Looking over the papers that lined the table in the office, I smiled faintly to myself. It seemed like so much work had been done here. How was it possible that no one had found anything, yet? Well, that wasn't exactly true. People from previous work companies had discovered things like pieces of chain and markers on the island, none of which could be explained. But, none of it had been worth anything. Surely that would make everyone realize there wasn't anything here? "This is a lot of research," I conclusively said to Dad, who was sitting in the chair at the head of the table.
"It is. There've been a lot of people here trying to figure the puzzle out."
"So, I've gone over it all here, but I want you to explain to me again. Just exactly what's out there on Oak Isle?" Sitting in the chair next to him, I readied myself for another excited retelling of his obsession, hoping to hold on to a few more of the facts than I had when he told me the story in the car this morning.
"Right. So, the year was seventeen ninety-five. A couple of teenaged boys and their sister were out playing on the island when they noticed this huge depression in the ground. Now, that was about the time governments had finished putting an end to piracy and privateering, so these kids, having heard all these wild tales, immediately think of buried treasure, right? They run home, grab some shovels, and start digging. Two feet down they hit a layer of stone, which they pull out with their hands, and they keep tunneling. At ten feet, they hit a layer of oak logs, which had been embedded into the walls of this hole. Same thing happens again at twenty feet, and thirty feet. By then, they realize they're going to need a little more help to get to the bottom. But they never do! Over time, lots of different people come and try to do it themselves. It's been more than two hundred years and not one soul has made it to the bottom, yet. When one company hit ninety feet, they triggered a booby trap and the entire thing flooded. No one's been able to figure out how to empty it or stop the water from flowing into it since."
"And do we know where the water is coming from? The ocean, I presume?"
"You got it. About fifty or sixty years ago they started speculating there was a whole labyrinth of flood tunnels under the island, but we don't know exactly where they are. All of the tunnels might come together into one, and then split into five separate fingers in Pirate's Cove on the east side of the island, but we can't seem to pinpoint the openings to those to make sure." He appeared so excited as he spoke, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Whoever built this would have had to do it at least a hundred years before those kids first found it and started excavating. It's a creation of engineering genius."
"Do you know who built it?" I already remembered the answer, but was still trying to cement it all in my head before the meeting started.
"Not a clue. Though, everyone has their own theory. A few of the guys even have bets on what's down there."
"And your theory?" I hadn't been able to present him with this question, yet, and I smiled as I asked, interested as to what he thought he was searching for.
"Well." He chuckled. "It'll probably sound a bit farfetched at first, but after all of my research, this is the only explanation I can think of—the treasure of the Knights Templar."
"Huh?" I queried, completely thrown off. "I thought that was a mythical thing all on its own."
"It is and it isn't. We know that they had a massive fortune, but no one has ever found it. What happened to it? Where did it go? After all of my research here, I feel pretty positive that this is where it ended up."
"Do you mind explaining that to me?" He was even crazier than I'd thought. What had I gotten myself into here?
"Think about it," he replied eagerly. "The Knights would've had the man power to build something like this. They were said to be protecting a treasure they believed was too great for one man alone. This would have been the perfect place to hide it and keep it from everyone."
"But didn't the Templars die out before the Americas were even discovered?" My brain was desperately trying to think back to my history classes, searching for anything that may have been mentioned about the New World and the Knights. "You know, 'in fourteen ninety two—"
"Columbus sailed the ocean blue,' yes. But—and this is the exciting part—it's already widely accepted that the Vikings were here long before he ever was. They've even discovered dwellings that prove it. I think the Knights traveled to the New World with the Norse, to protect them and to discover new lands in the name of Christianity."
"And while they were here, they dug a giant hole in the ground and left a bunch of treasure in it?" Did he not hear how outrageous he sounded?
"Not then, no." By this point he was sitting on the edge of his seat, rifling through some papers in front of him. When he found the one he wanted, he pulled it out of the stack and handed it to me. It looked to be a scan of an old picture, detailing some ancient Indian drawings.
"There's a theory that Henry Sinclair of Scotland, whose family were very notable Templars, made a visit to the New World in thirteen ninety-eight. These petroglyphs are from the Native Americans who lived here at the time. They tell the story of a white, bearded man who came to them from across the sea. He taught them many things and planted strange new trees on an island nearby. I don't think it's a simple coincidence that oak trees are not indigenous to Oak Isle. They've also found the ruins of what seems to be the foundation of a medieval style castle not far from town. No, I think they dug the pit while he was here, but I don't think they left any treasure in it. He was searching for a place to hide it, so he wouldn't have had it with him then. Other Knights would have returned later and done the hiding."
"So you've based your theory on alternate histories and conspiracy theories. Seems legit." The amount of disbelief in my voice might have offended him, but he just shrugged it off.
"It's one of many explanations. To me, this is the most believable. I'll explain it to you more over time, so we don't overload your brain." Taking the picture back, he placed it back in the stack of papers.
Well, at least now he had returned to being legitimately insane in my mind. And the rest of the crew had hypotheses too? I'd agreed to stay with a bunch of nut jobs.
"You're right," an unfamiliar voice said from the doorway. "You don't want to overload her brain with nonsense!"
Turning, I saw another man, who appeared to be a very handsome thirty-something. His dark hair was cut short and spiked. On his wrist I noticed a tattoo of a skull and crossbones. He wore a plain black shirt and jeans, the whole ensemble looking more like he hadn't left the style of his twenties, yet. His smile was just as bright as any I'd seen before, though, and I instantly had the impression that he was a wonderful man.
