Chapter 4
FOUR
“Tell me again why we’re not just buying a new machine?” Doyle held the back of the scooter, the ocean splashing against the shoreline as they drove east along the coastline.
He had to shout it, although she wasn’t driving fast, and who knew if she could actually hear him through her helmet?
She said nothing, so clearly not. Or maybe she just didn’t want to answer questions, like how did she come up with the fifty thousand dollars in her fanny pack? Yes, he knew she was a Pepper, and according to his brother Conrad, who was dating her younger sister, they had money.
But what was she doing here , working with him, raising support, if she already had enough to buy them an entire suite of medical equipment?
Ever since he’d gotten up this morning and gone down to the kitchen to find Rosa praying under her breath about something Tia might be getting into, the words if you give a mouse a cookie had been going through his mind.
This couldn’t end well, he knew it in his coiled gut, but apparently there was no talking Miss You’re-Not-the-Boss-of-Me out of her escapade.
So he hung on to the back of the scooter, his gut tightening with every mile closer to the S-7 complex.
He probably should have alerted Stein, but his brother had gone to town to talk to the local police about last night’s break-in. Which felt like the right move.
Doyle did have the diversion in the backpack that Stein had given him, so that might help too.
Tia seemed to know where she was going—and the HQ of S-7 wasn’t exactly hidden. Even now, he spotted it, a resort seated at the foot of the volcano, the tropical forest rising behind it, a smooth black-sand beach in front, spilling out to the ocean. The resort still bore the debris of the hurricane—palm trees, roofing material, sand and dirt spilling out of lower-story windows of the two main buildings, both two stories, balconies fronting every room. Shirts and pants hung, stirred by the breeze, vehicles parked on the former tiled pool deck, and the stone wall surrounding the complex now hosted barbed wire.
Book him a weekend in paradise ASAP. Doyle shook his head as she stopped, still a distance from the complex. He put his feet down to hold the bike as she turned to him.
“Let’s not get creative. We’ll ask to speak to Sebold, offer him the money, ask him to release Jamal. And hopefully he’ll also release the truck and the machines.”
“Tia—again, maybe we should leave this to the police.”
She cocked her head at him.
“Just... my gut says this isn’t going to go well. Sebold isn’t a man to reason with. First sign that your little plan is backfiring, we leave.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “But on my signal—not your gut .”
He raised an eyebrow, but she turned back around and hit the gas. He held on to the back, his legs tightening around her.
Listen, he’d gotten her out of trouble before by listening to his gut.
A guard stood at the gate, an AR-15 over his shoulder, and Doyle’s instincts rose up and called this thing stupid. But she drove right up, stopped, and raised her hands in surrender.
“I’d like to speak to Sebold.” She took off her helmet.
Doyle got off the bike and did the same. “And Kemar.”
The guard looked about sixteen, skinny, wearing cutoff jeans, ratty tennis shoes, and an oversized faded black shirt, some band name written on the front. He shouted to someone inside the gate. “Get the boss.”
Vines had crawled up the outside of the stone wall, tangling with the old bougainvillea, overgrown and spilling over the side. The scent of a campfire, meat cooking in the yard, lifted on the breeze.
Doyle spotted the Ford sitting outside the gate, parked near another entrance. Don’t worry, Duke, I’m coming for you.
The old Ford had reminded him of a vintage John Wayne movie his father loved.
Sebold showed up at the gate, holding what looked like a turkey leg. He wore a suit coat, ratty and open, no shirt underneath, and a pair of black suit pants, his bare feet in slides.
“You got my money?” He called her a name, but Tia didn’t flinch, just walked up to the gate, now opened by the guard.
“I do,” she said. “But I want Jamal. And my truck, my X-ray machine, and my ultrasound machine,”
He laughed and threw the turkey leg, and a couple of dogs pounced on it. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and walked out to her.
“Lemme see.” He extended his hand, flexing his fingers in a give it to me way.
She unstrapped her fanny pack. “Not until I see that Jamal is okay. And that my X-ray machine isn’t destroyed.”
He smiled with one side of his mouth, then glanced back at the guard and a few others who had gathered to watch.
Doyle spotted Keon standing with them, out of uniform, wearing a black T-shirt, the arms ripped off, jeans.
Sebold gestured to him. “Get me the kid.”
Doyle had stayed behind Tia and now glanced at the truck, back at Sebold. He’d dropped his pack off one shoulder, the front pouch unzipped. Just in case.
“Let him go!” Kemar’s voice preceded him as Keon dragged Jamal by the shirt to the entrance. Kemar stumbled, running after them.
