The Columbus Affair

After that the story blurred.

The three crates disappeared.

And the legend of Columbus’ lost mine was born.

———

BÉNE WAITED FOR HALLIBURTON TO EXPLAIN, THOUGH HE LIKED the smile filling his friend’s tanned face.

“I hope these parchments aren’t now missing from the national archives,” Tre said to him.

“They’ll be kept safe. Tell me what they say.”

“This one that looks like a deed grant with wax seal is just that. For 420 acres. The land description is vague, they all were back then, but I think we can place it. Several rivers are mentioned as boundaries and those still exist.”

Eastern Jamaica was striped with hundreds of waterways that drained the nearly constant rain from the higher elevations to the sea.

“Can you actually locate the parcel?”

Halliburton nodded. “I think we might be able to. But that tract will look nothing like it did three hundred years ago. Most of it then was dense forest and jungle. A lot of clearing has occurred since.”

He was encouraged. Jamaica comprised nearly 11,000 square kilometers. The highest mountains in the Caribbean rose from its surface, and thousands of caves dotted its porous ground. He’d long believed that any lost mine would have to be in the Blue or Jim Crow mountains, which consumed the eastern half of the island. Today some of that land was privately held—he himself was one of those owners—but most of it had become a wilderness national park controlled by the government.

“This is important to you, isn’t it?” Tre asked him.

“It’s important to Maroons.”

“It can’t be the possibility of wealth. You’re a multimillionaire.”

He chuckled. “Which we don’t need to advertise.”

“I don’t think it’s a secret.”

“This is not about money. If that cursed Italian found a mine, he was shown it by the Tainos. It was theirs. He had no right to it. I want to give it back.”

“The Tainos are gone, Béne.”

“We Maroons are the closest thing left.”

“You might actually have a chance to do that,” Tre said, motioning with the documents. “This one is unique.”

He listened as Halliburton explained about Abraham Cohen and his brother, Moses Cohen Henriques. In May 1675 the two apparently sued each other. The document Felipe stole from the archives was a settlement of that suit in which Abraham agreed to give Moses forty farm animals in return for watching over his Jamaican property during his absence.

“What makes this interesting,” Halliburton said, “is that no lower court handled the case. Instead, the island’s chief justice, its governor at the time, Thomas Modyford, recorded the decision.”

“Too small a deal for him to be the judge?”

“Exactly. Unless there was more involved. If I recall correctly, by 1675 the Cohens would have been in their seventies.”

Tre explained how the brothers helped settle Jamaica. Abraham Cohen was expelled from the island in 1640, yet he apparently returned in 1670, purchasing 420 acres that his brother cared for until 1675, when they disagreed over payment for that care.

“I see it in your eyes,” he said to Halliburton. “There’s more. What is it, my friend?”

“In the settlement, Moses offered to drop his lawsuit if Abraham would provide some information. The mine, Béne. That was what these two old men were really fighting about.”

———

ALLE SAT IN THE REAR SEAT, FEELING BETTER TO BE ON HER WAY out of Austria. The airport lay twelve miles southeast of the city in a place called Schwechat. She did not know the way but noted that the signs they were following to that locale included the European symbol of a jet airplane, marking the route to an airport. Traffic was light on the four-laned highway—understandable given it was approaching midnight. She was tired and hoped to sleep on the plane. She’d flown many times during the night and this flight should not be a problem. She’d rest and be ready for whatever Zachariah would need tomorrow.

She was on her own again.

Why had men so disappointed her? First her father. Then a succession of failed relationships. Then a disastrous marriage. Nothing had ever gone right when it came to them. Zachariah, though, seemed different. Was he a father figure? What she’d always craved? Or something else?

Hard to say.

She knew only that she respected him and, since her grandfather died, she hadn’t been able to say that about any other man.

Being in the car with Midnight unnerved her. She felt dirty just knowing he was only a foot away. A few more minutes, she told herself, and she’d be gone, never to return.

A part of her felt bad about what she’d done to her father. She wouldn’t want any child of hers doing such a thing. But it had to be done. Hopefully, things had worked out and her father cooperated. Her being summoned meant something significant had happened. Which, hopefully, did not involve any face-to-face encounter with her father.

She’d said about all she wanted to say to him.

The car veered onto an exit ramp, one that contained no reference to Schwechat or the airport.

Odd.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Midnight did not reply.

They turned left onto a two-laned highway that wove a path into what appeared to be black woods on either side. No lights shone either behind them or in the opposite lane.

Speed increased.

“Where are we going?” she asked again, becoming anxious.

Midnight slowed and turned a second time, into more black trees, the headlamps illuminating a bumpy dirt lane.

“Why are you doing this? Where are we going?”

A consuming panic gripped her. She tried to open the door, but child locks engaged. She pushed the button to lower the window. Locked. Ahead, she spotted something coming into view. A car. Parked at a point where the dirt lane emptied into an open area, nothing but darkness all around.

A man stepped from the far side of the vehicle.

In the uneven wash of light she caught a face.

Terror swept over her.

Brian.

CHAPTER TWENTY

TOM BOLTED OUT OF HIS SLEEP. THE BEDSIDE CLOCK READ 6:30 P.M. His brow was moist with sweat, his breathing labored. He tried to recall the dream, but couldn’t. It had something to do with Robin Stubbs. Since he’d been thinking about her earlier, he was not surprised she’d remained on his mind. A few months ago he spent $125 for an Internet search and discovered that she still worked in Ohio for the same regional newspaper chain that had hired her eight years ago. It had been amazing that she’d found work, but he recalled how some pundits came to her defense. The story he’d been accused of falsifying, on its face, seemed legitimate. It was only when it was carefully investigated that the flaws became evident. And no editors engaged in such detailed analysis. Instead they trusted the people who worked for them.

“How did all this start?” he asked Robin. “How in God’s name did one story of mine come to your attention?”

“An anonymous note was sent to me. It told me that the story was false and showed me where to look.”

“And you believed that?”

“No, Tom. I didn’t.” Anger entered her tone. “But I’m your editor, so I had to look.”

“Which only goes to prove that I was set up. An anonymous note? Come on, Robin. If that plant was any more obvious you’d have to water it.”

“All I know is everything that note said proved true, and everything you wrote proved false. I’ve asked you repeatedly if you can offer anything in rebuttal. Anything at all. You can’t, Tom.”

He saw the concern in her eyes.

“I’ve been here a long time,” he said. “I’ve worked hard. I didn’t do this.”

“Unfortunately, the facts say different.”

That was the last time they spoke.

She’d left his office and he was fired an hour later.

She quit a month after that.

And never knew the truth.

———

BÉNE COULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT HE WAS HEARING. “WHAT DOES that document say? Tell me, Tre.”

The sun had faded behind the blunted peaks and he caught the tang of salt on the southerly breeze from the nearby ocean. He was feeling better from his trek into the mountains. This day turning into something extraordinary.

“Did you steal this from the archives?” Halliburton asked.

“Somebody else did.”

“That’s the problem, Béne. Too much stealing from a place that matters.”

“We can put it back, after we find out what it says.”

“You’re not the only one cleaning out that archive. There’s almost nothing left from the Spanish time. It’s all gone. I’m amazed these were still there.”