Heeeeeey everybody... been a minute! Sorry 'bout the long wait- it's been a helluva year for me. I hope to get back to more of a regular schedule of posting though, so fingers crossed!
A long and uncomfortable trans-Atlantic flight in Cutter's plane brought the band of treasure hunters to the tiny village of Monkey River Town, Belize. After touching down on a dirt airstrip, they were met by a man in a rusty and dented truck. Cassie, Ian, and Solange piled into the bed of the truck while Cutter sat in the cab next to the driver, and they set off towards the waterfront. The drive was short, and bumpy enough that any attempts at conversation on the way were quickly squelched. When the truck rolled to a stop at the edge of the beach, Ian was the first to jump out, followed by Cassie a moment later.
"Hey, Charles," Ian called as he offered a hand to Solange, who batted it away and climbed down on her own. "I guess chivalry is dead, after all," he said in an aside.
Cutter pressed a small wad of bills into the driver's weathered palm through the open window of the truck. As the old man counted his cash and drove away, Cutter turned and scowled at Ian. "Mate, any time you call me 'Charles', I know what you're about to say is not going anywhere good." He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and fell in step alongside the others as they crossed the beach toward the docks. "But by all means, Foster," he continued dryly. "Grace us with your profound and enlightening thoughts."
Ignoring the obvious sarcasm dripping from Cutter's tone, Ian forged ahead undaunted. "You know what we should hunt for on our next job? A plane with reclining seats and a mini bar."
Cutter scoffed as they passed a group of young people playing football on the beach. "Listen mate. I'll buy that there's a magic mirror that can bring on a global apocalypse. I'll believe in a sword that grants immortality and the allegiance of an army of undead and disgruntled Celts. But I draw the line at airplanes with reclining seats. Those are myths that only exist in your mind."
Ian rolled his eyes as Cutter walked on ahead. "Figures," he muttered.
Cassie laughed. "Is that his way of saying he doesn't have the money?"
"Nah," Ian replied with a rueful smile at her. "It's his way of saying he's just too cheap."
He and Cassie shared a laugh as they plodded across the sand. A cry came from the group of children, and they looked over to see that a misplaced kick had sent the football hurtling towards them and the ocean. Solange yelped as it came straight for her face, but Cassie deftly snagged the rogue ball out of the air and tossed it back into the game. One of the children caught it in their arms, grinning at Cassie with a look of both gratitude and of open curiosity at her and her companions. Cassie smiled warmly back and hurried to catch up with the others.
Smoothing a hand over her ever-fashionable shirt, Solange looked out to where a row of aging and rusted fishing boats bobbed in the wharf and frowned. "So, this… 'George' person," she said to Cutter. "They're a friend of yours?"
"Hmm?" Cutter asked absentmindedly. "Oh, yeah."
"And he said he's got a boat we can use?" Ian asked.
Cutter gave him a strange look.
"What?" Ian asked, confused. "What's your deal?"
Cutter just smirked and replied "Don't worry, they'll have something."
Ian looked over at Cassie, jutted a thumb at Cutter, and made a face. Cassie shrugged.
The docks were old, the boards dry and weathered, and bleached to a shade of grey so light it was almost white. Their footsteps clunked hollowly down them and approached a steel vessel, streaked with rust and sporting a coat of paint that looked like it should have been redone about a decade ago. Looming over the whole rig was a rugged lifting derrick, mounted on the deck of the boat and dangling a tattered fishing net forlornly from its end. The group of treasure hunters paused at the foot of the gangway and looked up at the boat with dubious expressions. After a brief silence Cassie smiled optimistically, spread her hands, then brought them together with her fingers interlaced. "Welp," she chirped brightly. "I bet it has a great personality."
"Yeaaah," Cutter agreed. "Maybe- even a minibar," he added, throwing a pointed glance at Ian.
They heard the soft clang of metal and looked toward one end of the deck where a woman was bending over to set a small crate down on a deck box. Backhanding Ian softly on the chest, Cutter pointed the woman out as she straightened up again. "Oi- go ask her if she's seen George, will you? I'm going to go, umm…" he looked around as if searching for somewhere to be, "examine the anchor."
Ian watched warily as Cutter folded his hands behind his back and meandered away down the dock, whistling to himself as he went. Still carrying the distinct feeling that he was missing something important, Ian shrugged and turned toward the woman on the boat. "Hello?" he called out. "We're looking for George- is he around?"
