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  He tore away the butcher paper and uncovered something that was wrapped in a Spanish-language newspaper and secured with duct tape. He cut the tape and tore away the paper. At first he didn’t know what he was looking at, but after closer scrutiny, he realized that it was a very old artifact, an ancient lead-and-copper book. A codice. The book looked like it had once been sealed with metal nails and lead rings, but the seals were broken. The seven lead pages now swung back on lead binding rings. Some of the lettering on the first page was Greek. Most of the text, including five lead pages, was in another language that Jake didn’t recognize. The letters were not engraved in the lead. The pages had been cast in moulds to create raised lettering. The corners of the pages were decorated with symbols. Jake saw engraved horse images that bore riders. One was crowned. Another carried a scale. Another wielded a sword. He saw symbols of the sun, the mountains, angels with trumpets—even shipwrecks.

  This was an unusual artifact, and Jake wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was not like anything he’d seen before. He remembered the girl … Why had she hidden this artifact? What did it mean to her…? He remembered the hit man… Why had he wanted this so badly that he was ready to kill Jake? Whose helicopter was it? Who were these people? How was it that a tactical team had been deployed to recover this artifact at any cost? Even murder was not too great a price for these people to pay.

  What an unusual artifact it was. Jake had it now, but he didn’t know if possessing it was a good thing or not.

  He slipped the artifact back in the meat packaging and put that in a paper sack along with several metal forks and spoons from the galley’s silverware drawer. He put the bundle in his book pack, which he slung over his shoulders. He stepped out on deck and double-locked the door.

  Jake caught the last train from Bellingham to Seattle at 10:30 p.m. After buying a cheap pay-as-you-go phone, he got a cup of coffee in the nearest internet café, searched the classifieds on Craig’s List, and made several calls. He was hung up on a few times for calling late, but then got a hit. After arranging for a parking-lot meeting, it was time to hit the road again. He caught a bus up to Northgate Mall and got there just in time for his appointment.

  He spotted a kid in black sunglasses and a black t-shirt who was sitting on a motorcycle. The black t-shirt said ‘NO FEAR’ in big white letters. Jake approached him. “Are you Rudy?”

  “That’s me,” the kid said without even looking up from his smartphone.

  “I’m in a hurry, alright. If you want to sell your bike, turn that thing off and put it away until after we make a deal. Can you do that?”

  “Huh?... Oh, sure.” The kid put his device away and took off his black sunglasses. He had a slim face, and a frazzled, flyaway hair style. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I need to sell this bike fast so I can buy an electric guitar at a fire-sale price.”

  Jake glanced across the street at a craft store. A white van was driving slowly in the parking lot, but it pulled onto the street and drove away. He turned back to the kid: “You said the bike runs well, right?”

  “Oh, man. It’s dirty and looks beat up, but it’s beautiful after you clean it up. I’m the kinda guy I’ll blow a fuse if my bike has a problem. I’ll give the mechanic a blank check and say make her purr but don’t give me the shaft either. I do my own work, too. It’s a labor of love.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Look, I don’t fiddle while Rome burns if you know what I mean.”

  Jake wasn’t sure, but he nodded and said, “You’ll take a check, right?”

  “It better be good. I’ll be fit to be tied if I get ripped off again.”

  “Nobody’s ripping anyone here. You’re asking two grand, right? I’ll give you three hundred here and now. That a lot for a two-day rental. Then you get your bike back and keep the money.”

  “You just want to rent it?”

  “Sure, then you get your guitar, but you get the bike back, too.”

  “Hold on.” He walked across the parking lot. Jake saw him calling someone. When he got back he said, “My dad told me to also get a check for a five hundred dollar deposit. When I get my bike back, I give your check back.”

  A police car cruised by slowly. Jake could feel the weight of the cop’s stare. Jake realized he was carrying the artifact, which could possibly be looked at as evidence against him: A girl was missing from his boat. A man was dead. And Jake had the artifact.

  “Alright, fine, but don’t cash it.” Jake got out his checkbook.

  “You just put your finger on my bottom line. Write it up, boss.” The kid leaned over his bike. His t-shirt wasn’t tucked in, so he grabbed a handful of the material and started polishing the bike’s gas tank. “Can I check my phone now?”

  “Just a minute... What’s your full name?” Jake wrote the check.

  “It’s good doing business with you,” the kid said.

  “What about the flashlight we talked about on the phone?”

  “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. This is a strange deal.” He turned over the flashlight.

  The cop was turning around at the end of the lot. Jake pulled on his black balaclava facemask, jumped on the bike, and rode away.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ediz Hook is a 3-mile-long sand spit that extends from northern shore of the Olympic Peninsula at Port Angeles into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Jake rode his bike in the dark and parked by a picnic area. The sea air was fresh. He stood there a moment and looked around to be sure that he was alone. He watched a few waves as they broke on the beach.

