The Lost Island

22

Gideon stared in shocked disbelief. Somehow, despite his vigilance, the pirate had managed to board and get hold of Amy.

Cordray smiled and flicked the wet hair out of his eyes. “Don’t be a hero, pal. I’ll count to three. One, two…”

Gideon held up his hands, gun dangling, thumb in the trigger guard.

“That’s a good boy.”

Now a third figure hoisted itself out of the water onto the swim platform, again stark naked, immensely muscled, with long hair and a mustache, and more tattoos. He shed his tank and came over the stern, a six-foot shark harpoon in one hand.

“Now come down. Keep the gun in sight.”

Gideon slid off the roof, came around the railing. The pirate with the mustache took away the gun and grabbed his arms, yanking them roughly behind. He slapped on a zip-tie. Gideon was thrown onto the deck beside Amy.

Cordray came over and Gideon was, at least, thankful that he wasn’t naked. But somehow the pudgy, smallish man — with his thick glasses and damp goatee — looked more menacing than the naked pirates.

“How about telling me what you’re really doing here?” he asked Gideon.

When Gideon said nothing, Cordray drew his hand back and smacked him hard across the face. More silence. Another smack.

“All right. We’ll find out ourselves.” He spoke in Spanish to Pirate, who moved to stand guard over them with a rifle.

Cordray went into the pilothouse, and the lights came on. Gideon could see him through the window, going through the cabinets, pulling things out, looking at them, tossing them on the floor. He went to the laptop computer and turned it on, cursing when the log-in password came up. He picked up the briefing book lying on the table and began pawing through it. A moment later he came out, holding it.

“I knew it.”

He shoved the open book at Gideon, with a picture of the Phorkys Map. “Oh, God, this is even better than I expected.”

Meanwhile, Gideon could hear the sound of the launch, crossing the water between the two boats. It landed at the swim platform and Cordray’s wife, Linda, hopped off.

“Look at this!” Cordray cried, triumph in his voice. “It’s just what you thought. They’re treasure hunters, like us — and they’ve got a fucking treasure map!”

She took it, examined it in the cockpit light. “Unusual.” She came up and stared at Gideon, then at Amy. “I think we might need some help interpreting this.”

Silence. Amy hadn’t said a word. Gideon could feel blood trickling from the side of his mouth. But Cordray hadn’t been strong enough to really hurt him. If Pirate or Mustache ever hit him, that might be a different story.

Linda came up close to him and looked in his eyes, breathing rank cigarette breath into his face. “The name’s Mark, right?”

Silence.

“Mark, let me explain something. I don’t know if you two are really a married couple, or what. I don’t give a shit. I do know this: if you don’t explain this map to me, my husband’s going to do something awful to her. Something really awful.”

Her raspy voice was almost thrilling with a sort of anticipation. She was, Gideon realized, actually getting off on this.

“It’s not a treasure map,” said Gideon. “It’s…it’s an old Irish map, that’s all. No treasure—”

Amy spoke for the first time. “Shut the hell up.”

“But—”

Linda stepped back. “Hank, handle this little bitch, will you?”

Cordray stepped forward. “Dame el arpón.”

Mustache handed him the harpoon. It was a vicious-looking thing, with a savage double blade at the end and an enormous steel hook. He held it up before Gideon and turned it around, slowly.

“This is a flying gaff harpoon,” he said, in his soft voice, “and we use it to kill sharks. Big sharks.”

He touched the bladed tip. “This is called the dart. You can jam it deep into a shark. But the real business part is this flying gaff. It’s razor-sharp. You hook this into a shark’s belly and pull. With one stroke, you can disembowel a great white and watch him eat his own entrails.” He smiled.

Gideon looked from Cordray to his wife. She was standing back, watching. Her face was flushed, her breathing fast.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do to Amy, here. I’m going to hook her in the belly and pull this through her. Unless you start telling me everything I want to know.”

“Don’t say a word,” Amy told him.

When Gideon didn’t answer, Cordray reached over to Amy and ripped open her pajama top. He detached the enormous barbed hook — six inches in diameter — and slowly moved it toward her belly.

Linda watched eagerly.

The gleaming point of the gaff hook just touched Amy’s skin, piercing it. Blood welled out. Amy’s face remained expressionless.

“Okay,” said Gideon. “I’ll tell you everything. Just stop that.”

“Shut up,” said Amy.

“Keep talking.”

“It is a map to a treasure — a really big one.”

“What kind?” the woman asked eagerly. “Pirate treasure?”

“No. Spanish fleet.” Gideon racked his brain for what he knew about treasure from the museums and historical societies he’d burglarized in an earlier life. “Back in the early sixteen hundreds, the Spanish treasure fleet was caught along this coast in a hurricane. Several ships were damaged. They had to unload and bury it on this coast. It’s still here.”

“And the map?”

“Shows where it is.”

The woman stared at the map. “It’s in Latin. I don’t get it.”

“A lot of early Spanish government documents were written in Latin,” said Gideon, not at all sure that was true. “It’s a very difficult map to understand. Deliberately obscure.”

“So where’s this treasure?”

“All we need to find…is one landmark along this coast. Just one.”

“Which is?”

He hesitated. “Devil’s vomit.”

“What?”

“It’s the seventh clue on that map. The inscription reads: ‘Follow the Devil’s vomit.’ We don’t know what that means. We’re trying to find the landmark. That’s where the treasure is buried. That’s why I asked you about landmarks.”

He could see they were buying it lock stock and barrel, greedily drinking in every word. And understandably so — for treasure hunters, this would be the score of a lifetime. But he was merely buying time — for what, he didn’t yet know.

Linda was looking at the map, hands trembling. “Devil’s vomit…what the fuck?”

“Look at the drawing,” said Gideon. “The landmark is something that looks like an upside-down U with that knob on the side. A cave, maybe. Maybe you’ve seen something like that around here.”

“Upside-down U…Knob…okay, I see it…” The woman was really excited now.

“That’s where the treasure is buried.”

She stared and stared. “Jesus Christ. I know this.”

“What?” Cordray said.

“It’s that rock arch, you know, that cay down the coast — the one with the strange name — Cayo Jeyupsi. That’s the outline of it — I swear.”

“But the Devil’s vomit?”

A hesitation. “Who cares? That’s the cay, I’m telling you!”

Cordray peered at the drawing. “Fucking hell. So it is.”

The woman turned back to Gideon. “So where’s it buried on the cayo? Where?”

“Talk.” Cordray moved the hook a little. Amy winced.

“We don’t know, damn it!” Gideon said.

“Yes you do. Where on the cay? Where?”

“I already said we were still looking for the spot. I can’t tell you right here, right now.”

“Yes you can. You will. What does the map say about the exact location?” Cordray was practically screaming. “Tell us or I gut her!”

“Take that hook away,” said Gideon, “or I’ll never talk.”

The hook didn’t move away.

“He doesn’t think you’re serious,” said Linda Cordray. “Go ahead — gut her. And then he’ll talk.”

“My pleasure.” The hook began to bite deeper into Amy’s flesh.