Riptide by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online Page B

discolorations. Our laboratory was able to confirm that the discolorations were actually notes, written in invisible ink,
     just now becoming visible through the corruption of time. Chemical analysis showed the ink to be an organic compound derived
     from vinegar and white onions. Further analysis dated this ‘stain’—as invisible inks were then known—to approximately 1700.”
    “Invisible ink? You’ve been reading too many Hardy Boys stories.”
    “Invisible inks were very common in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,” Neidelman said calmly. “George Washington used
     one for his secret dispatches. The colonists referred to it as writing with white ink.”
    Hatch tried to phrase another sarcastic response, but was unable to articulate a reply. Against his will, he found himself
     half believing Neidelman’s story; it was almost too incredible to be a lie.
    “Our laboratory was able to recover the rest of the writing, using a chemical wash. It turned out to be a document of around
     ten thousand characters written in Macallan’s own hand in the margins of his book. The document was in code, but a Thalassa
     specialist decrypted the first half relatively easily. When we read the plaintext, we learned that Sir William Macallan was
     an even more intriguing architect than the world had previously believed.”
    Hatch swallowed. “I’m sorry, but this whole story sounds absurd.”
    “No, Dr. Hatch, it is not absurd. Macallan
designed
the Water Pit. The coded writing was a secret journal he kept on his last voyage.” Neidelman took a moment to draw on his
     pipe. “You see, Macallan was Scottish and a clandestine Catholic. After William III’s victory at the Battle of the Boyne,
     Macallan left for Spain in disgust. There, the Spanish Crown commissioned him to build a cathedral, the greatest in the New
     World. In 1696 he set sail from Cadiz, bound for Mexico, on a two-masted brig, escorted by a Spanish man-of-war. The ships
     vanished and Macallan was never heard from again. It was assumed they were lost at sea. However, this journal tells us what
     really happened. Their ships were attacked by Edward Ockham. The Spanish captain struck his colors and was tortured into revealing
     the nature of his commission. Then Ockham put everyone to the sword, sparing only Macallan. The architect was dragged to Ockham
     in chains. The pirate put a saber to his throat and said—here I quote from the journal—
Lete God build his owen damned church, I have ye a newe commission.
”
    Hatch felt a strange stirring of excitement.
    The Captain leaned against the gunwale. “You see, Red Ned wanted Macallan to design a pit for storing his immense treasure.
     An
impregnable
pit, to which only Ockham would have the secret. They cruised the Maine coast, picked out Ragged Island, the pit was constructed,
     and the treasure was buried. But, of course, shortly thereafter Ockham and his crew perished. And Macallan, no doubt, was
     murdered as soon as the pit was finished. With them died the secret to the Water Pit.”
    Neidelman paused, his eyes almost white in the brightness coming off the water. “Of course, that’s no longer true. Because
     the secret did
not
die with Macallan.”
    “Explain.”
    “Midway through his journal, Macallan switched codes. We think he did so specifically to record the secret key to the Water
     Pit. Of course, no seventeenth-century code is a match for high-speed computers, and our specialists should have it cracked
     any day now.”
    “So how much is supposed to be down there?” Hatch managed to ask.
    “Good question. We know the cargo capacity of Ock-ham’s ships, we know they were fully laden, and we have manifests from many
     of the ships he attacked. Did you know that he was the only pirate to successfully attack the Spanish plate fleet?”
    “No,” murmured Hatch.
    “When you add it all up, the most conservative estimate places the contemporary value of the treasure at”—Neidelman