  He walked twenty yards down the beach from the far picnic table and dropped to his knees. He was well beyond the reach of normal waves, so the sand was dry. Still, as a precaution against moisture he got out a sealed plastic bag that he’d bought on the way. He put a $5,000 cashier’s check and his new pay-as-you-go phone into the paper bag with the artifact. He deposited the paper bag into the plastic bag. Then he began digging into the sand. Once the hole was eight inches deep, he deposited the package that the girl had hid in his boat’s freezer. A sound startled him. He looked down the beach, but it was very dark. Then he heard it again, but it was just a strange bird. No voices. He then covered the relic up and drove back toward Bellingham. About half way there, he got off the freeway and called up Ashley’s neighbor.

  “Lucile, this is Jake Sands. I work with Ashley.”

  “Of course I remember you, Jake.”

  “Look, I need to talk to Ashley, but her phone is lost. Can you let her use your phone?”

  “Sure, Jake, I’ll go get her.”

  Jake didn’t think anyone was listening to Ashley’s calls, but he couldn’t take the chance. It took a few minutes, but Ashley answered.

  “How is everything?” Jake said.

  “Not very good, Jake. I’m scared.”

  “I understand. You’re gonna be alright.”

  “I hope so. I did the research you wanted.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Several years ago, Nick Rosario funded an archaeological survey in the Bahamas Channel, of the traditional wrecksite of the Maravillas. The wreck was so old that the government didn’t care. Rumors circulated that discoveries were made, so the government got interested, but Rosario said there were no discoveries.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s right, Jake, and one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nick Rosario’s wife was lost at sea five years ago.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s right. Her name was Irina Rosario.”

  Jake thought about that for a minute. He was stunned. Irina was the name of the girl he’d rescued last night in the storm. That was the girl who’d used his freezer as a hiding spot. And she was supposedly dead? She’d been dead five years? Something unusual was going on here.

  “You’re the best, Ashley. I need one more favor.”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “Remember our picnic
a few weeks ago at your favorite spot?”

  “Yes, you mean at—”

  “Don’t mention the name, Ash. We need to be careful.”

  “Okay.”

  “I need you to go there tonight. Take your metal detector. I want you to do some treasure hunting.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “You know I’m not. I need you to search the same area that we did last time.”

  “Why, Jake?”

  “I have a feeling that you’re going have more luck this time. I’m talking about— Look, just trust me, Ash. Leave your cell phone at home and make sure you’re not followed.”

  “Why leave my phone? What if I get in trouble?”

  “You won’t need it. Trust me. You’ll have a phone.”

  “You’re making me nervous, Jake. You want me to go out there in the middle of the night? This is crazy.”

  “You won’t be disappointed. I think you’ll find something. I want you to research your discovery.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s very important. I need to know that I can count on you tonight.”

  “Okay, Jake.”

  “Take your pepper spray with you. I’ll call you in the morning at your hotel.”

  “What hotel?”

  “You decide. It’s on me. Listen, Ash. I need in-depth research on the history of the artifact. You’ll need to bring in experts who can keep quiet. I left you $5,000.”

  Jake drove to Northgate Mall and left the bike there for the kid with a message to mail the check to his PO box. The bus ride took ninety minutes. Jake sat there in the dark, his mind racing.

  In Bellingham, Jake ghosted through the dark boat yard, a place where all the boats were up on blocks for repair. He hid behind a boat about thirty yards away from his. If they were threatening him, he had a good idea that they would be coming for him tonight. People worth billions, who hired thugs and killers, also had the resources to track down his boat. It was big. They knew about it. They thought a valuable artifact was onboard and wanted it badly. They would not be happy that their assassin had disappeared. They would send more. Jake would be ready and give them an unpleasant surprise.

  Sleeping was not an option anyway. His adrenaline was racing.

  He waited there until 4:00 am and then decided maybe they weren’t coming after all. They would have called the marinas, but most would have been closed. They wouldn’t have thought to call the drydocks unless they knew Jake’s boat was damaged—and they didn’t. Jake figured that it would take them a day or two to find his fishing boat. Nevertheless, there was no way that he was sleeping onboard his boat. So he climbed up on another fishing boat that was on blocks. He picked the lock and went inside the cabin. It was a mess, but he found a bunk. He still couldn’t sleep, but he closed his eyes and rested. At 4:30, he was startled by the sound of someone breaking open the galley door.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jake crawled out of bed. He couldn’t believe that they’d actually found him… How could they have known he was on someone else’s boat? Who were these people? Was there anything they wouldn’t do? Jake doubted it. He slowly opened the door to his little closet, which was all this room qualified as. It was a closet with three bunks and a cabinet. He could hear someone opening and shutting cabinets in the galley.

  Jake couldn’t believe his bad luck. These thugs had gotten the right shipyard, but the wrong fishing boat. They were searching for their property. Unbelievable.

  Jake waited. Soon they were coming down the hall, opening doors. A man opened the door to Jake’s cabin and stepped in. Jake stepped out from behind the door and deliverd an elbow into the thug’s face. It was a solid blow that blew the man back against the wall in the hallway. He dropped to the floor, out cold.

