The Nautical Chart Part 12

"They wanted to abort the coup," she summarized.

With her eyes fixed on the road, she expounded her theory for Coy. The cabinet of the Pesquisa Secreta Pesquisa Secreta was not so secret after all. There was a leak, a hint of what was being plotted. Maybe the Jesuits had an informer there, or intuitively suspected what was being schemed. was not so secret after all. There was a leak, a hint of what was being plotted. Maybe the Jesuits had an informer there, or intuitively suspected what was being schemed.

"Of all the members of that cabinet," Tanger explained, "only one was not a pure Thomist. The Conde de Aranda could be considered, if not a 'friend of the fourth vow,' at least more favorable to the Ignatians than the radical Roda, Campomanes, and others. Maybe he was the one who dropped a few timely words to his former social intimate, Padre Nicolas Escobar. It wouldn't have had to be a confidence, not even words. Among people so schooled in nuances and diplomacy, silence itself could be read as a message."

Then Tanger had Men silent, leaving Coy to imagine the era and the cast. Her left hand was resting on her knee, on the blue cotton skirt an inch from the gearshift. Occasionally, Coy brushed against it when he shifted from fourth to fifth on the straightaway or shifted down before a curve.

'And then," she said, "the Jesuit leadership formulated a plan."

Another silence, with that thought in the air. She should write novels, Coy thought admiringly. She handles the unfinished story better than anyone I know. And though I don't know which of her a.s.sertions are true, I never saw anyone state them with such aplomb. That's not even considering the way she gradually lets out line-just enough slack that the fish doesn't get away, just enough tension that it doesn't throw the hook before she sinks a gaff into its gills.

'A risky plan," she said, taking up the story, "with no guarantee of success. But it was based on knowledge of the human condition and the Spanish political situation. As well, of course, as familiarity with Pedro Pablo Abarca, Conde de Aranda."

In a few words, in the objective tone of someone reading off data, never taking her eyes from the asphalt ribbon that undulated before them in the searing heat, Tanger described Charles's minister: an aristocrat with all the privileges of breeding, brilliant military and diplomatic careers, French intellectual and social influences; pragmatic, enlightened, energetic, impetuous, a bit insolent. A fine choice to head the Council of Castile and the cabinet for the secret inquiry. Also given to luxury, to expensive carriages with splendid horses and liveried servants, and theater and bullfights in an open coach, he was popular, ambitious, a free-spender and good friend to his friends. Wealthy, and yet always in need of more funds to maintain a lifestyle that at times verged on excess.

"The words," Tanger continued, "were money and power. Aranda was vulnerable in those areas, and the Jesuits knew that. It wasn't for nothing he had been their student, or was well known to the Society's directors.

"The plan was conceived with meticulous audacity. The best of their ships, the fastest and safest, with the best captain, secretly set sail for America. Padre Escobar was a pa.s.senger. There was no official record of his leaving Valencia, because the shipping doc.u.ments for that stage of the Dei Gloria's Dei Gloria's voyage were not preserved, but the Jesuit was definitely on board the return voyage. His initials, along with those of his companion, Padre Jose Luis Tolosa, were on the manifest of the brigantine when she left Havana on January 1, voyage were not preserved, but the Jesuit was definitely on board the return voyage. His initials, along with those of his companion, Padre Jose Luis Tolosa, were on the manifest of the brigantine when she left Havana on January 1, 1767. 1767. And they had certain doc.u.ments and objects with them. Keys to influencing the will of the Conde de Aranda." And they had certain doc.u.ments and objects with them. Keys to influencing the will of the Conde de Aranda."

With his hands on the wheel, Coy laughed quietly. "In short, they wanted to buy him."

"Or blackmail him," she replied. "In one way or another, the fact is that the mission of the Dei Gloria, Dei Gloria, of Captain Elezcano and the two Jesuits, was to bring back something that would change the course of events." of Captain Elezcano and the two Jesuits, was to bring back something that would change the course of events."

