The Ghost Ships of Arizona

CHAPTER TEN

Yuma was a city in the southwestern corner of Arizona, first settled by Native Americans whose reservations still exist in parts of the state. Expeditions later saw the trade and living opportunities offered by the narrowing of the Colorado River at this point, and during the California Gold Rush the Yuma Crossing became known as the gateway to California.

Drake found himself pacing the hotel lobby wondering where the hell the rest of the crew had gotten to before realizing this was it. This was all — the extent of his current team — Lauren, Smyth and Karin.

The decision had been made to arrive low key. There was no telling who the Pythians had enlisted or paid off, no guessing how many spies they had dug in around the area. Thus, the four-strong group were vacationers, stowing what military gear they may need in oversized backpacks. Once their rooms had been allocated they trooped into the elevators, all heading for Karin’s room.

Drake voiced everyone’s thought. “So give us a clue. Where do we start?”

Lauren spoke up. “Where did Nicholas Bell start? With stories, I guess. So short of flying over all of Arizona and California with a spotting scope we’d best put our resident genius to work.” She patted Karin’s shoulder.

Karin grunted, still far away. Drake wondered for the thousandth time if she should even be here. But then, where else? Grieving alone? Therapy? There were far worse places to be than following lost treasure.

Just ask Alicia.

Drake again found himself thinking about the Englishwoman and her endless march forward. It was at times like this that a separation of weeks felt more like years.

Karin silently plonked a laptop onto the room’s only table and logged onto the free Wi-Fi. The width of the room prevented the rest of the team from standing too close so Lauren offered to make a coffee run and Smyth elected to go with her. Drake found himself suddenly alone with Ben Blake’s sister, Komodo’s girlfriend.

“Anything,” he said. “Anything I can do to help just name it. Even if it means putting a gag on my stupid mouth.”

Surprisingly, Karin turned around to stare at him. “I’m starting to believe there may be something you can do,” she said. “But I’ll let you know.”

Drake nodded, a little taken aback. She was working through stuff and needed to ponder. He watched her pound the keys for a while and then stepped away. Lauren and Smyth returned, comfortable at each other’s side, and offered strong black coffee all round. Drake liked the new Smyth; the man seemed more at ease, though the old irascibility still hovered just underneath the surface. As the group perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, Karin began to speak.

“Ghost ships of Arizona,” she said. “It’s no more than a bunch of legends passed down from old Red Indian days. Scary campfire stories or lost treasure mythologies — your choice. The main story,” she breathed, “centers on an old Spanish galleon.”

Smyth leaned forward. “Was it haunted?”

Karin continued without an acknowledgement. “Stories started springing up after the great Colorado flood, sightings put it forty miles north of Yuma. Of course, that was back in the 1860s…”

Drake wasn’t sure whether to smile or knit his brows. Was she suggesting it might — somehow — have moved?

“These places back then had various names — Indian Springs, Soda Springs, Bitter Springs. The Salton Sea is another popular place for myths since this grew out of an even larger inland sea over the centuries. There were and are many myths that said this galleon was none other than Sir Thomas Cavendish’s Content, filled with pirate booty. Now we’re talking — a pirate ghost ship.”

“Who relates all these old stories?” Lauren wanted to know. “And who remembers them?”

“Old timers.” Karin shrugged. “People who grew up listening to them. Ear-benders. Entrepreneurs.”

“What’s so special about the Content?” Smyth tipped his coffee back and drank.

Karin also drank, her mind engaged in the task. “Well, Cavendish was an English explorer and privateer. He purposely tried to emulate Sir Francis Drake by raiding Spanish towns and ships and then returning triumphantly to England by circumnavigating the globe. Successfully. He became a rich man, capturing rich prizes in silk and treasure from Spanish ships he attacked. He captured a six-hundred-ton ship called the Santa Anna, and this was all on his first raiding run. Queen Elizabeth I knighted him upon his return.”

“And the Content?”

“During Cavendish’s second run and circumnavigation he encountered a little more than he bargained for. The man died at the age of thirty-one from an unknown illness whilst his navigator sailed on to discover the Falkland Islands. But the story of the Content actually arises from the first voyage. Cavendish had two ships near the Gulf of California — the Content and the Desire—and both were put to good use chasing down the Santa Anna, which was a so-called Manila galleon. Now, firstly these Manila galleons only sailed once or twice a year and carried all the goods accumulated through an entire year’s trading. Goods from the coin mints in Peru and Mexico to the Chinese for silk, spices, gold and other luxurious materials.”

“All on one ship?” Drake said.

“Yup. In any case Cavendish got wind of this Manila galleon and hunted it for days, at last spotting and then capturing it. The Santa Anna struck her colors and then the English swarmed aboard, taking enough treasure to fill both their ships. Cavendish did allow the Spaniards food, water and weapons and put them ashore, then he set fire to the Santa Anna, before sailing away to continue their voyage across the Pacific. The Content was never heard from again. The Desire spent the remainder of her voyage hiding from every skirmish.”

“Never heard from again?” Drake repeated. “How could that be with a ship carrying so much loot?”

