless research, then decided to take their best guesses and start exploring. All except Caitlyn, who hadn’t yet learned how to dive. The proprietor that rented them their diving gear wasn’t much help, except to tell them his trade wasn’t exactly booming.

In short, they dived for long hours, then dived some more. They didn’t take enough breaks. They became tetchy, anxious. Where on earth was Jensen? Perhaps he’d already known that the town of Porto Bello was a red herring.

They slept that night again in tents, and were back on the beach before the proprietor. He wasn’t surprised to see them, since they’d already booked the night before and handed over a fat tip. The man didn’t say much, face creased by sun, winds and saltwater, but the look in his eyes told them he knew they were far from curious tourists.

Under the waves was a dark, gloomy world, pleasant near the surface but descending into murk the further they swam offshore. Crouch led the way, taking them to where calculations showed the closest possible anchor point was for Morgan’s ships. From there they fanned out.

And became lost.

In the end, the team could do no more. They enlisted the help of two local divers that earned their living from diving and teaching others how to. Truth be told, they were more laid-back than a deck chair, but once properly motivated they worked like men possessed. It still took the rest of the day but by sunset one of the men had located something which he described to the team as timber spars.

The words electrified Crouch, Alicia could see. It was all they could do to pass another night wondering, talking around a beach campfire, and then start back at first light. The divers did all the work, and presently two more came to help. Pretty soon, a bevy of relaxed locals were setting up on the beach, jobs ignored for the day, rum punch and smoothies being poured and speculations made. With the local dive team swelled to six, Crouch and Russo were the only ones now out there, trying to help.

They found the strongbox that afternoon and hauled it back to the beach. Crouch took charge but invited all the locals to watch and bear witness to whatever they found.

Crouch held a hand out. “I think we need a tool this time. A chunky screwdriver maybe?”

Alicia rummaged in her pack and muttered, “Pretty sure you used a tool last time.”

Russo was out of earshot. Healey stood with Caitlyn, the latter resting her head on the former’s shoulders and smiling lightly. Alicia didn’t have the heart to comment as Crouch poked at the strongbox.

“Found a weak spot,” he muttered. “Just have to… there we are.”

The box was a little bigger than the last, sturdy and coated with silt and even a barnacle or two. Crouch pried it open with a little help and then stared at its contents. To a person, the assembled throng leaned forward.

“No doubloons,” Caitlyn said with disappointment.

“But there is something,” Crouch said.

He reached inside and drew forth several golden necklaces, bracelets and a pile of small trinkets. As he rummaged through, a trinket box was revealed, tacked together with dark wood and with a sliding front drawer and lid that revealed several fine drawings of ladies and gentlemen when raised. There was a small mirror, ruined through time, and a smaller box inside. Crouch immediately pointed to the date inscribed into the underside of the lid.

“Oh, dear God. We may not have found the treasure, but this, to some people, could be just as important.”

Alicia understood, of course. The date was 1665. This trinket box would have been present in Porto Bello at the same time that Captain Henry Morgan sacked it.

“These are the people’s treasures,” Crouch continued. “Sentimentals. Personal possessions. Morgan didn’t want them but couldn’t bring himself to give them back.”

“So he sank them to the bottom of the sea?” Healey asked with disbelief.

“I guess pirates do that,” Caitlyn said.

“And left a map to their whereabouts?” Healey still sounded unsure.

“Could be a touch of guilt. A touch of mischief. He knew they’d never be found without the maps, which he carried away. One thing has occurred to me now, though, on making these two finds — maybe the maps were Morgan’s way of making a log. Cataloguing timelines and events. It would make sense.”

The locals were crowding close now, trying to get a feel for what was inside the box. Crouch asked one of the divers to find a phone and call somebody in authority. Alicia fancied someone had just mightily increased their workload.

“This is a good find,” she said. “It may even give some people closure. Heirlooms and valuables like this are all family treasures and close to somebody’s heart. If only they can match them with the right people.”

“I’m sure they will try,” Crouch said and rose. “But we’re not done here, guys. As you can see, this isn’t what we’re looking for.”

“Nothing like,” Healey said.

“So what’s next?” Alicia asked.

“Next? We visit a treasure island.”