Wrecked

PROLOGUE

Reid Cavanaugh leaned back, forcing the rickety, wooden chair to hold her weight on its back legs as she propped her feet up on the rail. The sun was setting over the crystal clear, turquoise water of East Nungwi Beach, with the waves washing ashore nearby. She’d been living off the coast of East Africa on Unguja, the main island of the Zanzibar Archipelago in the region of Tanzania, for the past three years while working for a marine salvage company. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the job, but as an underwater treasure hunter, she had more diving and wreck experience than most of the crew, which is why she’d jumped at the opportunity to get out of the Bahamas when Rufus Martinique had come to the Caribbean, looking for divers and salvors. His company was excavating the HMS Mary Anne, a British merchant ship that had been used as a slave trade ship in 1605.

Another round? the only waitress in the small, beachside bar asked, leaning her hip against the wobbly table with a bottle of watered down rum in her hand.

Reid flipped her shot glass over and nodded for a refill.

What are we drinking to this time? a dark-skinned man questioned in his native Swahili, despite speaking fluent English, as he turned his glass over too. He rubbed his hand over the top of his bald head, looking at the woman next to him. Reid was different, unlike anyone he’d ever met. She had an edgy, beach bum style with sun-kissed, tan skin and a slender, athletic build that showed under the board shorts and tank tops she always wore. Her chocolate brown hair was short on the sides and in the back, but the top was a little longer and stuck out in all directions like she’d just woken up.

Reid ran her fingers through the hair on the top of her head as she pushed her dark sunglasses up with her other hand, revealing bright green eyes.

Hell, Louie, I don’t know. We’re alive, how about that one? She grinned at him.

Louie was a native of the mainland, but moved to Zanzibar as a late teen when he left his family. Reid met Louie when he was in his late twenties. After a chance meeting, she discovered his love for the ocean and made him her assistant, taking him under her wing and teaching him how to wreck dive. They’d become good friends and were nearly as close as brother and sister. His name was actually Imaku Dujambi, but Reid nicknamed him Louie after she caught him singing the 1960s hit Louie, Louie and it stuck.

Louie laughed and clinked his glass against hers before they downed their next shot.

Reid had lost track after the fifth or sixth round, but she didn’t care and the thinned liquor wasn’t very strong. As she looked out in the darkness, listening to the waves pound the shore, she thought about her dream, or more like the ghost that haunted her dreams.

"Have you ever heard of the Duchess?" she murmured.

He shook his head no.

She’s a myth more than anything, a pirate ghost ship in the Caribbean, Reid said softly, putting her feet down and setting her chair back on all four legs as she waved the waitress over for another round. "There’s mention in old tales and a few captain’s logs of a darkened pirate ship that blew in and out with the wind in the late 1600s and early 1700s, taking what she wanted, wreaking havoc on the Spanish Fleet, and leaving the rest to fate. She was never in port long enough to gather attention, so for the most part, she was fairly unknown. A few passages referred to her as the Duchess," she continued.

What happened to her?

Reid shrugged. She foundered around 1709 as far as I can tell. The last time she was spotted, she was riding low in the water off the coast of the Bahamas that same year. I spent numerous years researching everything I could find. Reid lifted her shot glass and threw back the drink. She’s the real deal, a pirate ship filled to the gills with Spanish treasure. My dream is to find her, she whispered.

Why haven’t you mentioned this before now? he asked.

I was going to look for her… She trailed off, shaking her head and looking out at the full moon glistening on the flats of the ocean in the distance. It’s time, she thought. Reid smacked her hand on the shaky table. Pack your bags, Louie. We’re going to the Bahamas, she said with a grin.

ONE

After a thirty hour flight with five stops, Reid and Louie had landed on Great Exuma Island in the Bahamas. The trip had cost Reid most of her savings from the measly wage she earned working for the salvage company. Upon arrival, they quickly found a motel and Louie tried to sleep off some of the jet lag while Reid headed over to the Exuma National Bank to cash out the remainder of her savings, which was only a couple thousand dollars. She also emptied the safe deposit box that held all of her research notes and charts pertaining to the Duchess.

*

Later that evening, Reid flagged down a beat up old van that somewhat resembled a taxi.

Where are we going? Louie asked.

To get a boat, she said, watching the van screech to a stop. Blackbeard’s Tavern, she told the driver as she got in.

Louie grabbed the handrail and the van sped down the road at breakneck speed. Reid laughed. One thing she didn’t miss about the Bahamas was the drivers. In Zanzibar, driving was a privilege that most people never experienced, as was riding in a car for that matter. Most people in the outlying areas never left their villages. Reid was happy to have been stuck in the main tourist destination of the island where life was a little more laid back and accustomed to western culture. Most of the people in that area used scooters to get around.

