Tommy's Abode

This is a church we flew by on our way to Tommy's on the Long Island.




So the first order of business is Long Island and the records they had found. We don't move the Caribbear to the site because they don't want to tip their hat any more than they have. We fly the slick over... me, Lou, Chris, Jerry, the local that was briefing us, and some local official that is supposed to pave the way. He came out on a launch just before we lifted off. Kind of a smarmy guy, a glad-hander... like he is running for office or something. He starts talking, telling us who he is and how important he is on the island. Chris interrupts him like he is a blabbering child... just starts talking to us, drawing our attention his way and the guy is left talking to no one and he stops.

"The storekeeper's log... we have only heard what was written in it but we need to see it first hand. The family still has a presence on the island. They run a place called Tommy's Inn. Tommy has an estate at Dawns Bayview Point. We will run the operation out of there and find out what we can."
Chris looks out of the window as we fly over one of the smaller Cays. "He has a boat at our disposal... and diving gear."

The slick flies for twenty minutes or so further, past a dozen small Cays that are uninhabited, and then we see Long Island. We take an aerial tour before we touch down. There is a beautiful church we fly by and the tourist in me snaps a shot.
"If we have time it would be cool to pay that place a visit."
"If we have time it will be to find some little honey to hold and a beer to drink, Nancy."

We come upon a small marina with a half a dozen large boats. On the shore are a couple of large homes. Across the access road is another wide path leading to what looks to be some new construction... that is where we set the slick down.

Before we get the door open on the slick a van pulls in and two rather large gentlemen get out.

"Ah, those must be Tommy's guys." Antonelli states as he heaves himself out of the helicopter.
"And what if they aren't?" Lou says quietly, ever-aware of the possibility of danger.
"Don't worry about it, Lou... they are Tommy's guys, I swear it."

We take our gear from the slick, what there is of it, and it lifts off and heads back to the ship. The downdraft of the chopper is replaced by the trade winds, the sound of slapping rotor blades by the calls of seabirds and the hush of the surf.

"Chris?" One of the two men steps away from the van and towards our position.
"Yeah, I am Chris. Did Tommy send you to grab us?"
"You got it. Put your gear in the van. We're just heading down the road."

"Where can a guy get a beer around here?"  Jerry asks.  His question goes unanswered.

I can feel Lou's discomfort. I am sure it is because he has no weapon, none that I know of anyway. Lucky for them they take us to the large house near the marina. It isn't stately by any means. Practical from an island standpoint, and I am sure it is safe in any type of weather. Almost as though he is reading my mind, the driver announces that the structure was made to withstand a category 4 hurricane.

"Why not make it able to withstand a cat 5? Then there would be nothing to worry about." I ask, knowing there must be a reason.
"There would be nothing to come back to... total destruction, you know?" The man riding shotgun says as the van stops and he hops out.

We are in a covered drive... like something you would find in front of a home improvement store.  There are a pair of ornate doors, old wood planking with a couple of stained glass windows behind thick Plexiglas.
The design of the blue, brown, and amber glass in the window is that of two ships... wrecked on a reef, or beached.   As I am looking at the doors, they open and there is a man our age, drink in one hand and a cigar in the other.

"Welcome, welcome,  I'm Tommy."  He looks passed me at Chris as he gets out of the back of the van.
"Hey Tommy, nice to see you, man."  Chris gives him a hearty handshake and then gestures to me and Lou.
"These are my good friends, Jake and Lou."
"Jake."  I offer, shaking his hand.
"Welcome, Jake."  He looks at Lou, "and you must be Louis?"
"Lou will do fine."
"Lou it is."
Tommy looks at Jerry and Jerry nods... "Jerry, pleased to meet you."
"Well come on in boys and take a load off."

Tommy excuses himself for a moment and has a word with the other two that came with us.  There is a look of surprise on both of their faces, and then they are whisked away in the van.  Where they are going I don't quite know. 

The inside of this industrial looking structure is anything but stark.  Inside the door is a waterfall from ceiling to floor, bordered with lush tropical growth.  At the base of the falls is a pool with exotic fish that should be swimming off of a reef somewhere.   The water continues along the wall, then cuts back across our path and under a small bridge to a larger tank that is below our feet that looks as big as our living area back at El Corazon.

"Watch your step."  Tommy warns as he starts down a sweeping staircase.
We end up in a massive room that is below ground level.  One whole wall is made up of the fish tank we walked by after the little bridge.  Inside there are hundreds of wildly colored fish, a sea turtle, puffer fish, several small reef sharks, and God knows what else.

"That's some aquarium."  Chris remarks, standing in front of it.  The face of it is as large as a movie theater screen.

"Well, it isn't exactly an aquarium.  Twenty years ago there was a blow-hole between my home and the beach.  I had the "basement" dug long before construction started on my home.  They actually tunneled back toward the blow-hole until they broke through.  Then some ingenious diver friends of mine figured a way to plug the sea-side of the blow-hole so we could open the access a little more and then install this wall of twelve inch thick Plexiglas.   We transplanted the seaweed and and coral into the tank, and then deflated the plug and towed it out of there."

"No shit.  That is amazing."  Lou watches a shark glide by and then turns back to Tommy.
"So the fish just come in through the passage?"
"Well, some of them do.  Most of them we take off the reef and dump them into the tank.  They stay for a while because we feed them.  But they eventually cycle back out into the sea.  The sharks, they stay.  Lately they have been eating pretty well."

As he says this I see a shoe lazily turning this way and that with the sway of current from the blow-hole passage.  I tips for a moment and I can see that there are the remains of a foot inside.  I know he knows we see it, and whatever message that sends is understood.

"You boys want a drink?"  Tommy draws our attention away from the aquarium wall to a bar that runs the length of the far wall.  There must be a hundred bottles on display, lit from below by soft neon through the glass block tiles that make up the shelf on which they sit.  Near the middle is a familiar sight.

"Well I'll be damned.  You like the Muerte Verde, Tommy?"
Tommy cracks a wicked smile, "Now you're talkin', friend."
Before long we are in the grips of a Muerte binge, the first skull falling early, making way for a second from a free-standing freezer behind the bar.  Cigars are offered and we hold the prize Cubans in our hands.

"Shoulda brought this one up first and put the other down in that freezer.  This shit is way wicked when it is ice cold."

I can see the look on Chris' face.  He is anxious and hasn't touched his first shot when we have down three or four already.  Lou is irritated at this disrespect to our host.

"We should take it easy, boys, we have work to do."
"Fuck that, this is what we are doing now."  Lou tosses back what must be his fifth shot.  Tommy chuckles drunkenly and throws down another, as do I.

"Now... come on, guys, my mother is expecting a progress report in a couple of hours."
"Hey FUCK that... dragon woman."  Lou burps.
I shake my head, "come on, Lou, that's the boy's mother."
"I ain't on any time schedule here.  We are enjoying the hospitality of our fine host.  This fucker wants to be rude and not drink... then fuck him.  Let him tell his mommy on me.  I don't give a flying... "  he stops to move his shot glass toward Tommy, who is once again pouring.

"Chris, relax my friend.  We can't  do anything today.  Those two that came with you, they have to go back to Cuba to retrieve the shopkeepers log."

