The phones already were ringing off the hook. Overnight the White House had raised the budget deficit estimates for the next year, and the treasury bond market had tanked. There used to be a strong bid or demand, for U.S. treasuries, due to a flight to quality knee-jerk reaction from the market. An investment in U.S. government securities had historically been considered a “risk-free” investment. No more. Now there was panic that rates were going to have to go much higher to attract buyers to fund all of the new debt.
“God, I feel like I’m living under Jimmy Carter,” he said sarcastically to himself. He was having trouble getting motivated this morning. The business was slowly becoming not fun anymore.
Connor had returned to New York to take care of the trading desk, but his mind was still in the Bahamas.
He was ripped away from the islands back to New York when the news hit the tape. CNBC announced it first and the trading floor went crazy.
“Euro currency to dissolve due to sovereign debt crisis,” the talking heads grimly proclaimed.
June 8, 1702
Nevis
Although Nevis was a mostly dormant volcano, there was some activity ten years prior. There were also numerous hot springs and fumaroles sprinkled about the island, evidence that the geologic activity was still going on deep below.
In addition, over one hundred years of intense deforestation to support the immensely profitable sugar industry on the island made the soil on the hibernating caldera quite unstable. The coral reefs protecting the shoreline were beginning to break apart as they died from lack of runoff from the now gone vegetation, leaving less and less protection for the coastline from the savage sea.
It was a little-known fact that at this time, the West Indies sugar and slave trade provided more income to the English Crown than trade from all of the North American colonies combined. The cane in Nevis was particularly valued, as it had a higher level of sugar content than neighboring islands. This produced a bountiful crop to provide the ladies and gentlemen in England sugar cubes for their coffee.
Nevis was also a base of operations for the English privateers and pirates preying on French and Spanish ships in the region. Soon the French would invade the island to put a stop to this and change the sugar trade forever.
Whether it was a volcanic event or a mudslide caused by the unstable mountainside, we will never know. A thundering boom followed by the crashing sound of trees snapping emanated from the mountainside. A dark mass could be seen shifting down the eastern side of the caldera. The mudslide covered all entry points to Captain Kidd’s cave.
Chapter Five
New York City
Connor relaxed into the wonderfully padded chair at his favorite watering hole in the city, The Campbell Apartment. His body melted into the soft covering as the day’s stress poured out of him. He had selected his usual spot in the dark, southwestern corner of the cavernous space; it was after ten o’clock in the evening, and he had put in a long day. The cute waitress brought him a drink. He loved the tight-fitting, black, slim dresses they wore. The contours of her body were easily seen and imagined. As she bent over and delivered his cocktail, something stirred inside him. It’s been too long, he thought.
Emily came back into his mind. He pushed her away.
I’m not going there tonight.
The bar used to be the personal salon of one wealthy New Yorker named John Campbell. He leased the space from Cornelius Vanderbilt inside of Grand Central Terminal. It was not an apartment per se, but he entertained guests there after spending a fortune to design and renovate the place in the early twentieth century. Hand-painted plaster ceilings, leaded windows, mahogany woodwork, and Persian rugs dominated the thirty-five-hundred-square-foot open area.
I’m always shocked by the magnificence of this place, he reflected. It was very crowded, and he was glad his assistant had called and reserved a table. He frequently entertained clients here.
But tonight he was not enjoying it. He was simply tired. His thoughts drifted back to his recent time in the Bahamas.
Connor had spent several days going over his findings from the journal and other effects from the trust. The most shocking revelation was that Burr had stumbled on something of great value.
In the chest, Connor found a leather pouch that was covered with a dark stain. "Who knows what this pouch has been through,” he said to himself. He carefully laid it aside.
Also inside were several very old and delicate parchments. He unfolded them slowly and felt guilty handling something that should have been in the Smithsonian. Maybe in time they will be. He laid them out on the table unfolded.
He realized immediately that the parchments were maps that led to multiple locations around the Caribbean. “Treasure maps? You have to be kidding me!” he exclaimed aloud.
The first was obviously pointing to a location in the Bahamas, near one of the out islands.
“I need to bring Alex into this.”
Connor had the trust company staff make a photocopy of the first map and then replaced everything in the chest. For security reasons and to be safe, he would only tell Alex about the first map and nothing about where it came from.
I wonder what is there, he thought as he exited the law firm front entrance and walked in the hot sun down Bay Street back to the Hilton. He thought of the many pirates who came to Nassau hundreds of years ago to trade and barter the goods they had seized from other ships.
Connor was brought back into the present at the bar as his cell phone, which he had set on the small table, began to vibrate and work its way toward the edge. He watched it for a moment. He feared being called back to work and hesitated. Then he noticed the number was from the Bahamas, and he grabbed it before it fell off the table and answered.
It was Alex.
“You need to come back down immediately,” he somewhat demanded. “I think I’ve found it.”
