LAST ASSAULT ON OAK ISLAND 3
Chapter 3
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Saul was out of the shower and at his desk when Miles stepped into the office trailer. An urgent concern veiled Miles’ eyes as he estimated his father. It was a prematurely old look on the lanky youth yet to turn twenty, but Miles had learned to wear it. However, that relief was tempered with a weary frustration.
Noise from the drilling rig subdued as he shut the door.
Saul looked up. “You get the report?”
Miles dropped a large envelope of papers on the desk, running a hand through his white-blond hair. “MacClure told me what happened. You all right, Dad?”
Saul nodded, frowning at the new paperwork. “But Larsen’s gone. The drunk.”
Miles sunk into a chair opposite the desk. “How bad is it?”
Saul shrugged, flipping through a few pages of the report, pausing at the last page. “About fifteen meters squeezed shut. We can pump it out, jack it open and weld enough new plating in by the end of the week.” He tossed the report to Miles' side of the desk.
“Rudy has company. Americans, I think. Maruso’s girl and her old man.” Miles didn’t take the report, letting it rest on the desk edge.
“Is that what we’re supposed to think?”
Miles shrugged, finally taking the report and thumbing through it. He frowned at the final page. “You said to watch Rudy, and that’s what I seen. Maybe they are just company.”
“And maybe they’re not.” Saul took the report his son handed him. “You ever see Rudy in a library until three weeks ago? He’s been getting a lot of mail from a museum in Pennsylvania. Does that sound like our lightkeeper?” He looked at the last page of the report again, large hands tight on the paper. “I tell you, he’s got something. A map.”
“Museums don’t cater much to Blackbeard stories, Dad,” Miles said dryly.
Saul’s face darkened immediately, but Miles continued before he could speak.
“Okay. Sorry.” Miles sent a hand through his hair, half wanting to pull out a handful. “What do you want me to do? Charter a fishing trip on the Second Wind? Ask Rudy for a tour of the lighthouse?”
Saul exchanged the report for a cigar from a worn wooden box on the desk. “I was thinking about the girl.”
“What if she really is Maruso’s old girlfriend?”
Saul spat the cigar end into a dead plant by the wall. “Who just happens to be up here with a museum rep? Think about it, Miles. And remember,” he added thickly, “half this operation is your baby.”
Rudy heated up a stew for supper as he and his visitors discussed the journal that evening. There were many other avenues he could have taken to translate the diary. He could have attempted it himself with a good Anglo-Saxon dictionary, but any of the local linguistic sources would recognize the crude code from the rock found in the pit. Something like that would lead to publicity and perhaps even theft of the diary itself.
Carlos and the museum were Rudy’s primary choice because Carlos was an old friend, going back to their days as childhood friends on the east coast during summer visits. The museum had been persuaded to finance the research in exchange for first option to purchase the find and could guarantee a scientific study absent during the first 150 years of the pit’s life.
Maruso glanced between Carlos and Lauren. “Saul Clemens’ operation is organized, but the main concern is the treasure, not the search itself. There hasn’t been an authoritative interest in a long time.”
“We’ll change that,” Carlos said, nodding. “Hopefully.”
“Valuable artifacts and clues as to who dug the pit and when are chewed up in drills the size of tree trunks,” Rudy said, stirring the pot of spicy stew. “What few remnants of miscellaneous debris Clemens found, the drill destroys by the time they come to the surface.”
“And he’s just one of the operations?” Lauren asked.
Maruso leaned back in his chair, watching her attention on Rudy. “One of two, both big.”
She looked to him. “Why two? There’s only one real location, right?”
He shrugged. “Lots of holes on this island.”
“No one takes Yearbright lightly,” Rudy said. “Especially not Saul.”
He related Lucy Yearbright’s story from day one as he served bowls of the pungent stew that had been simmering on the stove since Carlos and Lauren’s arrival.
The Allied Gavens-Yearbright Group was conducting a more conscientious operation, consulting a botanist, geologist and other experts from the National Museum of Natural History in Ottawa. The group had been formed three years ago by Allen Gavens and Lucy Yearbright, but had since become the latter’s mission when Gavens was killed by poisonous fumes from the pit a year ago. It was yet another life the pit had claimed, a total of six. The lethal gas, tentatively labeled as methane, had caused another near-fatal accident only months ago.
Lucy Yearbright was the great-granddaughter of one of the original founders of the pit and from Maruso’s description of the stocky woman, Lauren concluded that nothing short of God or the woman’s own demise would bring her drills to a halt. Her operation was guarded day and night by armed men.
It was rumored, according to both Rudy and Maruso, that some of Yearbright’s findings were kept secret, even from the museum which helped sponsor her operation. Local gossip also claimed the geologist and an analyst from the Toronto Stock Exchange and Yearbright were going to omit the museum completely should a treasure be found.
Maruso didn’t believe the hearsay. “Lucy wouldn’t throw in with anyone. She’d cut everyone out.”