"But I thought the log was here, with you."  Chris is confused at this point.
"Yeah, it was in the safe at the lodge, but they took it."
"Who took it?"  I ask.
"You do know that there is another party interested in the Grifon?"
We nod collectively.
"They managed to bribe my night manager into "having a look at it" last night.  They ended up taking it and my night manager managed to be beaten, cheated, and lost his job all in a matter of fifteen or twenty minutes."

"So why Cuba?"
"That is who took it.  I checked the surveillance cameras behind the counter and in my office.  I recognized one of the men who works for one of the government officials there in Cuba."

"So they are going to take it back?"  Chris asks, knowing that the two men they sent for the job weren't the right two men.
"Buy it back.  Whatever they wanted it for they have got their information.  They will sell it back to me just because they are money hungry motherfuckers.  But whatever you are looking for they might find first." 

Lou puffs his cigar to life, "That... "  he puffs a few more times until it is really smoking well, "that will make our job easier if they find it first.  Let 'em, and then we will just take the prize right out of their hands."

Tommy taps an inch long ash from his cigar and then pops it into the corner of his mouth.  He gives Lou a long look, then me, then settles on Chris.
"Do you boys know what it is you're looking for?"

"You know what we are looking for, Tommy, that is why we came to you.  The wreck of the Grifon, the treasure."

"Come on, Antonelli, you're looking for those tablets.  The ones with the diamond as big as your fist."

The Low Down

Apparently money goes a long way here in Cuba to circumvent any type of inconvenient government involvement. We landed, stepped over to the slick that will took us out to the ship and never saw a customs agent, machine gun toting security agent, or anyone with a uniform what-so-ever.

Once we had landed aboard Caribbear we were escorted to our staterooms and told that we would meet with the "team" in the morning. That was all I remembered, that and the fifteen hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Like sleeping in the thighs of an angel. I know nothing until one of the ship's stewards actually has to shake me awake.

"What? What is it?"
"Breakfast, sir. The others are assembling up in the main salon."
Others?

There is a shower in my stateroom so I take advantage of that and the other complimentary toiletries. So many of these little expeditions end up with none of these niceties... so I will take advantage of them while I can. In the closet I find what you might think are local togs and put them on. I feel refreshed and comfortable.

As I step out of my stateroom, Lou is already in the passageway.
"This is some comfortable shit."
"It's a guayabera... also known as a Mexican wedding shirt."
"Thanks Pat Sajak."
"I think you mean Alex Trebek."
"Don't tell me what I think, Nancy. Isn't a guayabera is one of those huge rodents that you find in South America?"
"That's a Capybara."
"Fuck you."
"And good morning to you."

We head up to the next deck and into main salon. Chris, his mother, the surviving members of Goldfarb, Stinkle, and Abramowitz, and what looks to be a local are seated in the lounge area drinking coffee. Ollie is up behind the bar with a plate of food, shoveling hash browns and sausage as though someone might try to take it from him. Chris stands when he sees us come up the steps.

"Hey boys... welcome aboard." He sits down and gestures to a couple of the empty seats. "We are just talking about the tablets and the treasure map." He looks toward the steward then back at us, "You guys hungry?"

"We can wait." Lou looks toward Ollie, who doesn't show any signs of slowing.

We make the rounds, shaking hands as we go. Chris' mom's hand is like a lump of cold granite. Still scary.

"Gentlemen... " She starts, taking her seat. We follow her lead and sink into the virgin cushioned leather.
"I appreciate you finding Mr. Stinkle and arranging his transportation back to his wife and family."

I look at Lou and his eyes are as wide as my own. A quick glance at Abramowitz and we get a nod of assurance that this is exactly what happened.
"We... we are sorry for your loss, Ma'am."

She looks at me for a moment. It lasts until it is uncomfortable and then she looks to Chris.
"Christopher feels that in order for this project to proceed we need your assistance. You both were vital in the retrieval of the precious metal for the Clarok. I hope that the re-numeration was adequate?"

Again a look from Lou.
"Yes, Ma'am, thank you. Our compensation was more than enough." I offered.
"Not quite enough for that re-entry shit. I'll tell you that much." Lou throws in.

Now it is Mrs. Antonelli that has a look of confusion. Abramowitz is to her left and he leans in and speaks in low tones, hopefully explaining about our issues after our return from the Old West. How could she not have been informed. Hell, we died and everything.

"I am sorry to hear of your unfortunate issues during your return."

Unfortunate issues? I look at Chris, who is wholly aware of the torturous weeks we spent in the blink of an eye. What I see in return is a "trust me" look. Lou must be looking as well, because I hear him scoff at the unspoken request.

"Gentlemen... " She begins again, "we have found a much deeper meaning within the glyphs on the Mayan temple walls, there is more to the story and ability of the Clarok, more than we had imagined."

Goldfarb pulls two identical folders from a briefcase and places one in front of each of us. Inside there is a copy of the map, a glossy photo of what I assume is part of the Mayan Temple to which these people continually refer, and a drawing of a tile from that wall that has a translation penned at the bottom.

"Okay, I'll bite. What does it mean?" Lou holds the drawing of the tile one way and then another.

At the bottom are the words "never setting sun". Several other translations are abandoned beneath thick scribbled lines. On the tile itself is a stick figure holding a tablet aloft with what look like rays of light or something emitting from the center of the tablet.

Now one of the locals stands and introduces himself. He speaks with a thick accent and it is nearly impossible to make out what he says without watching his lips move.
"The Clarok is more than the alter basin that you are familiar with. The further translation of the glyphs have shown us that the Clarok was a priest, not the material object that you have seen."

Lou gives this guy a look, "Seen? Hell boy, we did more than... "
He is stopped in his tracks by a look from Mrs. Antonelli. One that relays the fact that our trip with the Clarok is on a need to know basis, and these two guys don't know shit. Even though they were listening to our comments earlier about re-entry, it is obvious now that they are not aware of our use of the Clarok and its abilities.
Needless to say, Lou stopped talking and the man continued.

"We have been able to translate more of the glyphs with a better understanding and have found that the priest, or "Clarok", had the Alter Basin and two tablets as the tools he used to perform his rituals."

He continues on to tell us that along with the tablets, the Grifon was carrying Governor Torres' retirement fund in chests marked with his family crest. Just three days ago they brought the top of one of those chests to the surface off of Samana Cay.

"If the tablets are in the waters off of Samana Cay, we want someone familiar with the Clarok and its abilities to handle their recovery." Mrs. Antonelli looks right at Lou when she speaks. Lou then looks at me.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"
We get up from our seats and walk out toward the aft deck.
"I told you... she wants us to go on another of those trips with that thing."
"What happened to Chris needs our help and that you were going to go no matter what?"

Lou's gaze narrows, "That was help help... not space time continuum help. I could spend the rest of my life not tripping through time like that ever again."

We feel a cold presence as Lou speaks. Chris' mother puts a hand on Lou's shoulder. An uncharacteristic move and reception for both of them.
"What happened to you boys was an anomoley that we shouldn't see again. Our team has worked out the process and what went wrong with the initial experiment."