If the question caught the woman by surprise, she didn't show it. Brushing her hair from her face, she looked down at them at frowned. "Well," she drawled, "I don't know about him, but my name happens to be George." She wiped her hands on an oily rag which she then tucked into the back of her pants. "Something I can help you with?" she asked, eyeing the three young people suspiciously.
Ian looked up at her a questioningly furrowed brow. It was at that moment that Cutter picked to waltz back up to them and intervene. "Oh, sorry mate," he said unconvincingly as he again patted Ian's shoulder. Cupping his hand around his mouth, he called out, "They're with me, Georgie!"
Instantly, the woman's frown morphed into a wry grin. "Charlie Cutter. You son of a bitch!" she laughed, walking over to the gangway.
"You," Ian muttered to the Englishman out of the corner of his mouth, "are an asshole."
"I prefer 'opportunist'."
"I told you to never call me 'Georgie'." George strode confidently down the ramp and onto the dock, then approached Cutter and firmly shook his hand. She appeared to be about five or ten years his junior, but with deeply tanned skin and pronounced creases by the corners of her mouth and eyes that suggested she had spent many years of hard work out in the elements. Raven-black hair flecked with grey framed her face, and a strikingly sharp jawline gave an impression of a business-like woman who was used to doing things her way. "What of it, Charles?" George said, putting her hands on her hips. "You never call, never write, never visit. Unless it's work, of course."
"And you wouldn't have it any other way," Cutter added. As George chuckled and nodded, he motioned to the line of boats at the dock. "So- you say you have some old bathtub we can borrow?"
George wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Against my better judgement, yes. I do have to ask, though- where is it you're trying to get to?"
A moment passed as Cutter studied her carefully, then he gave a small shrug and turned to Solange. "Care to show her, darling?"
Solange looked at her companions, then reluctantly lifted the medallion from inside her shirt. She cradled it in the palm of her left hand while the fingers of her right traced the edge of the circular piece until they round an indentation about the size of a fingernail. Gently, Solange pried the two halves of the medallion apart, and retrieved a folded piece of paper which she unfolded on top of a piling. "There," she said, pointing to an X just off the coast. The others all crowded around the piling to examine the map.
George hummed and tapped her chin. "It's not far from here," she commented. "Maybe thirty miles- about a day's voyage."
Cassie glanced up from the brittle piece of paper to study George's face, and a thoughtful frown touched her lips. There was something about the older woman's expression that made Cassie think she was holding something back. As George straightened and turned to Cutter to talk to him again, Cassie was startled out of her investigation by someone jostling against her side.
"Sorry!" said a man in a straw hat and shirt with cutoff sleeves. He waved apologetically at Cassie, then turned away, burying his nose in his phone as he walked. Cassie narrowed her eyes but tuned back into the discussion at hand.
"How about you and I just talk for a minute on my boat, if you don't mind Charles?" George was asking. "Alone?"
"Of course." Cutter started to follow George up the ramp, but Ian put a hand on his shoulder.
"How much do you trust her, exactly?" he asked Cutter under his breath.
"Well," Cutter watched as George climbed the ramp. "About as much as any contact I've made."
"So not at all, then?"
Cutter made a face at him. "Your concern is duly noted and tenderly cherished. I never knew you cared so much, darling." He pressed his hands to his heart in a display of mock emotion and snickered at Ian's frustrated sigh. "Don't worry, mate- I got this." He patted the butt of his gun, half-hidden beneath his jacket, and followed George up the gangway.
Cassie, meanwhile, had been watching as the man who had bumped into her continued to peck away at the screen of his phone while he walked. Seeming to finish whatever he was doing, he tucked his phone into the pocket of his filthy jeans and glanced almost nervously back at the docks.
"Cassie?" She hadn't even realized how long she'd been staring until Ian's voice startled her back to the present. "You okay?"
Cassie chewed thoughtfully on her lip. "I'm fine, Foss. It's just… something's off here." Twisting on her heel suddenly, she started off down the dock. "Be right back!" she called over her shoulder as she started to jog.
By the time Cassie had crossed the beach, the man in the straw hat had reached the road and was rounding the corner of a line of buildings. Determined not to lose him, Cassie picked up speed and whipped around the corner just a few seconds after him, only to run directly into a group of loudly chattering locals making their way toward the river. "Excuse me- excuse me," Cassie said as she pushed past men toting fishing gear. "Sorry, gotta get through!" Through a gap in the crowd, she caught a flash of the man in the straw hat just a few yards ahead of her. "Hey!" she yelled.
