Double Eagle Double Cross, page 14
Charley realized he was trapped. The shooter must be set up behind the building so he could cover both doors. That meant Charley’s options were to either stay hunkered down and hope the shooter didn’t come to investigate or go out over the front wall and down the cliffs. Neither option carried much promise of survival.
He figured his best bet would be to simply stay here until more tourists happened along. The shooter had waited until the Japanese tourists were out of sight before he started shooting, so Charley assumed—hoped, that is—that the shooter didn’t want any witnesses. Exactly how reliable that assumption might prove was what Charley was trying to determine when he heard the crunching of someone approaching the shelter. He figured it was a safe assumption that it wasn’t tourists. The shooter knew he or she could not wait until more tourists came along. Charley considered running—just making a dash out the door and hoping he could get into the trees before the shooter could get him. He heard more scraping of branches as the shooter drew closer, and at this close range, Charley really didn’t like those odds. Finally, he decided he really had only one choice.
Keeping near the center of the shelter to avoid any more exposure, Charley crawled to the front of the shelter, slithered over the low rock wall on his belly, and dropped down out of sight.
***
A long-barreled pistol, the bulbous end of a silencer leading the way, appeared around the edge of the northwest doorway. If any tourists happened to come down the path, the northwest side of the building would more effectively hide the shooter from any unexpected observers. The shooter stepped through the door, gun up, but the space was empty. Charley was nowhere in sight. The shooter listened intently but could hear no evidence of Charley’s retreat. Confused, the shooter determined that Charley had either exited the opposite doorway at just the right moment or climbed onto the roof or, unlikely as it seemed, gone over the cliffs.
Slowly the shooter backed out of the shelter and stood on tiptoes. The shelter wasn’t large nor was the roof that sturdy, and it was easy to see that no one was hiding up there. To the left, at the back of the shelter, there was also no evidence of Charley’s retreat. Surely he hadn’t tried to escape down the cliffs. That would be suicide.
The shooter smiled as the thought struck him. If so, Charley would have done the shooter’s job for him, leaving no evidence and no need for clean up. But it would have to be confirmed.
***
As the gun appeared over the edge of the wall, Charley, who had been crouched on the narrow edge of dirt along the base of the shelter, exploded upward. He grabbed the arm that held the gun, pulling it toward him, intending to wrestle the firearm away from his assailant. The shooter yelped in surprise as he was pulled forward. His knees caught at the top of the rock barrier, pulling his feet off the floor. Charley was forced to release his grip on the man’s arm and grasp for a handhold to keep from being pulled down the slope after his assailant. The shooter pitched over the wall, doing a somersault before landing on his back and then sliding through the brush and over the precipice. Charley heard no scream, nor did he hear any telltale thump to indicate the man had landed somewhere. The sounds of breaking brush and sliding rocks and dirt simply diminished then disappeared, and Charley slowly came to realize the only sound was of his own labored breathing.
After a moment, Charley’s awareness that he was still at risk of slipping down the slope returned. Digging the edges of his shoes into the dirt, he slowly and carefully, and a bit awkwardly, grasped the rocks on the wall then, belly first, rolled over it and landed on his back inside the shelter, breathing heavily from the exertion and the trauma.
Eventually his breathing slowed, and with that came the realization that no tourists had happened along. Why is that? he wondered. Climbing to his feet, he brushed himself off as best he could and began to shamble back up the path. When he arrived at the parking lot, he noticed a family of six and another young couple standing at the threshold of the path, a mixture of frustration and astonishment on their faces.
“Are you with the park service?” one man called out as he approached, a note of hostility in his voice.
Somewhat absently and confused at the question, Charley shook his head. “No. Why?”
“This!” The man pointed at a sign placed in the ground in the middle of the path. He was certain it hadn’t been there when he had passed this spot earlier.
“Did you get in trouble?” one of the older children asked, only to be shushed by her mother.
“Trouble?” Charley mumbled, wondering if they somehow knew about the shooter falling down the cliffs. Charley moved around the edge of the sign. It took him a minute to make sense of it.
Attention!
This path is temporarily closed due to severe geographical damage. No admittance under any circumstances until further notice. Trespassers will be prosecuted.
Charley stared at the sign. It slowly dawned on him why the shooter hadn’t been overly worried about accidental tourists or witnesses. The shooter, or an accomplice, had most likely placed this sign to provide them with enough time and privacy to kill Charley. He had no doubt that if they had succeeded, it would be his body down the cliff, effectively hidden with a bullet hole in it.
Abruptly Charley stepped forward, violently pulled the sign from the ground, and sent it spinning off into the dense brush.
“Oh! My!” he heard the mother of the young family exclaim. “Can you do that?”
With exaggerated calmness Charley turned to her and smiled. “Consider that further notice. Have a nice day.” Charley turned and stomped across the small parking area toward his motorcycle.
***
Text: From F
Target escaped.
Will try again.
Chapter 20
The early morning rain fell softly outside the windows. Charley sat at the table, tapping his pencil in thought, toast, juice, and a notepad in front of him. He knew who Robert Haversham was and Hanna Adamo and George Bickley, but they were all dead.
