Maroon Rising by John H. Cunningham Read Free Book Online Page A

Nanny. There was no trace of humor on her face.
    “But they offer up-front cash of $200,000 U.S. dollars. Since the government think it unlikely that anyone find anything out there—plus the winner had to restore some old sunken building—they take the cash.”
    The sight of me with my mouth hanging open was enough for Nanny to crack a smile, albeit briefly. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, so I pressed my lips together, shrugged my shoulders, and waited. The colonel nodded and said something to Nanny, who nodded back.
    “Come, let’s sit,” he said. “My feet hurt.”
    Next to the kitchen was a small square folding table with some mismatched wood chairs. They looked old, as old as Moore Town itself for all I knew. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered me one, which I declined. He lit one with a blue plastic lighter.
    “That treasure is ours, not the government’s. And anyway, 75 percent still not enough.” His eyes narrowed as smoke wafted up from his nostrils.
    His statement intimated that there was a treasure. I sat forward.
    “Why’s that?”
    He blew smoke out hard. “Many of Henry Morgan’s men were freed slaves, Maroons. They could fight like hell, and Morgan had been a reasonable man, lieutenant governor of Jamaica in the end, and treated men like men, not property.” He took a long drag on the cigarette. “Some of those Maroons helped Morgan hide what he took from Panama.”
    I saw certainty in his eyes, and a hot flash danced on my nerve endings.
    “Morgan trusted us, our ancestors, and we want our share. You didn’t bribe nobody, and I don’t think it’s because you’re a fool. I think you might be one-a them rare, recovering greed addicts who’d rather lose than get dirty again.”
    I glanced at Nanny—her face was impassive. She’d be a hell of a poker player. I sat back in the wood chair, which creaked loudly.
    “And given that Jack Dodson was once my partner and is now my sworn enemy, I’d do anything to prevent them from finding something of value.”
    The vision of Heather on Jack’s boat had me wince.
    “So you think about it, Buck Reilly. You tell Nanny what you willing to give up to get the Morgan treasure, then we talk again.” He stubbed out his cigarette in a clean ashtray and sat back in his chair.
    “You know where it is?” I said. “The Morgan treasure?”
    “Ha! We know that, why’n the hell I’d be talking to you?” He shook his head and shot Nanny a look. “No, we have a lot of old papers from back then, from the men who helped Morgan, they mention details we want you to help us figure out if we can agree on terms. That’s what we need you for.”
    The colonel stood, followed by Nanny, then me. My mind was reeling. What could their information be—and where might the treasure be? Certainly not in Port Royal.
    I followed them toward the door. Before the colonel opened it, he turned back to face me.
    “Time is important here. These other people looking in Port Royal getting plenty frustrated. They might start throwing money around, maybe somebody talk.” His old dark eyes bored into mine. “Is it worth 10 percent of whatever is recovered for us to confide in you?”
    “Ten percent wouldn’t even cover—wait! How could I negotiate if I don’t have any details? Is the treasure supposed to be underwater? Buried somewhere—”
    “We won’t tell you nothing until we have an agreement, plain and simple.” He turned toward Nanny. “Take him back up to Oracabessa.” With that he pulled the door open.
    We stepped into the sun, which was blinding after being in his dark house—
    A sudden burst of noise caught me off guard. A large man had started yelling something—in an African dialect and at the top of his voice—at the colonel and Nanny, while pointing to me.
    The colonel flung his wrists at the man and hissed something back in the same dialect—just as angrily but not as loud. Nanny stepped toward the man and yelled at him.