Jamal clawed at Keon’s grip, fighting, then froze when he spotted Doyle. He stood, wiped his face with his hands. “Mr. D!”
“Shut up, kid!” Sebold said and reached out for him, dragging him by one arm.
“Please, Sebold!” Kemar ran up behind him, grabbed Jamal’s other arm.
Doyle saw it coming before it happened. Run, Kemar! But he couldn’t get the words out before Sebold turned and hit the kid.
Kemar fell to the dirt, bleeding, backing away, his face wrecked.
Stay down, Kemar . But Doyle jerked, ready to launch at Sebold.
His hand closed on the canister in the outer pocket of the pack.
“Show me my money,” Sebold growled to Tia.
“Not without Jamal.”
Keon had backed away, his gaze hard on Tia’s. Then he looked at Doyle, and weirdly, gave the smallest shake of his head.
Yeah, Doyle thought she was brazen too, but right now, he was team Tia, thank you .
“Take the kid.” Sebold shoved Jamal toward Tia.
Kemar shouted, scrambled to his feet. “No—no?—”
Sebold turned, and Kemar caught his breath, held up his hands, stepped back. But his expression twisted—fury, helplessness, pain?—
Despite his stupidity, he clearly loved his brother.
Tia caught Jamal, put him behind her, then held out the fanny pack.
No—Tia—don’t ? —
Sebold swiped it, opened it, and the hope on Tia’s face could made Doyle ill.
The man nodded, zipped the pack shut, smiled. “Price just went up.”
It took a second, a long, brutal second, for Tia to gasp, to shake her head. “That’s... that’s all I have.”
Interesting.
“I don’t want your money,” Sebold said, hanging the fanny pack over his shoulder. “I want my gold.”
Gold?
He turned to Kemar, laughed, turned back to Tia. “The kid told me you’re hunting a pirate treasure—” He thumped his chest. “My treasure.”
“I don’t have a treasure,” Tia said, and Doyle had to give her credit for not letting her voice break.
“Then find it,” Sebold said. He leaned in. “It belongs to me, and I want it back.”
Doyle pulled the pin from the canister and depressed the lever.
“I don’t know—I don’t have any idea where?—”
“Find it, or Jamal isn’t going anywhere!”
The skinny guard raised the AR-15.
Nope, nobody was getting killed today. Not on his watch?—
Doyle threw the smoke grenade.
The place exploded, a cloud of dark fog bursting from the grenade. Sebold shouted and Doyle grabbed Jamal.
“C’mon!” He sprinted to the Ford, half-carrying Jamal. Please let Tia be behind him—“Get in!” Shoving Jamal into the center, he leaned down and pried open the steering column case, still loose from his first go-round at the harbor.
Tia barreled into the passenger side. “This is crazy! You’re going to get us killed!”
He found the dangling ignition wires he’d stripped, touched them together. Sparks, and the motor churned, then turned over. He twisted the wires together.
More gunfire, and he pushed Jamal down, shouted at Tia—“Get down!”
Then he hit the gas. The truck shot out of the shade, toward the road, and he deliberately hit the scooter, disabling it as he spat dirt down the driveway.
“What are you doing ?”
He glanced at her. “Saving lives.” He grabbed up Jamal, wishing this old rig had a seatbelt. “Hang on to him.”
Tia put her arm around the boy, her hand on the dashboard. “Slow down!”
He’d hit the main road, glanced in the rearview mirror. No tail, and he let out a breath and eased off the gas.
Beside him, she said nothing, her jaw tight.
“What?”
“I just think—maybe you should be less... I don’t know?—”
“Brave? Daring? Heroic?”
“Impulsive! Are you kidding me? I could have negotiated ?—”
“With what ? He had your money. And in a second, he was about to grab Jamal again. We got the truck—and Jamal. And that’s enough. We’ll buy an X-ray machine, Tia. Sheesh, if you can’t afford it, Declan will?—”
“No!” She looked at him, and were those tears glazing her eyes? “Don’t. I’ll figure this out?—”
He turned onto the highway and picked up speed. “What is wrong with you? This is not on you, Tia. For crying in the sink, we were robbed. At the very least, our insurance?—”
“We don’t have insurance.” She gritted her teeth, looked away. “The policy lapsed over a year ago. I should have checked when we ordered the machine. Anyway, yeah. That’s on me. And so is this entire fiasco. I should have done this myself, like I planned. Alone. I could have paid them off at the harbor?—”
“Are you even listening to yourself? I walked in on them nearly going to—” He glanced at Jamal, who had sat up, staring at them like they were squabbling parents, horror in his brown eyes. Doyle sighed. “They weren’t going to stop at extortion.”
She swallowed, and again looked away.
