“Look at this.” He showed the article to Trinity. “If we calculate the distance the ship could travel in a day, we should be able to follow its presumed path and get a fair estimate of where it sank. Assuming, of course, it was running at normal speed.”
Trinity cupped her chin, pursed her lips, and stared thoughtfully at the newspaper. She was, Stone thought, at her most beautiful when she was thinking hard. It was something about the set of her jaw and the intensity of her gaze that made him sit up and take notice.
“Perhaps,” she said after a moment of thought, “but we don’t know the exact time of the sinking. A difference of four hours could mean a span of a hundred miles or more.”
Momentarily distracted by her lovely face and cute peepers, Stone yanked himself back to the present and nodded. He’d already reached the same conclusion. “Still, it narrows things down a bit. I’m going to dig up some nautical maps of the area.”
When he returned with an armful of maps and atlases, Trinity was beaming at him.
“I found another mention of the wreck. A fishing vessel spotted the Syvarris about seventy-five miles north of the Turks and Caicos islands. A storm had knocked her off course. Two hours later, that very same ship received a distress call from Syvarris. The connection was bad, so they could not get the exact coordinates. The captain headed back toward the spot they’d last seen her, but a storm forced them to turn back before they could locate her.”
Stone read the article. Trinity had covered the essentials. He performed a few quick mental calculations.
“Two hundred miles north of Turks and Caicos, another fifty or so north by northwest to the spot where the ship most likely sank.” He considered what he knew about that part of the Atlantic. “There are a lot of storms in that area. I know sailors aplenty who avoid it like the plague.”
“That bad?”
“If the stories are to be believed, it goes far beyond mere storms. I’ve heard tell of strange lights in the sky, fogs that spring up out of nowhere, ships becalmed for days, whirlpools, you name it.”
“Mermaids and sea monsters?” Trinity’s eyes sparkled.
“I don’t think you want me to answer that question.” He kept his tone level and his expression serious.
Trinity’s features sagged. “You’re joking.”
“Let’s stay on task. Here, take a map and search this area.” He tapped a spot about two hundred fifty miles east of Freeport. “The island has to be here somewhere.”
An hour later, his confidence began to flag. All the maps and charts agreed— this part of the ocean was empty.
“But the island has to be there.” Trinity scowled at the pile of maps in front of her as if they had given offense. “Your grandfather survived the sinking. He couldn’t have done that if there was no land for him to swim to.”
“I agree.” Stone rose from his seat. “And I know just who to ask.”
11- The Captain
“Brock Stone. It’s been too long.” The corners of Bill Dewitt’s eyes crinkled as he shook hands with Stone and Trinity. The years had been kind to the man Stone knew as “Captain.” More accurately, Dewitt had looked like an old man for as long as Stone could remember. Decades spent at sea had bleached his thinning hair and thick beard, and baked his skin to a leathery brown. His grip remained strong and he moved with the vigor of a much younger man.
“Good to see you again, Captain.”
Dewitt was an old friend of Stone’s grandfather and, in years past, had regaled Stone and his friends with tales of the sea. Many were embellished with ghost ships, sea monsters, and mermaids, but they were also sprinkled with the kinds of details that only an experienced sailor could provide. Dewitt had sailed most, if not all of the known world, and served in the United States Navy during the Spanish-American War and the Philippine-American War. The latter conflict had soured him on the Navy so much that he’d retired, bought a fishing boat, and spent the next two decades trawling the waters of Chesapeake Bay.
While Dewitt made coffee, Stone and Trinity admired the contents of his sitting room. Fishing nets that still carried the faint smell of brine hung from the ceilings. Paintings of shipwrecks adorned the walls above bookshelves that brimmed with artifacts of his sailing career, as well as countless old volumes of maritime history, their spines cracked and pages yellowed. According to Dewitt, the furnishings, a simple table and wooden chairs, came from an eighteenth-century pirate ship.
“This is promising,” Trinity whispered.
“I should have thought of him right away. I’ve never met anyone who knows as much about the sea as Captain.”
Dewitt entered the room, carrying a tray with coffee in an ornate, china pot, along with three delicate mugs. “I don’t keep milk or sugar in the house, so you’ll have to drink it black.”
That was fine by Stone, who preferred his coffee unadulterated. Trinity managed to hide her distaste for the dark, bitter liquid, taking small sips and smiling politely as Stone and Dewitt spent a few minutes catching up. Stone evaded Dewitt’s questions about where he’d been and what he’d been doing the past few years. Instead, he directed the conversation toward the places he’d seen during his time in the Army, of which there were plenty.
Finally, Dewitt set his cup on the table and leaned back in his chair, his expression grave. “I assume this is more than a social call. Don’t think I’m not glad to see you, but we haven’t exactly stayed in close touch since you went away.”
Stone drained his coffee cup and placed it next to Dewitt’s. “I’m hoping you can help me. I need to know about the Triangle.”
Dewitt laughed. “Oh, I have stories aplenty about that place. Did I ever tell you about the mermaid that tried to drown me? Red hair and the biggest…” He paused when Trinity cleared her throat loudly. “Sorry, young lady. I haven’t spent much time in the company of the fairer sex. At least, not the ones willing to spend time with you for free. Of course, there was one girl in Havana.” His eyes grew cloudy and he seemed to be seeing something far away.
“Captain?” Stone gently brought the old man back to the present.
“Don’t mind me. Just enjoying pleasant memories. Now, which story would you like to hear?”
“We’re looking for a place.” Stone took out a map on which he’d circled the area where he expected to find his grandfather’s island. “It’s somewhere in here.”
Dewitt’s face darkened. “I don’t think so.” He handed the map back to Stone. “I know the maps of this area well, and none of them show an island in this spot.”
“Exactly.” Stone fixed him with a level stare. “Which is why I need you to tell me where it is.”
Dewitt looked away.
“You know, don’t you?” Trinity whispered.
“Captain, did my grandfather ever tell you about the sinking of the Syvarris?” Stone asked.
Dewitt stiffened. He rose from his seat and shuffled to the window, the spring gone from his step. “Don’t ask this of me, son. You should stay as far away from that place as possible.”
“Why?” Stone and Trinity chorused.
“Because you’ll never make it to the island alive.”
“My grandfather made it there and back again, didn’t he?”
Dewitt whirled about to face them. “You have no idea how many good men have lost their lives in that patch of ocean. Thousands, and those are just the ones I know of. That whole place is unnatural. The current is the strongest I’ve ever seen, and it pulls a ship over razor-sharp coral reefs like a child playing with a toy. The weather’s all wrong, too. Lightning shoots out of a cloudless sky. The wind changes direction like a woman changes her hat.” This time he didn’t apologize to Trinity. “Your grandfather defied the odds. I don’t know how he made it onto that island alive, and I certainly don’t know how he got away again, but it was a fluke. If you try for that island, you’ll die.”