"Surfing Treasure's Wake" Chapter 28 - The Swell

“Surfing Treasure’s Wake”, a tale of morality, faith and a young man’s desire to reunite with his estranged father.


In 1715, the Spanish galleon the San Miguel is caught in a terrible hurricane off the south end of Amelia Island. Black water rushes across her decks. Crew members lash their bodies to whatever object they can reach. Below decks, Isabella Rojas and her six terrified children desperately pray to God for help. Finally, she bounds herself and each of her doomed children to a single strand of rope in a vain attempt to save them, before all are washed overboard into the black stormy seas. Each child desperately struggles for life, each eventually drowning as their increasingly-dead weight finally pulls Isabella beneath the stormy seas where they now rest, waiting to be released from their watery graves.

Marc, a sixteen-year-old surfer and his mother, Lisa, have recently moved to Fernandina Beach, Florida, in the hopes of finding a better life, after Marc’s abusive father abandons them following a tragic accident, in which Marc tries to protect his mother from his father’s violent temper. Marc, feeling it was his fault his father left, carries this burden on his too young shoulders.

As this story unfolds, Marc encounters an old witch who tells him to “Trust the spirits. Let them show you the way.” Then, while surfing one day, he meets Sponge Bob, a retired local treasure hunter and boogie boarder. Together, as their friendship grows, they try to solve the “Legend of Isabella Rojas” as Marc encounters her ghost and that of her six children; each providing clues about where they drowned. If Marc can find Isabella’s golden medallion of the Virgin Mary, then he can free their souls from their watery graves and will be rewarded with something greater than gold or silver.

But Marc is also haunted by a dream of a murdered Calvary trooper and a buried tin box full of gold, located somewhere around the Casa Grande, Arizona area; the same area where his estranged father went treasure hunting years before and stole a suitcase full of money from Manuel, a spiritual Mexican farmer. Because of his father’s actions, Marc’s guilt forces him to befriend Jesús, Manuel’s son, and to help him find that buried tin box full of gold.

Yet, Marc continually runs across the path of his estranged father, who is also after that same tin box of gold. Marc struggles with his emotions to reunite with him, only to finally realize his ultimate truth.

After a tragic turn of events, Marc fulfills the “Legend of Isabella Rojas” and is rewarded with something he has been secretly hoping for. But his reward comes with a high price. And in the end, it’s Jesús who helps him to understand this.

Ghosts, surfing, lost treasure and the colorful history of Amelia Island set the background as Marc tries to solve the “Legend of Isabella Rojas” and to right the wrong his father committed against Manuel and Jesús, all the while searching to fill the void in his young heart his father left behind.

