Slave Graves (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 1) (27 page)

Here, today, at this moment, he suddenly wanted to tell Maggie about this. He looked at her. She noticed him and smiled back, then returned her eyes to her dig. He felt close enough to her to share these memories, to get her advice, to get her aid as a strong person helps a weakling to stand until he is strong enough on his own.

“With all this tension and the heat, it reminds me of the waiting when we knew Charlie was going to hit us,” said Frank, wanting to hear his words against the silence of the night, the desperation he felt.

No one replied and they continued to dig, working in the last light of the summer evening. For a moment Frank looked out at the river. He was reminded by the glimmering from Jake’s yacht of how the pathways of the Vietnamese village would blink with the little flames of the ceremonial altars along the streets, how those lights would sometimes foreshadow the explosions to come in the deep night.

A half hour ago a small runabout had come by and taken Jake’s wife away, probably to the River Sunday hospital, leaving only Jake and a few friends and staff aboard. The speedboat’s waves had long ago washed against the riverbank and the river surface was glass smooth again. The noises of dinner being served to Jake’s guests inside the main cabin of the yacht, the tinkling of glasses and of music, and the reflections of the boat running lights stretching across the river water, accentuated the stillness of the darkness.

The heat was overpowering. Along the river the trees were black near the water on the far shore and the limbs of the trees on this side were etched against what still remained of the red western evening sky. Frank slapped at another mosquito on his bare leg.

“People say the mosquitoes here in River Sunday double their size in the evening, then shrink back to fit into their hideouts during the day,” said the Pastor. Frank could see that the old man too was fighting his exhaustion.

On the yacht Spyder was leaning over the stern. He was hauling in the Boston Whaler runabout. Frank smiled. “It looks like someone is getting ready to come ashore from the Terment yacht,” he said. “Probably Jake with his final orders for the morning.”

At that moment, a terrific noise, a thunder boom like a jet fighter breaking the sound barrier, crashed across the river and actually shook the ground under Frank’s feet. Out on the river a tower of bubbling water rose up from the surface a few feet in front of the bow of the yacht. All eighty feet of the yacht rose up on the water surge, the bow pointing almost forty five degrees into the air. Then the hull pushed down in a huge wash of waves like a magnificent belly flop. The immediate surge died, ebbing with three and four foot waves gradually getting smaller. There was no second explosion. Mist and bits of river mud and seaweed returned downward pelting the river surface. In the water at the stern, Spyder hung like a great round insect on a tiny thread, being raised and lowered on the bowline of the Whaler. He kept being dunked by the movement of the yacht, as if he were being baptized again and again. Frank watched, powerless to help because he was so far away. Then, as the water surface quieted, Spyder, after several tries, managed to climb back on the yacht.

The water in front of the yacht continued to bubble furiously as though a volcano were astir beneath the surface. Bits of torn seaweed from the river bottom washed up in the froth. A thin cloud of white smoke drifted across the river surface.

“Mercy!” said the Pastor.

The yacht itself had been fully bathed with the plume of river water which had reached a hundred feet into the air then descended like torrential rain over the river and the yacht. Water was still running heavily from the yacht deck. In the confused water around the hull chairs and seat cushions and other furniture that had gone overboard, floated in a tumbled array.

Frank and the Pastor looked at each other and at Maggie.

“Soldado,” said Maggie.

“He’d have to know explosives,” said Frank.

“I know boys can get any bombs you want. Down here on the Eastern Shore anything can be done you want,” said the Pastor.

Frank stood up and went to the shoreline. “We should try to help them.”

“Not much we can do,” said the Pastor. “They’re over there and we’re over here. Besides, I’ll bet Jake’s captain has already called every marine police in the Chesapeake.”

