He looked distinguished if not a bit weathered, with white hair, a well-trimmed goatee, and twinkling blue eyes.
“Don’t mean to intrude,” Sam said.
“Nonsense. Wanderers are always welcome, and you two certainly look the part. Have a seat.”
Sam and Remi dropped their gear in the sand and found seats on a log. Sam introduced themselves to their host, who simply said, “Happy to have you. In fact, I’m going to turn the estate over to you. Time to move on.”
“Don’t go on our account,” Remi said.
“Nothing of the sort, dear lady. I’ve got a previous engagement in Port Henry. Won’t be back for a couple days.”
With that the man disappeared into the trees and emerged a few seconds later pushing a Vespa scooter. “There’s a fishing pole, lures, pots, pans, and all that inside,” he said. “Make yourselves at home. There’s a trapdoor wine cellar. You’re welcome to try a bottle.”
Sam, strangely certain he could trust this stranger, said, “You haven’t heard any legends about a secret base around here, have you?”
“A Nazi submarine base, yes?”
“That’s the one.”
The man put the scooter up onto its kickstand. He went inside the hut and came back out carrying what looked like a tray-sized square of sheet metal. He handed it to Sam.
“To carry our dinner?” Sam asked.
“That’s a hydroplane, son. From a pretty small sub, too, by the looks of it.”
“Where did you find this?”
“Liberty Rock, on the north side near Port Boyd.”
“Sounds like the place to start looking.”
“I found that in a lagoon. My guess is it washed out of an underground river. Here on the east side of the island they all flow south to north. Problem is, they’re not strong enough to push anything heavier than that plane.”
“No offense,” Remi said, “but if you knew what this belonged to, why haven’t you looked for it yourself?”
The man smiled. “I’ve done my fair share of exploring. I figured sooner or later someone would come along asking the right questions. And here you are.” The man walked toward his scooter, then stopped and turned back. “You know, if I’d been a German sailor back then looking for a place to hide out, I would’ve loved to have stumbled across a sea cave.”
“Me, too,” Sam said.
“As luck would have it, Rum Cay is full of them. Dozens along this shore alone, most unexplored—most connected to underground rivers.”
“Thanks. By the way, ever heard of anything called the Goat’s Head?”
The man scratched his chin. “Can’t say I have. Well, I’m off. Good hunting.”
The man puttered off on the scooter and disappeared.
Sam and Remi were silent for a few moments, then Sam said, “I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
“We didn’t even think to get his name.”
“I don’t think we need it,” Remi said, pointing at the hut.
Beside the door was a wooden plaque. In hand-painted red letters it said, CASA DE CUSSLER.
CHAPTER 15