Maroon Rising (28 page)

“So?” he said.

I nodded my head, gave him a thumbs up, then put my finger to my lips.

Stanley’s was the lowest-key reaction to a treasure find I’d ever seen. No smile, no jumping up and down, no questions. I figured when a man isn’t driven by greed, he keeps the big picture in mind. We had around fifteen hours to find Nanny, and when we did, Morgan’s treasure—if still there—could be used for the people of Jamaica.

At least that was the plan.

“Any word from Nanny’s captors?”

“Another call—definitely a Jamaican, same one as before.” He paused. “Just putting the pressure on.”

“What you said after your other call—Stanley, do you have any intel on who has Nanny?”

“I have an idea but will need to confront him face-to-face to know for sure.”

We agreed on a plan and returned to the vehicles.

Handshakes, pats on backs, a couple laughs about my breaking Gunner’s nose, then we all loaded up and made our way out along the narrow trail toward Albert Town.

Now alone in the Jeep, Ray turned to me.

“Wow! I can’t believe we’re the only two people who know about that pile of treasure! What are we going to do?”

It was like he’d just had six Cuban coffees.

“If we can’t find Nanny well before the three o’clock deadline, we’ll have to turn it over to her captors. Of course if we free her first, we get to keep our 10 percent.”

“So where we headed?”

“Need to change things up. Gunner’s anticipating too many of our moves. We’re headed toward Kingston, then up into the mountains. A friend of mine named Clemens Von Merveldt, used to be the general manager at a place on Harbour Island in the Bahamas, and now runs a little beauty called Strawberry Hill. We can hide out there until morning.”

A few miles on it occurred to me that I hadn’t spoken to Harry Greenbaum since before using his credit card to secure the boats for my charade out at Port Royal. I took a deep breath and dialed his number.

“About time I heard from you, my boy,” Harry said. “I trust you’re calling with news? I’m just finishing dinner, enjoying a Grand Cru Chablis with my Dover sole.”

“I can’t say much on the cell, Harry, but we’ve accomplished our goal—”

The sound of liquid sloshing and Harry swallowing filled my ear.

“Excellent!”

I glanced at Ray. “There are strings. We’re capped at 10 percent of the find.”

Pause. “Rather paltry, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not at all, considering the total worth.”

“Splendid, dear boy.”

“Right now even that’s in jeopardy because our benefactor’s been kidnapped. Her captors want the treasure by tomorrow, or they say they’ll kill her.”

A belch caused me to pull the phone away. It was late, and Harry had said he was just finishing his wine. Knowing him, that meant the entire bottle.

“Why am I not surprised the first mission of our new enterprise is so complicated, Buck?”

“I have a plan, and we have most of tomorrow to sort this out.”

“Anything I can do to assist?”

“Not unless you can find a missing woman from over fifteen hundred miles away.”

“That would be a smart trick, but alas, not part of my repertoire.”

A long silence followed. I was about to ask if Harry was still on the line—

“I don’t say this lightly, Buck, but if you’re not successful in securing the percentage you negotiated with your colleagues there, my days as your partner will be over. Nothing personal, of course—you’re like a son to me—but business is business.”

Shit.

“I understand, Harry.”

“Goodbye for now, dear boy. And of course you have my best wishes for success.”

Although it was nearly midnight when we showed up, Clemens welcomed us in the bar with a vintage bottle of Burgundy decanted and ready to go. He hadn’t changed a bit, nor had his lovely wife, Nancy. The two of them and Ray drank the wine, but I was having Blackwell Rum, neat.

“We heard Heather was on-island,” Nancy said. “Have you seen her?”

Heather and I had spent a couple New Year’s Eve celebrations and several long weekends at Clemens’ place in the Bahamas, so it was an innocuous question. But Clemens must have seen my face contort, because he poured me another drink and changed the subject.

“Chris Blackwell mentioned you’d been to GoldenEye, with Nanny Adou no less.” His smile was a circumspect as ever. “Impressive.”

A deep breath and another gulp of rum pushed me into the back of my chair.

“My luck with women hasn’t changed,” I said. “Or maybe I should say their luck with me hasn’t.”

With that, Clemens led Ray and me to a vacant room on top of the property. I was so exhausted I can only assume I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

T
he next morning I got a predawn call from Stanley about the rat he suspected was amongst us, which was like a belly punch. I sat suddenly to absorb the news. After that, Ray and I devised a quick plan, made a phone call, then drove out to the very end of Port Royal. Our plan required a quick inventory of both flotillas to start.

The sailors at the coast guard base Cagway, directly adjacent, stared hard at us through the barbed-wire-topped fence. Their barracks were austere, and given the drug trade that passed through Jamaican waters, I understood their vigilance. These men had difficult jobs.

Out at the very end of the park was a hillock and field, and beyond that, the water. To the right was the Coast Guard shooting range, which was bounded by numerous warning signs about the use of live ammunition. Ray stared at one such sign with his eyes wide.

“Cover me,” I said.

Ray held his palms up. “With what?”

I continued beyond the perimeter set for tourists. Once up the short hill and through the tall grass, I could see the water clearly. Jack’s flotilla was still in place—and so was Betty.