He didn’t know anything about Roxy. Despite her help, he realized she still remained somewhat of a mystery, and he needed to know a little more before he began sharing too much information with her. He wrote on his paper.
Nettie Sundberg was a ship that apparently had something to do with this whole mystery, but he had no clue what that might be. Once again, a bit of a mystery about which he needed to know more. He wrote down Nettie Sundberg.
His thoughts drifted to Mac Bowman, a mystery in and of herself. What their relationship might be or what it might become seemed to weigh increasingly on his mind. He added Mac Bowman to his list.
The sound of car tires on gravel crunched through the rhythm of the rain. He jumped up, moving carefully to the window. Parting the curtains, he watched as an older model car—maybe a Buick but he couldn’t be sure—drove slowly up the road. At least it wasn’t pulling into his driveway. After his near-death experience the previous evening, he was admittedly a bit nervous. He had learned two things though. First, there must be more to his parents’ death than what was generally believed. He had fought that notion, but why else would someone mention such a thing to lure him to a spot only to try to kill him? Second, someone had tried to kill him, and although he was pretty sure that specific killer was no longer a threat, there was the strong possibility there might be someone else out there wanting to finish the job. Yes, he was feeling a little anxiety.
He wished again he had Mac here with him. She was good at this mystery stuff. He wished he could bounce everything off her and get her thoughts on it all. He sat again at the table, picked up his pencil, and circled her name. She needed to be a priority. He would need to get his phone fixed or get a new one soon so he could call her. Call her? Did he feel confident enough in their relationship to do that, or should he wait until he got back and had a chance to spend some time with her? Was he being presumptuous about all this? He bit his lip, decided he had other things to get done—at least until he got a new phone—and quickly crossed her name out. He may have questions about their relationship, but unlike the other two names on his list, she was solid. As a person, he could trust her, and any questions about their relationship could wait.
Charley turned his attention to the jump-rope rhyme. He suspected it was more than just a series of nonsense words. He was sure Robert Haversham had found something and, for some unknown reason, had created a poem to preserve that information.
Treasure ship of Hey-they-ta,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5.
Secret caves of Kay-You-Cla
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5.
How many bears were said to die,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5,
Jumping through the needle’s eye,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5.
Lions’ caves beneath the foam
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5,
’Tis folly for you’ll never get home,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5.
’Neath the keepers of to ask,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5,
Devil’s secrets in the cask,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5.
Eagles of the Cagey Sea,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5,
Find your way in secretly
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5.
Old bricks, new bricks, 2 by 2,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5,
Pull them out and down the flue,
1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5.
Charley recognized some of the so-called nonsense words. For example, Hey-they-ta was actually the original Spanish pronunciation of Heceta, the explorer for which the beach had been named, but did the “treasure ship” mean the one Heceta himself had commanded or something else? His mind flashed to the picture of Haversham posing in front of the shipwrecked Nettie Sundberg. Could the Nettie Sundberg somehow be a treasure ship?
The term Kay-You-Cla was also an early, alternative form of Siuslaw, but again, what did Haversham mean by secret caves? Was he referring to some secret caves along the Siuslaw River or someplace else known only to members of the Siuslaw tribe? If it were the latter, it wouldn’t really help him since, as far as he knew, the Siuslaw tribe was pretty much extinct. After a hundred years, were the caves still even secret?
The reference to bears was lost on Charley, but a reference to the needle’s eye caught his attention. He knew that in the early part of the last century, there had been an outcropping of rock called the Needle’s Eye. One of the famous early photos of Heceta Head Lighthouse had been taken looking through that opening. The rock formation had since been eroded by the sea and disappeared.
The next line had also caught his attention. Lions’ caves, to him, seemed to be a no-brainer, given the proximity of the famous Sea Lion Caves to Heceta Head, but given the obscurity of the rest of the poem, Charley had to wonder if Haversham was referring to those famous caves or some other less-obvious object. And why, Charley also wondered, would sea caves prevent someone from getting home?
All the clues so far seemed pretty obvious that Haversham was referring to something at or near Heceta Head. The reference to the needle’s eye, though, seemed to point north, away from the Sea Lion Caves toward Heceta Head. Charley thought the next phrase pretty much confirmed it. Haversham was a lighthouse keeper or, more accurately, an assistant to the lighthouse keeper, and the phrase ’neath the keepers surely indicated something beneath the lighthouse keeper’s house—although Charley couldn’t be sure if Haversham meant literally beneath the structure or simply at a lower elevation in the vicinity. He didn’t know what the two words to ask could indicate. To ask what? Of whom? Or were they simply nonsense words to make it rhyme?
Charley tapped his pencil on the table, thinking through the problem. The lighthouse keeper’s house had been torn down in the early 1950s, and if anything had been hidden underneath, it would surely have been discovered at that time. The structure that remained was the large duplex that served as the assistant lighthouse keeper’s dwelling.
Charley took a sip of his juice as he thought through it. Haversham had been an assistant lighthouse keeper, so that may have been what he was referring to in the clue. It had been in that house that Charley had caught the guy with his father’s journal.
