Pirate

And there were certainly a lot of potential witnesses here. Remi knew the island was popular, but she never expected the number of people on the two-hour walking tour. The weather was perfect, the sky blue and cloudless, a soft breeze rustled the evergreens on the outskirts of the parking lot near the tourist center.

Men, women, and children gathered round as one of the guides, a young man in his twenties, called out to get everyone’s attention. Remi and Sam moved to the back of the crowd, Remi searching to see if Avery’s men had joined the group of about thirty tourists. “Quite the popular attraction,” she said.

“No kidding. See any familiar faces?”

“No. So what is it we’re looking for?”

“That’s the question.”

They pretended interest as the guide detailed the island’s history, moving them in the southerly direction of the famed pit, the depression in the earth near the sole oak tree. “If history is to be believed,” their guide said, “the two boys who found and first dug into the pit discovered layers of non-indigenous rock as well as oak logs every ten feet. They finally gave up after digging through about thirty feet. And there it remained, untouched, until one of them remembered it early in the nineteenth century.” He stopped to face the crowd. “Neither boy could have foretold the man-hours and the amount of money poured into the aptly named Money Pit in search of whatever secrets it might reveal. Templar treasure? Burial crypt of a long-forgotten high priest?” He took a dramatic pause. “No one knows. But the new owners of Oak Island intend to find out, and we’ll let you make up your own mind. So if you’ll follow me this way…”

He led them inland toward the pit, relating more history as they walked. There seemed to be nothing that stood out beyond the known history: the pit, the rocks with symbols carved on them, the reported tunnels that flooded the pit every time someone dug deep enough.

In fact, it was beginning to look as though they’d wasted two hours. After being led to the outer shore where another cryptic formation of carved rock supposedly pointed to the Money Pit — thereby strengthening the legend — Sam said, “Hear that?”

The loud revving of a motorboat out on the water.

“Over there,” he said. He nodded toward the small island just east of them, where Remi saw two men motoring toward it in a boat.

“Is it them?” she asked as he lifted his binoculars for a better view.

“Sure looks like it,” he said and handed the glasses to her.

She adjusted the focus and watched as the boat maneuvered into the cove at the south shore of the island. One of the men got out, waded toward the shore with a shovel and a backpack, searching for something on the rocks. She recognized one of the two from the warehouse and their hotel in San Francisco. “Our book robber and one of the faux cops.”

“Clearly, they know something we don’t.”

After several minutes, Sam drew Remi from the crowd, not heading toward the pit but toward the outer bank through a stand of trees. He continued watching the men on the other island.

“They found something,” he said. “They’re digging behind that boulder.”

“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind them. “You’re not supposed to be over here.”

They turned and saw one of the tour guides standing a few feet away, his arms crossed.

“Sorry,” Sam said. “We didn’t realize…”

“You’ll need to rejoin the others.”

She and Sam followed the man back to the group.

Sam caught up with the guide. “That island back there?” he asked. “What’s the name of it?”

“That?” he said, glancing behind him. “Frog Island.”

Sam nodded, and Remi asked, “Is it part of the Oak Island mystery?”

“Find me something around here that isn’t.”

“Anything specific?”

He glanced over at her and she gave him her most charming smile. “Actually,” he said, “there were some claims that at one time there was some sort of connection between Frog Island to Oak Island. An underwater tunnel, though how anyone could have built one without it flooding is beyond me. Probably someone was digging there for treasure and a new rumor started.” He stopped and pointed toward the shoreline. “See that little cove where the boat is? By all accounts, that’s where the tunnel was built.”

Remi and Sam watched as the two men on shore waded back to the boat, tossing in their shovels and packs. “Do you think there’s any truth to the legends?” she asked.

He laughed. “I certainly hope so. I’d hate to think how many people have spent millions of dollars digging a hole in the same spot looking for something that isn’t there.”

“Good point,” she said as he left them to join the group again. Through the trees, she saw the boat speeding away, and she looked over at Sam. “What now?”

“Come back tonight and figure out what they found so interesting on that other island.”

Thirteen

Sam skyped Selma on Remi’s tablet when they returned to their hotel.

“Good morning, Mr. Fargo,” she said from her desk. “You’ll be pleased to know that Bree is safely on her flight and will be landing in just a few hours.”