Willits hadn’t said anything. Least not yet.
So Lola prompted: “Hey, Ted—see something?”
A pause, but then he looked up, his face quizzical. “Maybe. See, um, those coordinates are, well, right here?”
“Yes. Um, so we don’t have them wrong then?”
“No. But, well, why that name here, right above them? This Luis?”
“It’s the name of the guy we think Steiner used when he came to make his ‘withdrawals.’”
“Not from this spot here, he didn’t. But I do see something. Not sure. Could be nothing.”
Billy now also looked down at his own phone, the string of numbers, the name above them.
And Willits tapped the name. “This Luis? Why is it here, next to the supposed clue? You know what I’m thinking?”
Actually, Billy had no idea.
“That is . . . because maybe it’s part of the damn clue.”
Billy looked at Lola, her face catching the light, eyes wide—excited because, no matter how you sliced it, this might be important.
“Just a name, right? But see the marks, those two dots between the LU and the IS?”
“Yeah,” Billy said.
“Right, and then . . . almost hard to see, the little mark after the S, one of those, what do you call, them?”
“Apostrophes,” Lola said.
“Yeah. Well, notice anything when you just look at them, then down to the string of numbers, the coordinates below it?”
Then Billy saw it. The last four digits of the coordinates had the same markings as seen in the name. The two dots of a colon, the small apostrophe at the end. But then—what did that mean? Weird. Interesting. But what the hell was it about?
Lola kept her eyes on the screen. “Hang on. Maybe the name with the symbols indicates that—somehow—they should be the last four digits of the coordinates? Meaning the name is somehow a clue to the right spot?”
Willits finished the thought: “And if right—we’ve just been digging in the wrong damn spot. But hang on—and correct me if I am wrong—those are letters, not numbers?”
Then something else clicked for Billy. “Wait. In any clue—I mean I am not a cryptologist—but letters can sometimes stand in for numbers, right? The L, the U—”
“Holy shit,” Willits said. “Excuse the French. I’ve heard of that. In movies, books. Sure. That’s really cool. But, er—do either of you two smart people know how to do it?”
“Do what?” Lola asked.
Another tap by Willits on Billy’s screen. “Change those letters into numbers?”
Lola was quick to shake her head. “Sorry.”
Willits quickly turned to Billy, who had to add: “Me either.” But he did have an idea. “We have internet here, off your boat’s satellite connection?”
Willits nodded.
“That means we can hit the internet, and—this day and age—must be an app or a website that can do just that?”
Lola looked up, warm smile on her face. Billy liked that smile in this reflected light as she said, “Then—what are you waiting for?”
And Billy brought his phone close and began tapping at the screen.
* * *
Amazingly, it took almost no time at all.
Billy, who had thought this was all quite eerie and exciting before, was feeling that way more now.
“Okay,” he said. “According to this app, we have four possibilities . . .”
“Four?” Willits said, losing some of his enthusiasm.
“Yup for the LU, could be twelve or twenty-one. And IS, nine or nineteen.”
Lola nodded, catching on what that meant. “That means . . . we may have new coordinates?”
“Four new coordinates,” Willits said grumpily.
Lola nodded. “But all near here, yes? We just have to go to each spot, dig . . .”
“Dig we must,” Willits said with a laugh. He brought out his phone, and then he entered the first possibility, with the new final digits of 12:19´.
Then he led the way again.
As he did, he said, “You know . . . those pirates, back in the day? Must have been real tough before all this technology!”
And Billy laughed.
* * *
They were on the third possible combination after creating yet another new set of coordinates.
This spot was some distance from the boat, more inland, and there even seemed a path of sorts where the grasses had been pressed down. But Billy also had the feeling: What if none of the four places to dig revealed anything?
Then the wild goose . . . will not have been caught.
Willits stopped. “You know, at my age . . . not sure all this strenuous exercise is good for the old back?”
But Willits took his shovel again and dug into the sand. Then Billy, with Lola right next to him, began digging again as well.
All the time, he thought, Only one more combination to try.
He hoped this was the one. All this digging sand was indeed getting so tiring, his muscles aching.
But now—with all that ache and pain—they worked in silence. The only sound was the whoosh of the blades of the shovels steadily digging into the hole as it grew wider, deeper.
So far, nothing was revealed but more sand: darker, wet, mixed with soil perhaps. No crabs here—but that didn’t stop Billy from thinking they were, somehow, being watched.
Which is when Lola pushed her shovel in—and then stopped.
Billy hadn’t heard anything.
“Okay. Felt something just now. Hard? So—I stopped. Think . . . think”—she looked up at Billy—“there’s something here?”
“Best we take care, you know? Excavating whatever the hell it is.”
The police chief nodded. “Nice and slow, just so we can see . . .”
And now, all three of them started using their shovels more carefully to remove sand from the top of whatever it sat on, then from the sides. Willits paused now and then to aim his phone’s light at whatever lay on the bottom of the hole.
Eventually a large dark metallic chest was revealed. And with the sand cleared from the sides, he could see a combination lock—one where you twirl cylinders to get the correct numbers in place—was embedded on the side of the chest.
They stopped.
Billy had to ask. “What now? We try to open it?”
Bristow stood up. “No. Pretty clear this is it, right? Has to be where Steiner hid the money, the gold, anything else of value? I think we can leave it to others to dig it out, open the chest, which looks pretty secure. And then they can see what’s inside.”
Willits was still looking down.
“Secure’s the right word. That’s an Eva-Dry solid steel chest. This whole area could get flooded, and whatever the hell is in there would stay perfectly dry. Whoever picked it out knew what they wanted.”
Billy stood there for a second. “So—we’re done?”
He also realized, for the first time, why—if Steiner showed whoever came at him, in his boat, the image of the coordinates—they didn’t find it.
They missed the other clue, the real key. The name: LUIS.
The real location, Billy realized, unfortunately he now knew.
Meaning if anyone—the very next night—wanted to make him talk somehow? Maybe using a little torture? He imagined all those guys knew about such things.
Wouldn’t take Billy long to tell them where to find this.
And yet, Lola was leaving it here.
Billy thought, That part, not my problem. They said one more night, and maybe this will all be over.
But that would all take place back in New York. A place he loved. Where he had worked for so many years on morning TV. Where he even once had his own damn restaurant.
Now—somehow—to be the place where this crazy week of mobsters and missing money . . . would end.
The end? God . . . he really hoped so.
He said to Lola, “Now what?”
“We bury this. Nice and neat. Then head back. And you, well, you have some of your new friends to contact . . . let them know that you just may know something about Steiner’s hidden treasure. All to be revealed—”
“At the Park Avenue Club?”
“Yup. Tomorrow night.”
Billy looked up at the stars glistening, the night beautiful. Thinking: next time he saw the stars, he’d be on the great patio of the club.
To meet people.
Who definitely were not . . . friends.