“Is anybody else here wondering how a Spanish galleon ended up wandering the friggin’ desert?” Smyth grouched. “And especially how this English entrepreneur and privateer sounds like nothing more than a marauding pirate?”

“Ships being marooned in the desert is not unheard of,” Drake said. “Storms. Great tidal bores. Even hurricanes and typhoons can deposit ships miles away from where they were. And that includes onto solid ground.”

“A tidal bore is most likely in this area,” Karin stated.

Now Smyth shook his head. “I’m lost again. What’s a tidal bore?”

“A wall of water moving fast up the stream bed.” Karin finished her coffee and deposited the cup in the bin. “The Gulf of California’s topography, incoming tides and river outflow produced the potential for unparalleled tidal bores. The basin was more than two hundred and seventy feet below sea level, perfect for flood waters. The flood could have skipped the land barrier, cresting over the natural dam and down into the Salton or Cahuilla Sea. In addition, it seems that the Salton Sea and Gulf of California were once connected.”

Drake whistled. “I bet those poor sailors had a bit of a shock.”

“Early surfers,” Lauren agreed. “But without the boards.”

“I never heard of such a great tidal flood,” Smyth said with suspicion. “Surely it can’t only have happened that one time.”

“These days a tidal bore can no longer occur,” Karin read. “Due to the depletion of water from agriculture and municipal use before it reaches the gulf.”

“Gah. Always a freakin’ answer.”

Karin glanced around at him. “You can always try this yourself.” She picked up the laptop.

Smyth quickly held his hands out, muttering an apology. Lauren frowned in his direction.

Karin sighed. “Sorry. I’m not myself at the moment. Bores occur in relatively few locations worldwide and are generally nothing to write home about. You only hear about them when a tragedy occurs or a rag newspaper needs some sensationalism to help sell a few extra copies.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “So in the right conditions the ship in a desert phenomenon could occur. What we have to do now is to find it. I know you said ‘old timers’, but where in particular have all the ghost stories come from?”

“The Red Indians,” she said. “Or Native Americans, as they’re now called. They started it. Legends were expanded when the local prospectors and explorers of the time decided to make their own investigations. One man named Charley Clusker. Another named Colonel Albert S Evans. Another called Fierro Blanco. These men knew natives from every tribe of Baja California of that time and attest that the local tribes never once lied to them. The kicker here is that — just like the peculiar worldwide dragon myth — everybody tells the same story and offers the same descriptions. The myth has persisted. It’s always similar, and survives both in Native American and frontier lore. It’s spookily uncanny.”

“Why has it never been found?” Lauren wondered. “Surely a well-organized flyover would do it.”

“The desert’s an astoundingly large place. Wind-blown sands from the desiccated delta of the Colorado River generate vast sand dune systems that are constantly shifting. Storms spring up in seconds. Then there’s mud near the inland waters and other dangers. It’s entirely possible that the things one storm uncovers, the next completely eradicates. And, supposedly, it was found. Several times. Only to disappear again.”

“But not recently?”

“The last sighting occurred in the 1970s,” Karin related. “Though it wasn’t corroborated. Ground penetrating radar would reveal a ship’s remains but nobody has managed to accomplish such an undertaking yet.”

Drake made a noise. “Except possibly our new potential friend, Nicholas Bell.”

“That seems likely.”

“And if we sought to replicate his activity?”

“It would undoubtedly reveal us to him.”

“Then what’s the answer?”

Karin closed her laptop, staring with more than a little regret at the slim black case. To Drake it seemed as if it might be for the last time.

“Are you okay?”

“We go old school,” Karin said. “Seek out the old timers. Head into the desert. We find the ghost ships the old way.”

Drake thought of all the times they had used modern technology to solve their problems, their ancient quandaries. “That should be different.”

“It’s the only way.”

“An expedition?” Smyth was clearly trying hard to keep his voice neutral. “Campfires and tents? Trail guides? Sleeping under the stars? Not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Are you scared?” Drake asked. “Scared of the desert’s ghosts?”

“Fuck, yeah. Aren’t you?”

“I’m more scared of getting swallowed and buried in a sandstorm.”

“And yeah, there’s that too!” Smyth jumped onboard Drake’s theory as if it were a million-dollar yacht. “Mostly that.”

“Don’t worry.” Lauren patted the back of his hand. “I’ll keep you safe. Us New Yorkers don’t take no shit from anyone, especially ghosts.”

“Questions need to be asked locally,” Karin said. “And quietly.”

Drake took a quick look out the window. The sun was descending in the west but hadn’t set yet. “No time like the present.”

“I’ll come with you,” Smyth said. “Get me out of this pokey old room.”

Drake winked carefully at him. “I’d prefer to take Karin,” he said neutrally. “A man and woman would look more natural than two burly old blokes.”

“Old?” Smyth protested but got the point. “No worries.”

Karin stroked the lid of her laptop once more. “I’ll come with you, Matt.”

Drake wondered just what the hell was going on in her head.