Through the binoculars I could see men moving around on their boats. No sign of divers. Maybe Jack figured he needed to maintain their presence here in order to cinch his preposterous claim on all things related to Henry Morgan, or maybe he was more of an optimist than I had assumed. The moment he pulled anchor on that site, he’d be acknowledging that they’d pissed millions into the water there.

Of all the people I observed, I hadn’t spotted Gunner, Jack, or Heather. Gunner’s words from yesterday had left a sour taste in my mouth that no amount of Blackwell Rum last night or Blue Mountain coffee this morning could cleanse.

Past Jack’s boats I spotted our own smaller group, the tug and barge all prepping to pull anchor. A whistle sounded—a Coast Guardsman at the fence perimeter was waving me back into the approved area. I’d seen what I hoped to and returned to Ray.

“Let’s go.”

As we walked back through the fort, I made a call.

“Mr. Buck, tell me something good?”

“Are you still out on the water?” I said.

“Wind and waves finally settled. We just clearing out now.”

“Damn, Johnny, that cost me an extra ten thousand—”

“Nobody want off this rolling mess more than me, mon.”

“I’m almost to Kingston now. Meet me at the harbor.”

He paused. “You got news?”

I glanced at Ray. His face soured the minute he knew who I’d called.

“I do, Johnny. But I’m not broadcasting it on a cell phone, so meet me in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

Once the phone was back in my pocket, I looked at Ray.

“I still don’t like that guy,” he said.

“We don’t need to like him, but we do need him.”

As we drove back past the airport, Ray kept an eye on the harbor.

“Speedboat hauling ass toward Kingston,” he said. I assumed that was Johnny.

By the time we were at the harbor he’d already tied up his boat and was talking on his cell phone. He hung up seconds after spotting us, his eyes wary as he watched us approach. It occurred to me that Henry Morgan’s men probably wore that expression when they were about to be told their share of the booty was far less than anyone expected. Trust between privateers was no doubt as rare a commodity back then as it was today amongst treasure hunters. In any case, that steely taste was back in my mouth.

“What’s up, gentlemen?” Johnny’s usual smile and effervescent demeanor were gone.

“The boats headed back to port?” I said.

Johnny glanced back over his shoulder. “Should be. That game’s over.” He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Why? Where we going?”

I turned back to face him and gave him a smile.

“Moore Town. Colonel Stanley has news for us.”

“Grandy? Why we need to go there?”

“You want in on this or not?”

Ray returned to the Jeep and got in the backseat. I followed, then Johnny came a moment later. We began the journey around the coast. The questions I expected from Johnny were slow to come.

“You going to tell me what you found?” he said.

“First, give me an update on Dodson’s activities out on the water.”

He shrugged. “Nobody diving these past few days. That big bastard left a couple days ago—”

“Gunner?”

“Yeah. Been some screaming and shit we could hear over the water. After the constable told us we had to get out of here, Gunner followed them off. Not been back, neither.”

“What about Dodson?”

“Still out there—least I saw him there this morning.”

I looked out my side window at the crystal blue ocean.

“And the supermodel?”

“Ain’t seen her all week—come on, mon, tell me what’s going on?”

Still no “Mr. Buck.” Still no smile. He’d been too busy texting—continuously—while we were driving.

“Turn that phone off and put it away. We’re going into blackout mode.”

He held the phone for a moment. When I gave him a side-glance he made a show of holding the power button down until the chime sounded, then put the phone in a pocket.

“I’m all ears, mon.”

We still had a long ride ahead of us, so I decided to provide a recap that would set the stage for when we reached Stanley. I gave him details of the meeting with Michael Portland and the colonel , including their demand that the people of Jamaica get 90 percent of whatever we found—

“That’s steep, mon. You
agree
to that?”

I nodded and sailed on: finding the petroglyphs at the Blue Mountain crossing, Gunner showing up with Cuffee making threats and taking my sketch of the circles … Johnny was on the edge of his seat, soaking up every detail as we turned down the dirt road that led to Moore Town.

“Remember when I told you Nanny and I were headed to meet Henry Kujo at Accompong? That was the same afternoon we got jumped near Albert Town and Nanny was abducted.”

“Damn, mon. Lucky they didn’t kill you.”

“Yeah, I guess. Knocked me silly, though—damn sure have a concussion.”

I left out going to Firefly and cut straight to the cave system that resembled the petroglyphs.

“It was a match to the ovals and circles, but like I feared, it was just a Taino reference to a burial ground. But somehow, Gunner and his goons found us out there anyway.”

“And here I been stuck out on those damn boats.” I glanced in the rearview mirror.

“So that’s all you find, mon, a burial ground? The suspense is killing me.”

Ray, who’d been quiet in the backseat, caught my eyes in the rearview. His lips were tight and he shook his head. I smiled.

The river disappeared off our right side as we approached the outskirts of the old Maroon village.

“Buck, what the fuck?” Johnny said. “You got something to tell me or not?”

“I don’t, but Colonel Grandy called this morning and said
he
did. That’s why we’re here.”

Johnny sat back and crossed his arms.

Just then we pulled into Moore Town and parked in front of Stanley’s house.

“Let’s go see what the colonel has for us.”

When Stanley opened his front door, he greeted us holding a sawed-off shotgun pointed at all of our chests.

“W
elcome to Moore Town, gentlemen. Now get your asses inside.”

“Buck, what the heck—”

“Step inside, Ray. It’s okay.”