They would have missed the strait entirely if they hadn’t caught sight of Victor Sullivan cutting across the coast ahead of them, bold as brass.
Braddock had been about to turn the rafts around—the runabout they’d spotted was long gone—when they all heard the high buzz of a speed boat, approaching quickly from the west. Braddock had them pull close to the shore, but she needn’t have bothered trying to hide. A look through the binoculars and there was Sully, blasting through the water north of them and staring at his phone. He disappeared into the cliffs.
“After him,” Braddock said. I knew it! Frazer had been wrong. Sully either had the real location or thought he did. Considering the time she’d wasted on Golden Cove, seeing him was a curious mix of fury and delight. In this instance, his incompetence was her good fortune.
They hurried to the break in the cliffs and went in after him, slowing through the narrow passage when they heard the speed boat’s motor cut out. They came out in a narrow cove lined with cliffs and caves. Braddock had the rafts fan out, investigating with searchlights. Scotty was the first to spot the hull of a boat, deep in one of the mammoth tunnels.
There were two boats, actually, Sully’s and the runabout Hugo had first tracked, both anchored at the tunnel’s end, both unmanned. Braddock shined her Aashlight at the base of the wall, saw the ragged openings there and deduced the rest.
“We need this wall gone,” she said, pleased that she’d thought to bring the ANFO and blasting caps. There was diving gear on the Victoria, but time was of the essence. She had one of the mercs jump in to take a look at how big an explosion they needed, but he came up gasping a minute later, shaking his head. A second man dove in and disappeared, then popped up along the right-hand wall of the cave, a bit behind them, jabbering excitedly. A cavern, and the rock was thinnest where he swam.
Several minutes dragged by while Alvaro and a seedy ex-con got into an argument over how best to place the charge, a third man breaking in to explain the dynamics of a blast radius. Braddock listened until she realized they were enjoying themselves.
“Enough,” she snapped. “Scotty, take care of it.”
The older man set the charge and they rode back into the cove, the blast thundering out a minute later. Powdered rock billowed out on a surge of water. Braddock kept her raft at the front going back in, Scotty and Hugo armed and at her side.
Sully’s ride and the other were both sunk by the time they passed through, the air still thick with dust and acrid smoke. Braddock’s raft was first through the morass, the smoke parting as they arrived in a beautiful grotto, lit by an open cenote high overhead. And there, on a tiny stretch of sand against the western wall, were two ancient Spanish carracks, suspended over the rippling pool.
Braddock devoured them with her eyes as the rafts headed for the spit, marveling at the magnitude of them. It was all true, then, all of it, even the theory that one or more of Magellan’s ships had survived. She, like Moncada, had believed that the gold had been offloaded somewhere, the boats lost afterward.
Never happier to be wrong. Braddock got out of the raft, barely aware of her body as she drifted between the towering, mossy hulls. Sand had built up beneath them, the Trinidad’s sharp belly half buried. The carracks were built from oak, steamed and molded and treated with pitch, stacked into nearly a hundred tons each of seagoing storage space. She could see the hand-cut dovetails and dowels holding the heavy boards together, still solid after centuries of indirect weathering.
“Magellan’s ships,” she said, and touched the Concepción’s mossy side. She couldn’t begin to imagine how much they were worth. “They’re more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
“Sa meeracle tae behauld,” Scotty agreed, his voice hushed with awe.
Braddock dropped her hand, turned to address the cluster of wide-eyed mercs that had gathered on the sand. “Find the gold. If you see Sully, don’t let him open that mouth of his. Kill him on sight.”
Sully had followed somebody here, but he was the immediate threat. The men looked excited, pulling out Glocks and assorted artillery.
“Careful,” Braddock added. “These ships are worth a fortune on their own. Put a hole in my boats, I put a hole in you.”
Respectful nods all around, and the crew broke up. Scotty led half the men to the Concepción; Alvaro took the rest to board Trinidad, using the ANFO crate as a stepladder.
Braddock stayed put, running through what needed to happen next, Sully’s demise already in her rearview. A shot to the head was more than he deserved, delivered by some nameless merc who’d high-five over his corpse. She had more important things to consider.
Radio the Victoria, bring the rest of the workers around, we can unload the gold by raft… Except what to do about the ships? Better to take it all out at once, the gold and the carracks. Elcano had to have sailed them in, the sea caves reformed at some later point by Demar’s volcano; it was a wonder the ships hadn’t been destroyed, let alone that they were intact. They were in wondrous condition, considering, but couldn’t possibly be seaworthy; Braddock could see a few gaps where the boards had shrunk, low on the hull. Even if she blew a big enough hole in the caves to wedge them out, how to get them to transport?
