Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

Joyce produced a brass key the size of a hardcover book.

“I’ve got a launch waiting at the next dock,” he said. “Let’s go have a look.”

The group squeezed into the launch, and Joyce took them across the bay to a small island at its center. Pitt was surprised to see a small freighter traversing the bay, a Cuban flag flying from its staff.

“Per the terms of the lease agreement signed in 1903, the Cubans have full right of passage through the bay even though it cuts right across our base,” Joyce said. “We used to get refugees floating downstream on rafts, but the Cuban military monitors things pretty tightly now.”

He drove the boat ashore at Hospital Cay, a half-mile-long island with an elevated ridge that ran down its thin length like a spine. The island was arid like the nearby landscape, covered with low shrubs and cacti.

Pitt noticed several deep indentations in the soil near their landing, evidence of an earlier structure. “This place has some history with the base?”

“It sure does,” Joyce said. “This was where the original coaling station was built to refuel the Navy’s ships. It was the reason they wanted the bay. Several large bunkers were built on the ridge, connected to a gurney that ran out to the docks. It lasted until 1937, when the Navy’s coal-burning ships went by the wayside.”

Dirk peered across the now barren island. “They didn’t leave much for posterity.”

“They tore everything down a few years later and the place has sat empty ever since. But one thing they didn’t remove was the munitions bunker. It’s at the north end of the cay.”

It was a short hike to the other side of the island, but they were all sweating under the warm, humid climate when they reached a small cut in the ridge. Joyce led them to a concrete archway embedded into the side of the hill that was sealed with thick steel doors. He placed the big brass key in the lock and tried to turn it, but he couldn’t get the mechanism to budge.

“Let me see that key, young man.” Perlmutter bulled his way to the door. Grabbing the key, he applied some of his four-hundred-pound mass to bear. The lock gave a grinding click and he shoved the door open.

The interior was completely empty. The room stretched twenty feet into the hillside, with walls made of tightly laid stone. There was no treasure or even ammunition present. The group crowded in and looked around in disappointment.

“So much for Montezuma’s treasure,” said Summer with disappointment in her voice.

“Obviously, robbers cleaned it out,” Joyce muttered sadly.

“Not the first time thieves have been at work,” Perlmutter said. “The pyramids were emptied, too.”

“Probably three thousand years ago,” Pitt said absently as he began walking around the chamber, tapping the stones while studying the tight fit of the seams.

Perlmutter gazed at him, “Looking for a hidden door?”

Pitt spoke as he rapped the stones with the big brass key. “Strikes me as odd there’s no remnants or indication that anything was ever stored in this chamber. It’s as though it was scrubbed clean.”

Giordino aimed his light on the concrete floor. “Puts my house to shame.”

It took Pitt forty minutes before finding a different dull sound instead of the cling of solid rock.

Giordino went to the launch and returned with a toolbox. With a hammer and chisel, he and Pitt attacked what soon became a loose stone.

Taking turns, Pitt and Giordino carved a hole on one

edge of the stone. Jamming the chisel deeper in the hole, Dirk and Al used a large screwdriver to pry the stone from the side. Sweating and on the verge of exhaustion, they slid the stone forward by an inch. Working from the other side, they moved the stone again. Giordino pushed everyone aside and manhandled the large stone onto the floor.

For a long moment, they all stood silent and stared at the space beyond. It was as if they were all afraid to peer beyond the wall and find nothing there. Pitt then pushed a flashlight inside and swept its beam across the darkness. Unable to contain her excitement, Summer pushed her face into the opening. “I see a jaguar,” she said in a hushed voice, “I think it’s standing guard.” She turned and gave her brother and father a knowing grin.

Unable to resist, Dirk moved Summer’s head aside. “And enough gold to fill Fort Knox!” Taking turns, they hacked through enough stones to create an opening large enough to pass through.

Summer was the first to enter, stepping into the chamber. A large yellow and black-spotted feline greeted her, its jaws frozen open. Summer moved her light lower, illuminating a carved figure of a native warrior beneath the jaguar-skin headdress.

She stepped past the carved warrior. A long dark cavern sparkled with an amber reflection under the beam of her flashlight.

Gold.

It was everywhere, in the form of carved figurines, gilded spears and shields, and jewelry draped upon stone plates and bowls. A large wooden canoe was wedged against one of the walls, filled to its gunnels with gold objects, jewel-encrusted masks, and elaborate carved stone disks.

The others followed Summer in and gaped at the artifacts.