Unable to stop, she rose fast and looked out to sea. Crouch’s plane still flew, the angle much better now, the craft steady. It bobbed down and then turned and taxied around. Alicia tried to push the burning seaplane from her mind and hurried over to the dinghy.
Her mind had already turned toward Crouch and Caitlyn and the pilot; she prayed they were unhurt.
In the aftermath, the Gold Team knew there could be no rest, no reflection. Jensen was already headed elsewhere and no one knew what he’d found. Though they were all safe they were battered and bruised. The drifting pall of smoke from the still-burning wreckage would attract attention.
And they still had work to do right here, right now.
On gaining the beach, a sore-looking Crouch loped immediately up its slight slope toward the tree line. Alicia looked over at Russo and Healey, who were ensuring no stragglers remained and forming a perimeter. Russo gave her a thumbs up.
Alicia followed Crouch as he closed in on three wide holes that Jensen’s men had dug.
“The placement works in conjunction with the maps,” he said. “We didn’t have the script, he did. That shouldn’t happen again, not completely.”
“No way of telling what he found,” Caitlyn said. “But he left a few things behind.”
“Cleared out in a hurry,” Alicia said. “Could be good or bad for us, but I’m guessing at the latter.”
“Pessimist.” Caitlyn reached the edge of the first hole and peered inside.
“Comes with the job.”
Alicia stared down into the muddy cavity. Tree branches and a large stump weaved a tangled web on the far side. Closer and deeper the hole stood empty, echoing like a lost dream. Crouch was already on to the second and Alicia followed. Caitlyn lingered to make sure their inspection was a thorough one.
The second pit yielded the best find of the three. An open strongbox lay at the bottom and, although it had been rifled, still held several sheets of parchment and an old brooch. Half a dozen objects lay embedded in the dirt and sand, and one sheet had been crumpled up.
Crouch shook his head. “Not a single ounce of respect.”
“At this level of pay,” Alicia said. “Plant-life competes with them.”
“So let’s see what we’ve got.”
Crouch jumped into the hole and picked up the strongbox. “Well, it’s the same era as the last, same kind of design. Certainly possible it came from around here and from similar circumstances. No clue as to what else might have been inside.”
Caitlyn came over. “And the parchments?”
“Centuries old, but nothing pertinent to us. More work for the historians, I guess. You can take a look, Caitlyn, in case your eyes spot something mine don’t.”
“Sure.” She scrambled down to his side.
Alicia stretched and eyed the last hole. Like the first it was empty, with no clues as to what might have been there. Maybe nothing. There were no impressions within the cavity to lead her to think something had once rested there.
Crouch scrambled up top. “We shouldn’t linger. I think it is time to move.” He turned to the pilot. “Is the plane sea- and airworthy, my friend?”
“It will be fine so long as I don’t have to explain the bullet holes.”
“Where we’re headed, that won’t be an issue.”
“Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“You could always sit it out. You don’t have to come along.”
“You gonna buy me a new plane, right?”
Crouch hesitated. “I wouldn’t say new. Like for like, maybe.”
“And if you guys find Morgan’s haul?”
“Maybe you’ll get two. One for the weekends.”
“All right.” The pilot watched Alicia. “You take it. I’ll wait on Jamaica.”
The team gathered and made their way out of the area by plane, taking it easy and trying to attract as little attention as possible. They dropped the pilot off where it was safe and then tried to marshal their determination.
Jensen was beating them. Henry Morgan was beating them. Hell, even the mercs were ahead. But those that came last often used the mistakes of those that led to pull themselves level, to force a lead, and then to win. More often than not it was a matter of staying power.
Crouch laid out the next map on the short grass of a tree-shrouded clearing. The plane was bobbing a few meters offshore and the woods were quiet and dense, decidedly tourist unfriendly. The team figured they could spend a little time here.
“Santa Catalina Island,” the boss said, “was a small island rarely used along the Spanish Main. That said, Morgan recaptured it twice and killed quite a few enemies there. He could also use Santa Catalina as a layover point on the way to Panama. Now, there has to be a good reason for these particular islands, these particular maps, right?”
Caitlyn nodded. “Well yeah, since Morgan no doubt had a hundred secret places.”
“And, so far, we’ve only discovered local keepsakes,” Alicia said. “Maybe it’s a long-gone sign that he felt remorse, and drew these maps to assuage his guilt. Return the locals’ more sentimental riches and, if you’re good enough, eventually find the hoard.”
“Santa Catalina is a small place, uninhabited and, in those times, wasn’t even connected to the mainland. There’s now a one-hundred-meter footbridge connecting it to its big brother to the south, Providencia Island. Interestingly, we are now approaching the era of Morgan’s life in which he started to lose England’s support, eventually this would lead to him giving up the life of piracy — or privateering — returning to England, and later return as governor,” Crouch shook his head. “Of Jamaica.”
Alicia smiled without humor. “Three hundred and fifty years,” she said. “And have we learned anything?”
“Best not to go there,” Crouch said. “If I’m being truthful the history surrounding Morgan, or any pirate, and Santa Catalina is pretty thin, but it’s safe to say he spent quite a bit of time there. And relatively alone.”
The team studied the map a little more. Alicia took a few moments for herself, switching off and evaluating this new chapter in her life. The truth was, she was far from where she wanted to be. And for the first time in her life, far from where she felt belonged.
Never belonged anywhere before.
But comrades and friends needed her, whether most of them acknowledged it or not. Her new life with its new emotions and goals tugged furiously, but loyalty and honor had drawn her to Crouch and the others, and now it kept her there.
To the end. Bitter, or sweet.
“So where is it, this island?” she asked.
“In between Aruba and Jamaica.” Crouch told her and held up a hand. “As the crow flies, that way.”
“Not so long by plane,” Healey said.
“Just try not to crash this time,” Alicia said. “For a change.”
“Hey, I don’t fly that often.”
“One out of one don’t make me feel any better, kid.”
“And stop calling me kid. Last time I checked, I was twenty five.”
Alicia guffawed, unable to stop herself. The older members of their team turned knowing eyes upon the young soldier.
“I have to say,” Alicia said as they packed up, stood up and walked toward their plane. “I’m not feeling the pull of the treasure on this one, boss. Not like the last two.”
Crouch shrugged. “It’s reality. This is how it is in the real world, I’m afraid. Following one rough clue to the next and hoping you don’t reach that dead end. That point where all the clues and all the information runs out. We scramble around in the dark, Alicia, chasing old men’s ancient ramblings, and occasionally get lucky.”