Double Eagle Double Cross, page 28
He had set his lantern on the ground and was prying at the ridge around the top of the barrel with his knife, periodically pausing to pound the edge with the heel of his hand. She was just about to tell him that it was unlikely they could get the sealed top off a barrel that had been there for over a hundred years, when, to her surprise, the lid popped up.
Everyone leaned in, illuminating the top of the barrel with their lanterns, as Obie carefully pried the lid open. Holding the edge of it up with one hand, he reached inside with his other. When his hand reemerged, his palm was filled with gleaming Double Eagle twenty-dollar gold pieces.
“Well.” Bill’s deep voice echoed in the confines of the cavern. “Looks like we found the treasure.”
“Wow,” Jack breathed, obviously enthralled by the sight of the gold, but oddly he sounded—what?—a bit too theatrical? “Now we just gotta sneak it out of here.”
“No,” Bill said softly but firmly. “Since we found it, we can probably claim a percentage, but this belongs to the US government and was found on federal property. We need to notify the authorities.”
“That’s not going to happen. Put the coins back and step away from the barrel.” It was Roxy’s voice, but a deeper, more determined tone than they were used to. Mac spun around with everyone else.
Roxy stood about ten feet away. She had placed her lantern on the ground and now stood, her feet spread apart in a classic shooter’s stance, her hands holding a pistol aimed at Bill.
“Roxy,” Mac said softly. “What are you doing?”
Bill muttered under his breath, “Al Capone said, ‘You can get much further with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone.’”
“I’m taking what’s mine.” Roxy’s pert, flirtatious voice was gone, replaced by a hard, almost cynical sneer.
“What do you mean, what’s yours?” Bill asked.
Her eyes seemed to lose focus for just a moment, as though recalling something; then she glanced at Peter. “You were so close and didn’t even know it.”
“What do you mean?”
The corner of her mouth twitched, and after a moment she seemed to come to some decision. “Walter Dimmick was my great-great-grandfather,” she spat out with pride and a bit of defiance. “He took the money from the mint. Just him. Nobody helped him. He planned it. He did it. Something nobody was ever able to do before or since. He should be in the history books.”
“He sounds like a very extinguished gentlemen,” Jack mumbled derisively.
Mac wondered if Jack had made another of his infamous mispronunciations or if he had meant to say what he said. She had little time to ponder the question as Roxy continued.
“He went to prison even though they didn’t have any evidence against him. He arranged for the money to be removed from California while he was in prison. The money was supposed to be taken to Seattle, where it could be melted down into bullion and then resold to the mint along with other gold coming out of Alaska. The KCG would have gotten their fair share, and my family would have received theirs. It was the perfect plan.”
“But it didn’t arrive in Seattle, did it?” Bill urged her.
“No,” she spat as though personally offended.
“What happened?”
She sniffed and then tossed her head to get a few stray blonde strands out of her face. Mac could see small beads of sweat on her forehead despite the chill in the cavern. “Double-crossed, the dishonorable scum.”
“Nothing worse than a dishonest thief,” Mac agreed, sardonically. “Who did it?”
Roxy seemed to miss the irony. “We still aren’t sure. All we know is it disappeared for almost a century.”
“Disappeared?”
“We knew it must be in this area because this is where the Nettie Sundberg had shipwrecked, but we didn’t know where. We’ve been searching for years, looking for clues, and then that stupid amateur treasure hunter comes up with one of the Double Eagles and that coin that tied in the KGC and that stupid poem. He knew too much. He was too close. After all those years, we couldn’t allow him to find the treasure before we did.”
“Exactly what amateur treasure hunter are we talking about?” Bill asked, keeping his voice soft.
Roxy scoffed. “As if you didn’t know, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Sawyer, of course.”
“Charley?” Mac couldn’t help herself. She needed to know.
Roxy turned a withering gaze on Mac. “You are so dumb,” Roxy jeered. “All your high-minded intellectual scientific nonsense and your constant whining over your dear, dear Charley. No, not Charley! Not then, anyway. His dad, Charles.”
