Maroon Rising (19 page)

“Given what happened to Stanley, can you calm down some of the more aggressive members of your community, Henry?” she said.

Kujo frowned. “Are you insinuating that someone from here—”

Nanny sat bolt upright. “I’m not insinuating anything, but as we all know, the situation could unravel quickly into a free-for-all if we’re not careful.”

Kujo looked from her to me, then back. Clayton’s lips were pursed.

“I will urge for calm amongst my community.”

“Thank you, Henry. I—”

“
But
, if the treasure is found, we must have a say in what becomes of it.” Kujo had transformed from an elderly gentlemen to a sharp-eyed negotiator in the blink of an eye.

Now we all stared at one another.

“No chicken?” the proprietor said.

“No!” everyone except me said at once.

T
he road back to the southeast was unmarked for much of the way and had potholes that nearly jarred the fillings from my molars. Nanny hadn’t said a word since we left the jerk shack, but my mind had been whirling. Now, fifteen minutes later, I heard a long, long sigh.

“That went worse than I expected,” she said.

“Depends on how you look at it,” I said. “They seem certain there
is
a treasure. When Clayton—that little prick—mentioned Cuffee, I thought Kujo was going to backhand him. I was ready to punch the smug smile off his face before he let that drop.”

She giggled. “I’d have helped.”

“Their mention of a fifty million dollar value is the same figure other archaeologists and treasure hunters have speculated,” I said. “And my 10 percent? Clayton being pissed about it is only relevant if he thinks it exists and we might find it.”

We continued on without talking, Nanny driving uncharacteristically fast now that the road had improved. Dwellings began to appear.

“I’m convinced that there’s a treasure now, but know what my one disappointment was?” I said.

She glanced toward me. “No idea.”

“I really wish we’d gotten some of that jerk chicken.”

A flicker of a smile. “There’s a good place up ahead.”

The area was mountainous, its peaks smaller and more conical than the Blue Mountains—classic karst topography. This was the landscape that had helped the Leeward Maroon warriors avoid capture as guerilla fighters.

In a valley where two steep mountains met was a small village, just a few miles south of Albert Town. Smoke rose from behind a wooden structure not unlike the one where we’d met Kujo, though the wood exterior was faded rather than smartly painted.

“This restaurant’s been here as long as I can remember. And there’s an outfitter out back that leads hiking and camping trips into Cockpit Country from here.”

“I’m starving,” I said.

While we waited for our food I noticed a pair of old hand-carved canoes hanging from massive limbs on seriously massive trees—the trunks had to be six feet across.

I ate some excellent jerk chicken, and Nanny had a yam cooked in tinfoil over an open fire, along with some fresh bananas and sweetsop. Nobody paid us much attention, which was fine with me. Once done, we dumped our trash in a bin.

I followed Nanny out the door. A black truck was now parked between the Jeep and us.

Nanny stumbled—whoa! There were three men in front of her, and one grabbed her by the arm—

“Hey!” I yelled as I dove for him.

“Buck!” Nanny shrieked.

The man who had her arm was big—they all were. I clamped onto his forearm—he released her.

“Run!” I yelled.

The men gathered around me. One came in with his arms wide—a jab to his face and his lower lip exploded in a burst of blood. He dropped to his knees. I recognized none of them.

Nanny stood frozen, having run ten feet and stopped.

“Buck!”

The man to my left dove for my waist—dreadlocks jumped into the air and bounced off my chest as he caromed into me. I rabbit-punched the back of his head, then chopped down on his neck. His momentum and size forced me to backstep. I chopped again but missed. I saw a work boot swing up behind my right leg—

WHAP!

Something hit the side of my head. Bright lights erupted … swirled …

Then there was no light at all.

The smell of burnt meat caused me to wake with a start.

I rolled over in loose dirt. Everything wobbled, and I had double vision—there were two of each canoe hanging from the branches. I closed my eyes and carefully touched the welt and gash on the right side of my skull—moist with blood.

I shook my head gently, hoping to clear it—all that did was make the distortion worse. But I made it to my knees before I puked: jerk chicken, sauce, blood.

Still on all fours I glanced around, my vision no longer double but really blurry, like staring through a car windshield in a driving rainstorm with no wipers. The Jeep was still there, but no men, no black truck, no Nanny Adou.

I knew there was no point in shouting.

“Nanny!” The shout echoed in my ears, the taste of bile soured in my mouth.

I got to my feet, staggered, then stood straight.

I stumbled toward the jerk stand and found the front door locked. No smoke billowed from the chimney.

I checked my watch but didn’t know what time we’d gotten here, so I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out. It was 3:25 now.

I made it to the Jeep, surprised to find the keys in the ignition.

Not surprised that Nanny was gone.

I
drove slowly in a crooked line toward Albert Town, my vision still blurry, the pain god-awful. The Jeep veered off the right shoulder, sideswiped a boulder, and bounced back out into the road. Talking to myself actually helped.

Have to get … to … Albert Town. That’s where Nanny had us headed … so maybe … she’ll be there.

I slowed the Jeep to a stop and sat in the middle of the road, trying to get my bearings. Movement on the left side gradually caught my blurry eye. I squinted.

A black and white goat stared at me, the only other living creature in sight.