Chapter 28

The Swell

   The next morning, tropical storm Alberto was approximately four hundred miles east of Jacksonville. As predicted, Alberto continued to veer off into the middle of the Atlantic. But, her wind blown waves were crashing onto the beaches of Amelia with ten to fifteen foot breakers.
   Marc heard his telephone ring early. It was Kip wanting to know if he wanted to go surfing.
   “Of course!” Marc replied.
   “Ever surf a tropical storm? The waves are really big.”
   “No, but as long as I can get out…”
   “Garth’s going to use his jet ski. We’re going to the south end. I hear the waves are breaking all the way across to Bird Island.”
   “Can you drive? Mom’s car’s still in the shop.”
   “No problem. See you in a bit.”
   Kip swung by and picked Marc up. Steve also tagged along hoping to snap some photographs of this once in a decade event.
   Arriving at the south end, they were amazed at the size of the waves. The white topped breakers were crashing all the way across the inlet. It looked to Marc like the ocean was nothing but one big breaking avalanche.
   Soon, Garth jetted up the inlet, through the rolling choppy water, the jet ski spouting a high rooster tail of water from behind. He beached his jet ski and walked up to the three of them. “Okay, gents, whose up for this.”
   “I’ll go first,” Kip said, then turning to Marc. “I’ll wait for you just beyond the lineup. Garth’ll be on watch, on his ski. He’ll zip in and pick us up if we fall.”
   “Um, okay,” Marc responded, feeling his nervousness creep into his stomach.
   Garth fired up his ski and took off with Kip seated behind, his surfboard under his arm.
   Marc watched them disappear as they bounced beyond the breakers, as Steve set up his tripod and camera, attaching the long black telephoto lens last.
   “You ready for this?” Steve asked Marc.
   “I can’t wait. Ever see that movie, Big Wednesday?”
   “Great movie. Today is big Monday! You ever surf anything this big before?”
   “Sure,” Marc lied.
   “Just keep your head on straight and don’t get too carried away. Remember, Garth’s out there watching, so use him,” Steve said, meeting Marc’s eyes.
   “I will. Don’t worry, I will.”
   A short while later, Marc heard Garth’s jet ski and then saw him come into view, again being followed by the jet ski’s long arching water spout. Marc continued to watch as Garth again beached his ski.
   “Marc, you gotta see those waves! They’re perfect!” he said. “Ready to go Scratch?”
   Marc climbed on board. Then Garth gunned the ski back out into the channel. As they approached the mouth of the inlet, Garth slowed to a stop.
   “What’s up?” Marc asked.
   “Waiting for that set to pass, so we can get out,” Garth replied.
   They sat, bobbing up and down for a few minutes watching the waves crash, feeling the surge of water lift them high. Then Garth twisted the throttle. The jet ski jumped forward, as if it were a dolphin clearing the surface.
   “Here we go!” Garth said, as Marc increased his grip on the ski’s side handles.
   They raced straight ahead. They could see Kip sitting on his board, rising up and down, beyond the point where the waves were breaking.
   “Uh oh,” Garth said to himself.
   “What?” Marc overheard.
   “This is going to be close!” Garth screamed, seeing Kip rise higher than normal, up and over an incoming wave.
   “That wave’s going to break right on us if we don’t get over it,” Garth yelled over his shoulder.
   Marc held on even tighter.
   They roared toward the rising mountain of water. The peak rose directly in front of them, as they raced up its face. Then, just as the wave was about to break, the jet ski cleared the top and leapt into the air.
   Marc felt his stomach rise. He dropped his board in mid air, right before the jet ski crashed down, bouncing him off.
   “Yeah!” Kip yelled, watching it all happen.
   Garth immediately turned the ski around to see if Marc was alright.
   Marc nodded his head, as he swam over to retrieve his board. Then the three of them came together to talk.
   “I’ll be in the channel. If you fall, wait for me to come and get you. Don’t try to fight this. It’s too crazy. Okay?” he said to Kip and Marc, mostly Marc.
   Then Garth took off, zipping down the face of a smaller wave, back into the inlet, into the middle of the channel, where he watched and waited.
   Kip and Marc paddled into the lineup.
   “Let me go first,” Kip said.
   “Be my guest!” Marc offered, as a set began to roll in.
   “The sets are coming in waves of five. The second and third look the cleanest,” Kip informed Marc, as they both rose high up over the first wave.
   The second wave peaked to their right. So, they waited for the third. It rose up and was about to break directly on top of Kip when he turned his board around and began to paddle, hard.
   The last thing Marc saw was Kip kicking and paddling, as the monster picked him up and launched him down its face. Marc sat behind the rolling wall of water, wondering if Kip had made it. Then the wave peeled both ways. Marc saw the bottom of Kip’s board shoot above the top of the wave and back down, as Kip hit the lip.
   A few moments later, Marc saw Kip surf his board up and over its back, ending his ride.
   “Yeah! Yeah!” Marc heard Kip yell, as Kip paddled back to him.
   “Oh man! You’ve got to try this! I’m so stoked!” Kip said, adrenaline pumping through his body. “Watch out for that takeoff. Be aggressive and you’ll make it.”
   “Okay,” Marc replied, feeling nervous, “here I go.” Marc began to pull hard into the quickly rising wave. He looked back to find the peak and saw a huge wall of green water was about to crash down, right on top of him.
