Braddock spent the best part of an hour radioing with the Victoria’s captain, explaining what she needed, and calling back to add to the list. He’d initially demanded to speak to Moncada, but when she told him what they’d found and offered him a cut, he’d changed his tune. Funny how things worked out, when there was a gold standard in play.
With the sky-cranes incoming, and the Victoria on its way and clearing deck space, Braddock was satisfied. She watched Scotty drop off of the Concepción to the sand and walk in her direction, holding a golden belt. She knew they’d found the treasure below decks, but this was the first time she was seeing any.
Scotty handed her the heavy belt. Braddock smiled at the weight of it, the chunky, ornate design. There were barrels of priceless objects to be sorted, catalogued, and appraised. Thousands of pieces.
“Wae canna fin’ ’em,” Scotty said, answering her only question before she could ask. “They’re nae a’board. Musta filt air pockits an’ gah it outa tare.”
Braddock hefted the glorious goblet. “Keep your eyes open. Sully’s a cockroach when it comes to gold.”
Scotty nodded, and turned back to the ship. Braddock could hear the thump of the approaching helicopters through the cenote, which would bring slings and cables and more men to fit them. The Victoria’s captain hadn’t been able to rustle up a decent engineer—there was nothing even slightly legal about what they were doing—but the copter crews were used to shifting cargo; they’d have some idea of how best to rig the operation. The carracks had supported their own weight for five centuries, they’d surely hold. Although, even if they fell apart on the Victoria’s deck, she’d still have the gold.
They’ll hold. You won, all of it. The hunt is over and you’re the winner. Braddock sighed with near-perfect happiness. The one thorn was not knowing where Sully had ended up, but whatever his plans, he was simply too late. She decided she’d ride to the cargo ship aboard Trinidad, Magellan’s Aagship, the better to oversee its careful removal… and it would give her a chance to start her inventory.
Still holding the goblet, Braddock watched the cenote, smiling, waiting for the pilots to arrive.
* * *
Nate didn’t have much to say to Sully, who nipped at the ancient rum and kicked back like they were waiting for a game to start, occasionally frowning at his own thoughts. They could hear guys calling through the ship, and twice more boots stomped directly overhead. They heard the excited howls when the men made it to the gun deck and found the spilled barrels. Nate figured that might work to their advantage, if Braddock had followed Sully in. It might look like they’d already come and gone.
Which is what we need to do: get gone. Their hiding place would be found once someone competent took over the search. When night fell, they could climb down the stern. There were heavy ladders port and starboard, and it was close enough to the cave wall to block them from any mercs hanging around. Getting up to the cenote was gonna be the problem; it seemed hugely unlikely that Braddock would leave the exit unguarded. They might have to take a long swim in the dark, which would be absolutely awful. There were over a hundred species of shark in Indonesian waters.
Nate hated the idea that Braddock was going to end up with the gold, but she had the equipment—he heard helicopters coming in, and new voices echoing through the cavern—and it seemed horribly inevitable. Nate wanted her dead for what she’d done to Sam, but he realized that he didn’t want to be a killer, he wasn’t cold-blooded like that. In defense was one thing, but planning a revenge murder just didn’t feel good. Besides, he couldn’t see a way to get it done with the crowd of gun-bros outside. He’d have to retreat, regroup. Siccing the law on her held tremendous appeal. She could grow out her roots in prison and then rot there.
Nate felt like he’d gotten what he needed, mostly. For him, it had been that moment with Sam on the little beach, just the two of them and their miraculous discovery. Nate had boarded the Concepción with wonder and awe, his inner child’s mouth hanging open in delight as he’d investigated the magnificent ship. Sam had been with him.
Until Sully came along and ruined it. Nate shot a look at Sully, who was chewing at his lips, brow furrowed. Sully was a dick but not a villain, not like Moncada or Braddock. And considering their current circumstances, Sully’s pathological self-interest was an asset, kind of.
And it’s not that I’d mind a few priceless souvenirs. If Sully could figure out a way to get out with some of the gold, Nate was willing to listen. Although the helicopters were actually pretty loud. They wouldn’t be chatting until the noise died down. The whole ship seemed to vibrate with the sound, creaking and shifting. There were men on deck, stomping back and forth, dragging stuff across the boards.
The ship rolled under them suddenly, the bow lifting, smashing them together against the back wall. All around them, the ancient boards shuddered and groaned.
The fuck?
Nate looked at Sully, and they both reached for the loose boards overhead. They’d pushed out three when the ship rolled back, the hull settling to the ground once more.
They clambered out of the hole, Sully stepping to a rusted porthole. Nate stared out the back window, squinting through the bleary glass. Is that a rope? Too thick, it’s some kind of cable or—
The Concepción tipped forward, the stern rising. Nate held onto the desk, listened to the men outside shouting over the blast of the copter’s engines as debris rolled across the top deck.