When the van skidded to a halt on the gravel road, Louie said a small prayer and quickly got out. Reid giggled as she handed the driver a handful of Bohemian dollars and closed the door. The local dive bar across the road was fairly empty for a Thursday evening.

Come on, she murmured, waving for Louie to follow her inside.

The small room had ten round, wooden tables scattered around with four chairs around each of them. There was a full bar along the back wall that had about thirty stools across the front of it. Reid made her way towards the bar, taking a seat at an empty stool on the left end. Louie sat down next to her.

Two swigs of pirate water when you get a minute, Reid called to the bartender, who had his back to her.

The man had thin, balding, gray hair, and a pencil behind one ear. He was wearing worn jeans that had holes in them and an old, white t-shirt with the bar’s name on it. Louie watched cautiously as the man slowly turned around. He had a gold hoop earring in one ear and wrinkly, old tattoos down his forearms.

I must be looking at a ghost, he said with a gravelly voice as he stared at Reid.

How’s it going you old, dodgy bastard? Reid smiled.

The man leaned over the bar, hugging her. Then, he stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief as he poured two shots of his best dark rum and slid them over to her.

You’re a dead woman walking, you know that right?

Nah. He can’t still be mad. It’s been three years. She slid one of the shot glasses over to Louie. At least I hope he’s not. I need a boat, she said with a grin as she tossed back the shot.

Louie followed suit, coughing slightly from the higher proof alcohol.

The bartender laughed.

This is Louie, she said, introducing him. He’s my dive assistant and a good friend. Louie, this old, salty dog is Fred. He owns this joint.

Fred shook Louie’s hand before setting them up with another round. Where have you been? I’ve heard every rumor from you were dead to you went back to the states.

Tanzania. The island of Unguja in Zanzibar, to be exact.

Where the hell is that?

East Africa, she replied, clinking her glass to Louie’s before tossing back the shot.

What were you doing way out there?"

Would you believe working on a salvage crew, she said.

Fred laughed. Seriously?

Yep.

What brings you back? he asked, pouring a drink for someone else. Wait, hold that thought.

Reid followed his eyes and turned around to see a man walking through the door with thick, bushy gray hair. He was medium height with an average build and a slightly larger belly that made his Hawaiian print shirt a little tight in the midsection.

That didn’t take long, Reid mumbled.

What did you expect, walking in here? One of his do-bitches probably saw you and ran right outside to call him.

Stay here, Louie. Reid placed her hand on his forearm as she stood up.

Who is that? Louie asked.

Guillermo Franchino, an Italian businessman who lives on the island. He’s well-known for cutting deals and dealing heavy-handedly with those who cross him, Fred said as they both watched Reid make her way over to his table in the corner.

Did she cross him? Louie asked.

Something like that, Fred sighed.

*

You have a lot of balls coming back here, Guillermo said, holding his hand out for her to sit down across from him.

I’m not dead yet, so that must mean something, Reid replied with a touch of sarcasm.

Guillermo slammed his hand on the table. You fucking weasel, I should kill you right now! he yelled.

Reid waited patiently, staring at the wall behind his head while Guillermo went off on her in Italian.

Where the hell is my money? he growled in English after his tirade.

Reid shrugged. We both lost out on that deal and you know it.

You owe me fifty thousand dollars!

That’s not the reason I’m here.

Guillermo stared at her with a raised eyebrow. Reid Cavanaugh was a hell of a lot smarter than the simple, sarcastic punk she appeared to be and he knew it. Well? he said, throwing his hands up.

"I’m going after the Duchess."

Guillermo huffed. That’s a myth.

It’s the real deal and I’m going to prove it, she said seriously. Guillermo, you’ve seen my research. You know I’m right.

What do you want from me? he asked, shaking his head.

I need a boat.

Guillermo laughed. You’re into me for fifty grand and you want me to get you a boat?

Look, if I find the ship, and you and I both know I will…I’ll cut you in on my profit. Say eighty-twenty.

Guillermo nodded, still laughing. Eighty for me and twenty for you.

No. I’m the one doing all of the damn work, she growled. Sixty-forty. My final offer.

Why the hell would I get back in business with you? You screwed me over, then ran like a weasel when I tried to collect. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just feed you to sharks and cut my losses.

Two Spanish galleons were found off the coast of Grand Bahama two years ago.

Guillermo sighed as if they’d been down this road before.

To be on that side of the Gulfstream, meant they were headed home, back to Seville, and presumably fully loaded with gold doubloons, pieces of eight, you name it. They were two weeks late leaving Havana, so they missed the fleet and were sailing together.

"What does this have to do with the Duchess?" he asked impatiently.

Neither ship has had any treasure recovered.

Are they sure they’ve been identified correctly?

"Of course. Some of their cannons were found amongst a crap load of other things. The point is both ships were loaded down and headed home. They foundered about