Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 4

  “My little brother, Mark,” she said from behind me. Her sudden appearance startled me a bit, as I didn’t hear the slightest sound. “That was his college graduation. Our folks died when he was seventeen and I took over, helping him get through those tough years.”

  “I can see the resemblance,” I said, noting the tall young man in the picture, with the same blonde hair and high cheek bones of his sister. “Sorry about your folks.”

  “Shall we go shopping?” she asked. And without waiting for a reply, she was heading toward the door. She’d changed into more comfortable clothes, I’d noticed. A pair of khaki fishing shorts and a baggy, short sleeved guayabera shirt, in light blue and her usual long billed fisherman’s cap.

  5

  Sunday evening, 10/23/2005

  We were in Bogie Channel now, in the lee of Big Pine Key, approaching Spanish Harbor and Southeast Point, where Big Pine Key Fishing Lodge is located. “Stay over on the left side of the channel, in the shallows there along No Name Key,” I said. “It’ll be rougher than going along close to Big Pine, but not too rough and it’ll save us time. Then we can make a straight run across the shallows on the north side of Spanish Harbor, toward Bahia Honda and be out of the chop. It won’t be so rough in the shallows over there. Once we clear Little Duck Key though, we should turn northeast and head out away from the old bridge to Pigeon Key. That way, we can kind of ride between the waves, with a following sea and get in the lee of Vaca Key, before turning back south in the calmer waters. Riding a following sea in this chop will be difficult, but I got confidence in you, Jules. It’s gonna be rough going around Knight’s Key and getting into Boot Key Harbor, though. If we put in at Dockside and tie up to my dinghy dock, we can walk to the Anchor."

  “Good idea,” Julie replied. “It’s sure to be rougher on the outside. If we have to, dad can bring the trailer down to the ramp at Dockside and pull the skiff out of the water.”

  I was right, it was pretty rough crossing Bahia Honda Channel and trying to stay between the waves was difficult, but Julie did it like a pro. It calmed down quite a bit, once we passed Pigeon Key and we were able to ride in relatively calm waters toward Knights Key, on the western outskirts of Marathon. But, once we cleared the jetty at Knights Key Campground it really started getting rough, as the wind was coming straight out of the south. But, in no time we were pulling into the calm waters of Boot Key Harbor, a little wet and a bit shaken up, but the ride wasn’t too awful bad.

  I stepped off onto the dock and told Julie I’d catch up to her at the Anchor and left her to tie off at the dinghy dock, while I ducked into the office at Dockside to let them know Julie’s skiff would be tied up in my spot, until we could arrange to get a trailer over. Once that was taken care of, I went back to the dinghy dock and grabbed my gear out of her skiff and walked over to the end of the dock, where Gaspar’s Revenge was tied up. Jimmy was there, as usual. Although I only took out one or two charters a week, sometimes not even that many, Jimmy stayed close by and had recently started sleeping aboard, in the guest cabin. It was fine with me, in fact I felt more secure knowing that someone was there and Jimmy was at least reliable.

  “What do ya think, Jimmy? We gonna have to take her down to Cuba to avoid the storm?” I asked, as I put my gear on the transom.

  “Really, dude? That’d be too cool,” Jimmy replied. Sometimes, Jimmy was just too gullible.

  “Just pulling your leg, man,” I laughed. “We should be pretty safe here in the harbor. We’ll need to tie her off better with more lines, but we can ride it out right here, unless the storm turns and comes straight for us. You have a place to stay?”

  “Not really, el Capitan. My latest girlfriend sort of kicked me out a couple weeks ago. I been staying here on the Revenge. But, I don’t know about staying aboard during a hurricane.”

  “Well, I don’t mind having you stay aboard, feel free to make it permanent. But, the same rules apply right here on the dock, as out on the blue, okay. Nothing, absolutely nothing, illegal on board. We’ll head up to the Anchor and see what Rusty’s plans are. But, let’s get her tied down first.”

  We spent the next hour storing everything away below decks that might get knocked loose and tying the Revenge down with several extra lines. The dock is pretty new and the piers are heavy timbers, punched down through the limestone. They’ll hold up well in a storm, I’m sure. At least I hope so.

