David Leadbeater: Caribbean Gold

“What are you looking for? What have you found? Why are you here? Are there more of you? C’mon, man, just answer me one for now.”

Vague questions, Healey thought. Of course the main boss would be questioning Crouch. These were underlings, allowed to play.

“We came here to view the yard,” Healey told him. “To rent a container.”

“You can’t do that, man. Containers belong to shipping company.”

Healey spread a palm as best he could. “But clearly you can.”

“Who’s your contact?”

Healey ran through the information they’d picked up just before setting off on this ill-fated exercise. Crouch was the kind of man that kept a contact in every city — every port as it were. Upon arrival in Jamaica he had sent out the feelers then sat back and waited for the hits to come in. Anything connected with the incredible find or the treasure they’d already hauled up. Anything revolving around Captain Henry Morgan or the people that were involved in the search. Trees shook. Calls were placed. Dirty money smeared across greasy palms. In the end, a trickle of information and then a hot tip had come in. An informant would meet them at the Montego Bay port…

And here they were.

Clearly, the criminal element was high and invested in some kind of enterprise. The bad news for them was — Crouch and his crew now knew.

“We don’t have any contact,” Healey said, for want of saying something different. “Clearly you guys have your ears to the ground. You should know.”

The man in charge frowned as if struggling to understand Healey’s turn of phrase. “You came here for a reason though, didn’t you? How about you tell me why.”

Healey realized he should probably have kept quiet. These situations always ended up with a question he couldn’t handle. He wondered just how far they’d take it. He’d already tested his bonds and the ties were secure. Not unbreakable given the right moment, but the pain was going to have to be worth the payoff.

“Maybe you should ask the girl,” one of the guys said.

Healey stiffened immediately, a movement not unnoticed by Jake, who shrugged. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Healey stayed quiet. There was no good end to these questions.

“Bring her here,” Jake drawled.

Healey turned as best he could in the chair, torn between a need to protect Caitlyn Nash and the knowledge that he should remain impassive. Caitlyn was a strong woman, she’d fought through her fair share of tragedy, but a volatile situation like this should be avoided.

“Tell me,” Jake said softly as Caitlyn was propelled forward and deposited in a wooden chair next to Healey. “We won’t be taking silence for an answer.”

Healey tried not to look at Caitlyn, more conscious than ever now of his feelings for his colleague. They walked these dangerous paths every day; they knew the potential outcomes of every mission. But sometimes… just sometimes… a desperate situation really drove it home.

“We’re here to rent,” Caitlyn backed Healey’s words up, hollow though they were. “Just a container or two.”

Jake let out a breath and checked his watch. “Boss gave us a couple hours with you two. We’re stepping it up.”

He nodded at an underling who stepped forward, fists bunched. Healey saw his intentions in an instant and tried to jump up.

“No!”

“We don’t want to do this,” Jake said.

“Let her be!” Healey wrenched at his bonds, struggling hard. The chair rocked a little, fighting its bolts. Men rose all around the container.

“You can shout all you want,” Jake said. “Nobody gonna hear you, man.”

“She doesn’t know anything!”

“We know you’re searching for the treasure under the Panama Sea. We know that. You tell us the rest and we’ll lay off.”

Healey spluttered. The man cuffed Caitlyn, not hard but enough to snap her head to the right; her eyes suddenly locked on Healey’s and wide with fear. The young soldier jerked hard at his bonds.

Jake stepped in, took Healey’s face and squeezed. “Why you here, man?”

He had faced down much worse, but not with the woman he loved captured beside him. Worst case scenarios and stomach churning outcomes sprang out from the dark corners of his mind, all twisting and writhing in the few moments he had to choose. The world suddenly became a much darker place.

“We’re treasure hunters,” he said softly. “She’s my friend. Don’t hurt her again.”

“All right.” Jake grinned, spreading his hands. “But we already knew that. How ’bout you tell me more?”

Healey tried to calm himself. The soldier had withdrawn, replaced by the man, the lover. Caitlyn was his first. In some ways, the experience of life was just beginning.

“We are a team of investigators—” finessing the truth “—seeking out old artifacts, lost treasure, ancient relics, that kind of thing. We found Aztec gold in the US, crusaders’ gold in the UK, and missed out on a few other finds.” He drew it out for more time. “We followed more than a few red herrings of late. Peru. France. Failure puts us back but doesn’t deter us. We knew about this find… these five ships… but nothing ever came of it.”

Jake whistled. “Phew, listen to him now. More words than a dictionary.”

“What else do you need?”

“You told me nothin’ yet, man.”

“This is our job. We’re not chasing you or your organization. We just crossed paths by chance.”

Jake glanced over at Caitlyn.

Healey rushed on, “Captain Henry Morgan. Lost five ships off Panama, most of which were believed to be loaded down with loot. This because by the time Morgan reached Panama he was already tremendously wealthy. Where else could he store his riches? He wouldn’t bank it. Wouldn’t leave it behind. But—” Healey smiled “—in relation to that line of thinking, would he really put it all on his ships for his pirate brethren to watch over?”

Jake shrugged. “Dunno, man. Would he?”

“Well, maybe. It had to be transported sometime, right? But those five ships were found years ago. One was believed to be Morgan’s flagship — the Satisfaction . Still no proof and no treasure has been found. But…” Healey paused as he heard a noise.

“But what?” Jake urged him on.

“But maybe they found… something.”

Rob Russo was a big man, a broad, chunky muscle-bound figure with a rock-hard presence and a head like a boulder. The physical presence couldn’t be altered, but the man beneath was entirely interchangeable. Russo was a first-class soldier, through and through, but had a deep, caring heart and a personable nature.

Once you got to know him.

The container that was his jail cell echoed to a chorus of malicious cheering.

Russo’s captives, instead of questioning him, had each decided to fight him. Russo stood at the center of the container, a large man covered in tattoos snuffling in his face like a fierce bull. A haymaker missed him by an inch. Russo backed away. Men cheered and laughed around him, eight of them. Russo wished the number was a little less, he could probably have taken them out. But eight in such a tight space? No chance. The bull came in again, roaring this time. Russo took a blow to the chest so the man opened himself up, then came down hard with elbows and a knee to the stomach. Bull-Face fell to one knee.

Russo hesitated.

A mistake he rarely made, but worry for his fellow captives and their unknown fates played havoc with his senses. Bull-Face drove up off one knee, striking Russo under the chin and sending him reeling. Russo struck the back of the container with a loud bang, but the attack brought some clarity. Russo saw the bull charging again, sidestepped rather niftily for a man his size and helped the running bulk on its way. The bull struck the metal solidly, face-first, and slithered slowly to the floor.