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“These books are from right before the Mission was abandoned,” Ashley said, leading us through one of the many work tents that were set up outside the old building. “Around seventeen hundred, the missionaries packed up and moved down the coast. We think they were headed for Veracruz, but we aren’t exactly sure what prompted them to leave in the first place.” She paused, a frustrated look passing over her before she shook her head and sighed. “There are stories that relations with the indigenous people were becoming more difficult, but I personally feel that there had to have been some type of catalyst to make them run so suddenly. I was hoping to find some answers in this journal that was left behind, but it stops before anything occurs. For some reason, all of the records stop at sixteen ninety-eight. It’s like they decided what they were doing wasn’t worth saving anymore.”
“That’s why you’re so interested in what happened here,” I continued, trying to fill in the blanks she was leaving. “There’s two whole years missing.”
“Yes. There’s some things here and there, but it’s not enough to really understand why it was abandoned. I mean, look at it! It’s beautiful—a real oasis, surrounded by green forest that leads off into desert and mountains. This was a good place to put down roots. Why did they run?”
We left the work area and moved into the actual building, following an already excavated path to the holding room we’d been told about. It felt like the building was going to fall down around us; it looked so worn and old. The government had put it under protection decades earlier, constructing a large fence that surrounded the entire area, but they’d never brought anyone out to go through everything. Preliminary findings had made them conclude that the building was empty—that is until someone broke in one night and discovered a door beneath the rubble of one wall. The secret basement behind it had immediately drawn curious eyes and the team that was working in the space now.
“Here’s some gloves,” Ashley said, pulling them out of her pocket and passing them out. “Don’t touch anything without them. The room you’ll be in is just a holding area, but we’ve filled it with a lot of artifacts.”
Unlocking the padlock of the entrance in front of us, she stood to the side, allowing us to scoot by her. The room itself was small and boring, the walls carrying a somewhat crumbled appearance. The workers had lined them with tables, though, all of which were covered with various odds and ends that had been brought up from the basement. In the center of the room, one long bench sat with only a few items laid out, among them some very old looking books.
“It’s all written in Spanish,” Ashley said from behind us, watching as we slowly gathered around the table. “Do any of you speak it?”
“We each know a little,” Joe replied.
“I read it better than I speak it.” I felt confident that I could decipher anything, as long as it gave me the answers I was searching for.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Smiling, she closed the door, the sound of the lock never clicking shut on the other side.
Carefully, I pulled my latex gloves on and picked up one of the books, slowly thumbing through the pages. “This is the log,” I murmured. “This line is saying they bought fish from someone. This one about herbs picked from the garden.”
“The brothers were good housekeepers,” Hal said, smiling. “They would have needed to keep track of everything, especially their stores.” He frowned then, glancing down at the objects on the table. “But that makes it even more strange that they just stopped writing it down.”
“Maybe they had a change in leadership?” Joe guessed, shrugging.
I continued my perusal, ignoring their banter, hunting for any signs of a galleon, but all that was mentioned were fishing boats. Then, finally, on almost the last page, I found it. “Here!” Excitedly, I set the book down for the other two to see, pointing to the entry. “One galleon, nameless. Paid to drop anchor; ten pieces of silver.”
“Sounds like a lot to just let your ship sit out in the water.” Hal frowned, obviously put off by the price. “Doesn’t it?”
“There’s no mention of it leaving, either,” I said, ignoring him. “The log ends with it still there.”
“Let’s look at the journal,” Joe suggested, picking up the other book and flipping it to the back. He perused the pages for a few moments before nodding and sitting down in the chair beside him. “Here, I think I found it.” He struggled over a few words for a second and then began reading the passage out loud, translating as he went.
I do apologize for not writing for so long—this past week has been filled with so many strange occurrences! It has made life here something I have not experienced in quite a while; exciting.
It began on the Sabbath. We had just finished evening prayer, when there was a knock at the chapel door. A married couple—an Irishman and his wife by the name O’Rourke—had arrived seeking shelter. Apparently, they had been looking for a friend of theirs, a Father, whom they had been separated from in Mexico City. Their informants had told them he might have headed this way, but none of us had ever seen or heard of him.
All in all, they were nice people. The man helped care for the animals while the wife assisted in making dinner. They were quite put off by the ship in the bay, though.
Oh, the ship! I forgot to tell you about the ship. I didn’t think it important until I saw how nervous it made them. I also suspect that the men who anchored here are pirates, and I did not wish to write too much about them, should they indeed turn out to be of a vicious nature.
It was some weeks ago when the galleon arrived out of nowhere. I confess, up until I saw it in the water, I did not know the bay was deep enough for a craft so large to come in so far.
Now that I think of it, I wonder if the couple were also of a pirate’s mind? Why else would they have been so put off and so secretive about any information they had on it? All they would say was that it would have been better if we’d never set eyes on the thing.
To continue with my narrative—the ship came into harbor and dropped anchor. A long boat appeared almost immediately, full to the brim of men who looked as if they’d just experienced the worst time of their lives. We fed them, even though we had very little, and inquired as to what brought them so far north.
(Some of them were French, I am certain. They didn’t ask after any settlements by their people, though.)
It became clear that they wanted to leave their ship anchored for some time, however, they wouldn’t say how long. It was all very secretive. They paid a handsome sum and we entered it into the logbook.
I do wish to mention here that the ship had no name and the men refused to tell us what they called her. They also refused to give any of their own names, which was alarming to say the least. We didn’t dare refuse them at that point, not when we were so obviously working with evil men. However, I would listen when they weren’t paying attention, and believe I managed to hear their captain’s name.