  After we finished, Jimmy and I walked to the Rusty Anchor. The whole time we were getting the boat ready, I was nervous and apprehensive. Would Alex be there? What will I say? What will she say? Now, I felt like a man walking to the gallows. It was the longest mile I’d ever walked.

  6

  Nine Days Earlier

  Friday, October 14, 2005

  “Ya sure this is the place, Russ?” Lester asked. This was his only day off. If it were up to Sonny, he’d be working seven days a week, but Friday was Sonny’s day at the track.

  “Hell no, I ain’t sure kid. That ship was sunk near here by a Union warship over a hundred years ago, toward the end of the Civil War. Likely, it broke up and is scattered over a mile long. You seen the bottom on the depth finder, there’s something down there alright. No way to tell till we get down there, though. For all I know, it could be a ‘64 Impala with a couple of gang bangers in it.” Russ wasn’t greatly impressed with Lester’s mental acuity over the last couple of weeks. But, the kid was stronger than a bull and did what he was told. Russ had been looking for some sign of this particular wreck for over a year and this was the thirteenth pile they’d dived together in three weeks. Probably nothing, but he had to check. Lester could only come along on Friday’s, but they did squeeze a couple of night dives in, on places nearer the shore. When they weren’t checking out hot spots from the depth finder, Russ was busy pouring over charts and internet websites. “Look, kid, the Lynx was a blockade runner and was reported to be carrying $140,000 in gold bars.”

  “You been looking for this boat for years, you said?” Lester asked. “Seems like a lot of work for only $140,000 worth of gold.”

  Russ grinned at him, “Yeah, ain’t inflation great. Look, during the Civil War, gold was about $170 an ounce. Know what it is today?” Lester shook his head. “Today, that same gold would be worth nearly ten times that amount. The Lynx was carrying twelve gold bars, each weighing ten pounds, that’s almost 2000 ounces. At today’s rate of $1400 an ounce, it’d be worth over a two million bucks. Even more than that for its historic value.” Not that Russ was interested in the history. His man in Fort Lauderdale would pay him seventy cents on the dollar for the melt weight of anything he found. He’d melt down anything from gold coins to bronze cannons. Just one of those gold bars would give him a payday over $157,000. He and Lester had agreed on splitting anything they found 80/20.

  “You ready, kid?” Russ asked, as he put on his mask. Lester replied with a nod and they both fell backwards off the skiff, on opposite sides. Each of them had a spear gun and goodie bag, to make it look like they were just a couple of spear fishermen. The bags were over sized and each held a small, underwater metal detector capable of finding metals buried up to two feet deep.

  Once they reached the bottom, they found the ridge which the depth finder had pointed out on the boat. Swimming along the bottom of the ridge, it looked like it was going to be yet another false hit. Lester was about ten feet out from the ledge, as they’d agreed on earlier, and Russ was just a few feet out. They swung their detectors back and forth as they followed the ridge and Russ was also studying the ridge itself. After about fifty feet Russ saw a nice sized grouper hiding out in a hole and speared it. Putting it in his bag, he looked over at Lester, who suddenly stopped and waved his detector back and forth over an area in the sand. He then started digging with a small gardeners shovel they each carried. While he was doing that, Russ noticed that the ridge seemed to have a symmetry which he hadn't noticed earlier. He moved closer to the face of the wall. As he was studying it, he heard a banging noise and t
urned to see that Lester had found something and was tapping his tank with the shovel. He swam over to take a look at what the kid had found. In a hole that Lester had dug out, he looked down at the unmistakable shape of several large chain links. They uncovered more and more of it and soon they could see five feet of large anchor chain, heavily encrusted and rusted. Each link was about six inches long and three inches wide with the rings being at least three quarters of an inch thick. Russ pulled out his writing slate and penciled the words, “anchor chain”. Lester nodded and took the slate and wrote, “From the ship?” Russ only shrugged, and then motioned Lester to follow him. They swam back to the ledge and Russ pointed out the straight lines in the rock. Russ checked his gauges and motioned that it was time to surface. They’d only been down thirty five minutes, but had burned up more than the usual amount of air digging up the anchor chain. Russ swam back over to the chain, tied the lanyard from his dive flag to it and they started toward the surface.

