“Who relates all these old stories?” Lauren wanted to know. “And who remembers them?”
“Old timers.” Karin shrugged. “People who grew up listening to them. Ear-benders. Entrepreneurs.”
“What’s so special about the Content?” Smyth tipped his coffee back and drank.
Karin also drank, her mind engaged in the task. “Well, Cavendish was an English explorer and privateer. He purposely tried to emulate Sir Francis Drake by raiding Spanish towns and ships and then returning triumphantly to England by circumnavigating the globe. Successfully. He became a rich man, capturing rich prizes in silk and treasure from Spanish ships he attacked. He captured a six-hundred-ton ship called the Santa Anna, and this was all on his first raiding run. Queen Elizabeth I knighted him upon his return.”
“And the Content?”
“During Cavendish’s second run and circumnavigation he encountered a little more than he bargained for. The man died at the age of thirty-one from an unknown illness whilst his navigator sailed on to discover the Falkland Islands. But the story of the Content actually arises from the first voyage. Cavendish had two ships near the Gulf of California — the Content and the Desire—and both were put to good use chasing down the Santa Anna, which was a so-called Manila galleon. Now, firstly these Manila galleons only sailed once or twice a year and carried all the goods accumulated through an entire year’s trading. Goods from the coin mints in Peru and Mexico to the Chinese for silk, spices, gold and other luxurious materials.”
“All on one ship?” Drake said.
“Yup. In any case Cavendish got wind of this Manila galleon and hunted it for days, at last spotting and then capturing it. The Santa Anna struck her colors and then the English swarmed aboard, taking enough treasure to fill both their ships. Cavendish did allow the Spaniards food, water and weapons and put them ashore, then he set fire to the Santa Anna, before sailing away to continue their voyage across the Pacific. The Content was never heard from again. The Desire spent the remainder of her voyage hiding from every skirmish.”
“Never heard from again?” Drake repeated. “How could that be with a ship carrying so much loot?”
“Is anybody else here wondering how a Spanish galleon ended up wandering the friggin’ desert?” Smyth grouched. “And especially how this English entrepreneur and privateer sounds like nothing more than a marauding pirate?”
“Ships being marooned in the desert is not unheard of,” Drake said. “Storms. Great tidal bores. Even hurricanes and typhoons can deposit ships miles away from where they were. And that includes onto solid ground.”
“A tidal bore is most likely in this area,” Karin stated.
Now Smyth shook his head. “I’m lost again. What’s a tidal bore?”
“A wall of water moving fast up the stream bed.” Karin finished her coffee and deposited the cup in the bin. “The Gulf of California’s topography, incoming tides and river outflow produced the potential for unparalleled tidal bores. The basin was more than two hundred and seventy feet below sea level, perfect for flood waters. The flood could have skipped the land barrier, cresting over the natural dam and down into the Salton or Cahuilla Sea. In addition, it seems that the Salton Sea and Gulf of California were once connected.”
Drake whistled. “I bet those poor sailors had a bit of a shock.”
“Early surfers,” Lauren agreed. “But without the boards.”
“I never heard of such a great tidal flood,” Smyth said with suspicion. “Surely it can’t only have happened that one time.”
“These days a tidal bore can no longer occur,” Karin read. “Due to the depletion of water from agriculture and municipal use before it reaches the gulf.”
“Gah. Always a freakin’ answer.”
Karin glanced around at him. “You can always try this yourself.” She picked up the laptop.
Smyth quickly held his hands out, muttering an apology. Lauren frowned in his direction.
Karin sighed. “Sorry. I’m not myself at the moment. Bores occur in relatively few locations worldwide and are generally nothing to write home about. You only hear about them when a tragedy occurs or a rag newspaper needs some sensationalism to help sell a few extra copies.”
“Okay,” Drake said. “So in the right conditions the ship in a desert phenomenon could occur. What we have to do now is to find it. I know you said ‘old timers’, but where in particular have all the ghost stories come from?”
“The Red Indians,” she said. “Or Native Americans, as they’re now called. They started it. Legends were expanded when the local prospectors and explorers of the time decided to make their own investigations. One man named Charley Clusker. Another named Colonel Albert S Evans. Another called Fierro Blanco. These men knew natives from every tribe of Baja California of that time and attest that the local tribes never once lied to them. The kicker here is that — just like the peculiar worldwide dragon myth — everybody tells the same story and offers the same descriptions. The myth has persisted. It’s always similar, and survives both in Native American and frontier lore. It’s spookily uncanny.”
“Why has it never been found?” Lauren wondered. “Surely a well-organized flyover would do it.”
“The desert’s an astoundingly large place. Wind-blown sands from the desiccated delta of the Colorado River generate vast sand dune systems that are constantly shifting. Storms spring up in seconds. Then there’s mud near the inland waters and other dangers. It’s entirely possible that the things one storm uncovers, the next completely eradicates. And, supposedly, it was found. Several times. Only to disappear again.”
“But not recently?”
“The last sighting occurred in the 1970s,” Karin related. “Though it wasn’t corroborated. Ground penetrating radar would reveal a ship’s remains but nobody has managed to accomplish such an undertaking yet.”
Drake made a noise. “Except possibly our new potential friend, Nicholas Bell.”
“That seems likely.”
“And if we sought to replicate his activity?”
“It would undoubtedly reveal us to him.”
“Then what’s the answer?”
Karin closed her laptop, staring with more than a little regret at the slim black case. To Drake it seemed as if it might be for the last time.
“Are you okay?”
“We go old school,” Karin said. “Seek out the old timers. Head into the desert. We find the ghost ships the old way.”
Drake thought of all the times they had used modern technology to solve their problems, their ancient quandaries. “That should be different.”
“It’s the only way.”
“An expedition?” Smyth was clearly trying hard to keep his voice neutral. “Campfires and tents? Trail guides? Sleeping under the stars? Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Are you scared?” Drake asked. “Scared of the desert’s ghosts?”
“Fuck, yeah. Aren’t you?”
“I’m more scared of getting swallowed and buried in a sandstorm.”
“And yeah, there’s that too!” Smyth jumped onboard Drake’s theory as if it were a million-dollar yacht. “Mostly that.”
“Don’t worry.” Lauren patted the back of his hand. “I’ll keep you safe. Us New Yorkers don’t take no shit from anyone, especially ghosts.”