Maroon Rising (22 page)

I walked Ray through my list of questions and his curiosity quickly overcame his anger from being left in the dark for so long.

“Hello?” A voice rang from up the path leading to the villa.

My heart leapt. I scurried to collect the archives—

“Buck, are you there?”

Chris Blackwell walked around the corner of the villa, hesitated when he saw Ray in the robe, and gave me a long look—no glint in his eye now. I waved him forward and let the archives remain in the pile atop the table. I introduced Chris to Ray, whom I referred to as my friend and expert aviation mechanic from Key West. Ray stared in awe at Chris. Probably accustomed to that reaction, Chris smiled and patted Ray on the shoulder, since he’d been too surprised to grasp Chris’s outstretched hand.

“Awful news about Nanny,” Chris said. “Stanley told me about her captors’ demands.

We held a long glance, but I could read nothing in his expression.

“I’m doing my best,” I said.

He nodded.

“Nanny needs you, Buck. You have to do whatever necessary to find her. And the Jamaican people need you. If that lost wealth falls into the hands of modern-day privateers …”

“Why do the Jamaican people need us to find it?” Ray said.

I turned to face him. “Our agreement is that 90 percent of whatever is found will be used for the Jamaican people—as determined
by
the people, not the government.”

“Education is the answer, the greatest benefit for the greatest number,” Chris said. “The school systems here are fine, but the geographic diversity makes it too difficult for many to actually get to school, and there’s been a flight off-island of the most educated—”

“Hold on,” Ray said. “I’m confused, what does the missing treasure have to do with education?”

“iPads,” Chris said. “That’s an important part of the answer. Get them into every home and connected to an educational program, something like Kahn Academy, taught in the patois the children and their families will understand. We’d be looking at a huge increase in literacy and opportunity, also a reduction in domestic violence—” Chris swallowed and crossed his arms. “Most important, Nanny’s life depends on your finding that bloody treasure. Her rescue is all that matters now.”

“
If
there’s a treasure,” I said, “and
if
we find it in a day and a half. And what about the authorities?”

“There’s a full-on manhunt, including those boats out at Port Royal, but they’ve found nothing.” Chris looked at our pile of papers and notes. “What have you learned at this point?”

After I’d gone over everything I knew or had guessed so far, he shook his head.

“All of this is wonderful, very nice work.” He actually started rocking back and forth on his feet as he spoke. “But you’ve missed something, Buck.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m sure I have, but what are you talking about?”

“Firefly.” He was smiling, and the glint was back in his eyes.

“Noel Coward’s house?” Ray said.

“Quite,” Chris said. “But hundreds of years before that, it was one of Henry Morgan’s prime observation points on the north coast. He, or his lieutenants, spent a lot of time there. The old stone building he had built upon the promontory still exists.”

“Do you know when the building was built?” I said.

Chris nodded. “Not long after Henry returned from Panama.”

Damn! “Why am I only now hearing about this?”

“It’s been picked over dozens of times by professional and amateur archaeologists,” Chris said, “so nobody believes there’s treasure there, but it’s one of the few remaining buildings known to have been erected by Morgan. McGyver’s still here, I’ll ask him to run you over to Port Maria while there’s still light.”

I checked my watch. “If we left now … Colonel Stanley, Professor Keith, and I don’t know who else is coming to meet us at Bizot—”

“I’ll feed them and keep them around until you return,” Chris said.

I turned to Ray. “Firefly it is.”

M
cGyver made the trip to Firefly at breakneck speed when I told him it closed at 6:00 p.m., twenty minutes from now. Once we turned off the main road, we zigged and zagged our way up through a residential community overrun with foliage until we reached the top. There, a square stone building stood at the back of a broad green lawn that led to a cliff. From here I could tell it overlooked an amazing seascape.

A tall woman in a long dress stepped down from the back patio, waving her arms and pointing to her watch.

“Trouble?” I said.

“No problem, mon.” McGyver got out of the truck and called out, “Nancy!” Then gave her a quick hug, turned back to the Land Rover, and waved us forward.

Ray and I jumped out.

McGyver explained we were on a quick recon mission, would only be a few minutes, and didn’t need to enter the Coward estate, which we saw up the hill to our left. It was an old white two-story house that in the fading light looked as if its better days were well past.

I began a quick walk around the property. There were some large partially exposed boulders poking up from the lawn between the Coward residence and the square stone building.

McGyver was keeping up with me.

“Mr. Blackwell’s mother used to attend parties here with Ian Fleming and Noel Coward,” he said.

“Are there any other structures or facilities here that we should study—Coward’s house is too new—is there anything the same age as that old stone building?”

“You got Coward’s grave over there.” McGyver pointed back toward the water. The top of a white in-ground crypt, the size of a small coffin, rested alone on the edge of the manicured lawn.

“Too new. Any other buried structures or tunnels?”

He put his hands on his hips and thought for a moment.

“Got the concrete pool—all covered over.” He pointed up toward Coward’s residence. “Never saw it be used.”

“I’ve got to leave soon!” Nancy shouted up from the stone building.

My watch showed 6:15. We were pressing our luck.

“Let’s go check out the stone building.”

We jogged down to where Nancy stood by the back patio, tapping her right foot against the concrete floor.

“Do you know how long the pool’s been covered up?” I said.

Nancy shook her head. “Maybe thirty years.”

I wondered whether it could have been longer, and whether there was a pool there at all.

