Miller seized the opportunity for his brain to switch tracks for a while. “Yes, I too began to wonder if it was simply an elaborate hoax. There is still debate as to who actually hid the treasure, but one thing is for certain: they were certainly knowledgeable in ancient forms of communication. Some of the symbols on the stones actually had to be combined, forming Egyptian hieroglyphs. Some were simply decoys and others were true runes. I can’t imagine keeping track of it all without the aid of modern computer-imaging software.”
“Interesting…” Lewis replied, rubbing the top of his head in thought. “I’ve heard some suggest that the Money Pit was the work of Blackbeard, but pirates don’t strike me as brilliant linguists for some reason.”
Miller seemed delighted at Lewis’s interest. He formed a tent with his fingers, glancing briefly towards Craig before responding. “The pirate theory seemed popular in the beginning, but has lost a lot of momentum over the past twenty years or so. Many of the symbols seemed to point at the Freemasons.” Miller paused then asked, “Are you familiar with the Freemasons?”
Lewis nodded. “In general, they are an ancient brotherhood often associated with bizarre conspiracy theories and secret plots.”
“That’s probably accurate enough for now,” Miller replied with a soft laugh. “Many of our founding fathers were Freemasons. A lot of my colleagues believe the Money Pit to be some sort of historical archive set up by the Freemasons.” Miller shrugged before going into his own theory. “I believe the archive angle is correct, but I don’t believe the Freemasons were behind it. I wish I was allowed back to Oak Island to finish my research.”
Lewis was taken aback. “Why can’t you go back?”
“After discovering the treasure chamber, we were notified that the land was under new ownership, and we were requested to leave immediately.” Miller did not elaborate, but the slight tilt of his head towards the back of the plane told Lewis a lot.
The rest of the short flight was spent listening to Miller lecture on secret societies and the roles they played in history. Miller was embracing his return to that of teacher and seemed to have almost forgotten his fears.
The Gulfstream touched down at the Lewiston Airport and quickly taxied into a hanger. The massive hanger doors were already closed by the time Lewis made his way down the stairs. A white van with a large logo for Hells Canyon Fishing Charters was waiting for them.
After climbing aboard and finding their seats, Lou and Craig passed out the fishing gear Pierre had sat next to in the first van. Stonewood informed everyone, “I believe our competitors may be trying to follow us; we will therefore be posing as a fishing party for the jet boat leg of our journey. Your safety may very well depend upon your acting ability.” Lewis didn’t like the sound of this but chalked it up to Stonewood’s overabundance of drama or paranoia, or both. Either way, Lewis was always up for a fishing trip.
It was a short drive from the airport to the docks where the team quickly boarded a 32-foot Customweld aluminum jet boat. A strongly-built man in his 50s introduced himself, saying, “I’m Captain Bob, and I’ll be your guide today.” He paused to ensure he had everyone’s attention before going on. “Now, listen up while I run through some safety information then I’ll get you on some fish.” Captain Bob proceeded to point out the locations of PFDs, fire extinguishers, and first aid kits, as required by US Coast Guard Law. After casting off, they headed up the mighty Snake River, cruising along at about 20 MPH.
As they went under one of the bridges spanning the Snake, Lewis noticed a small black helicopter just over the ridge on the Washington side of the river. The same helicopter popped into view a few more times as the boat made its way past the small town of Asotin and on up towards Heller Bar. Every few minutes it would climb just enough to be visible, then quickly descend back below the ridge. After the fifth round of this, Lewis walked forward to where Captain Bob sat at the center-console with Stonewood to his right. Lewis gestured towards the chopper as it started to descend into hiding again. “It might be worth a stop up here at the confluence with the Grande Ronde to see what’s biting.”
Stonewood and the captain each turned their heads just enough to catch a glimpse of the chopper. Captain Bob spoke first. “We tried to keep a low profile as we ferried gear up the river yesterday, but it’s hard to move that much stuff without someone taking notice. I think they shadowed me on the return trip last night.” The apologetic yet menacing look he gave Stonewood made it clear that Captain Bob was no ordinary fishing outfitter. “How did you know about the Grande Ronde River up ahead?”
Lewis tilted his head and grinned. “A couple of buddies and I chartered a boat to fish for sturgeon on the Snake a few years ago. We had a great time and I’ve wanted to get back ever since!”
Captain Bob asked, “Fishing good?”
“We landed a few nice sturgeon up in the canyon. Fighting one of those monsters while backing the boat down some of those huge rapids is about as fun as it gets. I remember stopping here to fish for steelhead on the way back. The steelhead seemed a little small after reeling in eight-or nine-foot behemoths, but it was the best steelhead fishing I’ve ever seen. The Grande Ronde seems like one of those rivers that a guy needs to explore a little more before punching his ticket.”
Captain Bob nodded in agreement as he worked the boat towards the far bank of the river, playing with the throttles to keep them in the optimum place for casting. Lewis pulled two of the pre-rigged rods off the ceiling mounts. He held them up and asked, “Who’s ready to catch some fish?”
Samantha jumped up first. “I spent a summer fishing with my grandfather around his cabin near Yellowknife when I was four. I’ve been addicted ever since.”
Lewis handed her an 8-foot Shakespeare with a large silver spinner. “This should be a good setup to start off with.”
Miller was the next to step forward. He started with another of his shoulder shrugs then quietly said, “I’m not much of a fisherman, but maybe it will help calm the nerves a bit.”
“Good idea, Doc,” Lewis replied as he handed over the other rod, a 6-footer with a nice pink and blue colored rooster tail. “Why don’t you take the nice seat up on the bow.” Lewis pointed to the newly-upholstered fishing chair mounted on the front of the boat, knowing it would give the best angle to the fishing hole. Miller looked like he could use some luck.
There were no other takers so Lewis grabbed the next rod, another 6-footer rigged with a rooster tail, and moved back just behind the cabin enclosure. Before Lewis could even cast, he heard Miller yelp as a 12-inch rainbow trout took his lure and ran for the current. “Way to go, Doc,” Lewis cheered. “You’re a natural!” Miller wore a nearly permanent grin, forgetting about his worries as he reeled in one fish after another.
It didn’t take long before everyone but Lou and Stonewood were taking turns catching fish. Nobody caught anything huge, but there were plenty of 10-to 12-inchers to keep people happy. They stayed for almost an hour, much to Stonewood’s displeasure. The helicopter had made three more appearances just over the horizon, but now seemed to have left. Maybe the plan had worked.
Shortly after Stonewood announced that it was time to go, Captain Bob had the boat moving up the river once again. Passing only a few other boats, nobody seemed out of the ordinary, mostly fishermen, much like they themselves appeared to be, and nobody spotted the black helicopter again. It took almost three hours to work their way up the canyon to the site marked on Stonewood’s GPS: Granite Rapids. Captain Bob matched the speed of the current to hold them just below the rapid. The water was running high, roaring as it cascaded down past the huge boulders marking the left side of the run.