"Mark Bell," he said, grinning. "Crazy treasure hunter, number two. I'm guessing you're Sammy? Michael here hasn't been able to stop talking about you the past few weeks, he was so excited you were coming."
"Really?" I smiled, looking back at Dad, his face reddening furiously.
"Oh yeah," Mark continued. "Just about drove us all insane."
"You mean, he just about drove you insane," another man said, appearing behind him, still in his coat. He was older than Dad, probably in his early sixties, with white hair and a bald spot on his crown. "I'm Scott, Scott Williams, sweetie. Very pleased to meet you."
"Thank you," I replied happily, watching the two of them enter and take their seats across from me. "It's nice to meet some of Dad's, uh, friends?"
"You have to be friends to work together on something like this." Mark laughed. "Otherwise you'll end up fighting and breaking off into different companies. That's happened in the past, you know. Made one hell of a mess for those involved."
"I see we beat the Ray brothers here, like usual," Scott butted in conversationally. "You haven't met them, yet, have you, Samantha?"
"Um, no." They both appeared so normal. So did Dad, for that matter. It appeared impossible they could all believe there was really a massive amount of buried treasure just off the coast.
"Kevin and Eric are always late," Dad explained, smiling warmly. "They run a restaurant a short way up the coast and close early for meetings. They can never seem to gauge how long it will take them to clean up and get here."
"A restaurant?" Surprise was evident in my tone. "That sounds . . . ordinary. Is that a bad thing to say?"
Laughter filled the room as the men looked at me. "We all have pretty normal jobs, actually. I'm a teacher over at the university," Mark chuckled. "Eighteenth century history, to be exact. That's why I got this bad boy," he said, slapping the design on his wrist. "The Golden Age of Piracy, baby. It's good stuff."
"So, I'm assuming you think there's pirate treasure at the bottom of the pit?" That made sense. He did seem like a guy who was all about the lost booty.
"I work at the bank," Scott added before Mark could answer. "As a teller. It's nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. It's helped us get some backing for the project every now and then as well."
"Sorry we're late." Turning back to the door, I saw who I thought were the two brothers, both wearing green shirts with their restaurant logo on it and black jeans. "We had a bit of a rush right before closing. Hi, I'm Eric."
The first brother, who didn't appear all that much older than me, came over and held his hand out. He had light brown hair and super tan skin that made me think he didn't spend a lot of time inside his restaurant. His brother, who was a twin from the looks of it, also came over to shake.
"I'm Kevin." Smiling warmly, he took the chair next to me while Eric sat in the one at the end of the table.
"You guys don't look old enough to own a restaurant," I confessed, staring between both of them. A general murmur of laughter bounced around the room at my comment, the group relaxing together.
"It's our family restaurant, actually," Eric replied. "We run it during the week while our parents are downstate. They take care of it on the weekends while we do this."
"The Rays have some stock in the company," Dad explained softly. "Kevin and Eric got their parents hooked on the story with their own theories and plans, so they donate a portion of their monthly earnings to the pot to help fund everything."
Nodding, I took in the whole group again. They all seemed like your average men, despite being where they were now. There must have been something convincing on Oak Isle that was making people believe the fanciful stories about it.
"Shall we get down to business then?" Dad asked, leaning back in his chair. "First things first; you've all met my daughter, Samantha. She'll be staying with me for an indefinite amount of time, which means we need to find somewhere else to have our meeting so she can get comfortable in this room. Does anyone have any ideas?"
"How about the restaurant?" Eric piped in. "There's enough space there and then we wouldn't always be late."
"I think that sounds good," Scott agreed, nodding.
"Fine by me." Mark looked almost bored, drumming his fingers on the desk.
"Do you have a back room we could use?" Scott added thoughtfully. "I wouldn't put it past McCrery to press his face against the glass, trying to see what we're doing."
There were general murmurs of agreement and insulting phrases whispered among them. "Who is McCrery?" I asked, confused.
"Duke McCrery," Dad answered bitterly. "He's the leader of another company trying to get the rights to dig on Oak Isle. He's a very underhanded man. I wouldn't trust him with anything."
"No need to be nice about it, Mike," Mark spoke in disgust. "The man just about got us all killed. I'm still waiting for a hit man to come and take me out."
"What happened?" This was turning into quite the treasure-hunting tale.
"It's not quite that dramatic," Scott said, waving Mark off. "There was an accident with one of the pumps last summer that could've resulted in a very unfavorable situation."
"That line was cut and we all know it," Mark replied vehemently. "And I'd bet the right half of my body that it was Duke who did the cutting."
"All right boys," Dad interrupted. "Do you have a back room or not?"
"We do," Kevin answered.
"That's settled then. I'm also wondering if I can borrow some money to get essentials for Sammy while she's here."
"I can pay for myself," I interrupted. "You don't have to get anything for me."
"I would like to, though," Dad said, smiling. "I haven't really been able to take care of you before. It would make me feel better if I could do it now."
"Are you sure?" I pressed. "Because I really don't want to be a problem. I have the money if it's going to make things tighter for you."
"We'll see how it works out." He grinned, his mind apparently made up.
"I'll talk to the bank," Scott continued, folding his hands on the table. "You know they aren't very good about letting stocks out, though. I wouldn't hold my breath for anything if I were you."
"I figured it couldn't hurt to ask," Dad shrugged. "I might be able to get a small amount cashed out on my own."
"You've been very good with them. Hopefully that will work in your favor."
"Hopefully. So, down to the nitty gritty then.It's been a few months since we've done any real work at the pit because of theice and snow. Let's discuss our plans for this season." Dad opened a notebookand picked up a pen, ready to take notes and I settled back into my chair,interested to hear what they all had to say.