"Experiment?" Lou turns to face her. "No disrespect, Mrs. Antonelli, but we aren't some rats in a maze here. What we experienced was real. Every shot felt real, the blood loss was real, the broken bones and watchin' my buddy here die in front of my eyes. That was all REAL. Not some experiment."

I am hoping that he is done.

"And another thing... how is it that we didn't effect what was going on here when we were killing people back in the old west. We rearranged history back there. Something here must have changed."

His voice was getting louder and louder. Mrs. Antonelli gestured to Chris and he went back and cleared the room. The briefing would have to wait until our fears were satiated. Once the others had adjourned, we took a more comfortalbe posture back in the lounge.

Chris takes a turn now. "Guys, I know that things got rough." Lou rolls his eyes a little, and Chris continues.
"First of all, the timeline... it seems that in the grand design of things we are supposed to be doing what we are doing."

"Now that is an explanation. Can you work the words "thingy" and "do-hickey" in there somewhere?" Lou is getting more impatient.

"Yes, we were part of several battles, yes we took out Arlis Keene's gang, yes we killed a lot of cavalry, but it was all going to happen whether we were there or not. This Clarok is part of the fabric of history. What happens while we are under its control is also part of history... our history. That is why there was no effect when we returned to our timeline."

"Why did we get off our timeline when we came back?" I am hoping for a real answer.

"As close as we can figure it was because Lou was pretty much unconcious when he came through and you were supporting him. They are studying the alignment factor and applying what they have learned. Dr. Adams has developed a chip that can be injected under the skin that should help in the energy alignment and prevent the alternate ending you guys had on your last trip."

"That's right, Chris, our LAST trip." Lou gets up and walks, "how you get off this fucking ship."

I look at Chris, who shrugs back at me.
"I don't know what to say. I was there too, you know. I took a chance riding that lightning just like you guys. What is he so bent out of shape about?"

"It wasn't that trip. It was the alternate ending... bad, very bad. I'm with him, Chris. If your people can't guarantee that won't happen again, then we are heading back home."

I find Lou on the back of the ship, leaning over the railing puffing a hand-rolled Cuban from the complimentary case in the bar.
"I'm not doing it."
"That's what I told them."
"I don't need this shit."
"That's what I told them."

Chris comes out, followed by one of the wait-staff who is balancing a platter of breakfast meats, fruit, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns... like a walking breakfast buffet.
"You guys didn't eat."

The plates are placed on the aft deck outside table and we sit. Lou loads his plate and starts in, I as well. Chris, on the other hand, keeps talking.
"I don't remember anyone asking you to take any trips."

Lou looks at him as he works his way through a mouthful of sausage and hashbrowns, "Don't play us for fools, Chris."

"I'm serious. The reason I had Stinkle come find you guys is because we need your skills. We have a treasure hunt on a tropical island... women... Caribbean rum... ganja?" Chris looks at him like he is trying to get his Daddy's car keys.

I look at Lou and nod, waiting to see his reaction. A slow smile sneaks in and he plops his loaded fork down on his plate. He shakes his head and looks my way.
"How do I let you get me into this shit?"
"I am pretty sure you got me into this shit."

"Good, so we are going to find these other pieces of the Clarok and then we will let Dr. Adams go take the next trip. He is due, don't you think?"

"Now your talking. Doctor my ass."

We spend the better part of breakfast talking about where we needed to go and what we needed to find. Ever since they found the Atocha off the Keys, the real treasure hunting was done in the research. Records that were turning to dust with each passing hour are the real clues as to what is on board, where the ships were heading, when they were expected to arrive at their destinations. Every port of call had two references; one in the log book of every ship, the second with the harbor master or official that would log every ships entry and collect the port fee.

The Grifon was not part of the treasure fleet as so far as to be carrying treasure that would attract the efforts of modern day hunters. The local that was speaking in the salon was a local historian that had unlimited access to the archives in the Cuban National Library in Santiago de Cuba. It was there he had found the copies of the Grifon's cargo manifest, and some interesting follow up facts that seem to have evaded the history books.

Grifon, after separating from the Spanish Treasure Fleet, Captain Antione Dare decided to return to Cuba, skirting the Bahamas and the possibility of pirates. His luck did not hold and it was rumored his ship was taken by Calico Jack Rackam, a theory backed by the fact that it was found run aground on a Cay off of Port Royal.
But the ship was empty of cargo.

"So... " Chris takes the last sausage from the platter and bites it in half and chews it twice and it is gone. "What happened to the cargo? We had to go to each and every little port that might have kept a shipping log and hope that those documents survived long enough for us to track Calico Jack."

"Well?"
"We found a storekeeper's log in a little port town of Clarence on the island of Long, just northwest of Samana Cay. John Fenwick, a member of Calico Jack's crew, signed the stores manifest. Along side that entry were the items that were "on order" and were to be picked up within the month. If they didn't return for them, the storekeeper was to deliver these to their anchored ship off of Samana Cay or face their wrath."

Lou shakes his head in disbelief, "Who the hell are you, a goddamn Rhodes Scholar now?"

"It is all in the history, Lou. We know where to look, and have already found the top of one of the chests."

"Then what do you need us for?" I ask... realizing that the treasure hunt is already finished.

"There seems to be another party that is watching our every move. We need to protect our interests. My mother can get you guys anything you need. We just want to salvage the tablets from the site and be on our way. We need a security team that can deal with our little friends out there and keep the secrets we want kept."

He gives us both a hard look, "Are you in?"
I look at Lou, and he gets a smile on his face, "Anything we need?"
















`

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."

The Storm of 1715

The compound is dark... so are the living quarters, with the exception of the stereo whispering a little Santana at Woodstock. We have passed that little Hula Girl around like a hooker at a bachelor party and none of us has moved since the sun went down. We do manage to have cold beer in our hands... how it gets there I haven't a clue.

"You know what I miss?" Jerry says with a stoner drawl.
"Sex with a woman?" Lou smiles.
"Delivery pizza." That gets a nod from all of us except Ollie, who has no concept of delivery pizza.

How we made it through half an ounce of this local shit without getting the munchies I have no clue. But after that comment we all started feeling it in the pit of our stomachs.

Now, time out here is not really applicable to any event or happening. It is a broad indicator of whether or not we can eat or starve at this point. The Cantina in town is usually dark in a couple of hours after sunset. We honestly couldn't tell how long it has been dark, but we area hoping it is a recent event.

"Do you think the truck will make it into town?" Jerry is up and takes a long stretch.

"Where is the Landcruiser?"
"Nestor's"
"A lot of good that does us."
"Well? The truck?"
"Yeah... I guess. We better grab some extra jugs of water."

Now Jerry has driven this road to town a thousand times, eighty percent of the time he has been fucked up... so no worries.

Lou and I are standing in the bed of the truck, water from the jugs sloshing around our feet. He has the roll-bar lights ablaze, lighting up the road ahead like a solar flare. They are hot between our hands as we tighten our grip for the holes and bumps that Jerry is taking with a little laugh each time we leave the ground.

The edge of town is upon us and Jerry slows down to a crawl. The children of Nogales are like the kids of my generation, one bereft of video games and computers. They play outside until they are forced to come in, and even though it seems like they are all inside now we don't want to take a chance.

