“Sure,” she said, but even in his near-hypothermic state, Sam knew she was lying.
Virginia motored the small Zodiac to the shore where she’d left a small fire burning on the beach. Sam and Tom pulled the inflatable out of the water. Sam removed his dive equipment, dry suit, and then sat down next to the fire.
The effects of compressed nitrogen after a deep dive leading to severe fatigue were well documented. Right now, Sam felt as if he could have slept for days.
Virginia handed him a warm drink. “It’s soup. You’ll feel better.”
“Thank you.” Sam took it and slowly sipped a mouthful. The warm liquid stirred him alive as it moved down his throat.
Tom, tough as a full-grown oak, appeared undeterred by the cold or physical hardship. He took a couple sips from his own hot drink, put it down on a nearby rock, and then went in search of some more firewood.
Virginia smiled. “Does anything faze him?”
“Not much,” Sam said taking another sip. “But when something does, you don’t want to be on the wrong side of him. He’s an unearthly force, a formidable warrior with the intellect and strength to win any battle.”
Virginia smiled. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone Tom’s size as a lethal soldier. “How long have you two been friends?”
“Most of our lives. We grew up less than a block away from each other and went to the same schools. His dad taught us to dive and my dad taught us to sail. We joined the Marines out of school and learned to fly helicopters. After we left the military, I took over the search and recovery arm of my father’s shipping company. I had the good fortune of convincing Tom to come along. We’ve worked together on some of the most unbelievable cases around the world.”
“I’ve read about your exploits over the past few years. They’re quite impressive.”
Tom returned with a stack of firewood, sat down, and put another piece of flotsam on the fire. A few minutes later, Sam spotted a stranger approaching their camp. The man could have almost passed as Tom’s twin, except for his height. He was roughly six foot-three inches, with a barrel chest and muscular physique.
“Afternoon,” Sam said, without standing up.
“Afternoon.” The stranger dipped his hat, smiled, and glanced down at the diving equipment. “I couldn’t help noticing you were under the surface for a long time. Did you go all the way to the bottom?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, without elaborating.
The stranger smiled. There was something familiar about him, some facial characteristic Sam couldn’t quite place. “So you came to find Jack Holman’s sunken float plane, did you?”
Sam gave him a firm nod. There was no point denying it. “Yeah. We had a look at his wreck. Didn’t find anything though.”
The stranger’s voice suddenly turned icy. “Did my father send you here?”
“No.”
“I know he sent you to find me and you got this far, so you must be good at your job… Mr. — ?”
“Sam Reilly.” Sam stood up to greet the man. “This is Tom and Virginia. Who are you?”
“David Perry.”
Sam’s heart started to hammer in his throat. “Senator Perry’s son?”
“Yeah.” David let his big shoulders slump forward. “You found me. Out here trying to track down Jack Holman’s last whereabouts, searching for treasure. The question is, now that you’ve found me, what are we going to tell my father?”
“You haven’t listened to the news lately?”
David shrugs. “Too busy, why?”
Sam sighed. “I’m really sorry to tell you this, Mr. Perry. Your father died a couple days ago.”
“Really?” Hiding his reaction, David turned to stare at the lake. Sam didn’t feel the young man was surprised by the distressing news, but it was clear he was upset. “Where? How?”
“In New York. It might have been a heart attack. Or he might have been murdered.”
Still turned toward the lake, David gave a long, unhappy sigh. “He loved me in his way. We were never close, but I didn’t want him dead.”
Sam asked, “Can you think of anyone who would have been interested in hurting your dad?”
“Yes,” David answered without hesitation.
“Who?”
“Just about everyone he knows.” David spun back to meet Sam’s scrutinizing gaze. “Look, my father was a powerful man, but that power came at a price. He owed a lot of bad people.”
“He owed them money?” Sam asked.
David shrugged. “Money, information, changes to the Senate, deals, you name it and my father owed it. That’s why I came out here.”
“To get away from it all?”
“No. Because I needed to find Jefferson Davis’s Confederate Treasury. It was the only way to save my father’s life, and now it’s the only way to save mine.”
“It looks like a lot of people are after this elusive Confederate gold, but I’m afraid someone beat us both to Jack Holman’s wreck. The aircraft was stripped bare. There was nothing down there that could lead us to the ironclad he spotted back in 1930.”
David grinned. “Of course, there wouldn’t be. I removed Holman’s journal yesterday.”
A wry smile of incredulity formed on Sam’s lips. “You did?”
“Yes. I’ve been reading the journal since yesterday and so far, I haven’t found anything. It was stored in a watertight container, but with time some of the ink has faded. It makes it difficult to read. Besides, Holman’s notes regarding the strange pyramid — which we’re all assuming must be an old Confederate ironclad — are so vague that it would be impossible to locate.”
Sam nodded. “So, what do you want from us?”
“If my father hired you to find me based on an old legend regarding the Meskwaki Gold Spring, you must be one of the best. Now I have the journal and I need your help to save my life.”
“My help to do what?” Sam asked.
David’s mouth twisted into a cynical smile. “Why, to find Jefferson Davis’s fabled Confederate Treasury, of course.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
They all sat around the fire together, Sam beside David, then Tom and Virginia. Virginia rustled through one of the duffel bags and brought out snack food, mixed nuts, potato chips, and a variety of cookies. With a glad cry, Tom went straight for the chocolate chip.
Sam tipped his bowl, finishing the last of his soup. “You’d better tell me what you know about this stolen Confederate Treasury, why your life depends on finding it, and how you think I can help you do so.”
Exhausted, disturbed, or perhaps just on emotional overload, David rubbed his hands over his face. Tom offered him a cookie, which he turned down. “This is going to sound crazy,” David said, “but would you believe me if I told you that the greatest treasure in America’s history has been buried somewhere in the upper Missouri River since the Civil War?”
Sam’s eyes lit with interest. “You mean could I believe it’s remained a secret all this time?”
“Could you?”
“Sure.” Sam nodded. “I’ve known treasure to stay hidden for centuries due to bad luck, or the earth’s simple desire not to release the truth about the past. Tell me what you know about this secret.”
“In 1863 as the city of Vicksburg was hunkering down,” David began, “Union General Ulysses S. Grant prepared what would soon become a prolonged and arduous siege of Vicksburg. At the same time, Jefferson Davis, having received word from Lt. Gen. John C. Pemberton that it would be impossible to hold Vicksburg indefinitely, ordered a covert mission to retrieve the Confederates’ treasury.”