  Once they reached the surface, they saw that they were about one hundred yards from the boat. They started toward it, swimming on their backs, using only their fins.

  “Ya think that might be the ship we’re looking for, Boss?” Lester asked.

  The kid had never called him Boss before, but Russ kind of liked it. “It might be. The size of those links is the same as the anchor chain used on the blockade runner. Let’s get back to the boat and you can swap out our tanks, while I start her up and move closer to the flag. Then we’ll go back down and look around some more with the detectors.”

  About a mile away, Russ saw a boat that turned and was headed straight toward their boat. A few minutes later, he could tell it was a Florida Marine Patrol boat.

  “Lester, take my detector and yours and put them both in your bag. That’s a Marine Patrol boat heading our way. When we get near to where the anchor is, drop the bag. Be cool now, I have a grouper in my bag and its legal sized. They’ll probably just check our fishing licenses and make sure it’s legal. Let me do the talking.”

  “Oh man, those guys are like cops, aren’t they?” Lester asked nervously.

  “Yeah, they are cops. Carry guns and everything. Just be cool and let me do the talking.”

  Lester managed to get both detectors in the bag, but he was really nervous. The Patrol boat was nearly on top of them when he rolled over and put his snorkel in his mouth, to find the anchor. Once he spotted it, he wasted no time in dropping the bag with the expensive detectors in it.

  The Marine Patrol boat arrived at their boat, just as they were slinging their masks and fins aboard. Russ looked up as they came along side on the far side of the boat and said, “Afternoon Officers, nice day to be out on the water, even if you’re working, huh.”

  “Afternoon, sir. I’m Lieutenant Briggs, FMP. Just stopping for a random check. You’re not after lobster are you? They’re out of season, you know.” He was looking over Russ’s boat, not missing anything.

  “Lobster? No, we’re spear fishing. Got a nice grouper here in the bag. Saw a few snapper and tied off the dive flag over there to bring the boat closer. We were almost out of air when we found them.” Knowing that the Officer was going to want to see the grouper and measure it, he tossed the bag to the far side of the boat so he could reach it.

  Briggs took it and handed it to his driver, saying, “Check it, Doug.” Russ and Lester had moved to the back of the boat and were climbing aboard. “Can I see your fishing licenses, sir? Both of you."

  “Lieutenant, I was a Marine Sergeant and a grunt, calling me sir just don’t cut it. Name’s Russ. Russ Livingston. Our licenses are in the waterproof console. You want to tie off?”

  "That’s alright, we won’t be that long," said the Lieutenant. Russ went forward and got both of their fishing licenses out of the console and their wallets, handing Lester’s to him. Russ pulled out his driver’s license and handed all three documents to the Lieutenant. Lester pulled out his own license and handed it over, too.

  The driver had measured the grouper and told the Lieutenant, “Checks out good, Eltee. Looks like you boys are gonna eat well tonight.”

  Russ smiled and said, “Told the wife to have the smoker fired up and the mesquite soaked, by 1600. We should be able to add a couple of snapper to the menu before we gotta head back in. Lester, go ahead and swap those tanks out, so we can get back down there, okay.”

  “You got it Boss,” Lester replied a little too enthusiastically.

  The Lieutenant handed the licenses back to Russ and said, “Looks like Doug’s right, you gentlemen enjoy your meal. I can see you have all the required equipment. Always leave it out displayed like that?”

  “Lieutenant, like I said, I’m a Marine. Anything to make things operate more efficiently, I do it. You guys be safe, okay.”

  With that, the Lieutenant nodded at his driver and he put the Patrol boat into reverse and idled away from Russ’s skiff. A minute later, they were up on plane and moving away fast.

  “You know where you dropped the gear?” Russ asked.

  “Almost on top of the anchor, just like ya said to,” Lester replied, “That was close, huh.”

