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  RELIC

  A JAKE SANDS THRILLER

  ROGER WESTON

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Weston Publishing Enterprises

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  PROLOGUE

  Padre Diego Portichuelo de Rivadeneira stood fast against the pounding wind. He clung to the rail as the Nuestra Senora de las Maravillas rose on the sea’s liquid hills and sunk into her deepening valleys. He struggled to stand against the wind, and so he leaned into it. He leaned forward over the rail as gusts pounded him and thrashed the ship. He had survived a shipwreck just last year, yet fear touched him as he beheld the sinking low clouds, which were thick and unleashing torrents of driving rain.

  Big sheets of water were torn off the surface of the waves and dispersed as spray. White streaks and foam patches covered the surface of raging, uncaring and unrelenting sea. The power of the advancing sea was a frightening spectacle to behold. Padre Diego could not help but feel just how insignificant he was in the universe. He sensed the vulnerability of the ship beneath his feet that was tossed around like a mere cork. He knew to his bones that one rogue wave could doom the Maravillas and her mortal crew. His knees shook. Guilt and shame clung to him. As the storm raged, he felt no less fear than the apostles had on the Sea of Galilee before Jesus stilled the storm and rebuked them for their lack of faith. Oh, he was ashamed, indeed.

  In the distance he saw other ships of the fleet tempting fate thanks to the staggering boldness and courage of their crews and captains, men who lived every day as if it was the only day they would ever have. They lived boldly and gloriously, in contempt of fear, choosing even death as preferable to a life of defeat and cowardice. Better than anyone, Padre Diego knew they were deeply flawed, but they were pushed and pulled by the conflicting currents and riptides of the cross-seas of life. Now their ships were facing the same liquid insanity. They rose on the rough, confused seas that had replaced the long, deep swells of earlier. They followed perilous courses through the black of night, long streaks of glittering green phosphoresce trailing in their wakes.

  A voice from the crow’s nest overhead cut through the thick, electric air. The voice dropped down from high overhead, announcing the coast of Florida off the port beam and touching off the emotions of Padre Diego. Land was always a comforting sight for those in troubled waters; it could also be a frightening sight for sailors who understand the dangers of shallow waters. Padre Diego had been around long enough to understand this.

  As if responding to his fears, a stiff wind rose up and the temperature sank by ten degrees. High overhead, the sails flapped and luffed. Sailors sprang into action. They climbed ladders with as much confidence and skill as geckos that cling to walls. They furled and trimmed the sails. Down on deck, sailors secured all loose gear and battened down hatches.

  Padre Diego went below and tried to sleep, but it was impossible due to the rough, awkward seas. Even in his bed he was jarred and shaken. He could not only hear the strains on the timbers, he could almost feel them. He felt something ominous that darkened his spirit and drove him to recite scripture to fortify his courage and give comfort and reassurance to his spirit.

  Hours ticked by as the Holy Scriptures passed through his lips. Then he found himself back out on deck in the midst of pure chaos by night. The Bahamas Channel struck him as an evil, malevolent place. Showered with ocean spray, Padre Diego clung to the rail and watched the rising and falling of the lights of other ships in the fleet. He watched legions of whitecaps. He noticed how low the heavily-laden treasure galleon was riding in the water. He felt a pang of fear. The ocean was a furious beast, and Padre Diego knew how fragile and tiny the life of a man truly was. All around him sailors worked feverishly as if their lives depended upon their performance, yet they were tiny little souls, toiling in the midst of massive powers. In the blink of an eye, their little lights could be extinguished on any given day, but especially on a day like this.

  His deepest fears blackened his heart when the ship was jarred. A huge wave rose up and pounded her like a fist in the face. Foamy whitewater spilled over her decks. The boatswain’s shouts spoke of shallow depths, and Padre Diego heard the gasps of sailors. A warning cannon was fired to alert the other ships of mortal danger.

  Padre Diego watched in horror as the galleon of Juan de Hoyos, another ship in the fleet, hurtled into a rock. The rudder was snapped off like the breaking of a matchstick. Minutes passed like the slowness of torture and oppression. Reality was so real, yet also unreal. It seemed unbelievable when Padre Diego watched the Capitana out of control, heading straight for Padre Diego’s ship, the Maravillas.

  Men screamed like doomed souls and ran for the opposite rail. What happened next confounded Padre Diego. The Maravillas attempted a desperate turn, but hit bottom. The Capitana, carried by the might of the sea, plowed into the Maravillas. Padre Diego felt the ship buck. He was thrown and rolled on the deck. He felt the ship tilt and tremble as she was broken in half. Then he saw the other half being torn away by the waves.

  The remaining half of the Maravillas was helpless before the insane currents. She was carried right into the shoals where whitewater churned in the rocky teeth. Timbers snapped and razor-sharp rocks stove gouges in her hull. Water poured in through the damaged timbers.