“You know that, right?”
Her hand went to her cheek, and she wiped away a tear. “I shouldn’t be here. This was a bad idea.”
Oh. “Yes. We should have let Stein handle?—”
“No. I mean here. On this island. Doing this job. I’m...” She shook her head. “I made another bad decision.”
“Another? As in... what? Yes, you shouldn’t have gone to Sebold, but that was... okay, it might have worked, maybe?—”
“No.” She looked at Jamal, smiled. “I shouldn’t have thought I could do this. I believed something about myself that”—sighing—“clearly isn’t true. And now I’m putting everyone in jeopardy.”
And he so wanted to reach out, take her hand, track down what on earth she meant. But Jamal turned to her. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss T. I was really scared.”
“Me too, Jamal,” she said, and then looked over at Doyle. “But Doyle wasn’t, was he?”
Oh really? That’s what she thought?
“Mr. D is sick.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I think that means good,” she said, and offered a slight smile.
“You’re sick too, Miss T.”
She wrinkled her nose at him.
What did she believe about herself that wasn’t true? The question sat inside him as they turned onto the road above the village, toward Hope House. Even after they pulled up and spotted Stein standing near the gate with a couple other men and Declan Stone, along with his sister and even Rosa. They stood in a circle, Austen with her hands on her hips, Stein’s arms folded, Declan looking out toward the sea. One man wore a uniform, and as Doyle got out and closed the door, he recognized the other as Indiana Hemsworth Jones, the bespectacled archaeologist from the party, the man with the pirate story. He’d overheard him telling the story while he’d been searching the boys’ dormitory.
And then he got it. Kemar had probably heard the story too and brought it to Sebold. Hence the crazy demand for some legendary gold.
Jamal ran into the courtyard, and Rosa caught the boy into her embrace and led him inside, probably ready to fill him with corn porridge.
Doyle glanced at Tia, who had shoved her hands into her pockets, walking over to Declan, her mouth a grim line.
And the sudden, brutal thought hit him— wait, was she going to resign?
He caught up to her, walked beside her, his voice cut low. “Just take a breath. Everything is going to be fine.”
She frowned at him but pursed her lips, nodded.
He retracted the urge to take her hand and followed her up to the powwow. “Stein. Declan.” He gave Austen a side hug in greeting. “What’s going on?”
“You tell us,” said Stein, his arms still folded. “This is Chief Renault DuCasse. He says you were at the S-7 compound.”
Doyle said nothing, the words falling through him like a stone.
“We have a man embedded in the crew,” the chief said. “And he nearly had to blow his cover because of you.”
Oh.
“My fault,” said Tia. “I... had this stupid idea to...” She drew in a breath, looked at Declan. “They broke into the clinic last night and kidnapped two of our kids?—”
“One. Kemar went willingly,” Doyle said, his mouth tight. “Or it looked like it.”
“He stole our new X-ray machine, along with narcotics and the portable ultrasound machine,” Tia continued, not looking at Doyle. “I’m sorry. I?—”
“This is not your fault, Tia,” Declan said. “We can replace the machines. I can’t replace you.” He put a hand on her shoulder.
Funny how his words crested over her, the way she swallowed, a strange vulnerability flashing across her face. Then it vanished, and You’re Not the Boss of Me resettled on her face. Or at least, she faked it well when she said, “I have a plan. Don’t worry—I got this.”
Declan raised an eyebrow. “You let me know how I can help.” He looked at Doyle. “I’m bringing a small private security team in, just for now, until the local police can take down S-7. Next time something like this happens, don’t deal with it yourself—I don’t need to lose you either.”
Funny, the words affected him too, landing in unfamiliar soft soil. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll see you at the dive this afternoon? And both of you at tonight’s dinner, for the presentation?”
Doyle nodded. Austen walked over to him, put her hands on his shoulders. “Stein is supposed to be the one who scares us.” Then she kissed his cheek and followed Declan to his golf cart.
Tia was looking at him, her expression almost shaken. Then she turned to Indiana Jones. “Can we talk?”
And Doyle didn’t know why, but the words simply grabbed him up and tightened his gut, and he knew, just knew, this wasn’t over.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Ethan Pine gave Tia a searching look as she opened the monastery’s library door. The light filtered in through two tall windows that overlooked the rising volcano, and a slight breeze sifted the gathering humidity of the day, along with the scent of jungle and ocean.
Okay? She’d left okay somewhere in the dust back at the S-7 compound. But maybe she would be. She just had to stay strong. “Are you sure that you can find something about the Trident treasure in here?”
