Caribbean Gold

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

The team planned their boat trip so that they neared the island as darkness descended in its entirety. Using their benefactor’s wealth and influence they had managed to rent a large, sleek, ocean-going yacht from Port Royal and programmed their coordinates into the advanced auto-pilot system. Sometimes it paid to be acting for well-off individuals known for their entrepreneurship and contributions to local governments. A man that could open the doors of power with a single phone call.

Michael Crouch found it increasingly hard to suppress the excitement as he neared what he believed would prove to be yet another historic achievement. Men had searched for Henry Morgan’s long lost treasure through the centuries, through long years lost in the mists of time; men long dead and turned to dust themselves. And none had prevailed. Crouch lived for the hunt.

Which was nearing its end.

All the years of living for the job, of training soldiers and planning missions. All the times he’d coached and planted men like Beau to go behind enemy lines, to become part of a terrible organization. Some of those decisions haunted him now. All had seemed necessary at the time.

But time itself lent a new perspective to “necessary.”

Everything changed. Even me. Even correct decisions. Even concrete chipped and eroded and faded away. We can only do what we think is morally right.

The boat began to slow and, on the digitized display before them, the team saw the details of the approaching island. Assuming they would be here well past sunup they anchored the large yacht well offshore and broke out the motorized dinghies.

Caitlyn transferred the map’s specifications from the on-board computer to her smartphone. The island wasn’t large but it would still be good to be able to find their way around and know the location of coves, beaches and places of sanctuary. Assuming Jensen would have landed at the most easily accessible cove, they plotted a course to one of the hardest and set out in two dinghies, wearing black and carrying loaded weapons, invisible in the darkest part of the night.

The sea buffeted them gently, soft swells passing by. The moon presented a thin sliver of silver that bounced across the waves and offered the barest amount of light to see by. Crouch took what he could get, embracing the dark and using the faint illumination to navigate closer to a beach bounded by rocky outcroppings. They were jarred, tipped left and right, glanced once and then twice off the thin tips of rocks, dinghies shaken but remaining intact, bounced between swells, and skipped off the top of a curling wave. They were left rousted, but safe as they finally drifted up to shore, the shifting waters giving way to a soft beach, silver in the quarter-light and happily empty.

Crouch had always been confident about their landing point. It was where they went afterward that might prove difficult. A proper recce was called for, as they needed to know enemy positions, numbers and extent of firepower in short order.

No sign of Jensen then.

Crouch walked carefully along the beach as Alicia and Russo found a safe place for the dinghies. Soon, he was standing before the tree line, peering into a darker interior. As his eyes adjusted, something began to take shape.

Something that flickered.

“What is that?” he whispered, a breath no louder than silk on a breeze.

“Is it a ghost?” Alicia peered hard.

Crouch parted a lattice of branches. “Oh, hell. I never expected that. Oh no.”

Alicia took a step back in surprise. “Am I seeing things, or is that—”

“It is,” Crouch said, still staring. “It is.”

Flickering for as far as the eye could see were dozens and dozens, possibly hundreds, of virtually smokeless campfires. They were all under the dense tree line, and the trees ran more than halfway up the grassy hill that formed the bulk of the island; their lurid flames painting the sides of tents crimson, the trees with blood, and large pavilions with their big stretched canvases in orange. Flames sputtered everywhere, attesting to the presence of a large group of men.

Crouch backed away very carefully. Close to the lapping waves he gathered the team around. “I don’t know what to think. Surely Jensen can’t have gathered so large a force.”

Alicia shifted. “We can always take a closer look.”

“Go among them? Do you think you can pull it off? One bad move and all hell would be unleashed. I think we’re talking over a hundred men out there.”

“I could do it,” Alicia said. “Alone. No Sasquatch or inseparable twins beside me.”

They all glared, but said nothing. The truth was, Alicia was right and Crouch and the others all knew it. Crouch sent a glance toward the top of the large hill, the center of the island, which nobody could see from here.

“I’m wondering what is going on. In my experience a large crew like this means an awful lot more than a random treasure hunt. I hope we anchored the boat far enough offshore.”

“We did,” Caitlyn assured him. “Unless they sail that way.”

Crouch nodded silently, wondering too about the fate of Jensen. Was the ex-SAS madman already here? Surely this force wasn’t his. Crouch had to believe that Jensen was in hiding somewhere, pondering options.

“Alicia can do it,” he said unnecessarily. “And we need the Intel. I have to say though — it’s a dangerous, lethal mission. If you’re noticed, you won’t get out of there alive and we’re unlikely to be able to come in after you.” He shook his head. “It’s suicide.”

Alicia laughed. “Seriously? It’s any day of the week, then. I’ll see you soon, guys. Don’t wait up.”

She turned away.

Crouch watched her walk into the lion’s den, remembering the years and the missions and finding it hard to think of a person he admired or cared for more. The worst of it was — he had let her down. The explanation was hard, and clear, but hardly flattering. Leaders were often forced to make the difficult decisions, ones they later may have made differently, and Beau’s inside Intel had paid off at least half a dozen times, foiling entire plots.

Still, Alicia had suffered and Crouch hated himself for it. He spoke to her retreating back as she walked away.

“Be safe.”

She never heard it. Or maybe she chose to ignore it. Either way, the message was the same.