Suddenly Charley slapped the table, making the dishes jump. Of course! The quick glimpse of the shooter at Cape Perpetua had been nagging at his consciousness. Now he was able to place it. It had been the same guy who had been in possession of his father’s journal! Mrs. Nelson said that Charley’s father had visited her. Had his father discovered something that had led him to the assistant lighthouse keeper’s house, and written it in his journal?
Charley’s eyes returned to the poem in front of him. He studied it for a moment. He couldn’t be sure, but he wondered if the line, Eagles of the Cagey Sea could, in fact, be referring to Double Eagle coins and the KGC. If that were true, then the companion phrase seemed to indicate that they had been deposited somewhere in that area, secretly, which would imply something illegal—a theft of some sort? That was something he would need to get online to investigate.
He wasn’t sure about the reference to bricks or flues, but given that he had caught the guy with his father’s journal coming out of the assistant keeper’s house, Charley supposed it might indicate the presence of some sort of hidden cache. He sat back, a small smile sneaking across his lips. That sounded like the stuff of myth and legend, right up there with the ghost stories of Rue, the gray lady that tourists whispered about when they visited the assistant lighthouse keeper’s house.
Charley was becoming increasingly convinced that Haversham believed, maybe even discovered, some sort of sea caves beneath Heceta Head and maybe even thought that they contained a cash of Double Eagle gold coins. Evidently, he had one coin in his possession, the one he had reportedly found on the wreck of the Nettie Sundberg, the one Charley’s father had left in the safety deposit box. Given the actions of the man who had stolen his father’s journal, there was—or had been—at least one other person who also believed it and didn’t want Charley to interfere.
One avenue Charley could investigate right now was the possibility of sea caves below Heceta Head. While there were several documented sea caves up and down the coast, including the famous Sea Lion Caves, Charley knew of no caves in Heceta Head. But then, if there were and they were known, they wouldn’t be secret, would they? Heceta Head was extensively photographed, meaning that any secret caves would need to be well hidden and would be difficult to find. Although the headland was comprised of sheer rock cliffs, there was one place—a small, steep cove on the northwest side of the headland—that Charley had always suspected might conceal a sea cave.
Charley gazed out the window. The clouds were low and gray, and a soft drizzle was beginning to fall. The sand on the beach was beginning to turn a darker brown, although the surf appeared to be relatively calm. It would be a miserable trip on a motorcycle and a muddy, cold hike. He could wait until tomorrow when the weather might, or might not, be better, but if he went now, he could probably do it without anybody knowing. He thought for a moment about trekking up to Driftwood Shores and asking Roxy for the use of her Volkswagen, but that would ruin any possibility of doing it on his own. Yesterday, he’d gone to Winchester Bay and Gardiner on his own and then up to Cape Perpetua on his own. It was too dangerous to drag some innocent bystander into this.
A shadow crossed the window: a face or just a gull or just his imagination? Charley stood, listening intently, his heart racing. The creak of a board on the deck confirmed it was something heavier than a gull.
He stepped across the room, his back pressed against the wall, and peered out the kitchen window toward his driveway. He had hoped to see a green Volkswagen or possibly the large sedan driven by Forbush. Even a UPS truck would be welcome, but surely he would have heard tires on the gravel. His driveway was empty. He supposed it could be another passing car, but he had heard the previous one even out on the road. This time he had heard nothing. Suddenly, Charley felt exposed and vulnerable. He looked for a weapon, finally settling for a barbeque spatula lying on the counter nearby.
The doorknob rattled, turned, and then turned back. The door did not open.
Charley edged closer, considering his options. Hide, hoping they might go away? The turning of the doorknob had proven to whoever was on the other side that the door was unlocked.
Charley cursed himself for the oversight. He supposed his other option was to fling open the door and attack his assailant before they had a chance to react. Or he considered retreating to the bedroom and possibly escaping out the window. He could barricade the bedroom door, and his assailants might occupy themselves with that before they discovered he was gone.
Charley was moving toward the bedroom when he heard a soft rap on the front door. Would someone trying to kill him bother to knock on a door they knew was unlocked? Charley hesitated in the middle of the room, caught between the uncertainty at the front door and the possible safety of the bedroom door.
“This is silly,” he finally muttered to himself. “I’ve no reason to assume the person knocking on my front door intends any harm.” Although he knew, even as he said it, that he did have reason to be suspicious.
The knock came again, quick, sharp, but somehow a bit tentative. Charley moved to the door and grasped the knob with his left hand. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and flung open the door.
***
She rapped loudly on the door. “Housekeeping!” she called. She waited for a moment, but no one answered. She swiped the plastic master key across the sensor. The light turned green, and she pushed down on the lever. Pushing the door open a couple of inches, she averted her eyes to avoid accidently catching any occupants in an embarrassing situation and called out again, “Housekeeping!” No one answered. Although it was her job to clean the rooms each day, after the incident with her flat tire two days ago, she would rather avoid any unnecessary confrontation. Neither one of them had recognized her from the library, but she didn’t want to push her luck.