"From Havana?"

"Precisely."

'And what did Cuba have to do with all this?"

"I don't know. But in Havana they brought something on board that could convince Aranda to manipulate the secret inquiry. Something that would nullify the storm that was going to be unleashed upon the Society."

"It could have been money," Coy suggested. "The famous treasure."

He tried to underplay the importance of his words, but he felt a shiver as he spoke the word "treasure."

Tanger, eyes straight ahead, was stony as a Sphinx. "It could have, it's true," she said after a bit. "But that doesn't mean money is always involved."

'And that is what you intend to find out."

He stole a glance at her from time to time. Her eyes never left the blacktop.

"I intend to locate the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria first of all. And then find out what she was carrying... Whatever it was, whether by chance or by the cold calculations of the Society's enemies, it never reached its destination." first of all. And then find out what she was carrying... Whatever it was, whether by chance or by the cold calculations of the Society's enemies, it never reached its destination."

Coy slowed as they came to a tight curve. On the other side of a fence were real bulls, grazing beneath an enormous one-dimensional black bull advertising a well-known sherry.

"Do you think it was a coincidence that the corsair xebec was where she was?"

'Anything is possible. Maybe the other side knew what was going on and wanted to get a head start. Maybe Aranda himself was dealing from two decks____ Or if the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria was carrying was carrying something that could be used against him, he might have wanted to neutralize her."

"Well, depending on what it was, it's also possible that it hasn't withstood two and a half centuries at the bottom of the sea. Lucio Gamboa said..."

"I remember perfectly well what he said."

"Well, so you know. Treasure, maybe. Anything else, forget it."

Now the highway wound downhill through brilliant green meadows before again ascending. One of Andalusia's famous white villages lay up to the right, hanging from the peak of a mountain. Vejer de la Frontera, Coy read on a road sign. Another arrow pointed toward the sea: Cape Trafalgar, 16 kilometers.

"I hope it's treasure," Coy said. "Spanish gold. Bars of silver. Maybe our Aranda could be bribed." After a pensive moment, biting his lower lip, he asked, "How could we bring it up without anyone knowing?"

He was amused at the idea. Jesuit treasure. Bars of gold piled up in a hold. Unloading by night on a beach amid the ratde of stones dragged by the undertow. Doubloons, Deadman's Chest... yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum. He ended up laughing aloud. Tanger did not join in, and he turned to look at her.

"I know for sure you have a plan," he added. "You're the kind of person who always has a plan."

He had accidentally brushed her hand as he shifted, and this time she drew it back. She seemed annoyed.

"You don't know what kind of person I am."

Again he laughed. The idea of the treasure, the pure absurdity of it, had put him in a good mood. He felt years younger: Jim Hawkins was making faces at him from a book-filled shelf in the Admiral Benbow Inn.

"Sometimes I think I know," he said sincerely, "and sometimes I don't. In any case, I'm not taking my eye off you. With a treasure or without it. And I hope you've thought about my share, partner."

"We're not partners. You're working for me."

"Oh s.h.i.t, I'd forgotten."

Coy whistled a few bars of "Body and Soul." Everything was in order. She had orchestrated the song of the sirens, the doubloon of Spanish gold was gleaming from the mast before the eyes of the sailor without a ship, and meanwhile the rented Renault was leaving Tarifa behind, with its constant wind and ghostly blades whirling on wind turbines. The engine was getting too hot on the hills, so they stopped at a scenic viewpoint above the Strait. The day was dear, and on the other side of the strip of blue they could see the coast of Morocco. More distant and to the left were Mount Acho and the city of Ceuta. Coy watched the slow progress of an oil tanker sailing toward the Atlantic. It was a little outside its lane, crowding the markers separating the two-way traffic, and would obviously have to alter its course to make way for a cargo ship approaching its bow. He imagined the officer on watch on the bridge-at that hour it would be the third in command-eyes glued to the radar, waiting till the last minute to see if he was lucky and the other ship would alter course first.