“Jesus,” Sully said. “She’s Aying them out, and us with ’em.”
Nate hurried to Sully’s porthole and looked out. For a second, he fell for the weird illusion that their ship was in motion… but it was the Trinidad rising next to them, four giant nylon slings under its battered hull. Eight massive cables strained around the protesting boards, drawing together somewhere over the cenote. Mercs stood on her deck armed with long oars and poles, pushing at the grotto walls to keep the carrack from bouncing off the rough stone.
Well, that changes things. They weren’t going to sneak away after dark, with or without any gold.
Weapons, we need weapons. There’d been cutlasses on the gun deck, boarding hooks, shit like that. No machine guns, but better than nothing. Nate didn’t have a plan yet, but survival seemed prudent. At least if they could take out some of the mercs on deck, there’d be fewer guns aimed their way, and fewer guns sounded like a win.
And then what? You’ll still be in Braddock’s hands. They’ll just shoot you from the helicopter or surround the ship when they finally set it down.
Nate shook off the annoying reality, remembering what had gotten him this far. Fake it ‘til you make it.
Nate headed for the hold, Sully behind him, both of them lurching as the Concepción rocked again, as slings were run beneath the hull. Sully fell against the wall, cursing. They could hear boards popping, splintering. Braddock was crazy, thinking she’d get the carracks out without extensive damage. Why would she risk it?
Because even in pieces, they’re worth hundreds of millions. Fucking with artifacts was super illegal, Braddock needed to get out before any authorities got wind of the find. Safely away, she’d be able to buy her way out of trouble with literal barrels of gold. She could bribe or destroy anyone who objected. That was her motivation, he thought, not the treasure but the power it would give her. Braddock was just the fucking worst.
He and Sully half fell into the hold as the Concepción tipped again, the spills of gold rattling in shifting piles. Nate looked through the tools and scattered weapons, most of them rusted. There was a long, dull knife, some wicked hooks, a couple of loose cutlasses… Nate picked up one of them, the handle sturdy in his grip. The curving edge was pitted but still mostly sharp. He saw a solid gold club, and set the blade aside.
“This’ll work,” Nate said, hefting the club. “Let’s go see what’s what.”
He turned to see what Sully had come up with, but Sully was busy shoveling treasure into his damp pack.
“Seriously? The whole ship’s full of the stuff,” Nate said.
“Just in case,” Sully said, throwing another handful of shining gold into the bag before hefting it over his shoulder.
He finally looked up, saw Nate’s club, and grabbed it, nodding appreciatively at the weight of the weapon. Nate was about to take it back when the Concepción trembled around them… and then separated from the shaded beach where she had rested for five hundred years. The carrack creaked and cracked and swayed upward, shifting in the slings, steadying as she rose. On the deck overhead, men shouted at one another.
No time to argue. Nate reached for the cutlass, ready to deal out tetanus to any man dared to cross him. Yar!
He nodded at Sully, who nodded back, and they headed for the stairs.
* * *
Sully followed the kid back up, gripping the club Nate had handed him. His pack was pretty heavy, but he didn’t mind. There was no telling what the next play was gonna be, they could end up diving into a tree or something; he needed to come away with at least a taste, or what was the point?
Nate led him to one of the deck hatches on the cramped level over the gun deck and they both looked up, blinking at the brightness through the lattice of mossy boards. Nate cracked it and they peered out. There were mercs spaced along the scuppers, using long oars to fend off the rock as the ship rose out of the cenote, drawn up by a massive Mil Mi-26 Halo, probably the strongest copter on the market. The slings around the boat were connected to cables hooked to giant chains, each link bigger than his head, that were clipped to a steel plate on the belly of the helicopter, high enough overhead not to blast them with the heavy wash.
Sully focused on the immediate issue. He counted four mercs but his view was limited by the angle—say six, if the spacing stayed consistent. All the men had slung their weapons to participate in the game of keep-away. He and the kid could climb out and be mostly blocked from view by some newer crates stacked on deck, and the way the bulkhead was angled. Plus the masts were huge, there was plenty of cover.
If we can knock a few mercs off, talk the pilot into switching sides…
Nothing was set in stone, they might still find a way to turn things around.
The Concepción drew up past the rocks and into full sunlight, quickly rising over the tops of the rotor-whipped trees once it was clear. The glittering sea unrolled in front of the swaying carrack in a shining expanse of aqua blue, rocky cliffs falling away beneath them.
“Magellan never had a view like this,” Nate said, appreciatively.
That’s more like it. “Told you I’d take you places, kid.” Nate held up his cutlass. “You up for a mutiny?”
Sully found himself grinning. Pirates from Boston, these guys didn’t stand a chance. “Let’s take this ship.”