Alex had a long history in the Bahamas, although he was Russian. His hobby outside of trading was treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean. He had many finds to his credit, although nothing yet of any significant value. However, hunting for sunken treasure was his passion, as well as restoring old boats.
After leaving the law firm, Connor had shown Alex the map and asked if he could help. The map was obviously very old and the cartography was primitive. There were hundreds of small cays in the Bahamas, and it would be difficult to find this exact spot. That’s what they had discussed on the tower of his boat coming back from the fishing trip. Alex didn’t have an answer then, but now he thought he might.
“I’ll be down on the first flight in the morning,” said Connor.
He hung up the phone and quickly finished his drink. He was excited for a brief moment.
Then his exhaustion got the better of him. He had to calm his nerves and decompress from the long, intense New York day. The alcohol would do that for him. He ordered another and undressed the waitress with his eyes.
January 11, 1765
Nevis
The small boy followed his friend up the vine-covered incline. She was a slave child from the village near the mountain so was more adept than he at scaling the steep hill. She was fast. He tried to keep up. The vegetation was thick, and he was having a hard time making his way through it.
As he looked up after her, he could see the top of the thirty-two-hundre-foot volcano covered in a cloudy mist. Negotiating the thin path was difficult and he was tired.
“Alexander, we are almost there!” she shouted in her thick, native Caribbean accent. Monkeys unused to intruders barked at the pair as they struggled higher through the vegetation. They were angry these humans were trespassing on their territory and were making the most god-awful racket. They flew back and forth across the overhead branches in a rattled state. There are hundreds of them, the boy agonized. It was scary.
As he looked back, he could see the smoke from the many sugar mills r
ising up from the lush, green coastal floor at the base of the old volcano. Several ships were anchored off Charlestown, the main civilized area on the island. St. Kitts beckoned a short distance away across the sea, another island named after Christopher Columbus.
He was breathing hard now and sweating profusely. He was a slight, thin child with reddish hair of Scottish descent. Most people considered him delicate.
The girl had come to him while he was walking home from his Jewish tutor. The illegitimate boy’s parents had decided long ago to have him tutored instead of attending school on the island, where he was born. Taking off for the afternoon up into the mountains with a slave girl was not something that anyone would notice. He had plenty of free time.
“I have a secret place,” she taunted him. “Do you want to see?”
They were both approximately ten years old, so the taunt was completely innocent.
“Sure,” he had said, and off they went up the mountain.
Nevis was the caldera of a long-smoldering volcano rising out of the Caribbean Sea in the West Indies. Up to this point, the mountain itself had not been thoroughly explored. There were hundreds of caves and natural fissures in the side of the mountain from the fumaroles that opened from time to time. The jungle vegetation covered the entire area thoroughly from the sea to the rim. The two children were about halfway up the side of the volcano and climbing higher. The young boy felt as if he were climbing to the clouds, and in a way he was.
Her wind was better than his, and he was about to turn back when she exclaimed, “We’re here!” Her face lit up as she pointed to an opening obscured by the trunks of several huge trees. A few days ago, the hole was spewing gases from deep below, but the gases had recently stopped and the surrounding rock had cooled.
They slid between the tree trunks and looked into the small cave. The angle of the opening was forty-five degrees downward, and at the right time of day, the sun shone deeply into the hole providing natural light. The outlines of an underground cavern could be seen.
“Let’s go,” said the girl as she squeezed in and slid down into the larger opening. The boy followed.
It took some time before their eyes adjusted to the reduced light.
The girl screamed.
Someone was here before, a long time ago. Someone had died here a long time ago. There were many skeletons with remnants of hair and clothes scattered across the middle of the underground room. Shrunken skin still clung to the bones, making for a ghastly scene.
The girl started shaking and screaming again, speaking erratically about the dead spirits and evil. She scampered out of the cave into the daylight.
The boy remained.
There was something else. He could make out shapes to the rear of the space. He overcame his fear and gingerly stepped over the bodies and walked deeper into the cave in the darkening light. He was curious.
There were many chests stacked in rows. He opened one and caught his breath in shock.
The chests were filled with gold bars.
Nassau, Bahamas
June 21, 2017
The Nassau night sky was clear as Alex drove up the small alley road that led to the water tower elevated on a hill in the center of town. It was a nice night, but there was not a breeze in sight; the humidity hung like a wool blanket over the full summer moon. The streets were calm tonight but as usual littered with garbage. The drive to the tower did not make a good impression. He was away from the main tourist area, and it showed.
The plants on the side of the road stretched their limbs above the pavement. He could hear music and loud voices coming from the nearby residential area. The lights of the houses brightened with a yellowed electricity.
The water tower was somewhat of an attraction. The visitors routinely climbed the masonry stairs of the stone structure to get a better view of the entire city, as it was the highest point on the island. Tonight, however, Alex’s destination was different.
Next to the old water tower there was an even older structure, Fort Fincastle. It was built by Lord Dunmore in 1793 as part of the series of edifices constructed to protect the city. The design was unique, as it was built to resemble an old paddle-wheeled steamer approaching bow on. A rounded west end with multiple rotating gun emplacements sat opposite the pointed bow of the ship. It was fairly small and only meant as a cannon placement to complete the field of fire over Nassau.