   “Oh shit!” he said, pulling with all his strength.
   Marc felt the wave grab hold of his board. He jumped up and looked down. It felt like he was in mid air, as the giant wave slapped him forward. Marc immediately stepped on the back of his board, trying to keep its nose up. He made the drop and looked right. The entire length of the white-topped wave was about to close out. Marc immediately turned his board into its face, trying to get back over it, to safety.
   Just as Marc was about to clear the wave, its curling lip caught his board from beneath. He felt himself beginning to get pushed up and back, as the nose of his board began to rise straight up and over him. Marc immediately wrapped both arms around his board, hugging it with all his might. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Marc readied himself for the pounding he knew he was going to take.
   The wave threw him forward and then crashed directly on top of him. Marc struggled under all the tons of churning white water. He couldn’t get back to the surface. He began to panic.
   Garth, idling in the channel, saw all this. But, he had to wait until it was clear. Then he saw Marc’s board, rise straight up like a tombstone. Garth knew Marc was still under water, at the other end of his bobbing board. What the hell, Garth thought and gunned his jet ski toward the upright surfboard.
   Marc controlled his panic. He felt the tension from his leash yank his leg up. Marc grabbed the leash and pulled himself toward the surface, hand over hand. He finally broke through gulping down air, as Garth skied up, waving to him to get on board.
   Marc dragged himself onto the back of the ski. Looking up, he saw another giant wall getting ready to crash over them. It blocked the sky as it rose steadily higher. Marc grabbed his board, as Garth turned the ski around and gunned the throttle. The jet ski sped forward, as the avalanche of white water chased them from behind, back into the channel. Finally, when they were safe, Garth asked if Marc was alright.
   “I’m fine. Man, did I get worked. What a wave!” Marc yelled, adrenaline oozing from every pore in his body.
   “You ready to try again?”
   “You bet! Get me back out there.”
   Garth transported Marc back out beyond the lineup, to where Kip was waiting.
   “Glad to see you’re still alive.”
   “Ah, man, the wave closed out on me.”
   “My turn,” Kip said, checking to make sure Garth was back on watch.
   Kip paddled back into the lineup and caught the next wave. Again, Marc watching from behind couldn’t tell if Kip had made it, as he disappeared in front of the twelve foot monster. But, when Marc saw Kip hit the lip and turn his board back down the face, he knew he had.
   After Marc saw Kip kick out, it was his turn. He waited, as the first two waves passed then paddled into the third. It felt like he was going a hundred miles an hour, as he dropped in, his board bouncing down the wave face.
   Marc made his bottom turn and looked down the line to see a twelve foot wall of water building ahead of him. He “S” carved the wave. Then he slowed his board and cut high up into its wall. The lip began to curl over, as Marc angled his board back down. A huge watery tunnel began to form. Marc slid right into it, standing up. The tunnel completely surrounded him. Marc dragged his right hand along the face, feeling the upward onslaught of water. Then the tunnel collapsed. Marc emerged still standing then he turned his board and shot up and over its back just as the wave closed out.
   “Way to go, Marc!” Kip yelled.
   Once Marc was lying back on his board, he felt the adrenaline again surge through his body again. It felt great!
   They continued taking turns while Garth waited in the channel. They each wiped out a couple of times, but Garth was right there to scoop them up from all the chaos. When they started to get tired, they decided on one more ride each.
   By this time the current had carried them south, almost even with Bird Island.
   Marc set up for his last ride and caught a rogue fifteen footer. It was huge! He made the drop and cut left. As he screamed along its face, his back mere inches from the monster wall he lost his balance and fell. He tobogganed on his butt down the face, until the incredibly fast moving water carried him back up to the very top of this monster, then violently body-slammed him down. He couldn’t tell which way was up, as tons of chaos tossed him about like a rag doll in a pit bull’s mouth. Finally, he was able to get back to the surface only to find that his new board had snapped in two. He was too far south for Garth to get around the corner of Bird Island. The waves were just too huge and wrapping around the island’s corner. So Marc swam, using his broken board as a kick board, as the waves continued to crash around him.
   It was becoming hard for Marc to swim. Every few yards he struggled, was met with yet another wave, chaos and backwash, as all the water tried to find its way off the beach. Marc realized he was caught in a rip tide, a bad one. He knew he had to swim parallel to the shore or risk being swept out to sea. But, he was so tired. His broken surfboard just wasn’t enough. Marc’s arms felt like lead weights. His legs began to burn. Another wave crashed right on him and pushed him under. He tried to fight to the surface. His energy drained away.
   So this is it Marc thought, as his panic began to fade, only to be replaced by a sense of calm. He knew he was drowning. And he knew Garth couldn’t see him, as the waves obscured his view from the channel. Images of his mother, father and Bob flashed through his fading mind, as his last breath finally escaped his burning lungs.