I slowly depressed the accelerator and strained to see ahead. The last few miles felt endless, but I finally reached Albert Town’s main drag: a series of squat homes and buildings pressed together with red roofs and green trees for backdrop. I drove through the town without seeing a vehicle remotely similar to the black truck.

Nausea again hit me like a stiff breeze. I crashed into the curb and scared a dog off the sidewalk before I jammed on the brakes and turned off the ignition.

My head pounded, and closing my eyes helped a little. I grabbed my backpack off the seat, got out, and staggered into a small restaurant where I collapsed onto a wooden chair.

“You there!” A woman came toward me. “No drunks in here—find somewhere else to—”

Her mouth dropped when she saw the side of my head. Blood had clotted in and matted my hair, and while I didn’t think the gash was deep enough to need stitches I could imagine how it looked.

“Oh, mon, you hurt bad!”

My blurry vision made out a pink apron that didn’t look big enough on a woman who looked to be in her late fifties. Eyes round with dark circles in the middle.

“Nanny, Mother of us all—they kidnapped her and beat me down when—”

She put a finger to her lips.

“Don’t try to talk—come back here. Can you stand?”

I was fading in and out of consciousness, but I know she led me by the hand back into the kitchen, where an old man with a red, yellow, and black bandana tied around his head gawked at me. Behind the kitchen was a small room with a sink. She pulled over a chair for me and then, using an old cloth, proceeded to wash my scalp, very gently, with cool water.

Everything went swirly—but only until I felt my shoulder hit the floor.

When I awoke it was dark outside, assuming the one small window opened to the outside. I lay on a couch, trying to sort out where I was—then I saw the sink with the rag draped over the basin.

Breathe deep. In and out.

Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the light. There was a small, low-watt lamp on a table next to the couch. Nobody else was in the small room—

Nanny. My heart skidded. Where was she?

I swung my left hand down the side of the couch and was relieved to find my backpack. According to my watch it was now 10:47. There was no sound coming from what I thought was the kitchen, which looked dark through the half-open door. Near it was a door shut with light showing underneath it. The woman and the cook, married I assumed, probably lived in there.

My vision had largely if not entirely cleared, and the head wound, though it was tender, wasn’t as swollen. The really good news was that the orchestra of pain inside my head had quieted down to a snare drum.

I sat on the couch and started unzipping compartments in my backpack. I checked every one of them: no phone. Dammit. I didn’t know who to call about Nanny. I must have told the woman here something about the kidnapping—had she alerted the authorities? I stood up to go ask her—

And swooned, just managing to fall backward onto the couch. The dizziness quickly subsided, and every sip I took of the cool water in the glass next to the lamp seemed to infuse me with strength. But no way was I up to driving these back roads in the dark to search for Nanny.

Inside the main pouch of my backpack was the envelope with the copies of the archives Nanny had given me, including the pages initially withheld. She’d had the originals with her, so her captors must have them now—

Hell with the treasure—where was Nanny? Who were the men? Was she safe? She was much more valuable to them alive than dead, but would they know that? I checked my watch again: 11:15. I needed to reach Colonel Grandy.

I checked my pants pockets—no phone.

I pulled the cushions off the couch—no phone.

Damn.

The sound of a door squeaking caused me to douse the light. The Jeep was parked out front, a dead giveaway to my whereabouts.

A moment later the door to the room opened slowly. My heart throbbed in my ears—what if it wasn’t the woman? A large person moved through the darkness—were those dreadlocks? I coiled myself, ready to spring. An arm reached out toward my head—I grabbed it.

“Aggh!”

Something crashed to the floor and shattered.

A piercing screech—a woman. I let go of her arm, reached over, and switched on the light.

“Are you okay?” I said. “I’m so sorry!”

“Good God, mon, you frightened me.”

She had her hair up in a flowing scarf and she was in a bathrobe. She stretched her arm for a minute. “I brought you some food. You feeling any better? You was talking crazy.”

The shattered remains of a heaping pile of what smelled like curried chicken with rice and peas was splattered across the tile floor.

“Yes, thanks to you I do feel a little better.”

“You go ahead and sleep there tonight. I’ll, ah, make you some breakfast early. You’ll be plenty hungry by then.”

I swung my legs around and sat upright.

“Do you have a cell phone—or telephone? My friend and I were jumped—she was kidnapped. I need to call someone.”

She stared at me for a long moment, no doubt trying to decide if I was still delirious.

“Yes, Charles, we got a wall phone.”

Had I told her my name? She must have looked through my wallet when I was passed out. I couldn’t blame her.

When I stood, a meteor shower lit up inside my head. She held my arm so I wouldn’t fall, a maternal bend to her mouth and look in her eyes. Concern had the same expression the world over. She led me back through the darkness into the front room. A phone that looked like one my grandparents had in their kitchen—a circular dial model—was mounted to the wall.

Crap. I didn’t know Colonel Grandy’s phone number.

“Do you have a phone book?”

She clutched her hands in front of her and shook her head. Her eyes bugged out when I told her who I wanted to call, and after a moment spent convincing her I really did know Colonel Grandy, she called a friend, who led her to another friend, who had a relative in Moore Town.

Ten minutes later I dialed the colonel’s number while my hostess hovered at my elbow, now a part of my drama.