Chapter 56
...- .- -. .. ... .... .. -. --.
Sitka, AK
Virgil stepped out of his boat onto the shore. There were no other boats in sight, and the small cove he had pulled into was isolated and gave him some privacy. The sunrise was just breaking and painted the sky a candy-apple red.
Red skies at night, sailors’ delight. Red skies at morning, sailors take warning.
A harbor seal popped its head up and looked at him curiously with its wide eyes.
He set his travel bag and briefcase out onto a rock and climbed back into the boat.
He grabbed his brand-new fishing rod and removed the tag and the wrap from the cork grip.
He took the minnow-shaped lure out of the box and immediately poked his finger with the sharp hook.
He sucked his tiny wound, then tied the shiny lure onto the end of the line.
He tried to cast the line out into the water, but the reel didn’t release and the lure snapped back and hit him in the head.
On his second try, the lure flew a few feet from the boat and splashed. Good enough.
He dropped the handle into one of the rod holders mounted on the side of the boat.
He opened his sack lunch and took one bite of the ham sandwich he’d prepared earlier.
He wasn’t hungry, and the taste almost made him gag.
He took one more bite, spit it overboard, set the sandwich at the helm near the steering wheel, then laid the bag in the seat, open.
Virgil looked around the boat one last time.
Convincing enough. He started the engine, pulled the throttle lever into reverse, and jumped over the side into the shallows as the boat began backing away.
Virgil waded ashore, then stood watching for several minutes as the boat idled backward out of the cove and into the open water.
Finally, it disappeared around the corner.
Rest in peace, Virgil Thomas Fellows.
Virgil walked into the woods above the shore and sat on a large rock as he removed his fishing clothes and boots.
He donned the three-piece suit he had carefully folded in his travel bag.
The suit smelled fresh, and his brand-new custom leather shoes felt stiff but looked sharp.
He hung the travel bag over one shoulder and picked up his briefcase with the other hand, then scrambled a short distance up to the deserted highway.
The steamship terminal was just a mile or so away.
With any luck, at this time of day, nobody would spot him on the road before he got to the ship.
Even if someone did, he was just a visiting businessman who had gone for a short morning walk before reboarding his ship.
He brushed the dirt from his shoes and continued down the gravel road, as he thought about how events would likely unfold.
Yesterday, he’d made a point to tell everyone he saw at the boat harbor about his plans to go fishing in his new boat.
He made sure some of the early-risers saw him in his fishing garb heading out at first light.
When his boat didn’t return, people would start to wonder.
With any luck, within a few days someone would find it, adrift or washed ashore, and would assume he had drowned. By that time, he’d be long gone.
Nobody but Virgil and Joe knew that Joe had skimmed and buried half the gold, if Joe was even telling the truth.
On a remote island like that, there was no chance of anyone stumbling onto it.
Virgil needed to keep his patience. The most successful businessmen were patient, he’d read that.
For now, he had plenty of cash to go back to St. Louis and set himself up in business.
He’d send for Juneau to come join him once he was safely there.
She was bound to jump at the chance. He could give her a new life as the wife of a wealthy businessman.
Then he could bide his time until the coast was clear and this Sam guy had given up looking for him, moved away, or died. Then he’d be able to search for Joe’s buried gold at his leisure—if it was there at all. Something to look forward to.
The SS Alaska was moored at the passenger terminal, making its monthly visit to exchange passengers and supplies. Steam belched from the stack, the ship’s 375-foot length extending beyond the small Sitka terminal dock on both ends.
It looked to Virgil like a new life.
A man in a well-pressed uniform bearing the logo “Alaska Steamship Company” was checking passenger boarding documents.
Virgil showed his ticket. “I have booked a first-class cabin. Virgil Thomas.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Thomas. Right up that gangplank—do you need a porter to help you with your bags?” The steward reached a hand for Virgil’s briefcase.
Virgil pulled the case back. “No, this is all I have. I travel light.” He felt the tightly packed stacks of cash shift inside the case. He turned so his travel bag was between him and the man.
“That’s a beautiful briefcase, Mr. Thomas. What sort of leather is it?”
“Thank you, sir. Alligator hide—finest available. Which way to my stateroom?”