He would need a better inspection. The trench was deep, and from his vantage point he couldn’t see to its bottom. He’d have to get close enough to peer in — very close. And there was no way to do that without being caught.

He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and casually strolled into the open field.

62

They spotted him immediately.

“Hey! Hey, you!” Two of the guards drew their guns and came running toward him across the field. Gideon kept walking, moving quickly to the trench before they could stop him. By the time they reached him he was standing at the edge, looking down.

“Hands in sight! Keep your hands in sight!”

Gideon looked up, as if surprised. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t move! Hands in sight!” A guard dropped to one knee and covered him with his service pistol while the other approached cautiously, shotgun at the ready. “Hands behind your head.”

Gideon obeyed.

One was white, the other black, and both were pumped up and fit. They wore blue shirts with NYC CORRECTION SSD printed on the backs in white letters. One of the guards patted him down and emptied his pockets, removing the Google Earth map, the notebook, his wallet, and a piece of parchment Gideon had prepared earlier.

“He’s clean.”

The other officer rose, holstered his Glock. “Let’s see some ID.”

Gideon, his hands still raised, spoke in a voice high with panic. “I didn’t do anything, I swear! I’m just a tourist!”

“ID,” the guard repeated. “Now.”

“It’s in my wallet.”

The man handed the wallet back and Gideon fumbled out his New Mexico driver’s license, handed it over. “Am I not supposed to be here or something?”

They examined the license, passing it back and forth. “You didn’t see the signs?”

“What signs?” Gideon stammered. “I’m just a tourist from—”

“Cut the crap.” The black officer, who was evidently in charge, frowned. “The signs on the shore. Everywhere. You telling me you didn’t see them?”

The officer’s radio burst into life, a voice demanding to know what was going on with the intruders. The guard unholstered his walkie-talkie. “Just some guy from New Mexico. We got it under control.”

He holstered the radio and stared at Gideon with narrowed eyes. “Care to tell us how you got here and just what the hell you’re doing?”

“Well, I was…just out in the boat fishing, decided to explore the island.”

“Oh, yeah? You blind or something?”

“No, I really didn’t notice any sign…I was worried about the chop, I wasn’t paying attention, I swear…” He made his whine singularly unconvincing.

The white guard held up the parchment. “What’s this?”

Gideon turned red. He said nothing. The two officers exchanged amused glances.

“Looks like a treasure map,” said the white officer, dangling it in front of Gideon.

“I…I…,” he stammered and fell silent.

“Cut the bullshit. You were hunting for buried treasure.” The officer grinned.

After a moment’s hesitation, Gideon hung his head. “Yeah.”

“Tell us about it.”

“I was here on vacation from New Mexico. This guy down on, um, Canal Street sold me the map. I’m an amateur treasure hunter, you see.”

“Canal Street?” The two officers exchanged another glance, one rolling his eyes. The black officer struggled to keep a straight face as he examined the map. “According to this map, you’re even on the wrong island.”

“I am?”

“The X on this map here is on Davids Island. That’s the island over there.” He jerked his chin.

“This isn’t Davids Island?”

“This is Hart Island.”

“I’m not used to the ocean, I must’ve gotten mixed up.”

More laughter, but it was more amused than derisive. “Man, you are one lost dude.”

“I guess so.”

“So who’s the pirate who’s supposed to have buried this treasure? Captain Kidd?” More chuckling, then the black guard’s face became serious again. “Now look, Mr. Crew, you knew you were trespassing. You saw the signs. Don’t bullshit us.”

Gideon hung his head. “Yeah, I saw them. I’m sorry.”

His radio burst into life again, another voice inquiring about the intruder. He responded. “Captain, the guy was hunting for buried treasure. Got a map and everything. Bought it down on Canal Street.” He paused and Gideon could hear the crackle of laughter on the other end. “What should I do?”

He listened for a while and then said, “Right. Over.” He grinned. “Today’s your lucky day. We aren’t going to arrest you for criminal trespass. Where’s your boat?”

“On the beach down by that big smokestack.”

“I’m going to escort you back to your boat, understand? For your information, this island is totally off-limits to the public.”

“What, ah, do you do here?”

“Landscaping,” said the guard, to more laughter. “Now let’s go.”

Gideon followed him across the field and down to the road. “Really, what are you doing back in that field, burying all those boxes? They look like coffins.”

The officer hesitated. “They are coffins.”

“What is this, some kind of burial ground?”

“Yeah. It’s the public burial ground for New York City. Potter’s field.”

“Potter’s field?”

“When someone dies in the city, and they don’t have any family or money to pay for a burial, they get buried here. We got Rikers Island inmates doing the work, so we can’t have visitors landing in boats, you understand?”

“Yeah? How many bodies are there?”

“Over a million,” said the guard, with no little touch of pride.

“Holy cow.”

“Largest burial ground in the world. Been going since the Civil War.”

“That’s incredible. And you give them all a Christian burial?”

“Interfaith. We got all kinds of religious figures coming here blessing the dead — priests, ministers, rabbis, imams. Every religion gets its turn.”

They walked past the old power plant. The ruined Dynamo Room loomed above the tangled vegetation, adjacent to a broad field.

“Where’s your boat?” asked the guard, peering across the field toward shore.

“It’s down on the beach over there beyond that seawall.”

Instead of walking straight across the field, the guard walked north along the road, making a loop.

“Why are we going this way?”

“That field’s off-limits,” said the guard.

“What for?”

“Don’t know. There’s a lot of places on the island that are dangerous.”

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