  Realizing now that their lives truly hung in the balance, sailors formed lines and bailed, but Padre Diego, who was also passing buckets, could see that their task was doomed to failure.

  He fought his way through the chaos on deck, only to come face to face with Admiral Don Matias de Orellana, who told him, “The ship will be lost. Please, Father, confess all those who want to be absolved.”

  The Father nodded and knew that he must do this. All around him, the cries of hopeless and distressed sailors filled the air. The spirit of Death was in the air. Padre Diego could feel her presence. And Doom rode on her back.

  Padre Diego climbed to the highest deck and faced the terrified crowd below. He could see the terror and regret in the eyes of hundreds of souls who now realized that their final hour had arrived, and they had not lived as they should
have. Desperation clung to their faces. Men who had cared nothing for God yesterday were now begging for his mercy. Everyone was begging for his mercy—sinners and saints alike. Men of status and countless honors realized suddenly that their titles counted for nothing. They knew instinctively that what mattered was how they had treated God and man, and this devastated them to the bones.

  Padre Diego shouted above the storm. Words spilled off his tongue and down over the wailing crowd of distressed souls. “Calm yourselves,” he said. “There is nothing to fear.”

  The sailors did not calm down. Padre Diego opened his Bible and read Holy Scriptures to so many men who listened and cried in despair. Padre Diego then began to hear confessions, but time was short and those who needed confession were many. He resorted to bestowing a general absolution upon the crowd.

  Even as this was going on, the boat was breaking up under their feet. Men leapt into the water and swam for any scraps of wreckage that they could hold on to. Padre Diego dared not leap into the raging ocean, for he could not swim. The cold fingers of dread were choking his faith.

  Admiral Orellana emerged out of the chaos of the grim night and put his hand on the Father’s shoulder. “Do not fear Death, Father. I am not afraid. Death will find us sooner or later.”

  It was just what Padre Diego needed to hear. He watched in admiration as Admiral Orellana turned to help other sailors in their efforts to launch a boat.

  “Come with us, Father.”

  “No, I will stay here. Let another man take my place in the boat.”

  This was done, but the same boat was promptly smashed to kindling as a wave flung it against the side of the galleon. All hands were lost.

  Padre Diego whispered a silent prayer even as he heard the ship’s timbers bend and break. All around, men wailed in despair.

  Even though he could not swim, Padre Diego acted on his faith. He leapt into the water, hoping to reach some wreckage. The cold gave him a shock, but he stayed above water long enough to grab hold of a floating hatch. He dragged himself aboard his makeshift raft. At that same moment, he saw the ship roll. The stern castle crashed into the water, dumping sailors into the sea.

  A man swam out of the darkness and climbed onto Padre Diego’s hatch-cover raft. Realizing that he was in the presence of Padre Diego, the man began confessing his sins.

  This man was Don Domingo de Vega, a knight of the Order of Christ. Water poured off the fantastic blue-and-golden Cross of Malta, which he wore around his neck.

  After giving his confession, Don Domingo said, “Hang on to the raft, Father. Whatever you do, hang on. We will survive if we endure.”

  Another swimmer reached a floating boom close by and wrapped an arm around it, yet his eyes showed he was resigned to death. With all the strength he could muster, he heaved a package to Padre Diego. “Take it, Father. I’m giving it up—and my sins with it.”

  “What is it?”

  “An artifact. A lead book with a written confession.”

  “Whose confession?”

  “I will tell you father, but I must also confess. Please hear my confession, Father, for I am the greatest sinner in the world. I will tell you everything.”

  “I will hear it.” Padre Diego shoved the bundle into his pocket.

  Padre Diego had heard thousands of confessions during his career, but never had a confession shocked him and frightened him more than this one. From the darkest bowels of his soul, the man told a harrowing and astounding tale of evil.

  For such terrible sins as he’d scarcely dared imagine, Padre Diego gave forgiveness. The sinner’s eyes were burdened with utter devastation and torment, yet once his sins were confessed, crushing weight seemed to lift from him. Relief glinted in his eyes for just a moment before he sank beneath the waves.

  Padre Diego and Don Domingo held on through the night. In the morning, Padre Diego spotted a boat. Gaspar de los Reyes was in command. His oarsmen heaved on their sticks. They rescued several survivors from the sunken Maravillas. Then they dragged Don Domingo de Vega and Padre Diego to safety.

  Thankfulness filled Padre Diego’s heart and soul, but words, the confession of the world’s greatest sinner, filled his mind. He knew that he would never see the world in the same way.

  CHAPTER 1

  September 7

  Puget Sound, Washington State

  A squeaking sound penetrated the darkness—then a banging noise. More squeaking. Another bang.

