Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) (3 page)

Once we had them in the fish box, we each leaned against the railing and looked
down at them. “I can’t believe it,” Deuce said. “We actually found it.”

“That there’s 110 pounds of pure gold, man
. I thought they’d be bigger,” Rusty said with a grin. “Just the melt value alone, that’s worth over a million bucks.”

“Historic value,” I said, “twice that and then some.
Since it’s the property of a nation that no longer exists, the government will have a hard time proving ownership.”

“Think there’s anything else down there of value
, Jesse?” Deuce asked.

“I doubt it
. You read the information Chyrel gathered. The Lynx already unloaded here in Fort Pierce and was commandeered by Colonel McCormick at the last minute. All the crew made it ashore, except him.”

“N
o reason to hang around,” Rusty said. “I know a guy with the Florida Historical Society. I’m sure he’d be interested in buying it. We’re gonna have to get the state and federal government involved too, since we’re inside the 12 mile limit.”

“I doubt Washington would even send anyone down,” Deuce said. “Not over a paltry couple of million dollars.”

We started getting ready to return to the Keys. Deuce rowed out to where the stern anchors were set, taking a long coil of rope. He free dove down to each and used the rope to hoist them up to the dingy and then I used the windless to hoist the bow anchor. Within fifteen minutes we were ready to get underway.

Just as the sun was starting to set, I pushed the throttles forward and the twin 1015 horse Cats responded instantly, lifting the bow and bringing the big boat up onto plane. I never get tired of that feeling.
It was 250 miles back to Marathon, so we set the autopilot and took shifts on the bridge for the ten hour run.

We pushed a little faster than normal cruising speed. What the hell, we had over a million dollars in gold. Burning a little more fuel wasn’t about to break us. We arrived at Rusty’s home and place of business, the
Rusty Anchor Bar and Grill
, at 0300 to a less than millionaire welcome.

Tying off to the dock, we noticed that there were no lights on in either the liveaboards, or the bar. Not really unusual, as closing time was 0200 or whenever Rusty chose.
Since the Florida state tax official and the appraiser from the Historical Society weren’t due to arrive until 0800, we moved the gold to the forward stateroom. I have a digitally controlled lock that allows the bunk to be raised and a large storage chest under it with a combination padlock, along with several other smaller boxes and cases. The chest had plenty of room for the gold and with it being inside a locked chest, under a locked bunk, inside a locked cabin, with a security system, we agreed it was safe.

The three of us decided a
drink was in order to celebrate our new found fortune. Walking to the bar, I heard a dog bark and my big Portuguese water dog came bounding around the corner from the back yard.

“Pescador! How ya doing buddy?”

He was excited that I was home, obviously. His heavy tail was nearly wagging him as he jumped from one of us to the other, accepting ear scratches.

Rusty unlocked the door and we went inside. He’d left his cook, Rufus, in charge and hired my former First Mate, Jimmy, to help out behind the bar. The place looked just as clean and spotless as it did when we left.

Rusty walked behind the bar, pulled a bottle out from one of the lower cabinets and three highball glasses. “Pusser’s?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “
Admiral Nelson’s best.”

He poured two fingers in each glass and we sat down at the end of the bar. Pescador lay down by the door, as he usually did.

“What do you think the appraiser’s gonna say, Jesse?” Rusty asked.

I thought about it for a minute. I was no expert on lost treasure, but Deuce’s dad and I had found some years ago.
We’d sold it for the melt value, to a less than reputable dealer to avoid the taxes. Afterward, we learned that sometimes the intrinsic value was high enough that paying the taxes yielded more return. However, that was only for treasure found outside the territorial waters. “I’m not a hundred percent certain about the amount, but this being Civil War treasure it’s bound to be quite a bit more than the melt value, even after taxes. I’d guess about two million. He’s going to try to lowball us, though. The tax man will help us get the best price.”

“Yeah,” Deuce said laughing. “So the state can get
a bigger share of it.”

Rusty put the bottle back in the cabinet and said, “We better get a little rest. It’s gonna be a long day.”

Deuce and I headed down to the docks, while Rusty locked up and walked to his little Conch house next to the bar. Julie had been trying to talk Deuce into buying a boat for several months. She wanted a little houseboat they could dock here at the marina. Deuce had decided on a 42 foot Whitby cutter rigged ketch, though. I had to admit it was a nice little blue water cruiser. Doc Talbot, my First Mate, and I had helped crew her when Deuce flew to Bimini and bought her. Julie still didn’t know about it. They were getting married in two weeks and he was going to take her cruising to the Lesser Antilles for a month long honeymoon.