   Suddenly, he felt something grab him from below. As his last breath bubbled away, Marc opened his eyes and looked down. There, beneath the water, he saw someone about his age pushing him up! Marc’s vision began to fade just short of blacking out when he broke the surface, gagging and coughing, sucking much needed fresh air back into his aching lungs. After a moment, he regained his senses and felt his energy slowly return. He immediately put his face under water and opened his eyes.
   There, Marc saw a young man of about eighteen. He was slowly sinking to the bottom, arms reaching up as if to say, save me. Marc knew he’d just encountered the last ghost child!
   When Marc finally made it to Bird Island, he dragged himself up on the beach and flopped down, panting and feeling the warm sand through his chilled body. After he’d rested for a while, he sat up and looked out to where Kip had caught a huge right. Marc marveled as he watched Kip chew it up. Kip finally dropped back down on his board and sledded into the channel where Garth was waiting to pick him up.
   Marc guessed that Garth would come across the inlet to get him shortly, after he‘d dropped Kip off with Steve.
   After resting some more and thinking about his close shave with death, Marc tore open his Velcroed leash, picked up his broken board and began walking along the edge of the island, towards the inlet.
   As he walked, he couldn’t help admiring the tremendous waves still pounding in. He imagined seeing himself cut and slash the huge walls of water. His earlier brush with death began to fade from his mind, to be replaced by thoughts of surfing and Isabella. Then something caught his eye. It was shiny. But, Marc couldn’t tell what it was from this distance. Marc looked back over his shoulder, at the place he came ashore. With a start, he realized that the spot he almost died was the exact spot where he and Bob had found the shoe buckle and toy cannon. It was the same spot where he saw the last ghost child. He knew what lay before him buried in the sand.
   Marc ran over to the shiny object and pulled it up. It was almost completely encrusted with centuries of sediment. But, one corner was exposed. Examining the object, Marc saw a few worn letters. Latin, he thought? He rubbed the exposed area. A blue sapphire and green emerald caught the sunlight and exploded in brilliance. He’d found the medallion.
   Garth soon made his way across the inlet, to Bird Island, where Marc was waiting for him.
   “You okay?” Garth asked.
   “I’m fine. But, I almost bought the farm out there. That last wave really worked me.” Marc didn’t say anything about the ghost, making sure the medallion was safely stuffed in the pocket of his swim suit. “Let’s get out of here and go home.”
   “You’ve got it, buddy,” Garth replied.
   They jetted back across the inlet and, after Garth beached the jet ski, Marc climbed off. Kip and Steve were looking at the photos Steve had taken. Garth said his goodbyes and went back up the inlet to load up his ski.
   “Marc, look at these! Steve took some excellent pictures of us,” Kip exclaimed.
   “I got some really good ones of you,” Steve added.
   “We’ve got to go!” Marc excitedly stated.
   “What’s the hurry?” Kip asked.
   “This!” Marc replied, digging into his pocket and handing over the partially rock-covered medallion.
   “Holy shit! Where’d you find that?” Steve said, reaching out to hold it.
   “On Bird Island. I need to get this to Bob. I think it came from the San Miguel.”
   “Let’s go,” Kip said.
   They loaded up Kip’s truck and drove back north, pulling over once to let two police cars and an ambulance race by, their red lights flashing and sirens wailing.
   They pulled into the back parking lot of Amelia Research and ran inside.
   Bob was there talking to Wayne, planning the next trip south aboard the Polly L.
   “Bob!” Marc yelled, as he entered the shop. “I found it!”
   “The medallion?”
   “I think so,” as Marc handed over the artifact.
   “It’s heavy. Where’d you find it?”
   “On Bird Island. It was lying in the sand. And, that’s not all.”
   “What do you mean?”
   “We were surfing the mouth of the inlet. My board broke and I couldn’t get back to shore. I almost died!”
   “Are you alright?”
   “Yeah,” Marc hesitated. “I swear as God is my witness, Isabella’s oldest son saved me!”
   “What?” Bob said, as Steve and Kip stood there not believing what they were hearing.
   “It’s true! What can I say? There’s the medallion.”
   “What’s going on?” Kip asked.
   Bob told them both about the legend of Isabella Rojas. “See? Here’s a shoe buckle and toy cannon with one of her son’s initials engraved on it.” Then he turned toward Marc, “Where’d you say you saw that ghost?”
   “Over the same spot we found those,” Marc answered, pointing to the buckle and cannon.
   “That must be the resting place for Isabella and her children,” Wayne speculated.
   “Before we jump to conclusions, let’s get this into the acid wash and make sure it’s the medallion. We should know by tomorrow,” Bob recommended.
   “Okay. I’ll definitely be back here in the morning,” Marc replied.
   After saying their goodbyes, Kip drove Marc home. On the way, Kip was full of questions. Marc tried to answer as best he could. His excitement caused him to jump around as he speculated about the medallion and what it could mean.
   After Marc was dropped off, he went inside where he found a note stuck to the refrigerator. It was from his mother. She’d gone shopping with Dick. Marc read the end of the note out loud, “I love driving your Jeep and I love you.”

