Treasure Sleuth (10 page)

"And then what?"

"Well, then, maybe spending some time looking through Gene's notes. There seems to be a lifetime of research down there and it would be a shame to see it all go to waste because I was too busy building websites and then chasing clients for payment."

"I've been thinking about Grandpa too and what you said about him wishing he didn't leave it too late. Last night I couldn't sleep again so I started writing."

"You did? That's great."

"Just a few pages, but it felt good. Actually it was about coming here and meeting you."

"It was?"

"I've been wanting to tell my friends about Grandpa's Amber Room, the treasure and you but I knew I couldn't risk anything making its way back to Mom or any of the family finding out. So I pretended I was an author writing a book and imagined one person reading it on the other side of the world. It felt good to be sharing it."

"Do you think you'd like to write full time?"

"Yes, maybe. Do you think you could make one more website?"

"For?"

"For me. A plan I've been thinking about."

"Of course. Just let me know what you want and I'll do it for you."

"Thank you," Abby said lifting her head up to kiss Mark.

"Talking of plans, look, the sun is setting and we need to get ready. If we don't get this gold recovered tonight then this might be the last time we look out of this window at this sunset."

Abby stood up wrapping the cream blanket around her and asked, "What do you need from me?"

Mark thought for a moment. "Do you think you can handle a supercharger?"

As they left the busy city streets of Exeter, the street lights gradually thinned out along with the traffic. Soon they were the only ones on the road. The only sound was the low rumble of the Jaguar's V8 and a nearby train slicing its way through the blackness.

"This feels so wrong," Abby said shifting awkwardly in the driver's seat.

"Really?" Mark asked surprised, "I thought you'd enjoy driving this. You're doing great."

"I don't mean the car. I love the car. I mean what you're going to do."

"Oh. Right."

"I still can't believe you buried gold over someone's grave, it just seems really inappropriate, especially now that you're going to dig it up in the middle of the night."

"Yes, I know it does seem wrong. I never intended to be digging at night. It's normally so peaceful out there that a daytime dig is much easier. Bloody houses. They seem to be building everywhere these days."

"What's wrong with a traditional safety deposit box?"

"Do you know how much those things cost to rent?"

"You've got ninety grand in gold and you're worried about the cost of a safety deposit box in a bank vault?"

"Well I didn't start off with ninety grand. I only had a few small pieces when I first went there. It just started to accumulate and by the time I got past fifty grand it just felt normal. And safe."

"Safe? In a graveyard?"

"Yes, safe. It's not a graveyard, it's a small chapel with a few graves around it. Anyway, it was your Grandpa's idea."

"What? Why on earth would he suggest you bury a stash of gold in a graveyard?"

"Okay, he didn't say grave per say, but he taught me to think like a hoarder from the past. Hundreds of years ago, before banks or safety deposit boxes, people had to carry their wealth around with them."

"Then you should have got a fanny pack!"

"What the hell is a fanny pack?"

"A bag you wear around your waist to take your stash around with you."

"Oh you mean a bum bag," Mark burst out laughing. "Over here a fanny is... doesn't matter. I didn't want to take stuff around with me, I wanted to know how it felt to hide something with the intention of retrieving it at a later date and having it still be there."

"Why?"

"Because it's one thing to try and imagine the state of mind a hoarder of the past would have been in, but another to actually be in that state for real. When a hoard is found it can sometimes represent a lifetime of savings. Back then, each gold coin would have been worth a full months wages."

"And why did they bury it rather than spend it, I don't think they would have been saving up for a supercar."

"They buried stuff for all sorts of reasons, mainly in times of war to keep their wealth safe. Or they were travelling with their wealth and before they entered a town, especially if darkness was falling, they would hide it in case of highway men being in the area to rob them, and then retrieve it the next day and continue their journey."

"Unless the highway men killed them anyway."

"Exactly. Or they died in battle and their loot remains in their hiding place to this day."