  Jake woke up slowly with a splitting headache. The squeaking and banging was grating on his nerves. The rocking of the boat seemed to be shaking his brain. At first all he could think of was the pain. How long would it last? Then he remembered the girl. He remembered the approaching helicopter. He recalled that he’d engaged the autopilot.

  “What happened?” he said, wondering how long he’d been out.

  A wave of panic jumped through him. He realized that someone had pistol whipped him just as he came down the stairs into the galley.

  Now he heard the screech of seagulls. He heard waves slapping the hull. Panic rushed through him.

  Where were they? He stood up slowly, and the pain in his head got worse. It began to throb. Then he realized that he no longer heard the helicopter. All he heard was the dull throb of his boat engine. The deck tilted, and he grabbed the back of a bolted-down chair to keep his balance. A stack of plates slid off the counter and shattered on the floor. Startled, Jake looked at them for a moment. He’d salvaged those plates off a sunken cruise liner off the coast of Tasmania—vintage ceramic plates with glazed blue tall-ship designs.

  Who had stacked them on the counter?

  Jake was confused. The plates should have been safe in their storm shelves. Then he understood. The galley was trashed. Cushions were torn from the bench seat. Pots and pans were scattered around. Cabinet doors hung open. Hinges squeaked as the boat rolled and doors hit the jambs. They’d searched the cabin.

  Why? It was insanity.

  The girl… Who was she?

  Jake stumbled out onto the back deck where cold rain ran down the back of his neck. Fog lay on choppy gray waters under an oppressive sky of storm clouds. There was nobody on deck. Then he looked forward.

  “Oh, my God!”

  His fishing boat was about to collide with a massive cargo ship. He was heading straight for it. Jake ran back inside and climbed the stairs. In the wheelhouse, he was looking at a cliff of gray steel barely thirty yards away. He seized control of the boat and spun the wheel. The boat responded, but he was approaching too fast.

  An earsplitting foghorn made him cringe as the freighter blasted a warning. Jake thought he was clear, but the back end of the fishing boat touched the hull of the fast-moving ship. The fishing boat lunged, and Jake was thrown to the floor. Another blast of the foghorn tore through the air. Jake got back up. He hit the accelerator lever and the marine diesel engine roared. The boat ran free of the massive ship, which continued on its way, not even slowing.

  Jake kept going, instinctively wanting to put distance between his boat and the big container ship. When he was well clear, he eased the accelerator lever back to an idle. He checked the radar and hurried down to the deck. Out on the stern, he leaned over and checked the damage. A buoy was blown and the paint was scraped.

  Then he saw torn metal. His boat was taking on water.

  It looked like a small leak, but there was no time to waste. He had to get this baby into drydock before she sank. He went down below and stuffed a life-preserver into the hole. That slowed the leak considerably.

  Back up in the wheelhouse, Jake sat at the wheel as he sailed for Bellingham. He washed down a couple of aspirin with a cup of coffee. He held a bag of ice on the side of his head where he’d been hit.

  Jake tried to put the memory of the girl out of his mind but he could think of nothing else. The girl was gone now—the helicopter gone. The vision of the girl’s face filled his mind. His heart rushed. Who was she? What had happened to her? Where was she now? She had bee
n kidnapped by…relatives. That’s what she had called them. What kind of relatives show up in a helicopter and pistol-whip the man who saved her life?

  Family? If she was taken by family, did Jake need to report her disappearance to the Coast Guard? Of course he did. Her boat had sunken. Even if her boat was just a speed boat—it sank. She was a missing person until Jake knew what had become of her. He would never forget the fear in her eyes.

  Relatives. Family. She’d been so sure.

  Jake picked up his mike.

  “Coast Guard, come in. This is the Sea Bird. Do you read me?”

  “Do not move.”

  Jake’s heart leaped inside of him. Grunting with surprise, he turned his head to the side. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a big man holding a gun.

  “Hang it up.”

  Jake did as he was told.

  “Now get down on your knees.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Holding his gun steady, the big man took a couple of steps toward Jake. “I said get down on your knees!” He had a broad, pock-marked face and eyes set wide apart like a halibut.

  Jake obeyed. He could now feel the vibrations of the marine diesels vibrating up through the decks and his knees. As the fishing boat rolled in the waves, Jake put his hand on the floor to steady himself. “What do you want from me?”

  “You know what I want. I’ll tell you something, you stupid bastard.” He kicked Jake in the face, then yelled, “Get back up on your knees or I’ll put a bullet in you.”

  Jake got back up and wiped his bloody nose. He avoided looking at the thug because he didn’t like having a gun pointed at him.

  The thug said, “You should have known better than to mess with the Rosarios.”

  “Who? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  The thug’s face darkened. He took a step forward. “Is that right?”

  “It’s not the first time somebody was rescued from a sinking boat.” Jake sniffed. He still avoided looking directly at that gun, but having it pointed at him couldn’t be ignored. Jake suppressed feelings of anger.