As we walked along the docks he asked, “How should this be split up, Jesse? I really don’t need or want any of it.”

“You have more than yourself to think of, old son. Julie’s a sensible girl and doesn’t need much, but one day you’re going to have kids and they’ll need to go to college. Besides, it was your dad’s find. I propose a five way split after the state takes its share. Twenty percent to the three of us, another twenty percent to Mister McCormick and twenty percent to Russ. I’m sure he’d have wanted his share going to his grandkids education.”

“But it was your boat, Jesse. You should get a bigger share. Plus, you had all the expense.”

I stopped and turned to him at the gangplank to his sailboat. “Deuce, I have way more money than I’ll need in two lifetimes and you know my needs are few. I’m giving a chunk of my share to Chyrel and the rest is going into maintaining the island for a few years.”

“
Dad always put a lot of stock in education. He and mom lived on base most of the time and he put away every penny he could so my sister and I could go to college. I guess I’ll do the same.” Then he grinned and added, “Julie ever tell you she wants a bunch of kids?”

Then he turned and went down the gangplank to his cockpit and disappeared into the
aft cabin. Pescador and I continued to the end of the long dock to the
Revenge
and turned in. I set the coffee maker up to start at 0700 and turned in for a short nap.

The aroma of Columbia’s greatest export roused me three hours later. The sun was streaming in through the port side portholes. I poured a cup into a heavy mug
that had the Marine Recon emblem on it, a winged skull with a regulator in its mouth and crossed oars behind it and then poured the rest into a large thermos. Carrying both and an extra mug up to the bridge, I sat down and watched the early morning activity in the marina. Mornings were my favorite time of day. Enjoying a cup of coffee while watching the sun slowly climb into the sky seems to recharge me, regardless of how little sleep I might have had the night before.

Rusty had done a lot of work over the last year and it showed. Just over a year ago, this was nothing more than a shallow canal, accessible only
by skiff, a type of shallow water boat that’s very common in the Keys. He’d dredged it to ten feet and enlarged the end to make a turning basin large enough for a 60 footer to comfortably turn around. He had concrete poured along both sides down to the waterline, with built in rubber fenders and added water and electric hookups every thirty feet. The result was a slow influx of permanent and semi-permanent liveaboards.

Across the canal from me was a beautiful
blue and white wooden sailboat. It belonged to my old friend, Dan Sullivan. He spent nearly as much time taking care of his boat as he did playing his guitar, which was considerable. She was over 100 years old, a gaff rigged Friendship, built in Maine at the turn of the last century.

Next to him was a big, slow moving, 36’ Monk trawler, owned by
a young couple from South Carolina. They arrived in Marathon a few months ago and I hadn’t met them yet. Of course, I spend most of my time on my island up in the Content Keys.

Further north from the Monk were two smaller sloops. Nobody lived on them and I had no idea who owned them.

Astern the
Revenge
was an old, sedate, 30 foot Pearson cabin cruiser. She was owned by a middle aged man by the name of Hank Cooper. He’d arrived in Marathon nearly broke and devastated after a divorce, the Pearson was apparently the only thing his ex-wife didn’t get. He seemed intelligent and educated, but took the first job he could find as an overnight cab driver for the islands largest cab company, Cheapo Taxi.

Aft the Pearson was the small boat dockage, with an assortment of
ten or twelve skiffs and open fishing boats, depending on the season. Rusty had installed a fuel dock at the end next to his big, flat topped barge and offered both gas and diesel fuel. The lower rates he charged for dockage attracted the small boat owners and offset a slightly higher gas price than surrounding marinas.

“Jesse!” The familiar voice came from across the canal. Dan was in the cockpit of his sloop. “When did you guys get back?”

“A few hours ago, Dan. How’s things been here this week?”

“Nothing exciting,” he called back. “You up for a morning run?”

Dan and I worked out on occasion. He preferred running and I preferred swimming, but we had a mutual interest in martial arts. “Can’t this morning,” I said. “We have a meeting in an hour.”

He gave me a questioning look, but I
didn’t elaborate. “Well, it’s Saturday, so you know where I’ll be this afternoon. I’ll buy you a beer later.”