"But seriously, how often is that likely to have happened?"

"In England? A lot. Just think, in every age there has been enormous conflict. Celtic battles, the invasion of the Vikings, the invasion of the Romans, the Civil War. Hoards have been hidden and lost in every age. Even today people are still hiding valuables in their garden and attics rather than use banks."

"And graveyards."

"Yes, maybe other people are using graveyards too."

"And my Grandpa thought it was a good idea to hide stuff in a graveyard?"

"Yes, he did. He thought it was a clever place. Think about it. You can hide something in a tree like people have done, but trees rot, or could get blown down in a storm. You could hide it in the banks of a river like people have done, but rivers swell and flood and can corrode or demolish the banks and then your stuff falls into the water. You could hide it in a field but you'd never know when the farmer might stumble across it with a deep plough."

"What about the woods? Discreet, easy to mark with trees so you can always remember your spot."

"I love the woods. Lots of hoards are found in woods and yes I did seriously consider several of the woods around here. But I wouldn't sleep at night knowing somebody else with a metal detector could discover my hoard."

"What about in the bottom of a lake?"

"Yeah that's not bad, but it might dry up in a drought and your stash is sitting there in full view. Or somebody might go missing and the police search the lake and discover my stuff next to some remains."

"Oh Mark, that's sick, but your stash is next to remains now!"

"Yes, but nobody is looking for those remains! Plus, an adventurous treasure hunter could search a lake with an underwater machine like we have and find it. I found something only a few days ago hidden in a lake. Admittedly it was on private property, but anyone with the right equipment could have found it anytime. But a grave is perfect."

"It's wrong."

"That's why it's so right. You think it's wrong or icky to dig over someone's grave and the chances are that's exactly what everyone else will think so it would be the last place anyone would search. I'm not digging up a body that's six foot down. I'm only digging one foot at most."

"But it's disrespectful."

"To who? The guy's dead so he doesn't mind. I picked an old grave so there would be no family visiting to get upset. The poor dude didn't have any visitors for decades until I came along and now he gets a visit at least twice a year. And graves are safe. They won't be disturbed by floods, storms or changes to the landscape. They can't build houses on them."

"No, just around them."

"Exactly. When you really think about it, they are a perfect place to hide something of value."

"Unless someone is sick enough to go detecting over graves, literally grave robbing."

"Yep, hopefully not many people are that sick, but that's why I chose a grave with an iron fence edging."

"So their detector would just pick up the iron fence? But what about the discrimination you told me about on the beach to ignore iron?"

"You can't ignore iron that big, but if the machine could ignore the iron it wouldn't be able to register a new signal for gold. The signal would be too big to distinguish and they would just think it was the fence anyway so wouldn't bother."

"I see you have really thought it all through, except for the fact that you're about to go into a church in the middle of the night with a spade to start digging over a grave. I'm not sure the police would see the brilliance in your explanation."

Abby eased off the gas and flicked the turn signal flashing its orange glow against the hedges. Looking dead ahead she asked, "You ready?"

Mark reached over to the cubbyhole behind Abby and pulled his back pack onto his lap. He opened the top and brought out a pair of black night vision goggles and clipped the rucksack closed again.

"Ready," he said. He reached into the glove box and grabbed two walkie-talkies and an ear piece. Tilting his head and placing the earpiece over his left ear he asked, "You good with the plan?"

"Yes, just be quick won't you."

"You good with the car?"

"Stop worrying about the car. I'm fine."

Abby pulled up into the dusty track entrance and Mark got out of the car.

"Good luck cowboy," Abby said as he closed the door. She then sped away down the country lane and Mark started his jog into the darkness. His boots making only a slight crunch on the stone and mud track as his surefooted run dodged the various potholes and broken brick. He was in a private world now, the tiny infra-red dot on his headband producing an invisible high beam torch of light, a contrast of greens viewed through the night vision goggles.