"The American Revolution - Redux" Chapter 11 - The Townhall Meeting

Chapter 11

March 5th, 2009
Harrisonburg, Virginia

     Johnnie couldn’t sleep at all that long and lonely night. He endlessly tossed and turned, anxious and troubled by what he now knew - the clear as a diamond truth. The Government, our Government had induced the financial crisis and did plan to nationalize the economy.
     He needed to do something to protect himself, he realized, terrified. He knew he could no longer trust anyone, especially the Government, as his paranoia steadily grew, like a cancer, gnawing away at his intestines. Finally dragging his tired body from his sweat-soaked bed, he stumbled to his computer and quickly and thoroughly documented everything he could remember, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
     When he was finished, he re-read what he’d written then saved this Word-formatted document onto two thumb drives, hoping, praying that soon he might be able to leave these with two trusted friends, friends who could handle the truth and know what to do with it, should anything happen to him. But who, he wondered.
     Finally, he stumbled to bed, after peering outside, scanning the darkened street for unseen spies, just in case, and managed to sleep for a few troubled hours.
     The next morning, as usual his radio clicked on at seven AM. But Johnnie was already awake, staring once again at the spinning ceiling fan, hoping the rotating blades might somehow sync his mind to a solution, any solution. But none came.
     He tried as best he could to keep it together. He went through his normal routine and while trying to browse through the day’s paper, constantly peering through his front window every time a car passed, read where there was going to be one of those town hall meetings that afternoon. He decided to attend, hoping to possibly meet someone whom he could share his terrible secret with.
     Around noon, Johnnie hopped into his Jeep, after his paranoia forced him to check beneath it, looking for a blinking tracking device or bomb he knew had been secretly planted there. Finding no such device, he made the short drive into Harrisonburg.
     Soon he was parked outside the meeting hall and this time wasn’t surprised to see the large gathering of supporters and opponents, some already beginning to argue with each other.
     He stepped down and walked inside, nervously swiveling his head from side to side, scanning for any dark sun-glass wearing men in black, the two thumb drives safely hidden away in his pants pocket.
     As he walked in he gratefully saw Pat and Sarah Henry sitting in the back, amongst a large crowd of people. Johnnie let out a deep sigh of relief, walked over and was recognized immediately by a smiling Pat.
     “Johnnie! It’s good to see you! I’m glad you could make it,” Pat said, as Johnnie immediately noticed a shabbily-dressed African-American man sitting in a wheel chair, wearing a dingy-green Army jacket, parked next to Sarah.
     “Oh Johnnie,” Pat said, seeing Johnnie notice the old wheel chair-bound vet, “this is Natty Hale.”
     “Hi Natty, you’re a veteran huh? Vietnam?” Johnnie guessed, seeing Natty’s gray electrified-looking hair and old Airborne patch sewn onto the shoulder of his weathered jacket.
     “That’s right,” Natty replied. “I’m here to protest this damned healthcare thing, damned administration.”
     “How’s that?” Johnnie asked, beginning to feel better, being among friends.
     “Shit, man look at me, all agent-oranged out, stuck in this damn wheel chair. Shit, I ain’t good for nothing no moe, living on disability. Shit, this healthcare thing’s going to kill me.”
     “What?” Johnnie exclaimed, again taking a quick look around, just in case.
     “Sho ‘nough! Government’s going to let me die, no moe treatment cause I ain’t no good no moe, can’t pay taxes see. Government’s going to let me die, moe cost effective, shit!” Natty spat out.
     “Hey Johnnie,” Pat interrupted, gesturing to another man to join them. “There’s someone here I want you to meet!”
     “Sure,” Johnnie replied, watching as the slender, bald stranger acknowledged Pat’s wave and began approaching.
     “Johnnie, I’d like you to meet Jim Madison. He’s a good friend and someone I think you should get to know.”
     “Hi Jim,” Johnnie said, extending his hand in greeting.
     “Hello Johnnie,” Jim replied, shaking Johnnie’s hand.
     “So,” Jim began, “Pat here tells me that you’re not yet convinced that the Government’s trying to take over the economy. And that their healthcare initiative is just the next step. Is that true?”
     Johnnie paused for a moment, knowing what he now knew and then said, “I’ve had a change of heart,” immediately feeling better after saying that then adding, “I thought about everything Pat told me and did some research on my own. I now believe what Pat said is true,” Johnnie replied, knowing he’d just stepped into uncharted waters, feeling very scared, yet somehow secure with these Americans.
     “Good!” Pat replied.
     “Yes, very good,” Jim also said. “Cause we’re going to need every American we can to get this thing turned around.”
     “How can we do that?” Johnnie asked.
     “We’re going to start our own political party,” Pat proudly exclaimed.
     “That’s right,” Jim concurred, running his hand over his smooth pink scalp. “We sure as hell can’t trust the Democrats anymore and the Republicans aren’t any better, what with all their sex scandals, bribes and lies.”
     “Here, here,” Pat agreed. “In fact we were just talking about that with all our friends when you arrived.”
     “That’s right,” Jim added, “the way we see it, we, the hardworking, tax paying folks of this country have no real representation, even though we’re the majority of voters.”
     “How’s that?” Johnnie asked, now sitting next to Pat and Sarah.
     “We’re mostly Independents, not registered with either party. We’re the middle majority,” Jim said.
     “Ah huh,” Pat continued. “Oh sure, when an election comes around, both parties convince us that they have our best interests at heart. But once we vote them in, they always return to their extreme bases, liberal on the left and conservative on the right; can’t trust any of them.”
     “Yeah,” Jim began, “see Johnnie, we’re the middle class, economically and politically. We’re not part of the political independent class, you know the wealthy, who don’t need anything from the Government and instead donate their money, seeking political influence and playing their little social engineering games. Hell, what’ve they got to worry about?”
     “And the dependent class?” Johnnie asked.
     “We’re not part of them either. You know, those folks who depend on all the Government programs…”
     “And becoming lazy, losing all their initiative in the process,” Pat interrupted.
     “And the size of Government too,” Sarah, tugging on Pat’s arm, added.
     Pat quickly turned and smiled at his wife and said, “That’s right honey.” Then turning back to Johnnie and continuing, “We’re also against the growing size of Government. Why just tell me one Government program they’ve run successfully, just one. And now they want to control one-sixth of the American economy? I don’t think so.”
     “And the debt man, who’s going to pay for that! Not me, and my kids ain’t either,” Natty added.
     “Sounds to me like those are all Republican values,” Johnnie commented.
     “Hell no!” Pat replied. “Those are American values. I’ve seen too many election cycles where each party promises everything, only to do nothing, no representation for us. The Republicans gave up those principles when they expanded the size of Government and increased the debt during the last administration,” Pat said, acknowledging Natty’s comment.
     “Okay, I’ll agree with that,” Johnnie said. “So what’re you going to call yourselves?”