"Besides, you're going too fast, Coy. I never said anything about treasure."

She hadn't spoken for at least five minutes. Now she was out of the car, beside him, staring at the sea and the coast of Africa. "That's true," he conceded. "But you're running out of time.

You're going to have to tell me the rest of the story when we get there."

The white wake of the tanker traced a slight curve toward the European sh.o.r.e in the Straits below. The watch officer had thought it prudent to give sea room to the closing merchant ship. Ten degrees to starboard, Coy calculated No officer touched the controls unless the captain authorized it, but correcting by ten degrees and then returning to course was reasonable.

"We're not," she said in a low voice, "there yet."

THE offices of Deadman's Chest Ltd., were at 42B Main Street, on the lower floor of what looked like a colonial building with white walls and window frames painted blue. Coy looked at the plaque screwed to the door, and after a brief hesitation rang the bell. Tanger had refused to meet with Nino Palermo in his office, so he had been charged with the exploratory mission, and, if the signs were favorable, with setting up a meeting for later that day. Tanger had given him precise instructions, detailed enough for a military operation. offices of Deadman's Chest Ltd., were at 42B Main Street, on the lower floor of what looked like a colonial building with white walls and window frames painted blue. Coy looked at the plaque screwed to the door, and after a brief hesitation rang the bell. Tanger had refused to meet with Nino Palermo in his office, so he had been charged with the exploratory mission, and, if the signs were favorable, with setting up a meeting for later that day. Tanger had given him precise instructions, detailed enough for a military operation.

'And what if they beat me to a pulp?" he'd asked, remembering the rotunda of the Palace.

"Palermo puts business before personal matters," was her answer. "I don't think he'll try to settle accounts. Not yet."

So there he was, staring at his stubble-covered face in the bra.s.s plaque, breathing as if preparing for a death-defying dive.

"Senor Palermo is expecting me."

The Berber standing inside the open door looked even more menacing in the daylight, his funereally black eyes dissecting Coy, recognizing him before he stood aside to let him pa.s.s. The vestibule was small and paneled with precious woods, with a few nautical touches. There was an enormous ship's wheel, a diving suit, and a model of a Roman trireme in a large gla.s.s case. Also a desk of modern design, and behind it the secretary Coy remembered from the auction in Barcelona and the Palace rotunda. A comfortable chair was positioned beside a coffee table with copies of Yachting Yachting and and Bateaux, Bateaux, and there was a straight chair in one corner. On that chair sat Horacio Kiskoros. and there was a straight chair in one corner. On that chair sat Horacio Kiskoros.

This wasn't a gathering in which you smiled and said "h.e.l.lo," so Coy did neither; in fact, he did nothing but stand quietly in the entryway, expectant, while the Berber closed the door behind him. The three pairs of eyes focused on him were not exuding excessive human warmth. The Berber, stolid and unthreatening, mechanically and efficiently patted Coy down, starting at his ankles.

"He never carries a weapon," Kiskoros offered from his chair, in an almost amiable tone.

Now is when they begin to push me around, Coy thought, with the memory of the Berber's solid efficiency. Now they begin to give me mine back, with a few extras thrown in, until I'm tender enough for the grill, and then they'll drag me out of here-if in fact I get get out of here-with my teeth in a little cone of folded newspaper. LWGACA: Law of What Goes Around Comes Around. out of here-with my teeth in a little cone of folded newspaper. LWGACA: Law of What Goes Around Comes Around.

"Well, look what we have here," said a voice.

Nino Palermo was at a just-opened door on the opposite side of the room. Dark brown trousers, blue-striped shirt with the cuffs turned back, no necktie. Expensive moccasins.

"I'll give you this much," he said, surprised to see Coy. "G.o.d almighty, you've got b.a.l.l.s."

"Were you expecting her?"