The library contained books donated to the children over the years. She had already found a few of her favorites, a time-travel book called Ghosts that had ignited her love of history, and of course all of the Walter Farley Black Stallion books, which had prompted her to beg her father (unsuccessfully) for a horse.
Along one wall, old books sat behind glass, the history of the island—and the monastery—bound in cracked leather volumes, along with Bibles and scholarly texts that Hope House had inherited. At least according to Rosa and Anita.
“According to the biography of Henry van der Meer, he kept a journal during his time here and left it behind when he returned to Holland and bought a haberdashery. The haberdashery grew, and today it’s one of Holland’s biggest department-store chains. His family says he started it with a gold-laden azure locket that he said he found during his travels.”
Ethan was a good-looking man, had an adventurer’s aura, save for the round professor glasses, which he pushed up on his nose before reaching for his phone. In a moment, he flashed her a picture of an oval locket. It seemed crafted from a solid piece of burnished gold in a delicate filigree, something she might have seen in a historical photograph. Set in the center was a deep blue stone with veins of light blue, encircled by diamonds. The locket might take up the entire palm of her hand.
“This is called the Duchess’s Locket. It belonged to the Duchess Eleanora Maria of Valmont, a noblewoman from the 1700s, in Prussia. She was the only daughter of the Duke of Valmont and his wife, Duchess Isabella, and was given this on the day of her marriage to Duke Frederic of Middleburg, Holland.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
He pocketed the phone. “The locket was stolen during a trip to New Holland—now Brazil—when their East Indian ship was sacked by the Trident . Henry was a sailor on that ship.”
“And that’s why you think the pirate loot survived... Because the locket resurfaced when Henry van der Meer returned to Holland.”
He touched his nose. “Why he didn’t bring the entire treasure back is the question.”
“Maybe he feared getting caught?”
“Perhaps.” He had gone to the bookcase, looking at the titles. “Or, and this is my theory, the pirate who sacked the ship, the one that vanished, actually lived. And Henry had to hide the treasure from him. Maybe the locket was the only thing he could safely recover and steal.” He pointed to a book, the leather worn and broken along the spine. “Can I see that one?”
She unlocked the door and pulled it out. Small, the size of a mass-market novel, the pages were thick, watermarked, and uneven. She should probably be wearing gloves.
Ethan pulled out a pair of black fabric gloves and put them on. He took the book and set it on the table.
Inked writing, cursive and small. She leaned over him. “Can you read that?”
“Barely, but yes.” He pulled out his phone and opened the camera. “This is better. And, yes, I believe this is from the hand of Henry van der Meer.” He handed her the phone. “Look at this.”
She centered the camera where he pointed. At the bottom of the page, initials— H.V.D.M. “How did you know?—”
He closed the book and showed her the spine, where a stamp had been pressed into the leather. “My guess is that this is homemade. It’s probable that Henry carried a stamp with him to emboss letters. Which made him not a crewmate but someone of importance. From my records, a lawyer. And you know how lawyers are.”
“They like to keep track of events.”
He pulled out a chair. “Let’s see what I can find out.”
“We,” she said.
He looked up at her.
“Mr. Pine, to be clear, if you do find anything, it’s not your property.” She hated to sound prickly, but she needed the leverage.
His mouth tightened at the edges.
“You can’t seriously think that you can come in here, use our resources to find the gold, then cart it away as if it’s finders keepers.”
“I’ll be invoking the Treasure Trove Law.”
“Yes, but if it’s found on monastery land, it belongs to Hope House.”
“Not if I’ve filed a THRC permit.”
She hadn’t seen that in her online search. “A what?”
“Treasure Hunters’ Rights and Compensation Act permit. It gives me permission to search and, if a treasure is found, to realize a portion of it. In the case of Mariposa law, it’s fifty percent.”
He pulled out a chair. “I did the math on this, and it’s in the tens of millions. I’ll be happy to take my fifty percent.”
Oh.
He looked at her. “However, the THRC does say that if it’s found on private land, the owner of that land can claim up to thirty percent. The rest after that goes to the country where it’s found, unless, of course, Holland sues Mariposa.” He offered a smile. “So...” He patted the chair next to her.
She pulled it out. “I’ll hold the phone. You read.”
He opened the book. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He read aloud: “‘August 12, 1702. Today marks a month since the tempest that shattered our vessel against the rocks. I, Henry van der Meer, once a lawyer in the bustling streets of Amsterdam, find myself captive to fate’s terrible decree. The pirates who seized our cargo intended for the New World took me prisoner, only to meet their doom in Neptune’s wrath. Amidst the chaos, I clung to a splintered plank, praying for deliverance. By some miracle, amongst the ruin and despair, a chest from the ship’s hold—filled with gold meant for the New World—washed up beside me. Morning light brought salvation ashore, though I lay at death’s door, the chest hidden beneath seaweed and stone.’”