     “We’re going to call our party the Shoehorn party, cause we’re shoehorned in the middle,” Jim explained. “You like it?”
     “Yeah, it fits,” Johnny replied, beginning to realize that these were the people he could share his secret with. “How many people have signed up so far?”
     “About a thousand,” Pat answered. “But word’s spreading quickly. We’ve got a web site and more Americans are signing up every hour! This thing’s really struck a nerve!”
     “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the loud speaker suddenly blared, “If you’d please take your seats, we’ll get started.”
     “Good, here we go with more bull shit, another lecture, like we’re children or something!” Jim leaned over to Johnnie and whispered, the harsh light reflecting off his shiny head.
     As Jim leaned back, Johnnie impulsively reached into his pocket, retrieved the two thumb drives and quickly hot-potatoed them into Jim’s open hand.
     Jim looked back at Johnnie as Johnnie looked around, leaned in and whispered, “Read what’s on those, a document I wrote. It’ll help you Showhorners,” and then turned to face the announcer, feeling as if a large weight had been suddenly lifted from his shoulders.
     Jim looked down at the two drives then looked up, seeing that Johnnie was already facing forward. Jim then pushed the two memory devices into his pocket and also returned his attention to the front of the room, a quick curious look on his face.
     Everyone watched as the announcer handed the microphone to the guest speaker as the audience began to settle down, sensing the tension already beginning to invade the overcrowded meeting hall.
     The guest speaker now stood in the middle of the room and raised the silver microphone to his face.
     Tap. Tap. Tap. “Good afternoon ladies and gentleman,” the speaker began, “I’m your Democratic representative…”
     “Boo! Nazi…”
     “… Ben Arnold…”
     “Boo! He’s a traitor!” roared from the audience, before a background of clapping hands.
     “Now people, we want a civilized discussion here today,”
     “Yeah! Go get’em Slappy!” someone yelled, knowing his nickname.
     “Today, I’m here to explain the President’s healthcare plan…”
     “Hang him!”
     “Recently there’s been a lot of misinformation offered by my Republican counterparts…”
     “Yeah! Nazi bastards!”
     “…and I’m here to set the record straight,” Representative Arnold continued, raising his voice, trying to cut through all the heckling.
     “Hi,” Johnnie suddenly heard and looking up, saw a beautiful African-American woman.
     “Ah, hi,” he replied, sitting up.
     “I’m Benjamina Church. We met at the Tea Party,” she said, dropping a shoulder and making eye contact.
     “Yes, yes, how are you?” he stammered, suddenly tuning out all the catcalls, mesmerized by the stunningly-sexy woman standing in front of him.
     “May I sit down?”
     “Of course, be my guest,” he replied, already subconsciously undressing her; feeling slightly guilty.
     “You’re Johnnie Dough right? I’d never forget you,” Benjamina said, sitting, accidentally brushing her shoulder against his upper arm. “So, what’s happening here? Anyone get thrown out yet?”
     “No,” Johnnie replied, smiling, still mentally undressing her, “not yet, but it’s still early.”
     Benjamina lyrically laughed and settled back to listen, her shoulder slightly touching his.
     “…and I can assure you there are no so-called death panels. All we’re talking about is end-of-life counseling…”
     “Communist!”
     “So you can save money by pulling the plug on grandma?”
     “Shut up you pig!” a sweet old blue-haired lady screamed, the plastic flowers in her hat, violently vibrating back and forth as if caught in a gust of wind.
     “Jeez, what do you think of this?” Benjamina leaned against Johnnie and asked.
     “I think I’d rather be down the street, drinking a beer,” he offered, now trying to imagine her in a teddy.
     “We should do that,” Benjamina replied, reaching out and resting her hand lightly on Johnnie’s forearm, pretending to look around.
     “… and I assure you, this is not a Government takeover…”
     “You’re a fascist!” cried a young man wearing a tee-shirt displaying a picture of the President with a Hitler-like mustache.
     “And you’re a Nazi!” the same blue-haired lady yelled back, her flowered hat sliding down to one side.
     “Fight! Fight! Fight!” someone suddenly yelled.
     Instantly everyone stood to see what was happening including Johnnie and Benjamina. But they couldn’t see anything behind the quickly sprouted forest of heads, all straining and staring in the same direction.
     “Johnnie, I’m beginning to get scared. I don’t like violence,” Benjamina now whispered, pushing her body against his.
     “Ah, don’t worry. Everything’ll be fine,” he boasted, imagining her slowly dropping one of the straps from her smooth chocolate shoulder.
     “People, people please settle down!” the congressman pleaded, as the sound of chairs crashing and bodies thumping could be heard.
     Suddenly the row of people in front of Johnnie fell backwards, as if a bulldozer had plowed its way through a rotting wooden fence, smashing everything to bits.
     Two old men, clenched in a pathetic death struggle tumbled over him, Benjamina and the others, like a bowling ball knocking down all the pins. Strike!
     Johnnie tried pushing the two drooling, sweaty, wrinkled men off him as they grabbed each other’s hair, pulling it out in gray and Grecian Formula’ed tufts.
     “Johnnie!” Benjamina screamed, trying to help him up!
     “Aaaa-Oooo!” Johnnie cried, “Damn-it, who bit my finger!”
     “Johnnie, you’re bleeding!” Benjamina yelled, seeing a bloody stump at the end of Johnnie’s hand, “Oh my God!”
     “Shit! Where’s my fucking finger!” Johnnie blasted, adrenalin pumping through his body, masking the pain.
     “He’s got it!” Pat yelled, pointing to one of the quickly-balding, scratched and bleeding old men.
     “Ee-you! It’s in his mouth!” someone else screamed and pointed.
     “Thervs youb-ite, youb Nasi,” the old man said, Johnnie’s index finger wedged between his plastic-looking teeth.
     “Give it back, you bastard!” Johnnie roared into the old man’s blood-covered face.
     Puft!
     Johnnie watched as his finger rocketed out of the old man’s mouth, propelled by the old man’s dentured-smelling breath.
     “Hey, that’s my finger!” Johnnie yelled, watching his bloody digit gracefully arch and tumble through the air, as if in slow motion, before diving onto the floor, trying to retrieve it, hearing someone yell “Fumble!” as he did.
     Quickly Johnnie grabbed his finger off the dirty floor, his hand having to quickly dart between frantic dancing feet, as the riot continued.
     Benjamina now stood over him screaming, “Get back! Get back! Can’t you see he’s hurt?”
     Then Johnnie looked up and saw Natty through a quickly closing gap in the manic crowd. Natty stared back, a look of determination in his blood-shot eyes.
     Johnnie watched as Natty leaned forward in his wheel chair and began to pump the wheels piston-like, with his glove-covered hands, picking up speed, heading straight into the melee.
     “I regret that I have only one life to give to my country!” Natty Hale screamed, barreling into the mob scene, knocking all the onlookers aside, some flying into the air only to quickly and painfully tumble back to earth, in a heap.
     Seeing their chance, Pat, Jim and the other Shoehorners immediately filled the void, making a wall around Johnnie, protecting him from the rest of the raucous crowd.
     “Benjamina,” Johnnie looked up and cried, holding a bloody stump of a finger in his hands, “get me to a hospital!”
     “Yeah baby, right away, don’t worry” she replied, looking into his eyes, as he now imagined the other strap dropping from her incredibly sexy shoulder.