“I agree,” Rudy added.
By this time he and Carlos were smoking pipes after a supper of what he had called salmagundi. It was a salad type of stew with anchovies, pickled eggs, onions, and shredded meat covered with chopped tomatoes and hot peppers. Between the spicy dinner and Rudy’s tendency to throw whiskey into everyone’s beverage, Lauren’s gums were raw. The tiny kitchen’s curtains were still pulled. The clock on the wall was striking eight as the day’s light faded lower outside. The drilling subsided.
Carlos puffed on his pipe for a moment, considering what had been said about Clemens and Yearbright. “Those are the only major operations?”
“There are others,” Maruso said, “but nothing on such a grand scale. Small-time treasure hunters, reporters for fortune magazines, tourists, the usual dowsers and supposed reincarnated members from Captain Kidd’s crew.” He chuckled, rubbing the dark stubble at his chin. “Some of the lots are leased out to that sort.”
“The eclectic fringe,” Carlos said with a nod. He looked to Rudy. “Bring it out.”
Rudy had just got to his feet when someone knocked at the front door in the sitting room. He didn’t have to tell them again that Carlos’ presence was to be kept confidential, especially after he introduced the new guest.
Lauren looked to Carlos, who was frowning. Maruso’s face was set in what she could only call dismay.
“Hello, Miles. Come in.” Rudy put on a pleasant face as he ushered in a tall, blond young man just verging on full adulthood. “Miles, I’d like you to meet an old colleague of mine, Carlos Meade, and his daughter Lauren.” Rudy gestured a hand to the table where his visitors sat.
Miles was looking at Lauren.
“You know Captain Maruso, I believe,” Rudy said. “This is Miles Clemens. His father is running one of the Money Pit operations on the island.”
Miles’ attention left Lauren and he grinned, reaching across the table to shake Carlos’ hand. He grabbed an extra chair from the sitting room that was only an arm’s length away and set it beside Lauren. “Glad to meet you. Up for the anniversary?”
“Not particularly, but it sounds like quite an event,” Carlos said easily, puffing quicker on his pipe.
“It is. Good business, too, if you’ve got money in the tourist angle of it.” Miles gave Lauren a smile. “I couldn’t help noticing company on the island.”
Caught by surprise at his abruptness, she simply nodded. She was still mentally stumbling over Rudy’s use of Carlos’ last name. “We just got here.”
Maruso’s attention hadn’t left Miles since he arrived. “Miles doesn’t go to the mainland much.”
This comment slid obliquely by Miles, or maybe he chose to ignore it. His expression remained unchanged, focused on Lauren. “I can give you a tour of our operation tomorrow, if you don’t have any plans,” he offered, glancing at Maruso, seeming to expect something.
Maruso leveled a steady stare on him, but said nothing. His hand closed around his tea cup tighter.
Miles looked back to Lauren. “Can I pick you up around ten tomorrow?”
She turned to Carlos, picking up on the deft hints Rudy had dropped. “Dad, do you need me tomorrow morning?”
Carlos was puffing on the pipe like a train now. “No. Go ahead. Enjoy yourself.”
She returned Miles’ saccharine smile. “Ten o’clock is fine.”
“Good.” Miles was immediately on his feet. “Well, I’ve got to get back. Just thought I’d be neighborly. See you tomorrow, Lori.”
“Lauren,” she corrected, pasting her slipping smile back in place.
He nodded and saw himself out.
When Miles was gone, Rudy excused himself to check on the light in the tower.
“Miles isn’t a very good liar,” Lauren said, leaning one elbow on the table, gaze on Carlos. “Is the pit the only reason to come to this island?”
“It is a tourist attraction,” Maruso reminded.
“Clemens probably thinks you’ll be the easiest path to any information we may have,” Carlos said with a sigh.
She frowned. “Why would he think we’re here about the pit?”
“Rudy kind of dropped Brielle’s name,” Maruso said.
“Of course, you know how to keep quiet,” Carlos told her.
She nodded. “I’ve played your daughter before.”
“Yes, and admirably,” he said. Conscious of Maruso interested glance, he looked to him. “What do you know about Miles?”
Maruso shrugged. “There’s not much to know. His pop runs the second largest operation the island. Miles knows as much as the old man himself, but he won’t tell you anything tomorrow of any real importance,” he said to Lauren. “It’ll be a token tour, rehashing common knowledge and tourist type information. Like the stuff they print up in the publicity brochures. But he will try to find out why you and Carlos are really here.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think he believes we’re visiting Rudy?”
“I don’t know. He’s got a habit of keeping a blank face. Permanently. Besides, if Saul Clemens thinks you two are up here for the pit in the manner you really are, it won’t matter what Miles believes,” Maruso explained. “They’re not a very trusting lot.”
Carlos frowned. “She won’t be in any danger?”
“Not from Miles. Not where the pit is concerned.”