"Of course I was expecting her."

The bicolor eyes of the seeker of sunken ships were hard, hypnotic as a snake's. His nose was still slightly swollen and he had the remnants of two black eyes. Behind his back Coy heard the soft footsteps of the Berber, saw the look that Palermo directed over his shoulder, and involuntarily tensed his muscles. Nape of my neck, he thought. That SOB is going to chop me on the neck.

"Come in," said Palermo.

Coy stepped inside and his host dosed the door, walked across the room, and leaned against the edge of a mahogany table covered with books, papers, and nautical charts filled with penciled notes, which Palermo covered discreetly with a copy of the Gibraltar Chronicle. Gibraltar Chronicle. An antique bar of silver weighing four or five pounds acted as paperweight. In order to look at anything other man Palermo's face, Coy studied an oil painting on the wall. It depicted a naval battle between a North American and an English ship, two frigates battering each other, their rigging nearly destroyed. The plate on the lower edge of the frame read "The An antique bar of silver weighing four or five pounds acted as paperweight. In order to look at anything other man Palermo's face, Coy studied an oil painting on the wall. It depicted a naval battle between a North American and an English ship, two frigates battering each other, their rigging nearly destroyed. The plate on the lower edge of the frame read "The Java-Const.i.tution Java-Const.i.tution fight." Smoke from the cannonade was blowing in the right direction, as dictated by the clouds, waves, and set of the sails. It was a good painting. fight." Smoke from the cannonade was blowing in the right direction, as dictated by the clouds, waves, and set of the sails. It was a good painting.

"Why did she send you alone? She should be here."

The green eye and the brown eye were observing Coy with more curiosity than rancor. He didn't know where to direct his gaze, but finally decided on the brown eye. It seemed less unnerving.

"She doesn't trust you. Which is why I am here. Before she sees you, she wants to know what you have in mind." "Is she in Gibraltar?" "She's where she should be."

Palermo slowly shook his head. He had picked up a small rubber ball from the table and was squeezing it. "I don't trust her either." "n.o.body trusts anybody here."

"You're a... G.o.d almighty." As the left hand squeezed, ballasted with rings and the enormous gold watch, the muscles in Palermo's forearm contracted. 'An idiot. That's what you are. You're a puppet and she's pulling your strings."

Coy concentrated on the brown eye.

"Mind your own business," Coy said.

"This is my business. It was mine alone until that b.i.t.c.h stuck her nose in. My good will..."

"Cut the s.h.i.t with that stuff about 'my good will.'" Coy decided to try the green eye for a change. "I saw what your dwarf did to her dog."

The hand squeezing the ball froze, and Palermo shifted his position against the edge of the table. Suddenly he seemed uncomfortable.

"I want to tell you, I never... G.o.d almighty. Horatio went too far. He's used to measures... There in Argentina... Well..." He stared at the ball as if suddenly it was objectionable, and set it back on the table beside an ivory letter opener with a handle in the shape of a naked woman. "I think that in his country he went over the edge___ And then there was the business of the Malvinas.

Horatio came out on the cover of Time Time with his English prisoners. He's very proud of that cover, and always carries a copy.... When democracy came in, he had to...You can imagine. Too many people had recognized him, thanks to that blessed photo, as the one who attached the electrodes to their genitals." with his English prisoners. He's very proud of that cover, and always carries a copy.... When democracy came in, he had to...You can imagine. Too many people had recognized him, thanks to that blessed photo, as the one who attached the electrodes to their genitals."

He paused and shrugged lightly, implying that he wasn't responsible for Kiskoros in that period. Coy nodded. Palermo hadn't offered him a chair, so he was still on his feet.

'And you gave him a job."

"He was a good diver," Palermo admitted. "So here you have him, tiny as he is, an efficient b.a.s.t.a.r.d for a certain kind of...

