“When you’re older, I have no doubt that you’ll undertake many exciting adventures of your own,” I said. “But until then, if you want to be a high schooler, you need to go to school.”
She sighed. “I should’ve chosen to be homeschooled.”
Ange and I laughed.
“You can decide that if you want, but after the school year,” Ange said. “After all, it’s only a few more weeks until summer vacation starts for you, so you want to finish strong. And if you do decide to be homeschooled, you’ll have to take some classes at the college like Isaac. Neither Logan nor I are much good at math or science.”
“I’ve got PE on lock,” I said with a wink. “And Diving 101. And weapons training.”
“Sounds like your typical high school curriculum,” Ange joked.
I leaned closer to Scarlett, then smiled and said, “Being typical is overrated.”
TWENTY-NINE
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of shrimp and eggs Benedict and a pile of garlic potatoes, we said our goodbyes to Scarlett.
“It’s just for a few days,” I told her. “And thanks again. If this gold is there, it would stay lost for many years to come if it weren’t for you.”
“Just take a lot of pictures, all right?” she said. “I need to quench my adventurous thirst vicariously through you, at least until I’m older.”
Ange and I packed and set off. On the drive to the marina, I questioned whether we were doing the right thing.
“It just feels strange leaving her again so soon,” I said.
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s almost sixteen, Logan. And it’s just a few days. Hell, Harper’s older and wiser than us; she’s probably just as good if not better with her.” She grinned, then added, “That girl’s becoming a daughter of the Conch Republic, not just of the Dodges.”
When we got to the marina, Jack and Pete were nearly packed and ready to go. In addition to my magnetometer, Jack loaded up his as well, just in case there was a mechanical issue. He also loaded up an extra kayak, full sets of dive gear, handheld underwater metal detectors, and everything else necessary to fulfill an underwater prospector’s fantasies.
We’d decided on bringing most of our armada, including the Baia, Jack’s Sea Ray Calypso, and a Whipray skiff by Hell’s Bay Boatworks. The Whipray is an anomaly, its patented hull design allowing the over-sixteen-foot-long boat to have a draft of just over three inches. It offered us the best chance to navigate the shallows of Jones Lagoon without running aground. The unique craft had belonged to Gus and had been left to Jack along with the marina. Jack would tow the Whipray behind the Calypso. All told, we had enough equipment and horsepower to make the great treasure hunter Mel Fisher proud.
By 1000, we were back in Islandia, this time with a crew ready to track down the Avengers’ loot. We anchored down off Little Totten Key, then prepared the skiff. We’d spotted just three boats near the lagoon. Two were obviously fishermen, and they motored past in a blur. The third was anchored on the northern side of the lagoon, its owners paddleboarding and exploring an area far from where we’d be conducting our search.
We loaded up the skiff with dive gear, handheld metal detectors, and the magnetometer. We also grabbed a cooler to help us combat the heat. Pete opted to stay behind for the initial search to keep an eye on the boats. Though the threat of Lynch was apparently nonexistent, the events of just a few days earlier still weighed on our minds.
Ange, Jack, and I climbed into the Whipray, powered on its 40-hp outboard, and wound our way into the lagoon. It was a near-perfect day. A few scattered clouds littered the horizon, hinting at potential rain, but the wind was barely blowing at five knots. With the wall of thick vegetation surrounding us, the lagoon was flat and calm as we chugged into it. With no whitecaps, we could easily see the bottom and all the life that called the little oasis home. Schools of fish, scurrying crabs, jellyfish, wading birds, and of course the occasional nurse shark.
We motored across to the eastern side of the lagoon. The water varied in depth from five feet to just a few inches, so we kept it slow and kept our eyes locked on the seafloor in front of the bow. Once in position, we set up our Proton underwater magnetometer. It was top-of-the-line, and we’d used it many times on our various adventures over the past few years.
“Let’s hope these guys tossed it overboard in the chest,” Jack said, “or this is gonna be one anticlimactic search.”
We calibrated the torpedo-shaped yellow device for objects no deeper than ten feet down and adjusted the frequency. If the stories were true and the gold had been tossed over in a chest, the metal clasps and hinges would be our best bets. Pure gold wouldn’t be picked up by the device since it isn’t magnetic.
Securing the cable to the stern of the skiff, we turned on the towfish and dropped it into the water. We paid out just twenty feet, then kept the device neutrally buoyant on the surface while accelerating the engine to just a few knots.
Few things light me up brighter than searching for lost treasure. There’s romance in it. Suspense. It inflicts that special brand of curiosity that grabs tight and doesn’t let up until every stone is turned.
“You know,” Jack said, after wrapping up our first couple of sweeps, “pirates used to sail up and down these coasts. It was a great jumping-off point to catch galleons off guard. They’d sail up from Havana, riding the trade winds north,