“What did you do?” It was Peter, his voice low, but the underlying fury was barely controlled.
Roxy turned back to him, a sly smile of triumph appearing on her lips. “It was simple, really. A simple, small, radio-controlled explosive attached to his front wheel. Then we simply waited until he was going around one of those dangerous curves along this coastline. It was so tragic.” Her voice whined in mock sympathy, then she seemed to snarl in anger. “I pushed the button myself,” she said it with a note of pride. “Unfortunately, he was well into that Mormon thing by then, but after my colleagues planted a few empty alcohol bottles in the wreckage, it was fairly easy to convince everyone that the poor fellow had suffered a relapse to his former, drunken life.”
Mac was astonished at the callous way Roxy told of the wreck. “You killed them because you thought they might find the coins before you did?”
Roxy rolled her eyes. “Yes, you idiot. Isn’t that what I just said? They were getting too close, just like Charley and now just like you. The same thing would have happened to you today if you wouldn’t have invited me here. “
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t very well wreck the vehicle while I’m riding in it, could I? But that doesn’t matter. Now the results will be the same for you as they were for Charles and Charley. But I suppose I should say thank you first since you helped me find my money.”
Mac caught the reference. “What do you mean, just like Charley?”
Roxy’s gun turned to point directly at Mac, and the girl’s lips curled in an unpleasant smile. “Your precious Charley found his dad’s clues in that safety deposit box and started putting too much together. He wouldn’t let it go. My colleague was supposed to shoot him, but he botched that attempt, so when Charley decided to rope down the cliffs to get a better look at the sea caves on the other end of this passage, well, he had a mishap.”
“What kind of mishap?”
“Oh, you know how dangerous depending on a rope can be. You told me yourself you do a lot of repelling.”
Mac was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she could feel the anger rising. “What kind of mishap, exactly?” she demanded.
Roxy’s anger flashed in her eyes. “I cut the rope!” She nearly shouted, then her eyes seemed to glaze as she remembered the scene. “That stupid trail was so muddy I ruined a good pair of cross-training shoes.”
Mac took a step forward, her fists clenched, but Roxy’s eyes regained focus, and the pistol swung back to point directly at Mac’s chest. “And now, I think it’s time I sent you to join your dear Charley.”
Mac could see the determination in Roxy’s eyes and was bracing herself for the pistol shot when someone stepped between her and Roxy.
“No, Roxy,” a familiar voice said, calm but firm.
From behind, in the stark light of the lanterns, it took her a moment to realize who it was. The startled look in Roxy’s eyes confirmed it.
“Charley?” Mac whispered. She felt a flood of relief mixed with surprise and fear. Roxy had tried to kill him once, and now Charley was placing himself between Mac and a loaded gun. She didn’t dare move. She hardly dared breathe.
Roxy looked confused, and the gun wavered. “Charley?” her voice seemed small, unsure. “You’re supposed to be dead.” She frowned. “Why aren’t you dead?”
“Maybe I am.”
Roxy frowned, thinking through the new problem. “No, you’re not,” she argued. “Not yet.” Seeming to have solved her problem, she again took careful aim, this time at Charley’s chest. “Okay, I killed you once. I’ll kill you again. This time your dear girlfriend can watch.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!”
Mac jumped, startled. It was a new voice coming from the darkness to Mac’s left. She glanced in the direction of the voice and was surprised when the maid from Driftwood Shores, Consuelo, stepped into the light cast by the ring of lanterns. Again, Roxy’s face revealed confusion.
“Hey!” Roxy cocked her head, her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The gun swung back and forth between Charley and Consuelo. “You’re the maid from Driftwood Shores.”
Consuelo nodded, smiling. “Thank you for changing my tire.”
Roxy was breathing hard, trying to make sense of the new developments. “And you speak English.”
“See,” Consuelo spoke softly. “You’re not as dumb as people say you are.”
Again Roxy’s anger began to grow in her face. “Who says I’m—what are you doing here?”