Thomas Randall. He was a very fierce man, though not as menacing in appearance. His hair was long, black, greasy, and the only thing that really made him look like a man who should be left alone when it hung in his face. Still, I remember the ring he wore on his finger; gold, with a cross etched into it. In the middle of the cross was a black dot. It seemed out of place on his person, but strangely his at the same time.
I digress. The O’Rourke’s only stayed the one night, thanking us warmly for the accommodation. We tried to warn them of the natives and traveling on alone as they wanted, but they wouldn’t listen. One can only hope that they will find their friend and make it home alive.
“The rest is just stuff about the natives. I guess it was exciting for him.” Joe shrugged, closing the book and frowning. “There’s nothing that ties the ship we’ve found to this one, other than the fact that we don’t have a name for it.”
“Have you ever heard of this Thomas Randall, Mark?” Hal stared at me expectantly, like I would suddenly spout out the man’s bi
rthday, home, and every other fact about him.
“I have no idea who he is,” I confessed, rubbing a hand over my face. “But I might be able to find some information on him. If we can tie him to something we salvage from the ship, then we’ll have it identified for sure. Otherwise it will all be guesswork.”
“Where do you plan on going to look? Surely not anywhere around here.” Joe was still frowning. I knew how he felt; here was the evidence we needed, but it was maddeningly out of reach.
“Probably the New York City Public Library. They have a really extensive naval history section there.” Except that New York City was much closer to Maine and the Treasure Pit than I wanted to be. Scott had been trying to reach me for months. If he found out I was nearby . . .
“I say take as much time as you need,” Hal said, agreeing with me. “Turn over every rock until you find him.”
“We’ll get started on the diving here, so we have something to match him to when you get back.” Joe stood then, shaking his head. “We’ll solve it. I know we will.”
Disappointed about missing the dive, I nodded, knowing I needed to go find something out. This was just like Oak Isle; every answered question spouted fifty more unanswered ones. Thinking over the entry, I hedged, coming across something I didn’t understand.
“Why would he mention the ring?” I was talking mostly to myself, but the other two men stopped to listen, watching me expectantly. “I mean, it’s not important. Why would a missionary feel he needed to describe the ring the man was wearing?”
“Because it’s important?” Hal guessed. “Maybe you can find him with that information.”
“Ask Stephens,” Joe said suddenly, laughing slightly.
“Why?”
“Because he’s got the same symbol on his ring. I should have recognized the description earlier, but I was too involved in trying to find something about the boat. I bet he can tell you what it is. He treats that thing like it’s his baby. Remember that time he took it off and almost lost it in the sea, Hal?”
“Oh, yeah! He acted like he was going to die without it. Big baby.” He chuckled with Joe at the memory. “I suppose it’s the same symbol, isn’t it?”
“I’ll ask him before I leave.” Smiling tightly, I exited the room. Something about Stephens made me uncomfortable, but I still hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. What were the odds he would magically have the same kind of ring as our pirate captain? It all sounded very fishy to me. “I’m going to turn in for the night, guys,” I said, glancing back from the doorway.
Leaving the two of them behind, I made my way through the Mission and into the tents outside, lost in my own thoughts about the journal entry as I trudged through the sand. It was all very strange.
An Irishman? The Spanish were the only ones in this area at that time. What was he doing here, and with his wife nonetheless? Why hadn’t more questions been asked about the mysterious ship and her crew? What did the symbol on the ring mean? Why was it so important that it was recorded in a journal? Did the priest just really like the trinket, or did it hold a higher meaning?
“Find anything interesting?”
Jumping, I turned and forced a smile for Stephens. He was sitting at a desk, examining an old vase with what appeared to be gold inlay. The cautious feeling I’d always had around him grew with force.
“No Name still has no name, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t have a chance to look at the books before Ashley let you at them. I was simply curious as to what they said.” He smiled nicely, folding his hands on the tabletop, the vase put aside for the moment. I could clearly see the symbol on his ring, matching exactly the description of the one Thomas Randall had been wearing. All of my intuition was saying that something was wrong.
“Cool ring,” I said nonchalantly, nodding in his general direction. “What’s the symbol mean?”
“Oh, this? It’s nothing. I picked it up at a pawnshop in Florida. Thought it was cool.”
He’s lying, the voice in the back of my mind said. You can see it in his eyes.
“You should have it checked out.” My mouth was going dry for some reason, my heart hammering in my chest. I knew I shouldn’t say anything else, but he would most certainly look at the books and find out later. “It matches a ring the journal described. It could be worth a lot of money.”
“I see.” His eyes seemed to darken some at my comment, a slight shield appearing to fall over them.
In an instant, I suddenly felt like I was being pulled into a trap. I needed to escape, and now.
“Anyway,” I continued, trying to act as normal as possible as I faked a yawn, stretching dramatically. “I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Sleep well,” he replied cordially, going back to his examination of the vase.
Turning on my heel, I left the encampment as quickly as possible, all the while cursing myself for being so jumpy. What was it about this project that had me so keyed up?
Once I was in the rental car I’d driven over that morning, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed the number to the airport.
“Yeah, I need a flight to New York City, as soon as possible. Return date?” Glancing out the window, I saw Stephens again, his form moving slowly toward the parking lot, the glow of his own phone lighting up his face as he raised it to his ear.
“No return date,” I told the woman on the other line. “I don’t know if I’ll be coming back.”
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