I replied by lifting my coffee mug and nodding, as he trotted off through the tree line on a path that would take him over to Sombrero Beach Road. Dan played weekends on the deck behind
Rusty’s bar. It was probably the most profitable addition Rusty had made this year. The deck was quite large, with seating for almost a hundred people, and a small stage in the corner.

Deuce stepped down from his sloop, walked over and joined me on the bridge.
I poured coffee into the extra mug and handed it to him. He sat down on the bench seat to port and asked, “Think they’ll be on time?”

“I’d bet my life on the tax man being punctual.”

“No doubt,” he said.

“The Florida Historical Society guy sounded
mighty interested, too,” Rusty said as he stepped aboard.

“Grab a mug from the galley, Rusty,” I said.

He disappeared into the salon, then climbed up to the bridge and pouring himself a cup as he asked, “What’d the feds say?”

“Not interested,” Deuce replied. “They knew it’d cost them more in attorney fees to prove ownership.
But they will expect a 1099 from the Historical Society.”

The sound of tires on the crushed shell driveway interrupted our conversation as the three of us turned around to look. I smiled when I saw the Jaguar sedan pull into the little parking lot.

Rusty noticed my smile. “Nice lady there. She ain’t gonna wait forever, brother.”

“Shut up, ya damn Jarhead,”
I said. Rusty and I had gone through boot camp and served together in a few places early in my career. Deuce’s dad was our Platoon Sergeant when we were stationed together in Okinawa, Japan. Rusty left the Corps after just four years because his wife was pregnant. She died giving birth to Julie and it’s only been the two of them for the last 27 years.

The door to the car opened and a woman got out. She had a huge mane of dark red hair, which caught the sunlight filtering through the trees and gave the appearance of a Phoenix.
She was dressed in dark blue Capri shorts, a light blue short sleeved blouse and navy topsiders. She walked toward the boat in a casual way that was born of a self-assurance few women possessed.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

“Like he’s got the cojones to tell you no,” Rusty said.

Jackie Burdick stepped lightly down to the deck and was up the ladder to the bridge in seconds. “He’s got ‘em, Rusty. I’ve seen them myself. He’s just afraid I might cut ‘em off next time he’s on my table.”

Rusty and Deuce both roared with laughter, scaring a pelican off the end of the dock into the water. Lieutenant Commander Burdick was the doctor on duty at the Navy hospital a few months ago when I had to undergo emergency surgery to remove a bullet lodged near my spine. A few weeks later she stepped in front of another bullet meant for me and spent a week in her own hospital recovering.

“Good to see ya again,
Jackie,” I said.

She sat down in the only remaining seat, the second chair next to me. “Thanks for inviting me, Jesse. You actually found it?”

“It’s stored below,” I said.

“I’d love to see it.”

“You guys wait here and yell down if our guests arrive.” Jackie and I went below, through the salon into the forward stateroom.

“You know,” she said with a seductive smile, “not many guys would use a million dollars in gold to lure a lady into their bedroom.”

I’d gotten used to her quick, frank, and flirtatious ways over the last few months. No denying she was very attractive, but we were only friends. I bent over to key in the code to open the bunk. “Not many ladies are worth a million bucks.”

“Flattery will get you anywhere.”

The bunk raised up and I bent again to haul the big chest out. “Push the bunk back down, would ya?”

I set the chest on the bunk and
spun the combination lock. Sunlight was coming in through the top hatch as I opened the trunk. It struck the gold bars inside, which reflected the golden light back up and throughout the stateroom.

She clutched
both hands to her throat. “Oh my!”

“Go ahead. Pick one up.”

She looked up at me and grinned. Then she reached into the chest and started to lift one out. I could tell it was heavier than she thought. A ten pound gold bar isn’t very big, only seven inches long, two inches wide and an inch thick. Not much bigger than a candy bar. She finally got one in each hand and asked, “How much are these two worth?”

“You’re holding about a quarter million dollars.”

“That’s more than I’ll earn in three years in the Navy! And you just picked it up off the bottom of the ocean?”

“Well, it took us a couple of months of research and a week of diving, but yeah.”

She gently placed them back in the chest. Then she turned and looked around the stateroom, stopping for a moment at a couple of mementos from the Corps that hung on the bulkhead. “What are these coins?”

“They’re called ‘challenge coins’.
In a military bar, if one person challenges another to a drink, the one who produces the higher ranking coin drinks free. High ranking officers have them made and give them out to subordinates.”