As we make our way up the main street it seems that our hopes will be dashed. Nightlife in Nogales is people blowing out oil lamps and climbing into hammocks.

The road rises slightly as we approach the Cantina, and to our relief the smell of carinitas still fills the street at the corner. They are closed, but will open to feed us. Jerry and I have funneled a lot of quetzals into their business. Well, quetzals, Mexican pesos, even American dollars... it all spends down here. If all that fails a little gold in your pockets will work.

We eat carnitas and some special rice they cook and drink a couple more bottles of cold beer. It isn't until we have satisfied that hunger that we talk about the lawyer and his message.

"Cuba?" Jerry lets out a belch that lasts a good three count. I hear one of the girls giggle in the back.
"I don't know anyone in Cuba."

"We don't either." I think for a moment, "well... except for Antonelli's people."

"We will need to make a couple of fueling stops. Or at least one in the Yucatan. We already found an airstrip... Roberto Yaguero. That puts us right in Playa Santa Lucia."

Jerry stands and stretches, "You boys have done your homework."
Lou stands as well, "We're gonna go, Jerry. We just want to go together."

We water the truck and head back to the compound. It is a much nicer ride on the way back... not trying to beat the clock this time. I am in the cab this time, with Ollie and Lou holding the rollbar in the bed.
"You need to go, Jer. We should do this together."
"Last time I was on one of these expeditions those Yanamami Indians nearly killed us all."
"Not a problem. They don't have Yanamami Indians in Cuba."

About a quarter mile from the compound we can see that the security lights are blazing. Something big has come in through the fenceline. I reach back and pull the rifle from the rack behind us and check the load. Jerry turns off the headlights and we use the light from the compound to navigate. Before we get to the back gate we can see what has tripped the security system.

The helicopter is still winding down, nav lights still on. As far a we can see no one has had time to get out of the passenger cabin. We shut the truck down before the tree line and make our way to the back gate without being seen.

"What do you think?" Jerry says, crouched down.
As he speaks the passenger door slides open and a man in a three piece suite climbs down. He straightens up his outfit and by the blazing lights in the compound we can make him out.

"Hey ABRAMOWITZ."
He jumps just slightly and shields his eyes from the lights in the compound. He steps back to the door of the helicopter and talks to someone inside, then steps back out.
"Mr. ALLEN?"

We all end up in the living quarters, Abramowitz with his head on a swivel as we sweep a jungle tarantula off the counter and out the open window.
"Damn spiders." Lou tisks.
"Gent... Gentlemen." Abramowitz starts, "We sent Mr. Stinkle here to meet with you several days ago and have not heard back from him."

"That's because he's dead."
"Jesus, Lou, let's not sugar coat it." I shake my head at him.
"What do you want me to do, hold his hand while I say it?"

Abramowitz drops down onto one of the barstools, "Dead?"

"Yeah, he didn't quite make the airstrip and dropped into the jungle south of here. We wouldn't have even known he was out there if it weren't from Lou here test flying a powered glider."

"Oh my." That is all he says. Apparantly ties run deeper than a letterhead in the lawyer business.

"I don't think he suffered. It wasn't like there was a fire or anything. I am sure as soon as he hit he was gone. We were able to find his identification and his bags. They're over there." I gesture to the bags near the door.

After a moment Abramowitz collects himself.
"Did you gentlemen open the envelope he was bringing to you?"

Lou and I nod.

"Then you know that your services are required?"

Now, it is all in how you ask somebody in my book. And by the look in Lou's eye this guy better rephrase that last statement.

"We don't work for you, or her, unless we want to... understand?" Lou says with unintended menace.

"Now... I am just relaying the request of the dispatch the was delivered to you."
His hands are shaking slightly as he shows them palm forward, like Lou had pulled a gun on him.

"Just what is it you need us to do?"

Abramowitz looks over to the bag, "May I?"

"The documents aren't in the bag."
We walk over to the table and I open the atlas to the Bahamas where the documents hold the page like a bookmark. Abramowitz pulls the treasure map from the book and points to the waters off of Samana Cay.

"We need your help locating what is at the end of this map."
"And what might that be?"
"I... we are not prepared to discuss the details until you have signed on."

Lou takes the map from his hands and closes it in the atlas.
"Look, Abe, we aren't going anywhere until we know everything you know. If you can't manage that, then get the fuck on that slick and get out of here."

Abramowitz weighs that statement for a beat or two and then re-opens the atlas and slides the treasure map onto the table.
"Do you have more light?"

Jerry grabs the desk lamp and pulls it over to the table. The light pours onto the atlas as Abramowitz flips back through the pages for a map that favors depths and reliefs of the oceans and land masses.

"In 1715, King Phillip of Spain ordered his treasure fleets to the New World...Vera Cruz and Cartagena to be exact. Spain was in need of a great deal of wealth to refill her cophers after the costly War of Succession ended with England and the Dutch. When the ships had their fill of gold, silver, precious gems, and other treasures they headed for a rendezvous in Havana before heading across the Atlantic."

Abramowitz paused and pulled a handkerchief from his vests pocket and dabbed the sweat from his brow. "Would you gentlemen have a glass of water?"

Lou pulls a beer from the ice chest, opens it, and sets it on the table in front of him. Abe sighs slightly and takes a pull. It must be better than he thought. He takes a long draw off of it and then continues with his story, placing his finger on the map... tracing the probable route from Havana back to Spain.

"Aside from the treasures of value to run the country, King Phillip had decided to marry the Dutchess of Palma. The ten ships of the treasure fleet were ready to depart Cuba in mid May of 1715, before the danger of hurricanes in that region. But because he ordered this treasure of "crown jewels" to be assembled for her, it delayed their departure until late July.

Don Casa Torres, the Governor of Cuba, had his hand in the delay as well, trying to get his personal wealth back to Spain where he was now headed. It is the ship he had hired, a French ship... the Grifon, that we are concerned with. The Clarok was among his possessions at that time.

When the ships left Havana they skirted the Florida coastline, trying to avoid the ominous weather to the south east. But it was too late in the season. A hurricane broadsided the treasure fleet and dashed them on the rocks near what is now known as Sebastian after a valiant effort to weather that storm. The loss of life was tremendous. Very few of the seven hundred men on those ships survived. Over fourteen million pesos in treasure lost."

I looked at Lou and then Jerry and Ollie, "So we are looking at a lot of treasure on the coast?"

"No," Abe continues, "ships were dispatched from Havana after word of the shipwrecks and they recovered two thirds of the treasure in the next several years."

"So there is still treasure... a third of it."

Abramowitz looks up from the atlas at me, "No... that is not what we are after."
Lou claps him on the back, "Well Abe, that's what we're gonna be after."

"Gentlemen, please, the Grifon, that is what we are after."

Jerry points to the east coast of Florida, "You said they went down off of Florida, Abe. What does that have to do with Samana Cay?"

"Exactly... " Abe takes a draw off of his beer with the looks of a man that might want a second.
"The Grifon was the only boat that escaped the storm. It was captained by Antione Dare, the only true Caribbean captain in the fleet. He saw the storms, read the sea, and departed the treasure fleet before they were trapped in the shallows."

