The Map

The hum of multi-million dollar transportation covers the drone of conversation between Abramowitz and Jerry as they pour over the copy of the pirate map that is now in our possession.

The decision to go came quickly. None of us need to work, but we do. None of us need the money, but it is promised just the same. We will be paid handsomely, whatever that amounts to, for our services. We wanted to take Abigail, but a combination of things had us leaving her chocked in the compound. Nestor's cousin Tali will stay at El Corazon while we are away. Tali is a head taller than Ollie and as silent as a pier piling. I have never heard him speak in the times I was in his company... but when he does it is strictly mother tongue.

So with quick arrangement we all piled onto the helicopter... no bags of any kind. Everything would be provided. All we took was a pile of cash, a pistol a piece with extra clips, and Lou brought a little Nogales Window Box and the little Hula Girl over loud objection by Abe's pilot. Some how he felt his license would be in jeopardy... bullshit. Lou just started to get off the slick, the three of us ready to follow. Abramowitz grabbed Lou's arm, and when he received "the look" he released it as though he had grabbed a hot coal. Needless to say his apology and then pleading for us to accompany him followed... so we did, Hula Girl in tow.

The slick went west to Hautulco, and then we caught Chris' G-5 east toward Cuba. It is better this way. Ever since Lou and I died in Abby in the netherworld flying in her for long distances gets kind of creepy. That and the fact that Cuba is corrupt as hell and we might just lose her over there. So... I am sitting across from Ollie, who drank half a fifth of Jamison, His head tips slowly at an odd angle until it has gone too far and he jerks it back up straight and creaks open his eyes to see if anyone sees it happening. I see it and he gives me a little tick of a smile and then his eyes slowly shut and the process starts all over again.

Lou has joined the others around the map. He took the Hula Girl into the bathroom and was there with her for several minutes. When he returned he tried to get some shut-eye, but was unable to do so. Now he is gesturing me over to join the party. I move forward in the aircraft to the conference table and sit next to Lou... across from Jerry and Abe.

"The land borders match nothing on Samana Cay. We used satellite photography of all of the surrounding land masses and have found nothing that could remotely match the drawing."

Jerry looks at the map and taps his fingers on the shipwreck in the rocks.
"I remember something I was told a long time ago by a friend of my father who was a cartographer by trade, and an ancient map enthusiast in his spare time. He mentioned the fact that the treasure map in itself was fairly basic. Most pirates weren't part of any think tank or brain trust. The bulk of them needed simple instructions on a map to guide them. So the map itself and the instructions upon it had to be easy enough to understand. Finding the island or land-mass that it referenced... now there was the trick. The border of the island itself isn't important, it is what is in the water and its reference the the markers on the map that are key."

Lou taps the shipwreck, "How about the rocks? There looks to be five or so that have a distinct pattern."

Abe nods, "We are working on that now. Very difficult with tides and limited satellite photo opportunities. The wreck is in thirty to fifty feet of water as you can see by the fathom markers."
He takes a sip of tea, long since cooled when offered to him by the attendant.
"We have an opportunity for a more defined hint on the ship's location. Most of the ships that wrecked onto reefs or got caught in the shallows were off loaded before they were broken apart by heavy seas. With those efforts came logs and bookkeeping that should still be a matter of record. We have arranged for access to governmental archives in Cuba."

Lou smiles, "Now that's a trick. You got access to a communist country's government archives?"

"For what we are looking for, which is the manifest and any off-loading of the Governor's cargo from the Grifon. Even if she broke up on the rocks, they would have salvaged the cargo. The archives are routinely accessed by treasure hunters and historians."

The plane jolts as we encounter turbulence. After the second hit, we all take our seats. Abramowitz holds the map high as his tea spreads across the small table. The sweet little flight attendant races back with a towel just before it reaches the edge. I reach for the map."
"May I?"

He hands it over and I survey the layout. "What about the palm trees. There is one that is leaning way over."

Lou shakes his head, "Palm trees only last about a hundred fifty years. Those trees are long gone."

"Who the fuck are you today, Arborist Andy?"
"Don't be an asshole. Just because you don't know shit from apple butter doesn't mean I don't know about palm trees. Look it up."

Abe nods, "He is right, you know. Any reference on that map regarding the trees is useless."

Jerry takes that under consideration. "What about the formation in the center of the map. What if those are tree stumps from a clutch of palm trees? By this time they aren't going to be anything more than a lump under the overgrowth."

Ollie, whom I thought was sleeping, joins the conversation.
"Qué tal el caballo rojo?"
Lou leans forward and takes the map from my hand. He holds it up to the courtesy light and then looks at Ollie and shrugs.
"He wants to know about the red horse."

On the map near the scale key is what looks to be a drawing of a horse or animal of some kind. The color is barely noticeable, but it isn't the same dark pigment used to color the rest of the map. It seems to be deliberately different.

"We don't know what it means." Abe wipes the bottom of his teacup and then gestures for a refill. "I am hoping we can realize some significance when we look in the archives."

The plane flies on. We break through some low clouds and the lights of the island. Had we flown in Abigail we would have stopped for fuel and taken more than twice as long to get here.

So far it seems as though the effort to find this "treasure" is in its infancy. There has to be more than we are being told. The last time we got involved with this ongoing expedition we found out there were other interested parties. We managed to protect Antonelli's interest when we didn't even know what they were. Moreover I am afraid that we may find these tablets and that they will expect us to use that salad bowl and go on another journey. All I know is that they better have that re-entry figured out so we don't end up living in the twilight zone again.

When the plane touches down I open my eyes. I had managed to fall asleep for a few minutes and it seemed like hours. As the plane decelerates I look over at Lou, who is looking out the window at the darkness. Beyond the runway to either side is complete darkness. The city of Playa Santa Lucia is a mile off to our right. By the looks of the scattered jewels of distant light it is not a big town. I doubt that this is where the archives are housed.

We taxi toward a terminal building. There is a man with wands marshaling us to a stop and the pilot shuts down the twin engines.

"Gentlemen... " Abe stands and gestures to the front of the plane. I walk behind Lou, who waits with a little smile as the flight attendant opens the door and lowers the air-stairs. I think with a little more time he would have had her flying the friendly skies.

As we set foot on Cuban soil a familiar shape appears in the darkness. Chris Antonelli steps out of the shadows from the Caribbear's helicopter.
"Hey boys, welcome to Cuba."