  Jake listened, but there were no other voices. Maybe his partner had hidden. Either that or the assassin had come alone, but that didn’t seem likely. Jake dragged him into the closet and searched him. The guy wasn’t even armed, but he had drug paraphernalia in his pockets. Something wasn’t right. Jake slapped him around a little until he came to.

  “What are you doing here?” Jake said.

  “Look, man, I don’t mean no harm. I just need money. I’m dying, man. I need cash. My car broke down. You know how it is. I’m trying to get home to North Dakota, but I ran out of money.”

  “If you keep lying to me, I’m going to hurt you again.”

  “No, no. I’m sorry. I’ll be honest. I’m an addict, man.”

  “I already know that. Get out of here. If I see you go near any other boats, I’m going to hurt you very badly. Then you’ll end up in the hospital, and the only kind of drugs you’ll need are pain pills.”

  “You are mean.”

  “Get out of here.”

  The man left, and Jake went back to bed. He’d barely been asleep half an hour when he heard a gunshot. Cautiously, he walked to the galley door and looked out. He saw the dark shapes of two men kneeling down by a body—right next to Jake’s boat. Then the two men ran away.

  Jake climbed down the ladder and walked over to his boat. He kneeled down by the body and shined his flashlight on the face.

  “Oh, God, no,” Jake said. “I told you to get out of here. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  Jake was horrified. Assassins, thinking they’d caught Jake boarding his boat in the middle of the night, had killed the homeless thief.

  Jake said a silent prayer for the man. Then he melted into the darkness of the shipyard.

  He was tempted to call the cops, but the body was by his boat. It was the second death on or near his boat in the last twelve hours. Signs of a struggle on board would have to be explained, and the circumstances could be received by the police with skepticism. Jake would look guilty. He had to make a hard choice. Either way, there would be no turning back.

  CHAPTER 11

  September 8

  Jake caught a cab to Bellevue, a suburb across the Lake Washington Bridge from Seattle. He dropped by a storage unit where he kept emergency supplies, including a burner smartphone. He made a call to a person with incredible intelligence resources who could gather sensitive information quickly.

  “Stuart, it’s me, Jake.” Stuart, his stepfather, the ex-Navy SEAL who had trained Jake for seven years, ran a private, top-secret action-based espionage organization called OFFSHORE whose mandate was to protect freedom and oppose tyranny but also get involved in special projects. The organization was funded primarily by an anonymous billionaire, and they had tremendous resources. For security reasons, Stuart’s organization was autonomous from the government although it contracted out when their interests coincided and internal security was manageable. They received black funds for certain jobs where Stuart wasn’t excessively worried about getting stabbed in the back by internal government traitors and destructive bureaucrats with misplaced loyalties. Because disloyalty within government intelligence agencies was a major problem and the need for secrecy was always primary, OFFSHORE was built on black funds and black ops.

  “How are you, kid?”

  “I can’t go into details right now,” Jake said.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I need to see what you can find out about the Rosario Banking Dynasty in Argentina. Do they have any connections in the San Juans?”

  “When do you need it?”

  “I need to take a nap. After that, I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’m familiar with the Rosarios, but the San Juans are a new angle. Skype me on the ghost account.”

  Jake took a catnap in his storage unit. He woke up refreshed and Skyped Stuart.

  CHAPTER 12

  The image of a man emerged on Jake’s smartphone, a man with graying hair and steel-gray eyes. He was a lean, bearded man with hard, rugged features—hardened by the natural forces of air, water, grueling exercise regimen, controlled mental focus, and combat. There was always something
amazing to Jake about seeing Stuart. He rarely saw him in person. The old days were gone. Stuart was always on the move now. Jake rarely knew where he was or what he was doing. To Jake, he was more like a myth than a real person.

  At the moment, Stuart was sitting at a table in what looked like a bikers’ cantina after hours. A map, a stack of papers, and an MP5 submachine gun lay on the table in front of him. Jake knew the place. He’d dropped by there once a few years ago because Stuart owned it.

  In the background, Jake saw a chopper-style motorcycle that was mounted on a counter behind a big bartender. The bike stand on the counter behind him was three wide steps. The chopper was secured on the top step. The two lower steps were covered with dozens of bottles of booze. The bartender was wiping down the counter. He had big eyes, black hair pulled back in a pony tail, a waxed mustache, and dark stubble. For some reason, he looked nervous.

  “If you were here, I’d offer you a drink,” Stuart said.

  “No problem. I already had breakfast.”

  Stuart turned toward the bartender. “Hey, Ray. I need to talk to my man, here. Why don’t you take a break…”

  “Okay, man.”

  The bartender threw a rag on the bar counter and walked out.

  Jake said, “That’s a big bartender. I wouldn’t want to mess with him.”

  “Sure, you wouldn’t.”

  Jake smiled and shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Stuart pointed at him and glared at him with hard gray eyes. “You bring trouble, partner. Like an avalanche. Look, Jake, I’ve given this a lot of thought in the last hour. I’ve considered every alternative that I can think of. These Rosarios are bad actors. How bad is it with them?”

  “It’s ugly.” Jake sat down in the light of a battery-powered lantern in his storage unit and leaned his smartphone against a box. “What did you find out?”