Yuma basked beneath a clear sky full of sunshine, even as sundown approached. Karin told Drake that this town was officially the sunniest place on earth, with clear skies for 90 percent of daylight hours. Drake stared at the wide, scorched streets.

“Think there’s an old timer’s bar around here, love?”

“Probably a hundred. But why bother buying ‘em drinks when they advertise their services on the web?”

Drake barely stopped his mouth from falling open. “They do? Where?”

Karin tapped her head. “All in here. Eidetic memory, remember?” She smiled at the small joke.

Drake grinned more than he should. “Amazing. Lead on.”

Karin surveyed the area. “I’m not too sure about this bloody ‘old school’ thing,” she said. “What we need now is some kinda satnav.”

Drake pointed out the white-walled building flanked by trees off to the right. “Old school satnav right there,” he said. “I think they call it a post office.”

Karin nodded. “Use to be the corner shop that gave you directions,” she smiled, “where I grew up.”

“Me too.” Drake set off. “Along with a pound’s worth of Black Jacks, Midget Gems and kaylie.”

“Kaylie?”

“I guess you’re too young. Kaylie was like sherbet, only better. Rainbow kaylie was the best; all you did was dip your finger in the bag, get it covered, and then pop it in your mouth. At the end of the bag your finger always ended up bright yellow.”

“Sounds great,” Karin said in a non-committal tone. The pair entered the post office, requested directions, and were on their way to a meeting point in just a few minutes.

“How did you know which old guy to choose?” Drake asked.

“I didn’t, of course. I just went for the oldest of them all.”

“Oh. Well remember, we don’t want him to expire out in the desert.”

“Then he shouldn’t be advertising his services.”

Drake stayed quiet, making sure they made their rendezvous in good time. Far from a dingy bar, it turned out to be the lobby of one of the town’s classiest hotels and it was clear from the start that the man they met only wanted to fleece them, asking for money upfront within the first five minutes. Karin asked a few pointed questions and then they parted company, heading for rendezvous number two. The second man turned out to be almost as shameless, but when he found out they seriously meant business, he went quiet for several moments. Subsequently, the face he turned upon them was thoughtful.

“All right. I can tell you’re not the usual fare we get through here. There’s a man,” he said. “There are two or three if I’m being totally truthful. No shit, I can point you the right way and I can see you’re havin’ no part of me. That’s fine. But you won’t find ole timers like him on the Web, Miss. That’s for amateurs. These ole guys are strictly word-o-mouth.”

“And I imagine you want paying for pointing us in the right direction?” Drake asked.

“Tell you what… I’ll trust you. Don’t matter to me either way. If you get what you need come find me — pay me what you think the information was worth.”

Drake shrugged. “All right. But don’t even think about trying to lead us out into the desert and laying an ambush, old man.”

“Never crossed my mind, friend. Trouble is though… Kelly… he’s the kinda guy finds you.”

“Meaning?”

The old man chuckled. “Meaning you head out into the desert, friend, and he’ll find you. I can arrange it tonight.”

“Seriously? Do we look like we were born yesterday?”

“Nope. Well, she does. You — not so much.”

Drake wasn’t entirely sure he shouldn’t be offended. “Hey!”

“I know. Long paper round. Old before your time. So, ya gonna meet my man or what? You won’t be getting a better offer today.”

Drake stared into the watery eyes for a time, then turned to Karin. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

“He seems cool. And it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

Drake bit his tongue. That may be true, but it was no way to move forward. His mind flicked over alternative choices and found them startlingly sparse. Without a local, first-rate guide they would be lost in the desert — quite plainly. On the other hand, Yuma, and these old men, hardly seemed likely to imperil his team. The risk was negligible. “Why should we hit the desert?”

“The ghost ships are out there,” the old man said, nodding dreamily. “An’ I’m making no bones about it. Not blowing yer skirt up neither, excuse me, Miss.”

“Don’t worry.” Karin almost smiled. “I’ve heard — and seen — worse.”

“Then I’m mighty sorry about that. An’ as I said — those ships’re out there. Galleons. Longboats. A schooner. Set eyes on more’n one of ‘em meself.”

“Have you?” Drake wondered how much more embellishment the tale could get. If the reports of Nicholas Bell’s actions out here in Arizona weren’t so reliable he’d have moved on to more important things by now.

Then again, he’d once set eyes on his own set of fanciful longboats.

Karin’s voice broke his musings. “How do these boats move around?”

The old man’s eyes were speculative. “They don’t, of course, young lady. The geography moves around them. Dunes become valleys and hills turn into basins. No two storms leave the landscape untouched. And you never wanna get in the middle of a dust or sand storm out here, not a bad one. They whip up like wraiths, bad genies that wrap around you and take you down, deep into the desert. You get turned around, lost, buried. They would never find you.”

“And that’s why the ships are so scary.” Karin nodded in understanding.

The old man looked at her through slitted eyes. “No, young lady. They’re scary because at night, when it’s full dark, they creep, they loom, they threaten and sneak. They haunt the desert, Miss, and if you don’t respect them they will spirit you away forever to your doom.”