"So the Grifon had the Clarok on board and they ended up somewhere off of Samana Cay?" I look at the distance between Sebastian Florida and Samana Cay. "That's in the opposite direction from their original course."

Abramowitz finishes his beer and Lou has another open for him. He seems to have softened that pole up his ass.
"Gentlemen, we thought the Clarok was the only piece of the puzzle. When Mr. Antonelli had the item brought up, we assumed that was all we were looking for. It wasn't until we researched the history of the actual shipment that was put in the holds of the Grifon that we found out there was more."

Abramowitz excuses himself and heads back out to the helicopter. When he returns he has a folder in his hand. He lays it on the table and opens it. There is a picture of the Clarok, all nice and shiney as it was when we took our little trip. Then the next page he shows us is a bill of lading of sorts, ancient scrawl... in Spanish, that is translated in pencil above the writing. It lists the Clarok and two "tablets" in the same chest. There is a brief description of both. The tablets they describe as jeweled.

"It wasn't until the team found the manifest that we realized that Mr. Montoya had missed something in the translation at the Mayan ruins. Not so much missed something, but misinterpreted. He believed the reference to the tablets at the ruins were speaking of the actual tablets in the walls of the ruins, the ones he was actually translating."

He stops for a moment to see if we understand what he is saying. We don't.

"Gentlemen, these missing tablets must have something to do with the use of the Clarok. We have researched shipwrecks in the Bahamas and believe that pieces of the treasure aboard the Grifon have been found in the waters off of Samana Cay. At great expense to the Antonelli family they have aquired the map, a copy of which my associate had flown up here to show you."

Lou narrows his gaze, "If the Clarok had been found, and it was in the same chest as these tablets, then why wouldn't they be in the same place?"

"The Clarok was an obvious find, large, encrusted with jewels and gold. It may have traded hands many times from the location it was discovered. The tablets, we hope, remained unnoticed by pirates or collectors, and are part of the treasure that we seek."

Abe take a long pull off of his second beer and reached up opened his necktie a bit.
"Gentlemen, I have said too much already. The Antonelli family needs your help. We don't trust anyone else with this information. Three of you have already been involved with the first experiment and know of its use and power. We and are not ready to dispense every last bit of information, not to even you, until we know you are with the project."

Getting Back on the Horse

We stand for a moment, looking at that envelope. Can't be good news.
"Open it?"
Lou shakes his head just slightly.
"Man... I just want to get my kite down out of that tree and head back to the compound."

I put the envelope back into the satchel and then look in the side pockets for anything that might tell us who the skypilot might be.
"Nothing but this envelope."
"So we need to pull these pieces out of the cockpit to find out who this guy is?"

With much trepidation we start to push and pull on the wreckage. The body is in a tropical shirt and slacks. Lou calls it first... probably a lawyer. After wrapping our hands in some of this guys clothing from the carry-on, we are able to free enough of him to check the pockets. Not the afternoon I was looking for.

"This is either a wallet, or a large colon polyp."
"Lou... "
He is elbow deep in wreckage when he withdrawls his arm, a bit bloody, but I am sure it is all his. In his hand is a thin billfold.

"Well?"
Lou opens the billfold and pulls out a two gold cards and an Oklahoma Drivers License. All of which held the name Alan Stinkle.
"Stinkle? Stinkle... Stinkle... Where have I heard that name?" Lou tips his head like a dog.

"You have heard it in the middle of Goldfarb and Abramowitz. He is one of Antonelli's lawyers." I look at the mess in the crumpled metal... "Was one of his lawyers."

Okay, I realize that we have had some down time since last year. I realize that Antonelli is a very good friend of ours. I realize that we may be two of the only six people on the planet that have gone back in time... I think. But I am done with this shit. I just want to stay here in the jungle. Get back to flying cargo in Abby, drinking beer, smoking the occassional Walker.

Lou gestures to the satchel and hands me the wallet to put with the envelope.
"Let's not open that until we get back home. I don't want any bad news without a buzz."

We are unable to get Lou's kite out of the tree without another twenty feet or so of ladder so he can grab the drop line. Even then I doubt it will come out of there unless we tow it out, and then it won't be worth a damn.

The truck surprises me. It starts and sucks up all the water Lou pours into the overflow bottle, but gets us home just the same. This little incedent reminds me that we need to fix the damn radiator. I pull it onto the pad near the hanger.

After two cold beers, a short story of Lou's miraculous flight, and a couple of pulls on the hula-girl bong Lou brought back from Hautulco, we decide to open the envelope.

I undo the string from the little windy things on the back and pull out three sheets of paper. The heading on each is Goldfarb, Stinkle, and Abramowitz. That will have to be changed.

I read the first page and then hand it to Lou, who waves it off. "I don't want to read it. Just give me the hilights."

"It's from Chris and his mother."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"They need our help."
"Like I said... "
"The Bahamas."
"Better."

Lou holds the cold beer up to his brow and rolls it across his forehead for the cooling effect. He can read between the lines.
"So they want us to meet them? Where have they got that monster anchored?"
I look at the cover letter, then up at Lou... "Cuba".
"No shit?"
"Playa Santa Lucia."

I look at the next page. This one talks about the history of the Clarok, the ship
Timandra that sank on the voyage to Buenos Aires. The deep water salvage that took place. All of this part of the tale we had heard aboard Chris' mother's yacht. What we didn't know is all recent discovery... part of the Clarok shipment that never came to light when Bear was making arrangements to salvage the artifact. The last page is of the Bahamas and a couple of outlying cays with one circled... Samana Cay.

"That's it? Hell, they could have sent that on the back a postcard." Lou takes a pull off of that beer until just foam slips down the sides of the bottle.
"They send a lawyer all the way up here, without warning, to tell us this little bit of crap? Hell... if he hadn't wrecked I might have shot him if he actually landed."

I grab the papers up and shake my head.
"Well, that can't be all. He wouldn't come all the way up here... with just this."
I look at Lou, "They know we like a little more meat with our messages by now."

Lou cracks another beer, "You sure you checked every inch of that bag?"

I have left the satchel inside the hanger. While retrieving it I also grab the carry-on bag for good measure. We empty the contents of both on the table and spread it out.

"Clothes... " Lou shakes each shirt, under garment, pair of socks, "socks... this guy was wearing socks out here in the jungle. If I could have found his feet I bet he had black socks and sandals."

The satchel has a few other documents, none of which seemed to have anything to do with the Clarok. I check for a false bottom... nothing. The sides of this leather satchel are thick, but one might think it is just the hide. I pry back the seams on one side but find it is tightly stitched. The other side, however, proves to be a little more revealing.

"Here we go." I manage to get the tip of a fingernail in the stiff opening under the border. With a quick thrust I get my fingers in the breech and pull open the hidden side panel. Inside is a copy of an old map. It is non-descript... an island, trees, a stand of rocks or statues or something, some kind of barbaque spit, and a few landmark items like broken trees and strange trunked palms.

"Let me see that, Jake." Lou takes the map and gives it the once over.
"This could be anywhere. No clue with the exception of this shipwreck here, and that might just be artwork to show a reef or something."

He tosses it back to me. I look at it again.
"Your right. I don't see anything here that would indicate a location."

