“Or Moctezuma, as he’s more accurately referred to these days,” Madero said.
“Díaz knew the connection,” Pitt said, “that’s why he nearly killed you for the stone.”
“What value does Moctezuma add to the mix?” Giordino asked.
“A great deal,” Madero said. “You see, the account on the stone correlates with the Spanish record. Cortés and his force of five hundred men landed near Veracruz in 1519. They soon marched to the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan, a fabulous city built on an island in Lake Texcoco, which is now the heart of Mexico City.
“Moctezuma personally welcomed Cortés and his troops, but the air was thick with mutual distrust. Moctezuma nevertheless brought to Cortés the treasures of the Aztec empire, which included large quantities of gold.
“Moctezuma was shortly thereafter killed, possibly by his own people, and Cortés was unable to maintain the peace. The Spanish were forced to flee for their lives, barely escaping the angry onslaught of the Aztec warriors.”
“So the Spanish didn’t get away with the gold?” Giordino said.
“Only a small portion of it. Cortés regrouped and returned a few months later and lay siege to Tenochtitlan, ultimately taking the city in a bloody conquest. But the gold and riches had vanished. The whereabouts of Moctezuma’s gold has remained a mystery for centuries.”
“Until now,” Pitt said. “The codex and stones tell us the story. The Aztecs packed their treasure into large canoes and sailed east into the Caribbean. We found the remains of one of their canoes off Jamaica, so we know they exist — and that they were large and seagoing.”
“A remarkable voyage, to be sure. I’ll work up a more thoughtful translation of the stone,” Madero said. “If I find anything noteworthy, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Summer replied. “Perhaps we can meet at the National Museum in Havana and see both stones together.”
“It’s a date,” Madero said. He disconnected the video link and faded from the screen.
“So the question is, where did they go?” Summer asked.
A silent pause hung over the group, then Dahlgren turned their attention to the laptop computer. “I think Hiram may have something for you.”
A live video feed showed Yaeger in his computer center at NUMA headquarters. “I hear you need some help with your treasure map.”
“I’m afraid the Aztecs didn’t leave us any latitude and longitude coordinates,” Pitt said. “Could you make anything from the diagram on the stones?”
“As a matter of fact, Max gave me an answer in about twelve seconds,” he said, referring to his computer system. “I conducted a search for a comparable geographic configuration, limiting the scope to the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean Sea, and both coasts of Mexico. I found about a dozen near misses and one pretty good match.”
He held up a paper showing the stone diagram on half the page and a satellite image of a similarly shaped bay on the other. “Pretty close correlation, if I do say so.”
“It looks dead-on,” Pitt said.
“Are we at all close to it?” Summer asked, elbowing her way to the computer. “Can we get to the site from here?”
“Oh, you can reach the site all right,” Yaeger said, flashing his teeth in a broad grin. “It’s just leaving there that might pose a problem.”
83
Puerto Grande was the name Christopher Columbus bestowed on the large, crescent-shaped bay he discovered in 1494. It remained under Spanish control for the next four hundred years, serving as an important terminus for the export of cotton and sugar. In June 1898, American Marines stormed ashore and captured the environs in one of the first land battles of the Spanish — American War. By then, the inlet had taken the name of a nearby river and was called Guantánamo Bay.
After the quick defeat of the Spanish, the United States entered into a lease with the newly independent Cuban government for a forty-five-square-mile block of the outer bay for use as a naval refueling station. Occupied today by the Naval Station Guantánamo Bay and its unpopular detention camp, the U.S. pays only a few thousand dollars each year to the Cubans under a perpetual lease — rendered in checks that have long gone uncashed by the Castro government.
Summer stood on the bow of the Sargasso Sea, enjoying the sun and breeze as the research ship entered the bay. An Orion P-3 surveillance plane swooped down and landed at a compact airfield to her left, while the ship curled around to the main naval base on her right. The ship eased into an open dock alongside a Navy frigate.
She joined Pitt, her brother, and Giordino in debarking the ship.
Two officers awaited their arrival. To their surprise, standing with them was St. Julien Perlmutter, who had flown down from Washington, the first time he’d been in an airplane in ten years.
“Welcome to Gitmo,” the senior of the two officers said in a forced welcome. “I’m Admiral Stewart, Joint Task Force Commander.”
“Kind of you to welcome us, Admiral,” Pitt said, shaking hands.
“It’s not often I receive a call from the Vice President requesting my assistance in a historical goose chase.”
“I can assure you,” Perlmutter said in his best huffy tone, “there are no geese involved.”
“May I introduce Commander Harold Joyce. Among other duties, he is our de facto base historian. I’m confident Commander Joyce can see to your needs. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Stewart turned and marched off the deck.
“Somebody put some rocks in his porridge?” Dirk asked.
Joyce laughed. “No, he just doesn’t like politicians ordering him around. Especially politicians he once outranked.”
“Vice President Sandecker has been known to stomp on some toes now and then,” Pitt said.
The naval commander, a short man with glasses, gave Summer a friendly smile, then turned to Perlmutter. “Mr. Perlmutter, I am thrilled that you are here visiting Gitmo. I recently read your history of the Roman navy and found it fascinating.”
“You’re one of a small minority, but thank you. Did you have any luck with our request?”
“You indicated that you were looking for a cave or repository on one of the islands. There are several islands in the bay, but only two have any real size or elevation — Hospital Cay and Medico Cay. I hiked around both islands, but I’m afraid I didn’t find anything resembling a natural cave.”
“Perhaps it’s sealed up,” Summer said.
“You may be right.” Joyce said, responding to Summer eagerly. “There was really only one landmark that may be of interest. It’s an old ammunition bunker on Hospital Cay. I didn’t think much of it, but when I did some investigating, I found it was built in the earliest days of the base. It remains locked up, but I could find no inventory records that it was ever actually used for munitions storage.”
“Since we’re here, could we have a look?” Summer asked.
Perlmutter nodded. “I think that would be most judicious.”
“Absolutely,” Joyce said. “I took the liberty of obtaining the old man’s approval. The hardest part was finding a key to the lock. I spent four hours rummaging around the base archives. I don’t think that place has been swept in a century.”
“Any luck?” Summer asked.
Joyce produced a brass key the size of a hardcover book.
“I’ve got a launch waiting at the next dock,” he said. “Let’s go have a look.”
The group squeezed into the launch, and Joyce took them across the bay to a small island at its center. Pitt was surprised to see a small freighter traversing the bay, a Cuban flag flying from its staff.
“Per the terms of the lease agreement signed in 1903, the Cubans have full right of passage through the bay even though it cuts right across our base,” Joyce said. “We used to get refugees floating downstream on rafts, but the Cuban military monitors things pretty tightly now.”