Well..." Again he shifted position, gold chains and medallions clinking. "I'm not telling you anything you don't know. Besides, I've always preferred efficient employees to enthusiastic volunteers. A well-paid mercenary doesn't leave you twisting___ "

"It depends on who pays the most."

"I pay the most."

Palermo inspected the gold coin he wore on the finger of his right hand. Then automatically he polished it on his shirt.

"Horacio is a complex little sonofab.i.t.c.h," he continued. "Former Argentine military with a Greek father and an Italian mother, who speaks Spanish and thinks he's English. But he's, a well-mannered sonofab.i.t.c.h. And I like well-mannered people. He even supports his elderly mother in Rio Gallegos, sends her money every month. Just like the tango ballads, you know? How about that."

His hand rose slightly, as if he were going to touch his face, but he immediately interrupted the gesture.

'As for you..."

Now the brown eye expressed rancor, and the green one menace. But only for an instant.

"Listen," he said. "This has ballooned into something absurd. We're all overreacting, aren't we? All of us. Her. Me too, maybe. Horacio is even killing dogs, which is- G.o.d almighty. Over the top. And you, of course. You..."

The seeker of sunken ships stumbled to a stop, hunting for a term that would define Coy's role in the intrigue.

"Look!" He picked up a key and opened a drawer, then took out a shiny silver coin and threw it on the table. "You know what that is? It's what we call a columnar in my trade-an eight reales silver coin minted in Potosi in 1739 by order of King Philip V. You're looking at__ Take a good look. That is one of the famous 'pieces of eight' that figure in all the stories of pirates and treasures."

He took out a larger coin and tossed it beside the first. This was a commemorative medal with three figures, one kneeling, and an inscription. Coy picked it up and read "The pride of Spain humbled by Vernon." On the obverse side were a number of ships and a second inscription: "The capture of Carthagena April 1741" He set the medal on the table beside the piece of eight.

"It was an empty boast, because they didn't ever take Cartagena," Palermo explained. "Admiral Vernon withdrew, defeated, without ever sacking the city. The person falsely kneeling on the medallion is the Spaniard Bias de Lezo, who never knelt-among other reasons because he had only one arm and one leg. But he defended the city with tooth and claw, and the English lost six ships and nine thousand men. Vernon had brought medals already struck for the triumph, but now he had to get rid of them. And he did, except for the ones that went to the bottom of the bay. Hard to find."

He put his hand in the drawer and pulled out a handful of different coins, which he hefted before dropping them with a metallic clatter. Gold and silver glittered as it spilled through his ting-laden fingers.

"I got that one from a sunken English ship," said the treasure hunter. "That one, these, and many others: silver coins of four and eight reales, the columnars, pre-1850 coins, gold doubloons, ingots, jewels___ I'm a professional, you understand? I know the miles of shelves in the Archivo de Indias, and the archives in the English Admiralty as well. I know the palace of the Inquisition in Cartagena de Indias, Simancas, Viso del Marques, Medina-Sidonia____ And I'm not about to let a couple of amateurs... G.o.d almighty. Blow a lifetime of work."

He picked up the piece of eight and the Vernon medal and returned them to the drawer. His smile made him look like a white shark who had just been told a joke about shipwreck victims.

"So I'm going to be in this to the end," he stated. "With no mercy and no misgivings. I'm going to____ I swear to you. And when I'm done, that woman... she'll see. And as for you, you must be mad." He locked the drawer and put the key in his pocket. "You don't have the faintest idea of the consequences."

Coy scratched his unshaven face.

"So did you send that a.s.shole dwarf to Cadiz to make us come and listen to this?"

"No. I asked you to come in order to propose a final deal. Last chance. But you..."

He left the sentence unfinished, although the meaning was clear. He didn't consider Coy qualified to carry out the negotiations. Neither did Coy, and they both knew that.

"I only came to check the lay of the land," he said. "She's agreeable to meeting you."

Palermo's eyes were slits, but a gleam of interest shone through.

"When and where?"