The man looked back, and they briefly met eyes. Then he bolted.
Cassie immediately dove forward, ducking a cooler that was being carried between two boys and upsetting it in the process. It crashed to the pavement, spilling ice across the road, and the men shouted angrily at her.
"Sorry! No time to explain!" Cassie called as she sprinted onward.
The man in the straw hat turned down an alleyway, then immediately dodged behind a building. Cassie was still in pursuit, but the man she was chasing was tall, his long strides making it difficult to close the distance between them. The chase brought them to a nearly vacant parking lot, with a chain link fence stretching across the far side. The man slid across the roof of a car and sprinted to the edge of the parking lot, overturning some trash cans behind him as he went. The chain link rattled as he vaulted the fence in a single bound.
Realizing she wasn't going to be able to catch him without an advantage, Cassie decided to improvise. Clambering onto the back of the car, she jumped to the lid of a dumpster that was up against the wall of a building. From there she leaped to a windowsill, then to a gutter, and a moment later was on the roof, running along the lower edge. Below her she could see the man in the straw hat reach the front of the building and turn. Cassie cut diagonally across the roof and quickly reached the far corner. She spotted him again, now almost directly below her, and he had slowed somewhat, seemingly looking around and trying to find her. Cassie jumped.
The man in the straw hat was caught completely off guard as Cassie's weight slammed into him from above, sending both of them sprawling to the ground. As they tumbled over each other in the dirt, Cassie saw the man's phone clatter out of his pocket and skid into the road. She lunged and grabbed it, narrowly avoiding being hit by a passing car, while the man was still groaning and trying to pick himself up off the ground.
"Holy mutha of… what da hell, chick?" the man groaned in his deeply accented voice as he rubbed his temples and staggered to his feet. "Ya outta ya mind?"
Cassie ignored him, instead swiping at the phone's screen before holding it out towards him to unlock the face recognition.
"C'mon…" he moaned, picking up his hat and gently beating off the dust on his pant leg. "Gimme my phone back, lady."
Cassie glared at him, then blew her bangs from her face and swiped a hand across her forehead which was now covered in both sweat and dirt. She opened up the man's messaging app and immediately spotted what she was looking for. "Who'd you send this picture of our map to?" she demanded, showing him the screen with the message in question.
The man in the straw hat sighed and tried to brush it off. "Hey, I don't know, I'm telling ya. It's just- the lady with the boats. She hired me and a few other people to tryna get some information from ya guys when ya came in, and times have been tough lately, so-"
"The lady with the boats?" Cassie asked. Her eyes narrowed and under her breath she muttered, "I knew it!" Though it had already been sent, she quickly deleted the picture of the map for good measure and tossed the phone back to the man. "Word of advice," she called over her shoulder as she sprinted back toward the waterfront, "I'd stay away from the docks for the rest of the day if I was you!"
Ian scowled as he scanned the buildings bordering the beach. "Where the hell did Cass go?" He wondered aloud.
Solange hummed dismissively. "She was acting a bit weird this morning, wasn't she?"
Ian frowned at her, a cutting remark on the tip of his tongue, when Cassie suddenly appeared from the line of buildings, running frantically across the beach toward them. "Where's Charlie?" she asked breathlessly as she reached them.
Ian's brows raised as he noticed her dirt-streaked face and clothes. "He's… still talking to George. What the heck happened to you?"
"We've been sold out," Cassie gasped, doubled over as she caught her breath. "Probably to Tristan. George is in on it. We've gotta go make sure Charlie's okay!"
The three of them stormed up the gangway, past a pile of paint supplies that were scattered across the deck, and burst into the cabin where Cutter and George sat on opposite sides of a cluttered desk. Cutter, who had his back to the door, turned and looked at them in surprise, while George's dark eyes locked sharply onto Cassie. She seemed to read the accusing look on Cassie's face right away, and immediately she jerked open the drawer in her desk and pulled out a revolver. Cutter opened his mouth to say something, but at the sound of a hammer being drawn he instead turned and looked at George.
"This is going to be good, I can feel it," Cutter sighed, putting his hands up as he stared down the barrel of the gun. "Anyone care to tell me what's going on here? Cassie?"
"Your 'friend' here is getting paid by Tristan to give over information about where we're headed for the mirror." She gave George a withering look. "And she got some of the locals in on it."
