Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (18 page)

“Are you excited?”

He gave her a look loaded with double meanings, but then he said, “Yeah. We all are. I can’t wait to see the video and hear what Famosa reports.”

“Me, too,” she admitted.

“Are you going to stick it out till the end or go back with the Mafia brothers?” He must have overheard her making that threat to her grandfather.

She thought for several moments. “Good sense dictates that I get out of Dodge ASAP, but the treasure fever has hit me, too, I suppose. Oh, not the treasure itself, but the lure of the unknown. I know there are risks and no guarantees, but that’s what makes it appealing, isn’t it?”

Caleb raised his eyebrows at her.

Before she could elaborate, Jake walked by and interjected, “Tsk-tsk-tsk! Ronnie, a risk-taker. Before you know it, she’ll become a gambler.”

“You . . . you . . . you . . . ,” she sputtered, but he was gone, heading toward the anchor line where everyone else was gathering. How soon he’d recovered from their near kiss!

Within seconds, Adam’s head popped up out of the water. He swam over to the boat’s side, dipped his head underwater, and came up the ladder.

He had a broad smile on his face. “There’s good news, and there’s bad news,” he said, breathing heavily as he removed his tanks and pulled off his head gear.

Frank took the bag with the video camera from him. Silence reigned as they waited for Adam to elaborate.

He soon did, and the news was surprising, to say the least. “I found the
Sea Witch,
and it probably contains the diamond cache. But surprise, surprise”—he held in his open palm an ocean-encrusted iron cross with what appeared to be a swastika in the center—“it’s a Nazi ship.”

Chapter
18

Could this treasure be
verboten
. . . ?

Pandemonium broke loose then.

For a long moment, it appeared to Veronica like the showdown at high noon, except it was only ten
A.M.

Steve and Tony took out pistols, probably because everyone was glaring and yelling questions at them. Which caused Caleb to pull out a pistol and what she knew was a lethal K-Bar knife from a Discovery Channel program on special forces. Presumably he could slit a terrorist’s throat and disappear before the terrorist could say
Osama.
Famosa and Brenda were reaching for weapons as well, rifles, for God’s sake.
How did I miss those?
John went into his great-aunt’s huge handbag and pulled out a pistol big enough to blast an elephant to smithereens.

Veronica had no further chance to observe the chaos around her because—
“Ooomph!”
—Jake flung himself forward and tackled her to the deck. He lay on top of her, presumably to protect her from the gunfire.

She screamed, “Get off me,” but he wasn’t budging.

“Lay low till everyone calms down,” he said into her ear. “I don’t want you hurt by any side action.”

“And what do I do if you get shot and bleed all over me?”

She felt the ripple of his soft laughter against her cheek. “Then you collect on my million-dollar insurance policy.”

That stopped her short. Jake had her listed as his beneficiary on an insurance policy? And not Trish? Why?
Enough of such morbid thoughts at a time like this!

Through her peripheral vision, she could see Tante Lulu coming up from the galley with a butcher knife in her hand.
Is she going to filet the two thugs?
Flossie looked like she was about to faint, but, no, she pulled a pair of manicure scissors from her beach coverup’s pocket.
Yeah, that’ll make the Mafia Dumb and Dumber quake in their Speedos.

“Put the goddamn weapons down!” Frank bellowed. “I mean it. We need to talk, not kill each other.”

Jake kissed her neck, then slowly lifted himself off her. She couldn’t help but notice that his first thought in a moment of danger had been to protect her. Not that she needed his protection. Or wanted it. Still . . .

Everyone proceeded to lower their weapons, although Steve and Tony appeared most reluctant, being outnumbered as they were.

“Everyone, shut the hell up and listen.” Frank’s face grew florid with anger and the stress of his hollering. If his financial problems didn’t give him a heart attack, this latest crisis just might. “We need to know the situation first. Famosa. Speak.”

“It’s the
Sea Witch
down there, all right. You’ll see that on the video, but you’ll also note that there’s a swastika on other objects, too, like the dinnerware. And the remnants of some of the bodies have iron crosses, probably decorated S.S. officers.”

“Shit!” Caleb said, which was repeated by some of the others.

“And there’s more of those Nazi emblems down there, on everything from medals to plates.”

“What does it mean?” Veronica asked.

“I suspect that when the Nazis were pushed out of Italy in 1945, some of the Nazis tried to get their private plunder out of the country,” Adam speculated. “I rather doubt they were headed for the U.S., though. Probably Argentina. And the ship was blown off course. That’s just a guess, of course.”