  “Always be prepared son,” Russ said. “Just remember the Seven P’s. Proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance. Those guys are just doing a job and all they saw were a couple guys diving for their supper. That’s exactly what I wanted them to see. Get down there and grab that gear while I get the anchor up. It’s only twenty feet, you won’t even need your tank.”

  “Sure, Boss, but I don’t know if I can go that deep on one breath,” Lester said apprehensively.

  “Sure you can. Just go hand over hand on the anchor line and pull yourself down. Just don’t forget to equalize your ears on the way down. If you don’t think you’re gonna make it, just kick to the surface and I’ll do it. I’ll wait until you’re up before I pull the hook up. It’s not hard. Hell, little girls in Japan dive over eighty feet on a single breath for pearls.”

  Lester wasn’t going to take a challenge to his manhood like that. “Okay, I’ll do it.” He put on his mask, dropped over the side of the boat, and swam with his fins to the anchor line.

  “Before you start down,” Russ said, “take several quick deep breaths. That’ll oxygenate your lungs and give you an extra few seconds.”

  Lester did as he was told, then started pulling for the bottom, kicking furiously. He was surprised that it only took him a few seconds to reach the anchor and when he looked around, he saw the bag just a few feet away. He swam over, grabbed it and started kicking toward the surface.

  At the surface, with a huge grin on his face, he yelled, “I did it!”

  “Wasn’t that hard, was it, kid?” Russ asked.

  “You were right, man. Was a lot easier than I figured. Hey, how deep can you go on one breath?” he asked, as he handed up the bag with the two detectors in it.

  “I’ve made it to about ninety feet a few times, when I was younger. Probably wouldn’t try anything deeper than seventy feet today, though,” Russ said. “Get in. I want to get back down to that spot where you found the anchor chain. Something about the wall of that ledge didn’t look quite right.”

  Lester climbed up the dive ladder as Russ hauled up the anchor, coiling the line as he went, then laying the twenty-pound Danforth on top of the coil. As Russ started the engine, Lester asked, “Whataya mean?”

  “I don’t know, it just didn’t look natural,” Russ replied as he gunned the engine toward the dive flag a hundred yards away. When they reached it, Lester dropped the anchor over the bow as Russ backed away, with the current. He killed the engine when he felt the anchor take hold, then quickly started getting his buoyancy compensator and tank on. Lester did the same, sensing the urgency in the older mans movements. When they were both ready, they grabbed the two bags with the detectors in them, back rolled off the sides again, and headed back to the bottom.

  Russ had researched the sinking of the Lynx for years. She was a long and fast paddle steamer
with two masts. She was sunk by the slower Union warship, USS Howquah, with help from two other Union ships. She’d been hit eight times by the Howquah’s big one-hundred pound guns, several below the waterline. More than likely, she’d come apart and spilled her cargo over a large area.

  When they got back to the bottom, Russ went directly to the vertical wall of the ledge and dumped his buoyancy compensator, so that he was kneeling on the sandy bottom, looking at the wall. Yeah, it was too symmetrical, he thought. He closed his eyes and cleared his head. When he opened them again, he could almost see the wooden planks of the old blockade-runner, right in front of him. He pulled his slate out, wrote the word “planks” and showed it to Lester. He motioned to Lester, with a sweeping of his hand and pointed toward the top of the ledge. They began moving in opposite directions, above the ledge and both men had hits on their detectors within seconds.

  Russ dug up a rusted iron nail in one spot and what looked like the remains of a black powder pistol. Lester found a tin cup, encrusted with barnacles and several pieces that looked like flatware from the galley. Russ motioned Lester over and showed him the settings on his detector, moving the dial so that it would only register very dense metals. Then they moved apart and started sweeping again. After twenty minutes, moving apart then back toward each other further from the ledge, Russ was about to turn and head away again, when his detector pinged. He waved it back and forth over the area, and then started digging with his small shovel. Lester saw what he was doing and swam over, helping move the sand away. Russ swept the detector over the spot again and the ping was stronger. They dug deeper, until they were over two feet deep. Then Russ’s shovel hit something solid. They fanned the bottom of the hole, whisking the sand away and there it was. A small rectangular object that gleamed like the day it was taken from the mold and cooled. Gold.