She realized that Hugo had hung back with her. The big man was looking at the giant cenote overhead, shading his eyes, then back at the towering ships. The sinkhole was roughly circular and thirty meters across at its widest, edges ragged with roots and vines.
More than enough clearance, if we can position them right. There were helicopters strong enough to lift airplanes, and the Victoria could easily carry the ships, all the way back to Spain or wherever else she wanted. She’d thought Moncada had chosen the oversized Victoria for the name, but maybe he’d been betting on the slim chance that the wildest legends had been true, that they would find the carracks themselves.
Hugo arched an eyebrow at her, and she nodded.
“Good idea,” Braddock said. “We’re going to lift them out.”
* * *
The kid led him upward, the boards creaking under their weight. They kept low and moved quickly; Sully could hear Braddock’s crisp voice, Aoating through cracks in the hull. He hadn’t figured she’d peel herself away from Golden Cove… and, well, he’d been watching the GPS app, not paying much attention to Demar’s coastline when he came in. Nice of the kid not to point out his fuck-up, although nice was maybe too strong a word. Nate hadn’t taken any pains to hide that he thought Sully was a greedy asshole.
I mean, I could see how he might think so. Sully had tried to do right by Nate, at least most of the time. Except for the Sam thing. And the auction, and taking off when he saw Braddock… but Nate wouldn’t have found the treasure if Sully hadn’t brought him in when he did. The kid had been a bartender, for Chrissake, now he was standing on a five-hundred-year-old Spanish carrack.
You’d think he’d be a little bit appreciative, at least enough to cancel out the other stuff.
Nate took the steps up to the captain’s quarters, the door sagging open, and Sully followed, hoping Nate was leading them to a hidden vault or a surprise stash of automatic weapons. His joy had been pretty much shot to shit, first by Nate’s attitude, then by Braddock and her team of muscle showing up. Braddock’s arrival was way worse. No chance Jo would leave the ships now, even for a minute, and she’d be watching for him. He and the kid would have to lay low, wait out the search, come up with a new plan. Sully still had his leather pack, strong enough to hold several millions’ worth of gold, if he chose well. But the idea of slinking away after dark with barely a fraction of what they’d found… no goddamn way. Braddock had gotten lucky, but that didn’t mean she got to keep all of it. He’d think of something.
Instead of leading Sully to anything useful, Nate started tapping on walls, his gaze skittering over every surface of the decaying cabin—desk, furniture, corners, Aooring.
“There should be a secret compartment where Magellan stashed his rum,” Nate said. He dropped to his knees, running his hands over the Aoorboards. “My brother told me about it when I was a kid.”
Footsteps landed on the main deck, heavy boots creaking on the old wood. “A secret compartment?” Sully whispered, heart skipping a beat. “You’re betting our lives on a bedtime story?”
More guys were piling onboard—and then one of the weathered planks Nate was pushing shifted, lifting up at the end. Sully and Nate exchanged a look and then Sully was on his knees next to the kid, helping him uncover the hidey-hole.
Goddamn. There was a decent-sized bunker down there, the size of a bathtub but deeper, way bigger than that Gullwing’s trunk. They’d have to sit, but there was no need to cuddle, thank God. There were several small kegs pushed against the walls, some clay pots, a couple of rotting books.
Sully jumped in first, pushing stuff out of the way. Nate dropped down next to him, and together they shifted the boards back into place. There were some rusting bits of chain hanging down to hurry the process along.
The very second that the last board settled, someone walked into the cabin. Heavy footsteps creaked inches over their heads, fine dust sifting down to stick to their wet clothes. The guy stood for a minute, then clomped back out.
Nate nudged Sully, who could just see by the thin cracks of light filtering down that Nate held out a stoppered bottle, half full with clear brown liquor. He could see the smirk on the kid’s face, too, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
Yeah, yeah, you were right, Sully thought, not actually irritated at all because it was going to take some time for Braddock’s thugs to look over the ships, and the kid was handing him the cure to boredom. Plus, he’d had some of his best ideas while drinking. He eased out the stopper, took a healthy swig of the ancient rum, careful not to be too loud about it, and wiped his mouth on his damp sleeve. A little syrupy, but he’d had worse.
He and the kid settled against the desiccated clutter and waited, listening to more guys climbing on board.