Alex was born in Russia, but no one would know it by speaking with him. His accent was Bahamian through and through, a real Conchy Joe. His parents immigrated to the Bahamas when he was a teenager after the Soviet Union disintegrated. He had memories of his country of birth and had visited several times. Russian was spoken in his home, so he could revert to that language at a moment’s notice.
His task tonight however had nothing to do with his upbringing. It had to do with money.
He drove up the winding, thin, one-lane road that led to the fort complex. The plywood market shops that lined the side of the parking lot were empty and boarded up at this hour. The Bahamians never missed a chance to sell their wares to the tourists who came from the constant flow of cruise ships. In the morning, the booths would be filled with pirated DVDs, handmade wooden toys, jewelry, and other crafts.
There was one official-looking vehicle parked by itself near the stone walls of the fort, a dark sedan. He parked his own car across from the market booths and in front of the pointed bow of the structure.
He then strolled carefully to the back side entrance, which opened into the small, walled, outdoor area surrounded by cannons, which pointed upward at a low angle. The rusting steel tracks, which allowed the wheels on the rear end of the cannons to swing, were illuminated in the moonlight.
Alex walked past them and turned right into the bowels of the small, concrete center. It looked as though it were an old powder magazine hollowed into the cement core. There was a table in the middle of the room with a large, black man sitting across it. Two fierce-looking bodyguards stood behind him. A single one-bulb light dangled from the ceiling and cast a yellow glow over the damp, ancient space. Alex walked in and said nothing. He acknowledged the man’s presence.
“You are late. I don’t like to be kept waiting,” the black man said. Alex didn’t respond. “But let’s forget about that and get to the matter at hand. I would like to make you a financial proposition.”
“I am open to hearing what you have to say, Mr. Prime Minister,” Alex replied.
Chapter Six
Eleuthera, Bahamas
Connor closed the door of the cottage and set the dead bolt. He felt especially at home here. He did not know why. Maybe it was the freedom it offered. The island provided total anonymity and control, just like he liked it. But nothing was permanent, he couldn’t stay long. He put that reality out of his mind.
A little bit of heaven never hurt anyone, he thought.
He walked to the cheap rental car he had acquired the day before and drove backwards down the shell-lined driveway. The crunch of the crustacean’s former home was comforting to him in some strange way. The geckos darted in and out of the surrounding scrub brush. The beating sun gave its last gasp, and the shadows were beginning to fall. The air was warm.
He bought the cottage several years ago, during the real estate crisis of 2008. People had stopped coming to the Bahamas and especially Eleuthera. Second homes in the islands were just not a priority.
He was a fan of buying things when no one else wanted them, when they were on sale. Real estate in the Bahamas was in this category in 2008. He had paid a very low price for a rundown cottage on the west coast facing the Atlantic. It was a fixer-upper. He even had his own piece of beach in a secluded, uninhabited lagoon─paradise. The downside was that he did not get to come here as often as he liked.
The long island snaked down from New Providence like a piece of confetti, at its widest a few hundred feet. At the north end w
as Harbor Island and all of the wealth it brought. It was rumored Bill Gates owned a home there. In the middle was Governors Harbor, a quaint town without all of the pretension of its northern neighbor. This was near where Connor had bought.
He flew into Governor’s Harbor from New York the day after Alex’s call. He planned to meet Alex early the following morning for the trip to the possible treasure site. Connor had spent the night at his cottage to make sure the caretaker was doing his job. He arrived early afternoon and spent the day doing small repairs around the house. Now he needed something to eat and a drink, to smell the roses a bit.
He drove to the east coast and snaked his way down the winding road for several miles then took an offshoot up to a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. Here was located a small, outdoor bar and restaurant. It was the only decent place to eat on this part of the island. Several cars were parked on each side of the driveway. The slight wind from the open window of the car warmed his face.
He parked and walked into the restaurant and took a seat at the empty bar. Good, I like solitude when I eat, he thought. Most of the customers were down on the beach. It looked like some kind of wedding party. They were laughing and smiling and having a great time, as people should at a wedding.
The bartender smiled at him. “The usual,” Connor said. “And a menu.” The bartender brought him a single malt Scotch. The alcohol did its duty. He began to relax. It wasn’t often he was able to relax. Such was the life of a bond trader.
The stress was a curse. The business was very lucrative, however, there were downsides. The bond market could move on the tiniest of things. Economics was the basic driver. Leading indicators of economic activity played the major role. Where do people think the economy is going? It’s the perception of the future, not necessarily the reality.
Connor noticed everything; how many cars were at the hotel, the size of the crowds at the airport, the price of a beer; all were bits of information. He traveled so much that he had a chance to see these variables in multiple locations. It was his way of making his own decisions on how things were going economically. It was a way to do a real-time check on the experts’ opinions.