“What’s inside this stone building?” I said.

“A bar,” she said.

“Perfect,” Ray said.

Nancy didn’t smile.

Past the heavy wooden door was a small room with a brick fireplace, and just as Nancy had said, a freestanding bar that looked like it had been built in the 1950s.

“Is this original?” I pointed toward the fireplace, its floor covered with dusty old conch shells.

She nodded.

“Do you know what year the house was built?”

She glanced at McGyver, then shook her head.

I reached in my pocket. “I’m sorry, we’ll be glad to pay for the tour—and we’ll only be another few minutes.”

Her expression softened when she took the money.

“I’ll go check the back room,” Ray said.

The shelves in this one displayed bottles, small figurines, clay pots, tools, and other items I assumed to be antiques.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Nancy said.

Ray walked out from the back room and shook his head.

“We’re not really sure,” I said. “But—do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”

She went behind the bar and passed over a yellowed cocktail napkin and a pencil. I took it and sketched out my best recollection of the petroglyphs I’d found at the Blue Mountain crossing. I felt foolish handing it to her, but a long shot was better than no shot.

“Have you ever seen anything like that around here? Maybe a rock formation, or some holes, or even—”

Her eyes opened so wide I stopped midsentence.

“There’s a drawing like this—a carving, really. Nobody’s ever known what it meant. We just assumed it was an old vandal—”

“Where?”

My voice was so loud she jumped.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “the meaning of that series of shapes is urgent. Can you show me the carving? Is it outside?”

She lifted her hand and pointed toward the brick fireplace. All I saw were the conch shells, the red bricks, junk, old candlesticks, a dark wood mantelpiece—

“She’s pointing toward the mantle, Buck,” Ray said.

I stepped closer—we all did.

“There’s an odd series of circles—ovals, really—carved into the wood. They’ve been there forever.” She touched the far left corner of the mantle. The wood was only six inches wide.

Gradually I was able to make out images—dust-filled and faint, but clear indents just the same.

I leaned closer.

“Ray, bring that lamp over here and plug it in!” I pointed toward an old table lamp on top of the bar.

He plugged it into a wall outlet, took off the shade, then handed it to me as I studied the carvings. The scale was smaller, but with the light aimed at them I could see that the shape was exactly the same.

I blew at the thick dust, sneezed, and got simultaneous bless-you’s from McGyver and Nancy.

Ray handed me a fireplace tool with a small broom on the end. After repeated brushing, the dust was clear and the light revealed more than just the oval and circle shapes—a sideways V was carved into the wood on the left side of the ovals. The sideways V, which was jagged but distinct, seemed familiar—

Of course!

I fumbled the lamp, but caught it before it hit the ground.

“What? Did you see something?” Ray said.

Everyone leaned in close.

The outside line appeared to be the configuration of the western coast of Jamaica. The line started somewhere between Ocho Rios and Montego Bay—in fact, there was a series of scrapings where Montego Bay would have been—then veered out to the left through what today is Negril but back then would have been desolate, curved down to the south and to the east by Treasure Beach, then down again and faded out as it headed toward what would have been the approximate location of Spanish Town.

I took a deep breath.

“Does it mean something to you?” Nancy said.

I took another deep breath. “Yes, but I’m not sure what. It does resemble the petroglyph.”

“It’s a mirror image,” Ray said.

I shot him a look and he pursed his lips.

“Even if it is, I still don’t know what it means.”

Nancy’s shoulders dropped and she looked at her watch. I pulled my phone from my pocket and took a couple photos of the faint carving, with flash and without. The circles were roughly two-thirds to the north, and in the center of what I estimated to be the western third of the Jamaican land mass. Could Morgan have carved this as a reminder of something?

Or maybe someone else carved it as a message to him?

The shock I’d felt upon recognizing the circles had been replaced with an adrenaline shot from the new information. If these circles indicated the location of something, the location had just become a hell of a lot clearer even if—

The sound of Nancy clearing her throat broke my spell.

I thanked her and tipped her an additional $20. When we stepped outside I saw it was dark. She followed us out and turned to lock the door.

“Have you seen those circles and ovals anywhere else here at Firefly?” I said.

“No, just there. Like I said, we always figured it was some old vandalism.” She paused. “If you find out what it means, I would love to know.” She smiled. “We can add the information to the tour if it’s anything worthwhile.”

My smile caused her to stop in her tracks.

“If I find out, you will too.”

T
he bar at Bizot was packed with happy vacationers, couples with their noses pressed together over candlelight, and our small group of five men in the back of the bar beside the oceanfront yoga platform. We were huddled close for quiet conversation, not that anyone could hear us over the party atmosphere of Bizot’s Rum Night. I was on my second Black and Stormy, and it was all I could do not to knock it back in one long gulp.

Ray sat next to me, his lips pressed tight and his brow bulging. Across from us was Colonel Stanley, along with Keith Quao, Maroon elder and university professor who’d sat in on the committee meeting when the Port Royal project was awarded to Jack, flanking him on one side. On Stanley’s other side was a younger, bulkier man named Pierce. He hadn’t said much, and I assumed he was a bodyguard for the older men. We’d planned the meeting prior to Ray’s and my trip to Firefly, but the news of finding the same pattern of circles and ovals within what appeared to be a map of western Jamaica had led to much speculation on what the symbols represented and its location. The common assumption was that they reflected either sinkholes or caves.