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“The Records Department. That’s where our car is.”
The man looked over at Sam. “Tourists aren’t usually kidnapped from public buildings.”
“It doesn’t matter now. They got what they wanted. And—well, we got away. That’s what counts.”
Remi reached over, putting her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Exactly.”
“So,” Sam asked when the silence took over, “you live in Jamaica? Or just visiting.”
“Visiting. My friend owns a coffee plantation. I keep this old Jeep just to drive up to his place. Muddy roads get pretty deep during the rainy season.”
For the remainder of the trip, they discussed the complexities of coffee growing, and, from there, the best places to fish around the island.
When he pulled into the parking lot next to their rental car, Sam checked for Avery’s men, relaxing when it was clear they were nowhere in the vicinity. He and Remi thanked him again, asking if they could pay for his gas or trouble.
“No need. Coming down here anyway to get a new alternator. I am curious, though. What sort of information were they after?”
“Ship manifests,” Sam said. “From the seventeenth century. The one we were looking for was missing.”
“Well, good luck.” He put it in gear and started to drive off, then stopped suddenly, leaning out the window. “Not sure if it’ll help. But it just occurred to me. You might check at the Fort Charles Maritime Museum in Port Royal. Quite a collection of artifacts.”
“Appreciate the tip,” Sam said. They thanked him again, only realizing after he left that they hadn’t gotten his name.
Any trip to Port Royal would have to wait until morning. Right now, they needed a long shower, some warm food, and a good night’s rest. And even though Sam took enough evasive maneuvers to ensure they weren’t followed, he didn’t relax until they were safely in their room.
Good thing the hotel minibar had a nice bottle of Argentinian Merlot. Sam poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Remi as she sat. He held his up. “Here’s to narrow escapes and Good Samaritans.”
Remi touched her glass to his. “And to finding what we need tomorrow in Port Royal.”
Port Royal, a quiet fishing village once known as the wickedest city on earth, was originally colonized by the Spanish. Captured by the English in 1655, the heavily fortified town became one of the wealthiest trade centers in the world due to its notorious association with pirates and buccaneers. And it might have remained so had it not been obliterated by a massive earthquake in 1692, which sank more than half the town into the sea, its remains now underwater and buried by three centuries of silt and sand.
One of the few structures that remained standing was Fort Charles, which now housed the maritime museum. Sam and Remi paid their fee, then entered the brick fortress, the salt-tinged offshore wind whipping at them. Dozens of cast-iron cannons lined the arched battlements, at one time used to protect the city. The grounds were nearly deserted, and their footsteps echoed across the vast courtyard as they walked toward the old naval hospital that housed the museum.
Inside were display cases of pewter and dishes, showing items from everyday life, as well as fine jade carvings from China, giving evidence to the wealth that had graced Port Royal.
“Look at this, Sam.” Remi pointed to a photograph of a pocket watch, the time showing eleven forty-three, recovered from the water and supposedly stopped the moment the earthquake struck.
“Amazing find. Imagine what else is still down there.”
“If only we can get the Jamaican government to grant us permission to dive.”
“One thing at a time, Remi. Starting with finding someone who can help us.”
Help found them. Two women walked into the room from a side door, the taller stopping to greet them. “Good morning. Welcome to the Maritime Museum.”
“Good morning,” Remi said. “We were hoping you might help us with some research.”
The woman smiled.
“We were told you might have copies of old ship manifests. Particularly one from 1694 to 1696.”
“No. So sorry. Have you tried the Archives in Kingston?”
“Unfortunately, the book was damaged. Someone mentioned that you might have copies.”
“I don’t know of any. Again, I am so sorry.”
They thanked her as she left.