We have an atlas on the shelf. Since our first encounter with Antonelli's people we have dog-eared the pages off of Puerto Barrios. After leafing through the eastern side of the Carribean, I find Samana Cay. It's maybe 30 miles back from a horseshoe shaped sliver called "Crooked Island" which is in turn about 170 miles from Cuba.

"Well... that treasure map doesn't look like any part of Samana Cay." I spin the treasure map on the table next to the atlas as though I were trying to find a fit for jigsaw piece. No matter how I turn the map, the land-mass does not fit the shape of any part of Samana Cay.

"Maybe it ain't Samana Cay." Lou turns the atlas toward him and puts his finger down on Playa Santa Lucia.
"I'm thinking we find out some of the missing pieces of the puzzle when we meet Antonelli and his mother." He shakes his head slightly. "That woman is a little scary. It's like they say... they make an offer that you can't refuse."

We take a little time of silent reflection. Are we really going to go do Cuba and get neck deep in this shit again. At least it isn't to go on some fucking mind trip again. Not yet anyway.

It is a ten minutes before we say another word. Lou packs the Hula Girl again and we take several hits before looking at each other.
"Well, Nancy?
"Jesus."
"Look, Jake, Antonelli is our friend... and he needs us. That is enough for me."
I crack my fourth beer and take a pull.
"Yeah, I know."
"It's Cuba, man... I always wanted to go to Cuba."
"Yeah, Cuba, and then what. The last time we ran into pirates we all got shot and had a boat sink under us."
"Well, me and Jerry got shot. You got scratched."

My hand goes to my ear.

We are well on our way to being totally fucked up. The Hula Girl dances five or six times more before we hear Abby's engines as Jerry does a fly-by. That is the nice thing about the local shit, it doesn't paralyze you. We walk out with a cooler packed with cold beer, and the little Hula Girl, packed with Nogales window box.

There she comes... those big, beautiful radial engines putting along like a highway line of Harleys parading by. Jerry gives a wave out of the window and slides her in through the gates.

Lou and I close the compound gates and throw the padlock on. You wouldn't think that was necessary, not out here in the jungle, but it is peace of mind to have the compound locked down. Since we brought our gold money back from Mexico we have a pretty nice solar powered security system here at El Corazon that will light up this place at night if something really big comes through the fenceline.

The side door opens and Ollie's big mug is smiling. He jumps down and grabs the two of us by the neck and gives us a playful shake. When he sees the cooler and the Hula Girl, you can tell he can't decide what to do first.

"You two are like... what? Ten sheets to the wind?" Jerry smiles and hops down out of Abby. I open the cooler and hand him a cold one.

"I deliver freight in the jungle all day and all you have to give me is... light beer?"

I feel a little beer eject out of my nose on that one.

"So what's the haps, gentlemen?" Jerry takes a long pull on the cold beer and then waves the Hula Girl away from Ollie while the bowl is still glowing.

"We have a decision to make."

New Beginnings

So, it's been a long time since I have posted our adventures. Actually it has taken all of this time to put the past in the past. The life we lived in the minutes of our travel back from the old west put a bender on our minds that has taken all of these months to clear.

We never went back to get the gold, me and Lou. We let the others go. Done that, been there... if it turned out different we didn't want to know. Our share would be safe with Antonelli. We wanted to get home to El Corazon, to see Jerry... to fly once more in Abigail. It took three days for us to make contact with Jerry through the airport radio to Tapia. He was confused and a little pissed off that he had to make a run all the way down to Puerto Barrios when we had a perfectly good aircraft sitting right at the airport. But we had to see him, to have him fly us back... at the controls. This nightmare of three minutes that saw Jerry dead and us bleeding out at the controls of Abby was too recent of a memory. You wouldn't believe how real it felt, the detail... the pain.

So we have Jerry come pick us up like a couple of spoiled kids and fly us back to El Corazon. I fought the urge to hug that fucking hippy. It would be weeks of night terrors and a few screams that cleared the monkeys out of the compound and shut that jungle noise down for ten minutes at a time. That is how real it was.

But with everything, time heals those wounds. Someone once likened the death of a loved one to a sharp-edged stone in a flowing river. After a while those sharp cutting edges dull with the passing of time until they are as smooth as the last trip to grandma's house for Christmas dinner.

I can only speak for myself. I would spend entire days sitting outside the fenceline on an old plane wreck... tail section. The verticle and horizontal stabs sit at a pretty comfortable angle and provided a good meditation spot. I never have been into that kind of thing, but when you have visions like those from Anahuac, it isn't easy to put them behind closed doors.

Lou, on the other hand, has been a rock. Some time ago he was able to reckon with death and the sights of mutilation and destruction. I know it haunts him... I can see it in his eyes. Just for a second there is a pain in those eyes that is quickly sheathed, hidden like a dagger that has just cut the throat of God. I feel his pain, it is deep... but sudden, like a chilling flood water that will consume you in an instant. I think he worries about his soul. But I know his heart, and God will know as well. The world is full of bad men and things that go bump in the night. Believe me, God put people like Lou on this Earth to let us sleep at night and wake to see another glorious sunrise.

So, enough of this shit. What has been going on all these months? Well, not all that much that you might find interesting. Abigail was down for a month for a complete inspection, prompted by the fact that we had to change out a cylinder on her starboard engine after she sucked a valve. We really missed having Naomi on hand. It took two weeks and a whole lot of time on the shortwave to arrange to have her brought up here. But once she was on deck, the parts runs started. We flew sixteen sorties out to the coast to pick up parts. It would have been nice to make it all in one trip, but that isn't how it works with these things. You get one thing fixed and then find another. I think it was just Abby's way of getting back at us for putting her in harms way so many times.

Most of the time it was Jerry on the parts runs. He and Ollie would fly for parts while Lou and I turned wrenches. There was plenty of cold beer, marinated pork and chicken from the girls at the cantina in town. Aside from the usual problems... fasteners not coming out, bolts snapping off, there were unique jungle issues that only we face. Monkeys stealing wrenches and parts, beer and food. It is funny at first, but then... after the tenth time, it becomes trying at best.

They stopped doing that after Lou threw an old grenade to one of them. He found the thing in the corner of some box in the hanger that he brought back from Santa Cruz so many months ago.

"Here you go you fucking monkey." He pulled the pin and threw it. That monkey must of thought it was a treasure because for a moment or two he was victorious at keeping his buddies away. Then there was a messy explosion... then nothing. They didn't come around after that.

Once Abigail was back in the air with a fresh motor and everything else running like a Swiss watch, we tried to get back to normal. It was lucky that Ollie was here with us, ready in an instant to take a run with Jerry when we didn't feel up to it.
The fact is that none of us need to work again. We have enough gold to spend in six lifetimes. With the prices today... hell, they are almost twice what we got in Mexico City so long ago. It is a fortune, we know. But we aren't the types of people that have cared all that much about the money side of things.

Lou took a run out to his old stomping grounds at Santa Cruz Hautulco two days ago. He came back with a case of Cuban cigars, ten bottles of Havana Club Dark, and an orange hang glider with a motor and a helmet. Just one more thing to break his neck with.

