LAST ASSAULT ON OAK ISLAND 28

Chapter 28

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Workmen were leaving the borehole as Miles strode to the dig site's office trailer that evening. For three days Saul had avoided him, absent most of the time, surrounded by the crew or engineers when he was available.

Miles stripped off his hardhat as he entered the trailer.

Saul was leaning over his desk, studying a map. Two engineers stood nearby and looked up from the map at Miles' entrance. Saul estimated his son's mood and dismissed the engineers.

Miles' glare stayed on Saul as the door closed behind the exiting engineers. "Did you set that fire?"

Saul pulled a few papers together on the desk. "Of course not."

"You did."

Saul held his stare. "You know I didn't. I watched a while, slipped some Doxanil in the water pot, and locked her in the tower. Nothing more, Miles." He poured two drinks and set one across the deck.

Miles did not take it.

"You know I wouldn't torch that girl."

Miles turned away, unsure, feeling Saul's eyes on the back of his neck.

"Is that what she put in your head? That your old man did it?"

Miles sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "No. She didn't say anything about you." He turned and shook his head when Saul nodded to the drink on the desk. "Maruso told her that it was old wiring."

Saul sat down. His attention went to the map on the desk. "Then that's what it was."

Miles watched Saul study the map.

His loyalties were in trouble.

The lighthouse beacon was on half an hour early that night. The weather service had called all day for high winds and rain, but not until supper did any signs of foul weather appear.

Lauren lay in bed that night, listening to the gale outside subside. It had reminded her eerily of the storm last Friday, except tonight she was in a comfortable bed instead of a dark, scorched lighthouse.

The impending weather was not the only news on the radio that night. Lucy Yearbright had sunk two more drills, breaking her lull in the drilling, this time farther south on her part of Lot 18. She would not go into detail about the exact locations, Lauren had noted during the radio report, but she did make a startling admission.

"I believe he could be right on that part," Lucy had said during the radio interview. "Saul Clemens has been wrong about a lot of things the last few years, but he's probably right there. We had over 1000 liters of water coming into the pit every minute. That's a lot of pressure, enough to push a sizable mass some distance, especially when you consider the length of time the Smith's Cove flood tunnel has been active."

At this point both Carlos and Rudy had given the broadcast their full attention, leaving the crock-pot chicken forlorn on their dinner plates.

"Saul's right; any treasure buried in the pit has migrated south," Lucy had continued over the radio, "but not as far as he's been saying. Even with the force of the water pressure all these years, any bulk would move between ten or fifteen meters, not the hundred meters he's been claiming. The flow from the South Shore tunnel, the pumps manned sporadically since 1803, all that would weaken the Smith's Cove flood force considerably."

Lauren knew it was not a new thought, but since this was the first time anyone had successfully blocked the flood tunnel from Smith's Cove, the force of the water pressure was again examined.

On the other hand, Saul had been insisting for three years—ever since he had lost the original pit site—that the treasure had been pushed south. Of course, Saul had also said it was Blackbeard's long lost treasure, and now he was claiming it was Kidd's.

A crash of thunder jolted Lauren back to the stuffy confines of the upper floor room. After-rumbles of the noise reverberated through the cottage. The humidity had increased since the ravaging wind had abated. The muggy rain slammed straight into the water sodden ground and the driving downpour was heavy on the roof.

She rolled onto her stomach and hugged the sheets closer. At the back of her mind was an uncomfortable ebb that moved like the tides at full moon. Surely Maruso had heard about the storm. It was forecast well in advance, unlike the last storm. He would know better than to get caught 200 miles out at sea on the dangerous shoals of Sable Island.

After dinner, she had seen many green and red running lights come in from the Atlantic, but was unable to tell if any of them belonged to the Second Wind.

She sighed. At least the tower light was strong and bright. There were no fog or high winds now to distort the beam. She threw off the sheet as the room suddenly became unbearably hot.

No tours tomorrow. That was good. It meant Carlos could devote the whole day to the diary.

Something big would break tomorrow. She could feel it.