Cutter clucked his tongue and shook his head reproachfully. "Georgie, Georgie, Georgie. I expected better from you."
"Yeah? Well. business has dried up." the woman shot back. "Believe me, this wasn't my first choice, and I don't want any of you to get hurt if you don't have to. I'm a good person-"
Cutter gave a snort of laughter. "Let's not get crazy now."
George glared at him. "-but, a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do." She waved the revolver across the group of them before fixing it back on Cutter. "I'm sorry," she said, and surprisingly looked like she really meant it. "I don't work for this guy, but he has the law enforcement under his thumb, all up and down the coast. When he was tipped off that you were coming here he offered me and a few others a lot of money to help him out. The local police have been instructed to do everything they can to keep you from ever making it out of the harbor. If I were you, Charles, I'd sit this one out. Cut your losses and go home. That way," she looked meaningfully at each of them, "no one has to get hurt."
Cutter blew a stream of air through pursed lips. "Well Georgie,"
"George."
"-ie," Cutter stubbornly maintained, much to her annoyance. "As convincing as your argument is, you have no idea what this guy wants to do with this artifact. I'm going to have to decline your offer. So if you could put that down," he gestured to the gun, "and leave us to our fate, I'd be much obliged. I really don't want to have to hit a woman." George did not appear to be moved, so Cutter switched tacks. "Besides," he tried, "Just think of all our history together! All the-"
There was a flash of movement and a loud clang, and George crumpled to the floor while Cassie stood over her with a fire extinguisher in hand. "What?" Cassie shrugged, on seeing Cutter's horrified look. "I'm a girl, so it's not a problem if I hit her." She tossed the extinguisher aside and dusted her hands together.
"We've got to get out of here," Ian said as Cutter stood and collected a few papers from the desk. "Now!"
Cutter shook a finger at him as he stood and turned on his heel. "Right… just the small matter of the apparent threat of police trying to keep us from leaving, assuming that's all true. I'd rather keep the civilian casualties to a minimum if possible."
Cassie had stooped down and was hurriedly searching George's unconscious body, and looked up when Cutter mentioned the police. "Yeah, I've got a plan." Pulling a ring of keys from George's pocket, she stood and looked out the window of the cabin. "Charlie, did she show you the keys to the boat she was supposedly going to give us?"
Cutter nodded and produced the key from his jacket pocket.
"Perfect." Cassie stalked forward with the kind of focus and determination that always made her look like her father. "Remember when Henry Morgan's crew met Don Alonzo in battle?"
It took a moment for the realization to set in, and then Cutter and Ian exchanged a mortified look. "You mean-"
Cassie grinned conspiratorially. "But like, before they get on the boat. Like you said, keep the civilian casualties to a minimum."
Solange, whose knowledge of history was largely confined to Cortes and his exploits, was looking hopelessly lost. "What, um, exactly happened to Don Alonzo?"
Cutter sighed and waved it off. "It's… it's a terrible idea. Trust me."
Cassie huffed. "Does anyone have any better ideas they can offer in the next three minutes?" She was met with blank stares. "Exactly!" She cast a pointed look at the stacks of flammable paints, thinners, and varnishes that they had passed on the way in, and with a small shrug, she added, "What can I say? I've still got Port Royal on the brain."
Engine growling out a throbbing, bassy roar, the police car accelerated across the beach to the docks and skidded as it stopped at the edge of the water. The siren gave a little hiccup as the two front doors opened and shut, and two officers donned their sunglasses and pulled out their guns. Immediately they spotted the body sprawled on the far end of the pier, and they both ran to it. It wasn't hard to identify who it was- Monkey River Town was a small place, after all.
"Georgina Blackhurst," said one officer to the other. He checked her pulse. "Still alive. Just unconscious."
His partner shielded his eyes and looked toward the water, where a fishing vessel was high-tailing it out of the harbor. "Look- that's her boat!" he said. "The bastards must have knocked her out and taken it!"
The first officer pulled out his radio to alert the Coast Guard units he knew were stationed just outside the mouth of the river. The stolen vessel was picking up speed, overtaking and passing another fishing rig that was outbound from the docks. He called in his report, clipped the radio back to his belt, and smiled to himself. "You won't get away that easy," he said, then clapped his partner on the shoulder and headed back for the patrol car.