A few more minutes went by. Spyder, an oversize towel draped around his neck, had maneuvered the Boston Whaler around to the ladder hanging down the side of the yacht. The small craft was pulled snugly to the side of the larger boat. Then a door opened from the cabin and light came out in jagged patterns on the river surface. In a few moments Cathy, Maggie’s supervisor, stuck her head out of the doorway and looked around slowly as if she were expecting another sudden surprise from the dark. Then she stepped out slowly and turned around and climbed down the ladder, her back to the river. Halfway down the ladder she stopped and looked again, then resumed her descent, finally jumping the last few feet into the small boat. She moved to the center and held on to the seat, rigidly facing forward. Then it was Jake’s turn. He descended the same way, looking nervously from side to side. He got into the boat and went to the stern to start the outboard engine mounted there. As he pulled on the recoil starter Spyder came down the ladder and jumped into the bow. The small boat rocked and then was steady. Frank heard the outboard start up, heard the bark of the exhaust and then watched as the boat sped towards where he stood.

Frank called out, “Are you all right?”

“We’re all fine,” Jake called back.

“What happened?” shouted Frank.

“We don’t know,” answered Maggie’s boss, her voice frantic.

“The Viet Cong sapper teams did that to freighters anchored in Cam Ranh Bay during the War,” Frank said to the Pastor, as they waited for Jake to land.

“I heard about that,” said the Pastor. “The enemy swam up beside the freighter hulls and attached explosives to the steel sides just below the water line. Then the bombs went off and put holes in the ship.”

Frank nodded. “Men sat on those ships waiting for their turn to unload cargo, listening down below for tapping sounds that might mean the Cong were at work.”

“Soldado carried a lot of that wartime freight into Cam Ranh,” said the Pastor.

Jake was in the back of the Whaler, operating the throttle and steering lever with his right hand, his face intent. Spyder stood in the bow, his grin more forced, his hands holding the bow line. When the boat reached the mud of the shoreline, Spyder jumped to the shore with the line and pulled the boat up. Cathy stepped out, then Jake.

“That old lady is trying to scare us. I didn’t really think that she would go this far. She might of killed somebody.” He smiled viciously, staring at Spyder, “She wants trouble she’ll get plenty.”

“You should call the police,” said Cathy.

“Someone is going to get killed if this kind of thing keeps up,” said Frank.

“We’ll take care of it,” answered Jake.

“You better have something besides bones, professor,” said Jake, anger in his voice.

“We did find something interesting,” said Frank. Jake and Cathy followed Frank to the farmhouse. Maggie walked a few feet behind. The group entered the house, their weight causing the boards of the porch and the kitchen floor to creak. The kitchen light hanging from its black wire made the people’s shadows race against the stained walls, while moths flopped insanely against the glass of the bulb.

“You found a ship’s bell” said Cathy, pushing at the muddy edge of the artifact with the tip of her well shined but obviously soaked shoe.

“Cathy, it’s a very important find,” said Maggie. “We think it will tell us what the name of the ship was.”

“The ship’s name. How can you do that?” said Jake, squatting beside the object, his eyes suddenly showing intense interest.

“It can be done,” said Frank. “Jake, we can be sure of the importance of the site. It’s strange though. With a bell on board, this must have been a sizeable shipwreck. I just don’t understand why your family didn’t know about all this.”

Jake looked at Frank. “Don’t you get started on my family. That’s a little bit out of your line.”

“Sorry.” Frank pointed to a small patch of metalwork. “Here, look at this. On the surface of the bronze bell we think we’ll find some etched letters or numerals that will help us identify the ship. We have to clean and conserve this carefully though so that the remnants of any lettering aren’t lost when we clean it.”

Jake, acting the southern gentleman again, smiled. “I was telling your boss that it’s a real hard job to get anything out of the wreck that you can use.”

“We don’t have any capability to help you in our little office,” said Cathy.

“Well, I just wanted to show this to you,” said Frank.

“I wish I could help more,” said Cathy. “Maggie explains these things to me and tells me what she needs. I’m of course not an archaeologist by training but I try to understand.”

“We’ll try to clean it up some more tomorrow.”

“I hate to break up this party but as long as I was forced to come ashore with my guests,” said Jake, “I wanted to remind you all of my plans for the morning. Tomorrow morning, Frank,” asserted Jake. “I want you guys out of here. My bulldozer will start early.”