"Big Joe checking in, all clear," Mark spoke softly into the microphone dangling down the side of his face, connected to the walkie-talkie in his pocket.

"Little Jo back at you, in position and ready, all clear here," came back the response in his ear piece.

Mark had never had a woman's voice in his ear like this before. It had felt ages since he shared an adventure on ground level like this with anyone. Lately it had only been the gravelly voice of Gene who was back at HQ in the lighthouse. This time it felt good knowing he had an extra pair of eyes where it counted.

He slowed down as he passed the barn, checking for any signs of movement. All was clear and quiet in the soundless courtyard. As he got closer to the connecting track Mark could see a bright green glow in the distance. There was light around the building site.
Probably security,
Mark thought.

This was good. The light would act like a shield making Mark even more invisible in the darkness behind it where the church stood. He would just need to get past the building plots without making a sound. He slowed down approaching the connecting track. Making the right turn he came face to face with a security guard. Standing in the middle of the track only a few yards away, the man was as bright as daylight. Mark froze. His breathing stopped. The man looked more like a military security officer rather than the typical rent-a-guards you normally get for these sort of jobs. Army boots, combat trousers and a padded jacket. If it wasn't for the luminous over-jacket saying 'Estate Security' across it he could have easily been mistaken for a soldier. Holding a turned off torch in his left hand, his right hand hung down motionless. A cap covered his shaven head underneath, and Mark could even see his face stubble he was standing so close. A bright green light lit up the guys nose as he looked up at the stars.

Mark started to step slowly backwards, preying the guy wouldn't notice the faint red LED on Mark's head gear and then switch on his torch for a better look. He carefully watched the guy breathing, standing in complete darkness, staring at the stars. Then the guy moved his hand and Mark froze again, watching as he sucked on a cigarette turning his whole face green with light. Both men standing in complete darkness but for Mark he could see everything as clear as day. A green day.

Slowly, as if not to set off a motion alarm, Mark stepped backwards careful not to crunch on any stones. As soon as he was out of site, Mark turned and carefully treaded his way up the lane towards the barn. Then Abby's voice blared into his ears.

"Big Joe, Big Joe, you may have company. A truck pulling a trailer just turned down the lane with an off-roader following."

Shit,
Mark thought.

"Okay, thanks Little Jo," he whispered.

"Can you hear me Big Joe?" Abby asked.

Frustrated, Mark snapped back, "Yes I can hear you, I just can't talk very loud. There's a guy here."

"I can hardly hear you."

"Turn your bloody volume up then, I can't speak any louder."

"Is that better?"

"Is what better? I can hear you fine."

"Okay I can hear you now. Did you hear what I said, you have an off-roader…"

"And a truck with a trailer, yes I heard thanks. What makes you think they're going to come down the track?"

"I don't know. They look dodgy. The off-roader is full of men. Looks like a gang."

Mark started jogging back to the barn area but it was too late. Lights in the distance beamed down the track in the direction towards Mark. He knew he'd never make it to the barn. The trucks were moving too fast. He couldn't turn back either, because of a security guard with an astrology fetish.

Mark scanned the hedge rows for any openings to climb through or sit in. A few feet away on the other side of the track was his best bet. A pocket of brambles to the right of a small tree that protruded the hedge. He lowered himself to the ground and shuffled across to the other side doing his best to stay out of the headlights which were growing bigger and almost reaching where he stood. Carefully and quietly he climbed the grassy hedge, gripping hold of the tree and waited.

If he jumped now he would make too much noise and the security guard would hear. He would have to wait until the last moment where the trucks were close enough that their diesel engines would cover his twig snapping leap, but still far enough back to not see his shadow bounce in the hedge. With his hand turning white from gripping hold of the tree, the moment was almost upon him. He lowered an inch to get full thrust but then the lights veered away as the convoy turned into the barn area. This was as close as the trucks were going to get so Mark took his moment and leaped into the top of the hedge sinking down into the brambles, the thorns tearing at his hands and face.