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I had no idea which way Jamieson would go. 

I had damning evidence, and he would ponder why I didn’t play that card back when he was trying to stop the publication of that first story, which was essentially a parody of his discovery.

It was true that Antoine had been totally discredited, not in small part by Aristotle Jamieson himself, and when he had died in the so-called accident, any controversy that had been lingering died with him.

It was almost too convenient, and I didn’t want to think that my investigation of the Jamiesons had anything to do with his death, but I guess it had, and it wasn’t hard to guess who did it.  Jamieson may not have personally killed him, but he was not above paying someone else to do it for him.

What had precipitated that critical interview was Antoine himself, having read an article I’d written about the Jamieson find, and thought I would be interested in what he had to say.  I knew before that interview his reputation was tarnished, but to me, it seemed he would be exactly the sort of person Jamieson would go to if he wanted to fabricate artifacts.

What Antoine had to say and show me was a revelation.  He was doing the interview because Jamieson had short-paid him quite a considerable sum of money, and it was the old story, thieves fall out.  He said that he would have one more attempt at getting his money before giving me the OK to publish, and it was the last time I saw or heard from him.

It wasn’t a surprise to read about his death in the papers some days later.  The fact it was believed to be an accident got my interest and set my investigative journalist persona into overdrive.  I didn’t relax until I found the evidence it was not an accident, but convincing the police became an uphill battle because they were more interested in closing the case.

It would keep.  One day, his death would be avenged.  Just not today.

Elizabeth asked me why I’d been so long, and I think she may have suspected I’d gone to see Jamieson.

 She didn’t press the matter as she was in a hurry to leave for her dig site and was ready to depart the moment I walked in the door.  I was also ready. The quicker we got away from the hotel, the less chance of Jamieson, or his odious son, coming to see me.

I hadn’t taken the time to consider the consequences of confronting Jamieson and should have realised just how unpredictable they could be, particularly Jackson.  He would be very annoyed that I had any sway over their activities.  It made me wonder whether Aristotle had told his son exactly what was going on, and if he hadn’t, I could understand why.

I looked over at Elizabeth from time to time and could see the confrontation earlier had shaken her.  I found it difficult to understand why the Jamiesons would be interested in a minor investigation like Elizabeth’s.  Pirates were never high on the glamourous archelogy list.

Perhaps it held that certain amount of exotic appeal and that in moving from the Egyptian discovery, now losing its shine due to the way they were marketing it, it would be good to have something new to divert the archaeological world’s attention.

Then there was the revelation from Jamieson that she had let the permits for her dig expire.  The Elizabeth I knew was a stickler for details and would never let it happen.  Perhaps the loss of funding had something to do with it, but she had not said anything about it.  Why?

This whole episode was beginning to take on elements that would, in other circumstances, become the makings of one of my novels.  In fact, I found my mind starting to write the outline, starting with the mysterious appearance of a renowned archaeologist suddenly coming back to an old flame, looking to renew their relationship, with the plan to convince him to fund one of her projects, one that if it played out the way she hoped, it would be the next big archaeological event.

Step in the evil Dr Blob, a notorious villain who made a handsome living out of stealing sites and plundering their treasures for personal gain and glory.  Who will win the battle?

Was it fiction or was it fact.

It seemed to me the catalyst for the real saga was the loss of funding from the university.  Jamieson might have had some influence on the decision, after all, he provided a grant to the university archaeology department and enabled graduates to gain some practical experience at his dig site.  That would enable him to swoop in.

It would not be the first time I’d based the evil archaeologist on him, and Jackson made a perfect belligerent henchman.

And what if they had, and expected the Dean to pass on the news in the hope it would drag her away long enough for them to step in and take over, perhaps hoping she might not return until after they had found what she had been looking for.  After all, ad hoc funding for speculative projects like hers was not easy to arrange.

There were just too many questions that I should have asked before embarking on this odyssey, and perhaps I should not have allowed my feelings for her to get in the way of making the proper decision.

We’d been driving for nearly two hours when she suddenly said, “You went to see Jamieson, didn’t you?”

I glanced sideways at her, and I could see she had been thinking about it.  It was a logical conclusion.

“What makes you think that?”  I’d try to deflect it if possible.  I was not quite sure how she would react, which was why I didn’t say anything.

“Your haste to leave.  You’ve never been that enthusiastic about anything in your life.”

“I could see the distress this whole affair was causing you.  You needed to see if he really has stepped in.  Yes, I did drop in and we had words.  I basically told him to leave your site alone.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“He would think about it.  The problem was, he told me you had let the permits expire.  Did you?”

Another glance told me it was true.

“I was going to renew them but the fact my funding had been cut made that a little difficult.  I was hoping I could find replacement funds and sort that out.  He renewed the permits, didn’t he?”

“You made it easy for him to swoop in.”

“How could he possibly know any of this?”

“Jackson.  You know he was obsessed with you.  He would have been watching your progress with a keen interest, especially if it meant he could use any trip on your part against you.  And the fact your ex-assistant called him, or perhaps the other way around…”

I’d been looking for a way and forgot about Jackson.  He was not the sort to forgive and forget.  Especially when she preferred another struggling archaeologist instead of one who was rich and famous, well, handing onto the coattails of one who was rich and famous.

“Well, if nothing else, you’ve got the makings of a very good story here.”