Cathy smiled. “I guess that’s it. We all know, shipwreck or no shipwreck, the bridge has got to be constructed. Maybe this bell could be a nice exhibit for a local museum in River Sunday.”

“Cathy,” said Maggie, “This wreck is old. It’s very important.”

“Maggie,” said Cathy, “The time has come to close the site. I can’t do any more for you. I’m sure Doctor Light will write an appropriate report. That’s my job. Maggie.”

“Looking over the construction work to be done, Spyder?” Frank asked. Spyder grinned without answering.

Frank decided to make one last appeal to Jake. “Can’t you see, Jake? This is something important. This is not a site like most of the ones I have worked on where there was no value, where it was easy to argue that it could be closed. Finding an old ship like this one is important to the history of this whole community. There was a true catastrophe here, a mystery. The puzzle should be solved. You’ve got to give us a few more days.”

Jake stopped and looked at Frank. The Pastor and Maggie went ahead with Cathy.

“What I don’t expect, don’t want to deal with, is people who change on me. You should have known though, Frank, that you can’t change your mind halfway through the job. Remember the army, Frank. How they taught you to follow orders. You were brought here to work on my team. You best remember that.”

Frank answered, feeling he was being forced. He did not like the feeling. “What if I don’t chose to remember?”

Jake went on, “I haven’t got time for this. My wife’s hurt. I got a lot of money riding on a bridge construction. Frank you are bought and paid for. Bought and paid for. You are here to do what I say when I say it. I don’t care what you call it.” He stared at Frank. “I had some doubts about you in the beginning when I read your resume.”

“You told me you found something you didn’t like.”

“More something I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand how a smart man like you could have ended up as a soldier in Vietnam. Then, I thought, this guy must have gone over there to make some money, maybe as a civilian contractor after his hitch was up. I know there was a lot of money to be made.”

“Your first impression was right,” said Frank. “I was not smart going over there. On the other hand, I served with some of the best men I’ll ever know and many of them gave their lives stopping bullets meant for me.”

Jake smiled, “I guess I should have looked more closely, followed my hunch. I sure picked the wrong man. No matter. Let me tell you what your report to the Maryland people is going to say, Frank. As the wise archaeology scholar from the world famous university, you have thoroughly reviewed the site. You have decided after two days of reconnaissance probes at the site that this old wreck is likely not of historical significance. While it might be old, you believe the age is too difficult to determine at this time. You also make note in this report that some bones have been found but it is almost impossible from their condition to determine whether they are human or animal. So based on two days of intensive work by yourself and another archaeologist, you feel comfortable with the bridge project proceeding as planned and will recommend that the site be filled.”

“I can’t write that, Jake,” said Frank.

“I expect to get a report like that from you before you leave tomorrow morning. I suggest you write it. If you don’t write it, I’ll have someone write it for you. If you don’t sign it, I’ll find another archaeologist who will sign it. I’m sure that will not be a problem. I’ll just have to make sure he’s a little better at taking orders than you were. As for you, cross me any more and I think you will find that your job back at that university of yours doesn’t get funding in future years. You may find also that no one is very interested in what you have to say or write in the future.”

Jake smiled and turned to walk toward the boat. He said over his shoulder, “Frank, without my friends helping you, you don’t exist. If you were the big scholar you’re pretending to be, I never would have hired you. I wanted someone who could compromise, who knew how to make a bargain.”

“I never thought we had a bargain, Jake.”

“I knew we had a deal the moment you got in that fancy BMW of yours to drive down here.”

Jake reached the side of the runabout, and Cathy reached out a steadying hand. The engine roared, cavitated the river water in a huge swirl of mud and seaweed. Bits of the weed landed at Frank’s feet. The boat then shot forward into the dark river night, towards the twinkle of the yacht lights a few hundred yards distant.

The Pastor, who had returned and had heard the last of Jake’s tirade, spoke. “Jake Terment never intended to let us study this site. His political pull has convinced your boss too, Maggie.”

“You heard my boss,” said Maggie. “She’s so wrapped up in preserving the department, she can’t hear anything else.”