Ethan looked over at her. “I knew it.”
She smiled, but weirdly the words seeped into her.
He turned more pages, skimming, then, “‘October 3, 1702. The brothers of Saint Augustine’s cloister discovered me, nearly dead, on their rocky beach. They knew nothing of the chest, now secreted away, as they nursed me back to health. These weeks, enveloped in monastic calm, have revealed a treasure I had not anticipated—the peace of a quiet mind. The simple rhythms of prayer and labor soothe the tempests within. I am healing, nurtured not only by broth and bread but by a serenity that the world beyond these walls seems to lack.’”
She seemed to lack. Her own words slunk back to her. “I shouldn’t have thought I could do this. I believed something about myself that clearly isn’t true.”
Like that she could start over, become a woman who didn’t make terrible decisions that ended up hurting the people she loved.
“Here’s one from June 15, 1705. ‘Three years have woven me into the fabric of monastic life, a tapestry rich with contemplation and brotherhood. All the same, beneath this cloth of peace rests a weight, a shadow that haunts me. Rumors from occasional traders whisper that the pirate captain, thought drowned, yet lives. I shudder to think what pursuit might ensue should he learn of my refuge and the gold’s hiding place, now deep within the monastery’s seldom-used storerooms.’”
Ethan made a sound of triumph, looked at her. “I knew it.”
Tia shook her head. “Sorry, but the storerooms were redone after the earthquake. Refrigeration added, new shelving. I can guarantee that there is no eighteenth-century chest of gold in our pantry.”
“Listen to this,” Ethan said. “‘March 29, 1707. Curiosity led me today through an ancient, overgrown path the monks seldom wander, and I happened upon a hidden tunnel, its walls weeping with sulfur. With this discovery, I’ve moved the chest into the depths of the sulfur tunnel, secured in a narrow shaft.’”
Ethan looked at her, then out the window at the volcano, and he blinked, startled. “Of course. The sulfur mines. For years the island operated a sulfur-mining operation. It’s defunct now—but the mountain is cut with lava-made tunnels filled with sulfur.”
“Sulfur? Why mine sulfur?”
“Otherwise known as brimstone.” He was paging through the book. “Used for gunpowder, and today, fertilizer and rubber and even antibiotics. Here: ‘January 22, 1710. An earthquake last night, fierce as the wrath of God, has sealed the entrance to the sulfur tunnel and shaken our island to its core. The chest, with its bounty, is now entombed within, perhaps forever hidden from greedy hands. The abbey stands, but my heart feels the tremor of discovery. The pirate’s shadow looms larger in my restless dreams, and I sense it is time to leave this sanctuary. Alas, I must leave the treasure in its security, but I will take pieces with me to promise me an advantageous future. Tomorrow, I embark once more into the unknown, carrying with me the indelible mark of monastic peace, yet driven by the unresolved echoes of my past life.’”
Unresolved echoes . Yeah, she could relate to that.
Ethan closed the book. “It’s still in the sulfur mines.”
“It says the entrance was destroyed by the earthquake. And that was three hundred plus years ago. No way are we going to find it?—”
“O ye of little faith.” He reached for his phone and took a picture of the page. Then the previous one. “Let me take care of that.” He stood up and put the book back onto the shelf. Shut the glass and turned to her.
“I keep my promises, Tia. If I find this treasure and it’s on Hope House land, it’s partly yours.”
Oh. And the way his pale blue eyes landed on her, the smile—she wanted to believe him. She held out her hand. “Partners.”
He took it, his hand enveloping hers. “Partners. Now, why don’t you show me that medical clinic, and we’ll see what we can do to get you back up and running.”
She closed the library, Ethan walking out ahead of her, and she couldn’t help but spot Doyle, down in the yard. He was seated on the fountain, Jamal standing in front of him, and for a second, she was in the truck with him, holding on as they sped away from Sebold and the camp.
Yeah, she could have gotten them killed.
And Doyle had somehow yanked her out of disaster again. And then they’d gotten out of the truck, her job—her future—vanishing at the sight of Declan talking to the police, and he’d somehow kept her from unraveling. His blue eyes on hers, camaraderie in his gaze. “Just take a breath. Everything is going to be fine.”
Below, he held up his fist and Jamal bumped it. Then he reached out, and Jamal went into his arms, a quick hug.
“You coming, partner?”
She looked up. Oh, Ethan stood at the stairs. Right.
But as she followed him, she couldn’t dodge the strangest sense that somehow, she’d betrayed her real partner.