“We have the makings of a very good story here.  I’m not averse to collaborating with a real archaeologist.”

I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze.  I could see a tear or two escape and felt the enormity of the loss.  Seven years of hard work was about to disappear, and someone else would take the kudos.  It wasn’t fair, but it wouldn’t be for the first time.

Ten miles out from our destination, according to the latitude and longitude coordinates she had given me, we passed a convoy of trucks going in the opposite direction.  Earth moving equipment, generators, portable huts.  It might have been from Jamieson’s dig, it might not.  I wasn’t getting my hopes up.

She had noticed it but said nothing.

Then, we were upon the very edge of the area she had set as the exploration site.  There was a portable wire fence set up with a gate, and in front a car with a man sitting in it.

“What do you think he’s waiting for?” she asked.

“Us.  Wait here, and I’ll see what’s going on.  This is part of the area you based your permit on isn’t it?”

“We’re on about the middle.  It’s where I would set up camp.  We had two years ago while we branched out in both directions.  Our camp was about to be moved to the new site.”

“OK.”

I got out of the car and went over to the SUV.  He watched me come over and when I got there, he would down the window.

“You Alan?”

“I am.”

“I was asked by Mr Jamieson to tell you the site is yours.  For what it’s worth, we did an extensive radar search and found nothing.  We covered the whole site.  The pirate didn’t exist, and the treasure doesn’t exist.  I’d leave while I had the chance.”  He handed me an envelope.  “The permits, his gift to you.  He still expects you to keep your end of the arrangement.”

“I will.  He has my word.”

“Good.  My work is done.  Good luck, you’re going to need it.”

With that, he wound the window back up and drove off.

It didn’t surprise me Jamieson would do a radar survey.  If there was any treasure it would not be buried too deeply and would be found quite easily.  Of course, radar searches were very expensive and would never get funding from the university, and Elizabeth could never afford it.

I watched the car until it disappeared, shrugged, and went back to my car.

“What was that about?”

“Jamieson has given you the dig site back.”  I held up the envelope.  “The permits, pain in full.”

“Ehat else did he say?”

“That Jamieson ordered a radar survey on the whole area, and they found nothing.  They were here long enough to do that.  They found nothing, which is why they have gone.”

“Or they did and have already taken it with them.  Take me to the coordinates and we’ll soon see.”

Indeed, we would.

It was about a half mile, after turning off the main track to a lesser one defined by two distinct tracks where cars had been before.  It was overgrown and the trees brushed the side of the car continuously. 

At the end of the track, or what seemed to be the end, we stopped at a wall, just ragged enough to look like it was natural, but on closer inspection under the headlights of the car, showed it had been man-made.

I turned off the engine and we got out.

“This the site?”

“No.  This way.”  She had a flashlight and switched it on.

The beam was quite powerful and cut through the night like a beacon.  In the distance I could hear the ocean, waves crashing on shore.  Had the pirates tramped up here, set up camp, and buried their treasure?

With my own flashlight, I checked the ground.  There had been a second set of tyre marks on the ground, and there were footsteps, recent, everywhere.  They had definitely been here.

I followed her as she made her way along the wall, then down a track that looked hazardous.  Luckily it was dark, or I might have suspected it was on the side of a cliff.  There was nothing but inky darkness surrounding us.

All the time we were getting closer to the sound of the waves.

Then we stopped.  It was a small clearing, and to one side the rocky outcrop of the cliff face behind one very dense underbrush, the other, a view of the ocean at night.  It was not that far down, the beam of her light showing the water below.

“How did you find this place?”

“I actually got lost going around in circles.  This is where I believe they made camp.  Below the lagoon is reasonably deep and it’s where I think they repaired their ship after a battle with one of the King’s navy ships.  I’ve found a variety of objects here.”

“But no treasure.”

“Not in the clearing, no.  But here’s the surprise.”  She went over to the underbrush and did a quick search until she found a spot where the undergrowth was not as thick, then beckoned me over.”

She held a branch back and shined her torch.  Just discernible in the light was an opening, and not much further back from that, a doorway.”

The veritable entrance to Aladdin’s cave.

“How could they have missed it?”

“Easy.  If you’re not looking for it.  It wasn’t until I heard noises coming from within the trees.  Imagine my surprise when I found it.”

“Have you investigated it yet?”

“No.  For a long time sitting there, it’s still very strong.  The hinges are rusted, but intact, and the door is made of oak, and not rotted as you would expect.  It was another reason why I needed to go home.  I needed more sophisticated tools.  I was hoping no one would find it while I was gone, but this is a very remote part of the coastline.  The cove has changed a lot in 400 years, and I doubt anyone could see it from the ocean now.  Ideal to hide in.  So, let’s set up camp, and tomorrow, see what we’ve got.”

It was a find in a million, I thought. 

I also wondered if Jamieson would have given up so easily had he not done the radar survey.  It was a moot point.  He was gone, we were here, and time would tell.

She came over to me and took my hand in hers.

“Thank you for being my guardian angel.  If it is what I think it is, then the find will be as much yours as it is mine.”

“My pleasure.”

With that, and for the first time in my life, I felt that thrill of being on a real dig, hoping that we would make a discovery.  Even if we didn’t, nothing was going to take that feeling away, that sense that finally, all that study was going to pay off.”

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©  Charles Heath  2024

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