Frank looked at Steve and Tony. “Well? Are there diamonds down there? Or was that a lie to get us here for some crackbrained reason? And, son of a bitch, what’s the Mafia doing with the Nazis?”

“Yeah, the diamonds are down there, and some other stuff. And, yeah, it was Nazi plunder, but it was plunder taken from my family in Sicily,” Steve answered, which was more words than he usually put together at one time.

“Wait for our mother. She’ll explain,” Tony added, equally terse.

“We need to decide
now
what the frickin’ hell to do with a Nazi vessel. We need to act quick, or we’re gonna have the U.S. Park Services on our tail, not to mention the Italian and German governments, who will all claim jurisdiction.” Frank was combing his fingers through his hair with agitation. “Bottom line, bozos, we can’t wait to meet with Rosa back on shore.”

“Actually,” Tony said, motioning his head toward the horizon.

In the midst of the chaos, no one had noticed the speedboat approaching. It must be Rosa, who had already been informed of the discovery.

“You folks are crazier than a bayou hermit with a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.” Tante Lulu, surely the poster girl for crazy folks, was making tsking noises at the mental state of the rest of them. “All I wants to know is iffen this big lunch me and Flossie is preparin’ is fer a celebration or a funeral?”

No one was sure.

She made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. . . .

Lunch was postponed till after the Cosa Nostra Jinx Summit.

That’s what Jake chose to call the meeting between the Jinx project members and the Cosa Nostra dudes and dudette. He told Ronnie that as they walked toward the wheelhouse.

Ronnie was not amused, but then she was still pissed over his self-appointment as her knight in not-so-shining armor. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

He shrugged. Sometimes, all a person could do was laugh. “If you keep frowning at me like that, your face is gonna freeze. That’s what Grace told me a couple days ago when we were in New Orleans: ‘Get happy or get lost.’ Those were her exact words.”

Ronnie still wasn’t amused. “I wish you
would
get lost.”

Immediately, her head shot up to see Tony and Steve standing in the doorway. “I didn’t mean that. Do you hear me? I. Did. Not. Make. That. Wish.”

They both nodded at her.

“What was that all about?” he asked her.

“Every time someone wishes for something around those two, the wish is magically granted.”

“Like Mafia fairies?”

He could see a smile twitch at her lips, but she held it back.
But, whoa, this must mean Ronnie doesn’t want me riding in a concrete boat back to Barnegat.
He, on the other hand, smiled widely.
Hey, I’ll take my good news in small doses.

First, they all crowded around the computer in the wheelhouse to study the video Famosa had just made. It was a little murky, but here and there among the boat’s disintegrated wood frame, they could see bones—human bones; mixed in among them, presumably worn on long-rotted uniforms, were various types of Nazi medals. By the looks of them, these were not rank-and-file Hitler soldiers, but higher officers, probably fleeing Italy with their looted treasure.

After viewing the tape several times, they all moved down to the galley to discuss the situation over cups of Tante Lulu’s Cajun coffee, which was thick enough to float a boat. Jake sat on one side of the long galley table with Ronnie on his right and Frank on his left. Famosa and Peachey held down both ends of the bench. The ex-SEAL was sticking to Ronnie like a burr on
his
backside; Famosa was, too. But Jake had managed to squeeze himself between the two of them, much to Peachey and Famosa’s consternation and Ronnie’s amusement.
Sometimes it pays to be immature.

Every once in a while, he pressed his thigh against Ronnie’s, then stared ahead with innocence. She wasn’t fooled, of course. But she didn’t move.
A good sign.

On the table’s other side sat Rosa, who had indeed arrived by speedboat, wearing a dress even he recognized as fancy-pantsy; medium-heeled shoes—designer something or other that Ronnie, while still on deck, had told Flossie cost about six hundred bleepin’ dollars; and a wispy scarf over her helmetlike hair. On either side of Rosa were her two sons and two cousins, Tony and Guido Menotti, who had brought her out on the boat. Guido was a Newark lawyer. Standing back by the stove were Brenda, Flossie, LeDeux, and Tante Lulu, who kept bemoaning the fact that her crab étouffée was going to spoil if they took too long.

Frank was the first to speak, addressing Rosa: “You told us that the wreck took place in the 1950s.”

“No, I did not. I said a boat carrying my family property went down about fifty years ago. The
Sea Witch
was lost in a storm the autumn of 1945. Fifty years, sixty years, what is the difference?”