Mac was wondering the same thing, confused about the presence of the maid, thrilled that Charley was standing so close, yet too frightened by the intense situation to be able to ask all the questions that were crowding her mind.
Consuelo pointed at the gun. “Well, the first thing I’m doing is warning you that you really don’t want to pull that trigger.”
Roxy’s head started to nod, like she was winning an argument. “Yes, I think I do.”
“No, you really don’t.”
“Yes. I think I do,” Roxy snarled. “And I think I want to shoot you first.” Roxy steadied her aim at Consuelo and pulled the trigger.
The noise of the explosion echoed throughout the small cavern. Mac jumped, and she heard stifled screams from both Jasmine and Edie behind her. She expected to see the maid crumpled on the floor, but instead she remained standing, calmly gazing at Roxy, who herself was now writhing on the rocks of the cavern floor, her face and arm bleeding. Charley stepped forward, knelt, and began wrapping Roxy’s hand in a rag he had found somewhere.
Mac’s gaze switched back and forth between Roxy and the maid. “What happened?”
Consuelo turned to look at her. “Double Bubble.”
That didn’t help solve the confusion. “Double Bubble?”
Consuelo nodded. “I was cleaning her room the other day, and it just happened.” She glanced at Bill then back at Mac. “I found the gun and thought to myself, ‘What’s a nice girl like this need a gun like that for? She could hurt somebody with it.’ So I stuffed the barrel with Double Bubble bubblegum.” Consuelo held up her hands as though ready to ward off an attack. “I know, I know, I could lose my cleaning job.” Her gaze turned back to Roxy, who was lying on the floor, whimpering, holding her injured hand, small rivulets of blood running down her face. “But I warned her not to pull that trigger.”
“How about me?” A man’s voice, one Mac didn’t recognize, spoke from the other side of the cavern. Mac turned as Charley stood and faced yet another newcomer. The man had a bandage wrapped around his head, another on one arm, and his face and hands seemed to be covered in bruises and scratches. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, but what drew everyone’s attention was the short, automatic assault rifle in his arms, at the moment aimed directly at Charley.
“You!” The way Charley said it hinted at both recognition and accusation.
The fellow nodded. “Yes. Me.”
The answer seemed to be sufficient for Charley but not for anyone else. “Charley,” Bill growled, “do you want to introduce us to your friend?”
Charley answered without taking his gaze off the man. “This fellow tried to shoot me up at the observation point on Cape Perpetua the other day.”
This was, of course, news to all of them, and Mac wondered what kind of adventures Charley had been experiencing these past few days.
Before the man could respond, Charley continued, “Are you the one that planted the charges on my parents’ vehicle?”
“No.” The man’s eyes flashed with anger. “I just planted the whiskey bottles afterward.”
“So what’s the plan now?”
The fellow shrugged and nodded toward Roxy. “Same as before.”
“Do I need to ask what that is?”
“Simple. No one knows about this cavern except the people who are here, so you disappear, and we take what’s ours.”
“May I ask exactly who is we?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t see why not, although I think you already know.” He motioned toward the still whimpering Roxy. “Roxy, me, the KGC.”
“So now you’re going to kill us?”
The fellow grinned. “It seems that’s what I do, and I can’t think of a better plan right now, can you?”
“I suggest you put that gun down.” It was Consuelo again.
The fellow swung the barrel of the gun to point at Consuelo. “Oh, did you stuff bubblegum in the barrel of my gun too?” He answered his own question, “Oh, no, because I didn’t stay at Driftwood Shores, and I cleaned my gun just before I came here.”
Mac jumped as the fellow was hit in the side of the face by a handful of Double Eagle gold pieces. Her grandfather had thrown them. He probably had never replaced the handful he had originally taken from the barrel. The man flinched, and the gun sprayed a burst of bullets that ricocheted off the rocky walls and ceiling behind Consuelo. Mac instinctively ducked, but Charley was on him immediately, tackling him to the ground and wrestling for control of the rifle. Within a few seconds, Bill joined Charley, and they soon had the fellow subdued.