"Course I know how to fly it. Damn thing flies itself, Jake."
"You better stay close."
"What now?"
"Stay close... to the ground and to the compound."
"You're not my mother, Nancy."
"Thank God for small favors."

I look back over my shoulder at the PowerWagon. There is a small plastic bucket under the radiator that catches whatever coolant is left in the system every time we stop. She took a hit out on a Jungle Mart parts run a week ago and we haven't found the time to braze it or find a replacement. If he goes down anywhere but here, it will be a short ride or a long walk.

"Don't sweat it, Nancy. I'll just take her up and catch a thermal right over the compound."

There is an hour at least of set up and staging as he checks and rechecks the glider assembly. I would have helped, but I know Lou... he doesn't want to be bothered when he is in this mood. So I find a lawn chair and a grab a couple of beers.

Finally, after triple checking every connection, Lou heaves the glider up and checks the way it balances. He actually dawns the helmet, which is a sign of personal growth for Lou. He sees me looking and then flips me off. Still, though, the Lou I knew would rather piss in that helmet than put it on and admit he is infallible.
Even as I am thinking that last part he yanks the helmet off and throws it my way in defiance.

"That's a bad move."
Once again the finger.
I crack a beer and settle back for the show... or so I think.
"Nancy... come start this thing."

This thing looks like a combination of box fan and leaf blower. He is in a hanging harness so the motor will be at his back to give him thrust. There is a kill switch on one of the handles. He checks to see that it is on.
"Ignition on."
"Funny."
"Just pull the fucking starter."

I set the choke and pull the handle, hard so it jostles him.
"Easy, Nancy."
After about five pulls it sputters. I ease up on the choke and pull it again. That did it, the motor comes to life. After a moment or two I take the choke off and we let it run for a minute.

I give him a tap on the shoulder. I point to the helmet and Lou nods. Good, I don't feel like spoon feeding him when this flight turns him into a vegetable.
After he straps on his safety equipment I settle back into the lawn chair and watch the show.

He takes a couple of moments while he shifts the glider around... checking the weight I presume. Then the throttle goes up and he starts to run along. Now that alone starts me smiling, but when he gets enough lift he runs he is up and down a few times, his feet running in mid-air before touching down, then up, then down.

It isn't long before he is all the way to the end of the strip.
"WE'LL CALL THAT A TEST RUN..." I yell his way, but he doesn't hear me. I can't see his face from here, but I know the determination is cut in stone.

I hear the throttle go up and see him running, then he pops the nose of that glider up to the point that it might just stall. His feet come up off the ground by ten, fifteen, then twenty feet. He drops the nose just a bit but loses altitude so he once again flirts with a stall. Half way down the strip he tries a turn, very slow and sweeping. Good thinking to keep his climb in the middle of the strip in case he has to abort there is ample clearing to glide back down.

I'll be damned if he isn't doing it. Slowly he is climbing in this turn. He lets out a whoop as he makes his altitude. He calls down to me but I can't make out what he says. After about six or seven complete turns he is up about fifteen hundred feet and pretty small. I hear the motor cut back and he straightens up and starts on a course over the compound.

Well I'll be damned.

I am two beers down before I hear the engine stop. He has been out of sight for a while, high and nearly a mile to the southeast of the compound. He had stayed in one spot, making several figure eights... examining the jungle south of our airstrip before heading further south. I would have expected him to go toward town, drop into the cantina and make me come and get him. But that isn't the case today.

I'll be damned if I don't have to water jug the radiator on the Dodge. I fill up a couple of the empty anti-freeze jugs that are on the trash pile and throw them in the back.

She turns over slowly and then finally catches, making me work at getting her to idle. By the time I get out on the airstrip I can barely make out the "life jacket orange" fabric of the glider before it is swallowed up by the triple terrace jungle.

"Oh for Christ sake. I told him... I told him." I start down toward the end of the airstrip and try to go quickly before I run out of water.

The parts run trail at the end of the strip is nothing more than a couple of ruts competing with each other. I am buffeted hard, like a prize fighter getting pummeled on the ropes. I try to keep visual toward my last sighting. When the trail takes on a different direction, I shut the truck off and step out.

The jungle noise is at a minimum this time of day.
"LOU... " I reach in and hit the horn button, but it just clicks... typical.
"HEY LOU... WHERE ARE YOU, MAN?"

I strain to hear him, but the low hum of bug life out here might just be enough to...

"Jake?"

It is faint and far off, somewhere south east of where I am. There is enough clearing through the jungle that I figure I better take the truck as close as I can get.

As I rumble deeper into the jungle, I can see orange in the shadows above and ahead. In another hundred yards the glider is visible, caught in a rather large tree. Lou is dangling from a thin white cord about twenty feet off the ground. He looks none the worse for wear. There is blood dripping off one of his arms and he has a shoe off.

"Pull under me."
"Hello to you, too."
"Put the cab right under me."

I pull up so he is twirling above the cab and shut her down. I just get out and down he comes, after the first bounce he is on the jungle floor and there is another dent in the top of the truck that we have to push out.

"Welcome to Earth."
"Stow it, Nancy. There's something about two clicks over that way." He points deeper into the jungle.
"They're called trees... or monkeys. I don't know which of those you were looking at."

"God damnit, where is my other shoe?"

I aid in the search and we find it in the other direction. It is already covered in ants. Lou fires it back toward the truck and then beats it mercilously on the bumper until he is satisfied that the intruders have left. After he dons the shoe he is ready to go.

"You're bleeding."
"It'll stop. I think we can get the truck in through these trees."
"Yeah, just keep in mind we are probably going to run out of water before we can make it back."

I start through the trees, hoping that the trees don't choke down to nothing. I at least want a place to turn around if that is at all possible. Backing all the way out of a dead end sucks the...

"STOP."
"Jesus, you startled me. I'm right here you motherfuc... "
"Look."

On the jungle floor off to our right is a small plane, a single engine... probably a Cessna 182. There is a tear in the canopy above it from when it came through the trees and the light is shining through, illuminating this pilots last resting place.

We get out of the truck and make our way over. This is a fresh crash site. I can smell fuel, so there was no fire on impact. But that is little consolation to whomever was inside. It is a fatal impact... you can tell from just looking at it.

"Just the pilot." Lou is squatting next to the flattened cockpit. He stands quickly and starts wiping the ants away from him. The jungle has already started to claim this prize. First the ants, then the blow flies, then God knows what else.

In the passenger compartment we find a carry-on bag and a satchel.
"He was traveling light." I pick up the bags and pull them out for examination. Lou takes the suitcase and I open the satchel. What I find makes this more than just a crash site.

I remove a sealed envelope.

"Whatcha got?" Lou asks, rifling through the shirts and neatly folded undergarments.
"I don't know yet, but it has our names on it."

Into the Sunset

"Oh... what the fuck." I work the throttle and spin the number two. It is excruciatingly slow. I flash to Jimmy Stewart in "The Flight of the Phoenix" with his last starter shot. The motor catches near the last of the juice. I breathe a premature sigh of relief. Hand starting an engine this size is pretty much out of the question. As I squeak the fuel into her, not wanting her to quit on me, I hear the report of Lou's AK as he tries to keep them off of me while I get her going. There is a moment when the gunfire halts for maybe a five count. Lou jumps aboard.