That was splitting hairs five ways to Sunday, but Jake zipped his lips and waited for the whole story.

“Since when were your family members Nazis?” Leave it to Frank to be blunt.

Rosa stiffened and her nostrils flared with outrage. She put out her arms to prevent her sons and nephews from rising to physically fight the insult.

“The Menotti family, and the Lambini family—my maiden name is Lambini—were never allied with the Nazis or with the fascist government in Italy under that bastard Mussolini. If you knew your history better, you would know that thousands of Italian soldiers were
forced
to fight alongside the Nazis in Italy or on the Russian front, but most of them and the citizens of Italy opposed the fascist regime. Whatever rumors or falsehoods people like to tell about the Cosa Nostra, know this: they were never Hitler lovers.”

Frank nodded his acceptance of that part of her story. “Why did you tell me that your family heirlooms were on that boat?”

“Because they were . . .
are.
Before the war, my family had many holdings in Italy. When the Nazis arrived, they evicted my grandmother and all her family, allowing them to take nothing with them, including the
Sea Witch,
which belonged to my family. Those jewels belong to me now.” Rosa pounded her chest for emphasis.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Frank asked.

“Would you have agreed to the project?” Rosa countered.

“Probably not.”

“See, Franco,” she told him. “I had to do it this way.”

“Well, I for one have no intention of profiting off Nazi memorabilia, no matter how valuable,” Famosa said, tossing the iron cross onto the table as if it were something foul, which of course it was. God only knew what atrocities that particular officer had committed to earn that medal.

Everyone else in the room agreed, including Rosa.

“Hey, I got enough crap over Mussolini’s toilet,” Frank added, pun probably intended. “The press would crucify me if I added insult to injury by salvaging Nazi items, no matter how historical. And speaking of history, this puts our Project Pink in a whole other arena. I got permits to salvage this ship on the basis that it was a private concern. But if there is any historical significance—and, yes, Nazis fleeing Italy has historical significance—I have an obligation to notify the government, and—”

“And that means the items, including my family jewels, would be confiscated by the government,” Rosa finished for Frank.

“At the least, the whole mess would be tied up in courts for years. You might get them back eventually.” What Frank didn’t say was that, even if Rosa had proof that the treasure had once been her family property, it would be hard, if not impossible, to convince a court that a Mafia family had gained anything by legal means.

“This is a freakin’ cluster fuck,” Peachey muttered.

Ronnie was more polite in her language. “What a monumental mess!”

That about summed it up for all of them, though Jake was leaning more toward Peachey’s assessment.

“There is a way to handle this,” Guido, the lawyer, offered. The guy was short and slim, fiftyish, and wore a suit that was probably worth a small car. On his fingers were four rings, two on each hand—forefingers and pinkies. This bit of vanity was balanced by dark eyes that flashed with intelligence. “Wait a few days to notify the government. Take out the family property and then let the government have the rest. What Uncle Sam doesn’t know won’t hurt him. That way we get what the Menotti family wants. Your project members profit, too. And the historical objects remain untouched.”

“Phew! I don’t know. If the Park Service got wind of this . . . ,” Frank said.

“They won’t,” Guido assured them in a steely undertone steeped in hidden warning.

“The mob would put a hit on anyone who dared breathe the secret to authorities,” Jake whispered in Ronnie’s ear.

Her eyes shot to his in alarm.

“What if I refuse?” Frank asked.

“You won’t,” Guido said, still with that steely undertone.

“Hits “R” Us,” Jake whispered to Ronnie again. He loved finding excuses to get so close to her. And he saw her do a little shiver, which meant that she liked it, too. He knew her tells like a poker playbook. He hadn’t been married to and divorced from the same woman for nothing.

Frank was no fool. He had to recognize that they were virtual prisoners here now. One way or another, the Menottis were not going to let them leave the site till their family jewels were up on deck. Never mind that they had the Amish Terminator and the Cuban Rambo on board. Mafia boats were probably circling within a ten-mile radius of this site.

Jake raised a hand. “Can I say something?” When no one objected, he said, “Life is like a game of poker.” Ronnie groaned beside him, but he didn’t let that deter him. “You can either play aggressively or let what happens happen. A rounder or a grinder.” He cut a quick glance at Ronnie, a grinder to the core. Then he continued. “I say we play aggressive. Do the dives. Collect the treasures or artifacts. Inform the government as soon as possible. And keep a few secrets, as long as no ethical boundaries are crossed.”