* * *

     I must’ve passed out, Johnnie thought, slowly opening his eyes and realizing he was in a speeding ambulance, its siren cutting through the air. “Benjamina,” he said, looking up and seeing her beautiful brown caring eyes gazing down at him. Angelic eyes, he thought.
     “Yeah baby, I’m here,” she answered, tenderly holding his good hand. “We’re on our way to the hospital. How do you feel baby?”
     “Dizzy…”
     “Oh, that’s because they gave you a pain killer. How’s the finger?”
     “Don’t feel a thing,” Johnnie replied, beginning to giggle.
     “That’s good baby,” Benjamina warmly said, smiling her beautiful white smile.
     “Hey,” Johnnie began, feeling the buzz, “you’re one beautiful woman!”
     “Thanks baby. I think you’re a very handsome man.”
     “Hey, I want to have your baby,” Johnnie giggled.
     “But you can’t have babies,” Benjamina tenderly said.
     “Oh, oh yeah then I want you to have my baby,” Johnnie giggled again, “They’d be beautiful. What’d ya say?”
     “Let’s get you fixed up first.”
     “Hey, want to know a secret? Come here and I’ll whisper it to you,” Johnnie, raising his good hand, indicating her to come closer, asked.
     Benjamina leaned down to his face.
     Suddenly Johnnie lifted his head and kissed her full lips!
     “Johnnie!” Benjamina, pulling back, blushed.
     “Been wanting to do that for a long time,” Johnnie bragged, closing his eyes, resting his head and smiling.
     “Baby, tell me your secret,” Benjamina coaxed, regaining her composure, smelling her quarry. “Then we’ll see about babies.”
     “Sure gorgeous, come here,” Johnnie murmured, eyes still closed.
     Benjamina leaned closer yet again. “Tell me you’re little secret baby.”
     Johnnie opened his eyes, lifted his head and whispered, “I know how this thing all started. The Government planted a virus and wants to take over the economy. And I can prove it too, beautiful.”
     “That’s nice. You lay back and rest now. I’ll take care of everything,” she reassured him, smiling, knowing she’d just completed her mission.

"The Cardinal Pirate" Chapter 8 - "The Slaver"

“The Cardinal Pirate”

Back Cover Description

   “I am dead, may the Lord have mercy on my wretched soul and forgive me my many sins. I did what I had to do.”
   So begins “The Cardinal Pirate”, the sequel to “Surfing Treasure’s Wake.”
   Seventeen-year-old Marc is joined by Jesús and Bob, his surrogate father, as they discover the diary of Estabon Cervantas on the beaches of Amelia Island, Florida, who in 1565 joined Admiral Menendez, the founder of St. Augustine, to drive the French Huguenots from north Florida and massacre Jene Ribault and three hundred and fifty of his men.
   Recounting this horrific event, Estabon writes, “When this righteous act was complete, the once light brown sandy inlet was soaked with heretic blood. Only the footprints of our men across this bloody spit revealed the bright golden purified sand beneath.”
   Together all three read why Estabon chose a life of piracy.
   “… for I had heard about the pirates that infest the waters off the coast of black Africa. Heathens to be sure, yet as I continued to ponder Leon’s suggestion the idea soon grew in my mind. I finally agreed. We would become pirates, for that was our destiny that God had ordained.”
   But Marc’s estranged father is shadowing him, trying to steal the diary, which contains clues to the location of Estabon’s treasure.
   Finally, Marc’s father proves his love for his son but must escape from the authorities before he can make amends as each seek the treasure of “The Cardinal Pirate” of the Caribbean.

Chapter 8

“The Slaver”

   When they arrived at Bob’s house, Jesús could tell that something was bothering Marc by the furrowed intensity on his face. “Hey, man, what’s up?” said Jesús quietly. “You look white as a ghost.”
   Marc met his gaze and turned off the Jeep’s engine. “I think we’re being followed.”
   “By who?”
   “I think it was the same guy we saw at Amelia Research when we brought in the diary.”
   “Are you sure?”
   “No. But he sure looked familiar.”
   “Where’d you see him?”
   “Driving that car that was following us on South Fletcher,” Marc replied, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
   “Are you sure it was the same guy?”
   “I don’t know. But it sure looked like him.”
   “We should tell Bob.”
   “I will,” Marc replied. Then he opened his door, stepped out and walked into the house.
   Later that evening when Bob arrived home Marc didn’t waste any time.
   “Bob, I think I saw somebody following us today.”
   Bob immediately turned to face him, after setting his packages on the kitchen counter top.
   “Are you sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
   “Pretty much. Remember that day when we found the diary? There was a guy at Amelia Research. I think it was him.”
   “Why would he be following you?”
   “Probably trying to steal our diary,” Jesús added.
   “Hold on now,” Bob calmly said. “We don’t know that for sure.”
   “My money’s with Jesús,” Marc agreed.
   “Okay, let’s see what happens,” Bob said. “And remember to keep an eye out. This is getting weirder by the minute.”
   All three agreed to continue watching each other’s backs, just in case they really were being followed.
   The next morning Bob was again up early. He poured himself a cup of coffee, added some creamer and walked over to his desk where he turned on his computer. After reading the morning news he checked his email. One of the emails was from the grad student at UF; another few pages of the diary were attached. Bob printed them out and quickly scanned the translated pages. Then he spotted something–something very interesting. He set aside his half-empty cup of coffee and yelled to Marc and Jesús to wake up.
   Marc was sleeping soundly when he heard the yell. He immediately thought that something bad had happened. He jumped out of bed and greeted Jesús who was stumbling from his bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
   “What’s up?” Marc asked, as they came stumbling down the stairs and into the small comfortable living room.
   “You are not going to believe this,” Bob said, swinging around his desk chair to face the boys.
   “What?”
   “Okay, sit down. I got the next few pages of the diary. I want to read them to you.”
   “Yeah, sure,” Marc said, as he and Jesús plopped down onto the living room sofa, each still thinking about sleep.
   Bob began to read.

   Then one day as we sat and mended our traps, Leon spotted a sail on the horizon. At once we froze for we concluded that our brave brothers under Admiral Menendez had discovered our whereabouts. We quickly put out our fire using our now hardened feet, hid behind a sand dune and watched through the sharp green saw grass as the intruder sailed closer.
   When the mystery ship had sailed close enough we could see that it was French. Leon and I shared our desires for fresh baked breads and wine we knew was aboard. Then we sadly watched as the heretic ship sailed away finally disappearing over the horizon. That was when Leon suggested that we outfit our small sail boat so that when the next ship sailed close we could take her.