Cassie edged the throttle forward and watched as four Coast Guard crafts closed in on her, clearly intending to block her exit to the sea. Which, of course, was exactly what she was hoping for. She smiled to herself, though she'd be lying to say she wasn't a bit nervous. The turrets mounted on the patrol boat's rear decks were trained menacingly in her direction, and Cassie stooped low over the instrument panel for cover.
She checked on the position of the other boat, on which her three companions were safely riding, and adjusted her speed accordingly. The trick was in going fast enough to convincingly play the part, but not so fast that she put too much distance between herself and Cutter's boat, since she needed to still be able to quickly make it to him. "Thaaat seems about right," she muttered to herself, taking her hand off the throttle handle and spinning the wheel a couple spokes to keep on course. The Coast Guard boats were close now, and one of them used their loud hailer to call across the water to her.
"Stop! You are under arrest! We have you surrounded! Come out on deck with your hands up! I repeat, come out on deck with your hands up!"
Cassie backed the throttle into the idling position as the circle of Coast Guard craft closed to a twenty-yard radius around her and held there. She grinned and waved at them through the window, then grabbed the radio and dropped out of sight. "You guys ready for this?" she spoke into the receiver.
"All set, luv," Cutter replied.
Leaving the radio to dangle from its cord, Cassie slipped out the door, keeping low to remain hidden behind the bulwarks. Picking up a can of thinner, she hurried to the sprawl of painting supplies in the center of the deck.
The loud hailer squealed and boomed out another warning. "Come out with your hands up or we WILL use lethal force!"
Cassie tipped the can and trailed a line of thinner back toward the cabin, stopping by a small, on-deck control panel, then tossed what was left of the thinner back onto the pile. A flip of a switch disengaged the lifting derrick, and Cassie noted the way the arm now swung lazily with the roll of the boat. "Time for some fireworks, guys!" she said with a grin.
Cassie pulled a box of matches from her pocket, struck one, and dropped it onto the line of paint thinner. Flames lapped up and crackled down the trail toward the pile of flammables, and Cassie jumped and grabbed onto the net on the end of the derrick. The combined force of her weight and the pitch of the deck to swung her out, over the rail, over the turquoise ocean, and over the heads of the stunned Coast Guard who were now preparing to board. "Whooooo-hooo!" her yell echoed across the water as she reached the end of her swing and launched from the end of the arm, splashing into the water just beyond the patrol boats. Cassie surfaced and immediately paddled for all she was worth toward Cutter's boat. There was a moment where she heard the confused shouting of the Coast Guard behind her, and a couple of bullets hit the water on either side of her. Then the roar of an explosion tore across the mouth of Monkey River.
Cassie felt the sea heave beneath her, and she took a gulp of air just before the resulting wave swept her up and pushed her away from George's boat. She tumbled and rolled in a swirl of churning salt water before surfacing again, gasping for breath, only a couple dozen yards from Cutter's rig. Someone called her name, and a life ring landed beside her in the water, trailing a rope behind it. Cassie grabbed the ring and was pulled in close to the boat, where she used the rope to climb up the side. When she reached the rail, Cutter and Ian reached over and grabbed her arms, helping to pull her up onto the deck.
"Holy shit!" Ian said, half laughing. "That was…"
"Impressive?" Cassie suggested with a grin.
"I was gonna go with creative, but yeah- that too."
The explosion had flipped three of the four Coast Guard boats upside down, and the remaining boat was busy scooping up the waterlogged crew out of the ocean. Some of the Coast Guard men were holding onto the overturned hulls of their crafts, still stunned from the blast, but it appeared that all of them were more or less unharmed. Cassie was glad about that.
She turned to the pilot house door and reached for the handle, pausing to catch herself on the frame as a large swell rocked them. Catching her balance, Cassie burst through the door and walked unsteadily up to the bridge, where Cutter stood gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Both the pilot's and co-pilot's chairs were bolted securely to the floor; Cassie moved to claim the latter and found herself thrust into it by another long roll of the sea. "Ah, sailing!" she said with amusement. "With your English blood, this is probably second-nature to you, huh Charlie?"
"Ya know- it really, really isn't," Cutter said, visibly tense and with his eyes glued to the horizon as he fought to keep the boat from being swept into the shore by the residual shockwaves of the explosion. Reaching for the throttle, he nudged the handle as far forward as it could go, and Cassie felt the thrum of the engine through the entirety of the vessel. "But," he said as the boat finally started to make it past the area of affect, "I think we can probably wing it for this little excursion."