"GO GO GO... "
"But I don't have the number one started."
"FUCK THAT... GO."

I push the throttle for Abby's number two to the stop and she powers up. It takes a four count on the way up to about 75% when I release the brakes and we lurch forward.
"Lou, get up here. If we are gonna leave the ground we need that number one engine. I can't fly and start it at the same time."

I hear him scrambling up behind me, then several shots and I hear him fall. Somewhere near the pit of my stomach I panic, but then he is pulling himself into the right seat.

As we roll away and head down the dirt runway we feel dozens of impacts from small arms fire. My window shatters next to me. The next shot I feel rather than see or hear. My chest is on fire and it feels as though the wind has been knocked from me. I keep at the controls and am aware of the number one engine as Lou gets it started and on-line.

"Now we're cooking with gas." I choke and feel blood in the back of my mouth.

More gunfire, several rifles to our right firing at us as we pass. A round blows through the floor at the right seat and catches Lou in the leg.
"You MOTHERFUCKERS."

I pull back on the stick and we begin to lift off. Several more shots pierce the cabin and just behind us. I feel a stinging in my lower back and then realize that I am in big trouble.

"Lou... give me a little right rudder."
"Can't, one of those bastards got my right foot."
"You better use your left then, I can't move either of mine."

I feel the cold numbness of paralysis below the belt as we lift off and are airborne. Lou give it his best effort on the rudder and we manage to bank over and out of range of those on the ground.

My breathing his short and painful. The blood I tasted at the back of my throat is now coming up and out onto my shirt every time I breath. I fight the urge to cough, knowing the pain might black me out. Then there is the acrid smell of urine. I have no control of any function below the gunshot wound.

Climb... climb... climb. We make it above a thin layer of cloud that has formed in the last fifteen minutes and are now at about a thousand feet.

We are up and away, safe from ground fire. But I don't think that matters. The damage has been done. This will be the last time Abigail takes us up.

"What the FUCK?" Lou's head goes back and he closes his eyes, then opens them wide and reaches down to his damaged leg. He stifles the pain, a sound I haven't heard in all this time with him.
"Awe... shit."

"What?"
"I'm bleedin' out, Jake... too much, too much."
"Tie it off."
"Can't get to it. They hit me in through my right side. I think they got my liver. There is a hole the size of a shot glass."
"Well... shit."

We fly in silence for a second or two. Long enough to realize that we better say what we want to say before we both give up the ghost.

"How did you manage to get on the plane without getting nailed?" I've got nothing.
"The... " Lou takes a sharp breath. I feel that panic again. He is on his way out.
"The boy, the hand grenade paperweight. They thought it was real. Must have... "
He draws up tight for a moment and makes another sound I have never heard him make before.

"Hey, I get it." I look over at him and he is looking at me like we are saying goodbye.
"It's been a fucking blast, Jake. What a run, man... what a run. These last years have been the best I've spent."

Now that is something coming from Lou. I always see this guy like a super-hero and don't expect to have him die right in front of me. But it's coming.

"Hey... Lou, thanks brother. I would have been dead a hundred different times if it weren't for you saving my ass."

"Yep."

Time passes without a sound. Only a minute... maybe two, but it seems like an eternity. It isn't until I hear his voice that I know he isn't dead yet.
"How much fuel does she have?"

A good question. I look to the gauges and for the first time realize that the circuit that lights them is shot out.
"Your guess is as good as mine. But if I know Jerry she's full."

At the mention of his name we both go silent. Oh man... Jerry. We didn't have time to grieve him, and it doesn't seem as though we will now either.

"Jake... "
"Yeah?"
"I could use a Walker."
"I would have to chew it, Lou. I think I took one through the chest."

I hear the Zippo and then the sweet smell of Lou's Walker. He draws in a hit like it is his last. Then passes it to me.
I know this isn't going to work, but I take a toke out of honor. It stays put... no choking. We both exhale at the same time.

"Hey Jake... "
"Yeah... "
I never know if he responds, or if I am dead when he does.
Abby flies on. I trimmed her out just before I passed out. Even with the fuel bombs on board the old girl will find her balance. She will find a way to stay aloft until the very end. It shouldn't be hard to find the wreckage. We fly her last flight... two warriors on ride into the sunset, and with us we carry honor, kinship, and memories worth more than any treasure can be to a man.




THE END




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I hear the murmur of voices. I is as though they are behind the glass in an aquarium. I feel a thud, then another. Like someone is slapping a canned ham. Again, panicked voices, then... calm and reassurance. Light... brighter than the sun to me. I feel a hand cover my eyes, then the feeling, it is my own. If this is heaven, then I think I have been ripped off.

"Mr. Allen... Jake, come on Mr. Allen."
I feel my breathing, no pain. I think I wiggle my toes and then thrash my legs a bit.

"He's coming around."

I gasp and draw in a huge lung of air as though I were near drowning.

My eyes fly open. I can't focus, but I think I see the fuzzy familiar faces of Dr. Adams and Angelica.
"What the... ?"

"You and Louis were not conscious when you came through. The others seemed fine, but you two have been out for a few minutes."

"A few MINUTES?" I sit up, and to my surprise I am not in any pain what so ever.
"We have been living another life for weeks. We were killed trying to rescue our friend."
"Well, Louis came to just before you and we have sent him back to his room to change. You may join him in the lounge if you wish. The others are there waiting. I have already sent news that you are awake and doing fine."

Oh my God.

I am escorted to my room and I find the clothes I had left there weeks before. My body is prickly, like your foot when it falls asleep and then the feeling comes back. I... I can't believe this was all a matter of seconds from our return from the old west. JERRY, that means Jerry is still okay. That means Corazon is still there, my t-shirt collection, those fucking monkeys, Naomi, oh... God, thank you God.

My door opens and there he is.
"You okay?"

"That's what they tell me." I wipe my eyes, "I can't fucking believe it."

"You too? I thought it was just my dream."
"Dream? Did we get shot up rescuing Jerry in northern Mexico?"
"You know we did."
"Oh man, it was as real as you and me standing here."
"That was a fucking nightmare, man. One that I would rather not re-live."

We both walk to the lounge. The last time we were in here was just before we left for the old west. Seems like years.

Inside we find our friends, some welcome handshakes and several bear-hugs, whiskey and Muerte Verde, even a tray of hand rolled Walkers. Stories start, laughter and back slapping, tall tales that stretch the past to the thinnest veil of reality. I close my eyes and listen to the voices. A feeling of happiness and contentment wash over me. Then I feel Lou tapping on my arm, the Walker. I take it from him and draw a long hit into my healthy lungs. I look at him and nod as I let the smoke out in a thin stream. He smiles and nods. It is like we died and went to heaven.

I want to thank those of you out there that have taken this Journey with us. Keller Texas and Santa Barbara deserve mention for their persistence. And for the rest of you, there have been 4500 visits, dozens of full time readers, over 7800 page views.

We will be checking in later in the year. If you want to shoot us an email and give us an email we can drop you a note on I will let you know when we are starting back up. Lou and I are thinking of heading back up to the states and starting a P.I. agency. Should be a few tales to tell. Thanks again out there.