   “They became pirates?” Marc asked.
   “It appears so,” Bob answered, picking up where he had left off.

   At first I was opposed to Leon’s idea for I had heard about the pirates that infest the waters off the coast of black Africa. Heathens to be sure, suitable only for the gallows, yet as I continued to ponder Leon’s suggestion the idea soon grew in my mind to the point where I finally agreed. We would become pirates, for that was our destiny that God had ordained.
   We set about making our small craft ready. We stripped all the unnecessary wooden benches from our boat, thereby increasing her speed tremendously. Having no cannon or firearms we knew that we would be out gunned and probably killed in our first attempt. However, we were determined and desperate.
   After we had refurbished our ship, we christened her the King’s Vengeance, for even though we were undoubtedly wanted by our own countrymen, we still felt a kinship with our King and country. We were ready for when the next ship sailed by.
   Weeks soon passed and Leon and I continued to live our lives. We had not seen any signs of the heathen Timucua and so we concluded that they must have left our little island kingdom.
   Then one fine bright day I ventured out again to check our traps by the lagoon. To my surprise all the traps had been sprung and our precious food was missing. Looking around I saw what appeared to be many sets of footprints in the sandy mud of the lagoon. The Timucua had returned. I knew that Leon and I would again need to search out and find the heathens and then drive them away. I concluded that this time we would not spare the women and children for what good is a heathen of any age.
   I quickly returned to our little fortress on the hill and soon discovered that Leon was no place to be found. Thinking that he had traveled to the mouth of the inlet to check our fish traps, I headed out in that direction. That is when I came across Leon lying behind a sandy dune and pointing out into the blue Atlantic.
   There from the low fog lying on the horizon was a set of sails, French sails. The enemy had returned and we were ready for adventure.

   “I’ll bet they were,” Jesús added, as Bob pushed on

   Leon and I waited to determine which direction the heretic ship was sailing. It made directly toward us and into our trap.
   We decided to wait until the ship came as close as it would. Being a bright sun-filled day, we knew that we could never take her by direct assault. However, God was smiling on us and the wind came out of the east pushing the remaining fog close to shore. We knew that the fog bank would be our cover as we quickly made our way to our pirate ship.
   After loading our weapons, which were a few goodly made bows, plenty of sharpened arrows, pine pitch for torches and our swords, we set sail. The French ship turned and tacked closer. We sailed into the fog bank and waited for what we determined was the proper amount of time for the heretic ship to sail close enough for us to dash from behind the misty fog and come along side before they were aware of us, having learned for our good Admiral Menendez that stealth and surprise often times will ensure victory over a superior enemy.

   “They’re going to take on a French ship using a longboat? How dumb can they be?” Marc commented.
   “Just wait,” Bob said. “It gets pretty wild.” Then he returned to the diary.

   At the appointed time, we broke from the fog and as we had anticipated, were behind the heretic ship. The French ship was fast but we were faster and quickly began to close the distance between us and the heretics.
   As we sailed upon her we could read the name of the French ship. She was the L’intrépide and her crew had not yet spotted us. Our spirit of adventure was high.

   “Holy cow!” Marc broke out. “It’s the L’intrépide! The same ship that Jesús’s doubloon came from.”
   “Hey, Bob,” Jesús inquired. “You think the L’intrépide sank off the south end, like the San Miguel?”
   “Wait. You’ll see,” Bob replied.

   Then disappointment and anger overtook us as the French finally spotted us and fired a salvo from her stern deck guns. The poorly placed shots missed our fine vessel and we carried on. Once we were within range of our bows we let loose with a volley of pine pitch-covered flaming arrows of which a few found their marks high up in the French sails, which soon began to burn terribly.
   But our fiery arrows worked too well for soon the entire ship was ablaze burning it and everything aboard to the water line. We stopped dead in the water for soon we knew the powder magazine would explode and feared to get too close.
   We saw a few white men and many black men, women and children scamper across the decks as all the heretics fought for safety. Then the powder magazine exploded leaving nothing behind except ruin and charred bodies.
   I felt remorse and sorrow for what we had done for I knew that none of the slaves could swim or survive. Our first attempt at pirating had failed.

   “So the L’intrépide was a slaver,” Marc concluded.
   “And a raider,” Jesús added. “Just like Wayne read.”
   “Bob, we should take out the Polly L and see if we can find her,” Marc suggested. “We know where she is, kind of.”
   “I agree. I’m going to send an email to Wayne along with this translation and recommend just that. Now, how about rustling up some breakfast?”
   “Sure, Bob,” Marc said, with a grin. “No problem.”
   Bob returned to his computer and emailed Wayne, briefly describing the contents of the translated pages, as well as mentioning the doubloon from the L’intrépide. He also recommended that Wayne take a closer look at all the identified targets just off the south end of Amelia Island to try and isolate the potential debris field. He suggested that they take the Polly L out and hunt for the sunken French vessel.
   After clicking his mouse on the send button, he stood up, stretched and walked over to the kitchen table where a hot plate of bacon and eggs awaited him.
   Five minutes later, John Adams noticed that he had a new email, and saw it was a copy of Bob’s message to Wayne. He quickly read the contents, including the diary attachment. John sat back and smiled. He had found what he was looking for and knew his silent partner would be pleased.