Carlos drew on the pipe, satisfied. “Rudy said Clemens was already suspicious of him. Do they know about the diary?”
Maruso shook his head. “No, but Rudy’s visit to the library and retaining me for transportation has raised questions.”
Rudy returned, looking flushed and anxious. He disappeared into the parlor for a long moment before coming back with an old shoe box. He placed it on the table before those seated and took the lid off.
“Who knows he hired you?” Carlos asked Maruso.
“No one,” Rudy answered, sitting down again. “We needed a reason for Captain Maruso to be frequenting the lighthouse so we made up a story about him and Lauren.”
“Now wait a minute,” Lauren began, but was cut off by Maruso.
“It’s nothing torrid,” he said hastily. “Rudy simply mentioned to a few of the local gossips that we were involved at one time.”
Playing the role of Carlos’ daughter was one thing, but an old flame for Maruso quite another. She recalculated what she judged of his age. Apparently, Rudy thought she was older than she really was. She noticed that Carlos avoided looking at her.
“You can work out the details later,” he said. “Let’s take a look at this before it turns to dust.”
Lauren retired later to the semi-existent room on the second floor made up for her needs. Carlos had the room across from her, and while it was larger, the difference wasn’t by more than a couple square feet. There was little head room in the cubicle of bedroom because of the angled ceiling. It had seen better and much younger days, but she could tell that Rudy had made an attempt at tidying up the twin bed. She set her steno pad with her most recent notes on the small lamp stand beside it.
She untied her ponytail that had become hopelessly tangled during the boat ride around the island and ran a few fingers through the mass of brunette hair, ending in a large knot. She gave up and tried to open the sole window wider, but it refused to budge more than the few inches it already had.
Ignoring the suitcases by the small chest of drawers, she sat down on the patchwork quilt covered bed and leaned against the wall. The heat was stifling, and she could feel the dust ease into her lungs.
She closed her eyes, thinking back on the caustic supper and promising journal left by Brielle.
The diary had been in rough shape. It suffered from dry-rot and mold, and some whole passages of inked text were obliterated. Several entries mentioned Claude Brielle’s mistress, one Baroness Lavinia Edwards, and Carlos wanted the woman’s heirs approached for possible leads.
Lauren sat up and made a mental note to contact the Edwards and Brielle estates and to send samples of the journal to the museum lab for tests. She picked up the steno pad and glimpsed over her notes. The first legible date had been May 1, 1777; the last was October of the same year.
It was sketchy evidence at best and a stab in the dark at worst. She figured other treasure hunters had gone on a lot less in the past, but a museum-backed operation?
A knock came to her nearly closed door.
“Come in,” she said. The door opened more and she looked up from her notes to see Maruso.
“Carlos said this one is yours.” He set another suitcase beside the other bags against the wall.
She stood up. “Thanks.”
“I apologize for the story Rudy concocted about us,” he said. “I was going to say something about Miles’ invitation – to make it look real – but I got the impression they hadn’t told you about the idea yet and I figured it would only confuse you. And embarrass us both.”
“It would have.” He looked enormous in the small room and the ceiling was too low for him to stand straight. She looked around, seeing no chair. “Sit down. Please.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to be going. I just wanted to know if there’s anything I should know. About you,” he added, “in case anyone asks.”
“I can’t think of anything right now. Oh, I meant to ask, what’s your first name?”
“Lewis.”
“Lewis?”
He laughed, hitting his head on the ceiling. “You don’t have to use it. No one does. But don’t call me captain or skipper, either.”
“Right.”
He nodded to the window. “You want that open?”
“Please.”
He pulled the window open with a quick jerk. Out it night was falling. “I’m surprised Rudy got it open at all. Climbing that tower is going to kill him one day.”
She recalled the lightkeeper’s labored breathing earlier. “He did look a bit winded tonight.”
“Yeah.” He turned to leave. “Goodnight.”
After he left, Lauren pulled down the ripped shade on the window and changed clothes for bed, which proved awkward in the cramped space of the room. She flicked off the lamp. Light from the tower illuminated the room well enough through the cracks in the shade, but she still hit her forehead on the slanted ceiling as she reached for a suitcase.
She didn’t like the arrangements Rudy had made with Maruso. It could be worse, she thought, recalling some of the other skippers she had seen on the West Winds dock. At least Rudy hadn’t picked an old salt with a peg leg or patch over his eye.
She lay down on the bed, finding the mattress surprisingly comfortable. The spicy stew from supper was still burning a hole in her stomach. She tried to remember where she had heard of salmagundi before.
Maruso wasn’t too bad a choice, she admitted. And she had to give Miles some credit for not backing down from what – for all appearances – amounted to asking the large captain’s ex-girlfriend out right beneath his nose.
Saul must have some pull over his son to orchestrate that, she decided.
She sighed. Clemens was going with the pirate treasure theory. That promised to make for an interesting tour.
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