Pirate (Fargo Adventures 8)

Remi sighed. “Never easy, is it?”

Sam asked, “Do we have this shipwreck narrowed down?”

“I’m assuming the map of the island is either where it was buried or perhaps even where the ship was wrecked. There is one word that has popped up twice—assuming I have translated it properly. Serpens. Being that it’s Latin, it could be snake, dragon, or serpent.”

“That narrows it down,” Sam said.

“Quite.” Lazlo turned Selma’s tablet so that he was once again in the frame. “One other thing that has popped up is a reference that whatever it is will be found on or near the southern tip of the island.”

Remi and Sam exchanged glances, Remi saying, “That has to be why they were digging there.”

“Who?” Lazlo asked her.

“Avery’s men. We spotted them on the island across from Oak Island.” She gave a brief description of what they’d witnessed.

“Ah,” Lazlo said. “It appears they’re one step ahead of us in the translation of the ciphers. Let’s hope they haven’t found the actual cipher wheel. I certainly haven’t found any specific location. But if they’re digging there, at least we know we’re on the right track.”

Selma poked her head into view. “We’ll update you as soon as we know more.”

Remi said, “We have every confidence.”

“In the meantime,” Sam told Selma, “we’re going to need a motorboat for this evening. Something small enough to maneuver ourselves.”

“On it,” she said. “Any other equipment?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam replied. “We have wetsuits and dive gear. I think that’s about it.”

Sam was about to end the call when Remi added, “Don’t forget insurance.”

Selma’s brows raised slightly. “As hard as you two are on equipment? That goes without saying. Along with detailed plans so we know where to find you in case anything happens.”

Sam gave her a mock look of offense. “I’m shocked you’d have so little confidence in us.”

“Not you, Mr. Fargo. It’s the type of people you tend to run into on these ventures of yours. Greed brings out all sorts of evil.”

Two hours before sunrise, Sam and Remi donned their wetsuits, then set out for Frog Island from the Gold River Marina at the north end of Mahone Bay in their seventeen-foot Boston Whaler. It wasn’t the fastest of vessels, but it would blend in with any other boats that left before dawn.

Even though the Oak Island guide had made mention of an underwater passage between there and Frog Island, neither Sam nor Remi believed anyone from the seventeenth or eighteenth century had the skills to build something of that nature.

Then again, the attention to Frog Island intrigued Sam for a different reason. In past centuries, the area surrounding Nova Scotia had certainly been frequented by seamen, from French and English warships to pirates. The rumors of buried treasure in the area had always been bandied about—Oak Island happened to be the most popular location.

But Frog Island? Like many of these small islands in the area, it was privately owned. This one boasted a large house on the southeast side, probably a vacation home, and one Sam hoped wasn’t occupied at the moment—not that they expected to be there for that long.

He cruised toward the small cove at the southernmost tip of the island. They wanted to see the area where Avery’s men had been seen. What they were doing there was anyone’s guess, but the way they were digging made Sam wonder if they weren’t looking for this cipher wheel that Lazlo had mentioned.

“Look,” Remi said, pointing to the sky. “The aurora borealis.”

Sam glanced up. Through a parting of the clouds, he saw a faint greenish glow that seemed to pulsate. “Too bad it’s not a clearer night.”

“A glimpse is better than nothing. Right now, the cloud cover’s a good thing. No moon to give us away.”

“Pragmatically said.” He slowed as they approached the cove.

Remi shined a light along the shoreline. “That looks like the area they were poking around,” she said. “I remember that heart-shaped boulder.”

“That’s a heart?” he said, eyeing the massive boulder near the water’s edge. He let up on the throttle. The boat slowed and bobbed in the surf. “It looks more like a two-humped camelback.”

“No sense of romance, Fargo.”