“Well done.” One more new voice broke into the confusion, but this one Mac recognized. Emerging from the gloom, Agent Forbush stepped into the lantern light, his iconic trench coat unbuttoned, a service pistol in his hand.
“Mr. Washington, I see your years as a police officer have not been forgotten, and as for you, Mr. Sawyer, I’m pleased to see that you have somehow survived your ordeal.” He turned to face Mac. “I apologize, the FBI should be the first on the scene, but in this case, since you failed to keep us informed of your plans”—he glared meaningfully at Peter and Obie—“we were unable to be here as we had hoped. Nevertheless, the crime has been solved, the coins recovered, the perpetrators captured, and Mr. Sawyer found.” He turned to Mac. “All in all, I would say a very successful outcome.”
He stepped back and to the side as though he were a gentleman opening the door for a lady. “Now, if all of you would be so kind as to carefully make your way back to the surface, the FBI will take these two into custody and arrange for proper reacquisition of these funds.”
Mac felt somehow displaced, being summarily dismissed by the irritating man who was now taking over a crime scene that had been solved by others. She hesitated, waiting for the others to follow Agent Forbush’s instruction.
Before anyone moved, Bill addressed Forbush. “That’s the proper thing to do, and we will be glad to work with the FBI, but there’s a problem.”
Agent Forbush raised one eyebrow in question. “Problem? And what would that be?”
Mac was astonished and further confused when Bill replied, “You’re not FBI.”
Forbush blinked but kept his face calm. “What a preposterous claim, Mr. Washington. Of course I am FBI. Would you like to see my badge again?”
Bill snorted. “Badge? You can buy a badge on eBay.”
Forbush assumed a scowl of concern. “Mr. Washington, these are serious accusations at an inappropriate time. If you persist, you risk being arrested for obstruction of justice.”
Mac had been thinking along those same lines, and despite her dislike of Forbush, she feared that Bill’s pride as an ex-police officer was getting in the way of his better judgment.
“Bill.” Mac was trying to resolve the situation without allowing Bill to dig himself any deeper into the hole. “Why would you say Agent Forbush isn’t FBI?”
“Because she is.” Bill pointed at Consuelo.
Surprised, Mac turned to look at Consuelo, who was struggling to her feet, a sly grin—or was it a grimace—on her face. With one hand she was picking at a hole in the chest of her windbreaker, with the other she was holding a gold badge of her own toward Agent Forbush.
“Beau Miller,” she stated, a bit breathless, but her voice strengthened as she continued. “You are under arrest for, oh, just a whole boatload of stuff.” She glanced at Mac. “Pardon the pun.” Then she grimaced again, rubbed the spot on her chest, and muttered, “Thank goodness for bulletproof vests.”
Mac’s gaze swung back to Agent Forbush—or was it Beau Miller?—who now wore a snarl on his face and a look of panic in his eyes. His gun swung up to aim directly at Consuelo.
“I would not try to fire that gun,” Consuelo said.
“It seems you’ve tried that one several times already,” Forbush, or whoever he was, snarled.
“Yes, but that last one hurt, and now I’m getting real irritated with you idiots. Boys!”
Suddenly there was a quick shuffling from the recesses of the dark crevasses pocketing the walls of the chamber. The barrels of six service revolvers appeared in the lantern light, each aimed at Miller’s head, each held by a person in combat gear. Three wore vests with FBI stenciled on the chest, the other three with Lane County Sheriff’s Department.
“You should have listened the first time,” Consuelo said mildly.
Defeated, Miller lowered his firearm, which was quickly removed and replaced by handcuffs.
Mac studied the maid—such an unlikely FBI agent—and then the agents in their combat gear. She was startled when one of them with rather long, dirty, blond hair sticking out from underneath his FBI hat winked at her and said, “Hey, dudette.” She looked closer and realized it was Bob, and then she recognized Jim next to him.
She turned to Consuelo. “Jim and Bob are undercover agents too?”
