Wild Secret
Tyson Wild Book Twenty Eight
Tripp Ellis
Contents
Welcome
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Author’s Note
Tyson Wild
Connect With Me
Copyright © 2021 by Tripp Ellis
All rights reserved. Worldwide.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental, and not intended to refer to any living person or to disparage any company’s products or services. All characters engaging in sexual activity are above the age of consent.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, uploaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter devised, without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
JD’s eyes lit up. “There’s something down there.”
He stared at his phone’s display, excitement building on his face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s something.” He had a sly grin.
The Avventura swayed gently on the swells. The brilliant sun hung high in the royal blue sky, glimmering across the teal water.
It was a perfect afternoon.
We had spent the better part of the day fishing and treasure hunting. I use the term loosely.
JD had programmed the sonar drone to search a pre-determined grid. The device relayed a 3-D image back to his cell phone. The state-of-the-art gadget was next-level technology. I'm not sure how much he paid for the damn thing, and I didn't want to ask.
We had found quite a few things on the seafloor in the course of our adventures, but never the elusive treasure of Jacques De La Fontaine.
It didn't matter. The journey was half the fun.
We lounged on the aft deck of the superyacht, fishing poles in hand, JD wearing his traditional Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. His long blond hair fluttered with the breeze. With his new discovery, he was up and out of his seat. "I say we go down and take a look."
I surveyed the screen. “I don't think that's what we're looking for."
It was just a small shape and certainly not the pattern of a sunken Spanish Galleon or pirate ship.
It was likely all that remained of the old ships were the cannons and the precious coins strewn about the seafloor. Everything else had rotted away—several hundred years of the ocean doing its magic to reclaim the fabled ships.
JD darted inside to grab the gear. Once he got his mind set on something there was no stopping him.
What the hell—it was worth taking a look.
I followed him into the salon and grabbed the scuba equipment. We had prepped the tanks before we set out for the day.
We recovered the drone. JD hosed it down and toweled it off. It looked like a Tomahawk missile with a propeller.
We did last-minute safety checks, donned our gear, raised the diver down flag, and plunged into the water from the swim platform.
It was an easy dive. It wasn't that deep in this particular location. I nosed down and finned toward the bottom, JD beside me.
The water was almost 80 degrees. The dull rumble of the ocean filled my ears. Bubbles roiled toward the surface, and rays of sunlight penetrated the water. The silhouette of the superyacht floated above as we plunged deeper.
A recent storm had blown through the area and had stirred up the seafloor. You never knew what a storm might uncover that had been hidden for centuries.
I was skeptical about what we’d find, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit thrilled at the possibility of discovering Spanish gold stolen by the infamous French pirate.
As we plunged deeper, it became clear this was not the gravesite of a Spanish Galleon or pirate ship. There was no clump of gold medallions buried in the soft sand.
Instead, the edge of a steel drum protruded from the sandy bottom. It looked like it had been there for quite some time—rusted and corroded.
I could see the disappointment on JD's face through his mask.
He shook his head and pointed to the surface.
We were down here already. I figured we might as well investigate further. All kinds of things end up at the bottom of the ocean. Things fall off shipping vessels all the time. People dump things they shouldn't.
I began scooping the sand away from the barrel, trying to reveal more of it. JD joined in, and clouds of sediment swirled around, creating a milky haze.
It didn't take long to reveal the toxic chemical sticker on the side of the barrel. It was barely legible at this point.
We uncovered about two-thirds of the barrel. It looked intact and still sealed. Together we tried to shift the barrel in the sand, but the damn thing was heavy.
We left it and decided to return to the surface. We broke through the water and climbed onto the swim platform. I spat the regulator from my mouth and took off my mask. I slipped the tank from my shoulders.
"What do you think?" JD asked.
"I say we call the Department of Environmental Protection and let them deal with it. Could be seeping toxic chemicals into the water."
I stood up, water dripping from my body, and lugged the tank up to the aft deck. I toweled off and made a few phone calls. I got transferred to several different departments. I sat on hold for 30
