Page 36 of Scammed

They listened to two more messages with the same urgency regarding the painting. Sheffield sounded concerned and slightly out of breath, perhaps even under duress. But one thing was painfully clear. He didn’t want Amy back at Prometheus. He wanted the painting.

“Where is the painting?” asked Trak.

“In our cottage,” said Amy. Trak held out his hand for the key, then disappeared and came back a few moments later with the huge oil painting.

“It’s just as it always was,” said Marcel, shrugging his shoulders. “I never liked that he made me appear like a pirate, opening the top of my shirt in such a way. I wasn’t a pirate. I was an entrepreneur, perhaps what all of you might call a Robin Hood.”

“I think you look handsome,” smiled Amy. The men just chuckled, shaking their heads.

“Turn it around,” said Ro, standing beside Jean. “The painting. Turn it around, please.” Trak turned the painting to reveal a back cover that appeared to be made of fine burlap. It was taut against the back of the frame, showing little, if any, signs of wear.

“What are you looking for?” asked Jean.

“I need a knife,” said Ro.

A dozen knives glimmered in the light of the cafeteria, and Amy giggled at the manly display. Ro smirked at the men, taking Trak’s from him, then deciding he should do this.

“Just one. Very carefully cut as close to the edge of the frame as you can without damaging the frame or the painting.”

He nodded, moving the knife with the skill of a surgeon. As the burlap was peeled away, they noticed a brown piece of heavy butcher paper beneath. She nodded at Trak, who did the same thing, peeling the paper away.

“That’s what we’re looking for,” said Ro, gently pulling the envelope from its nest in the back of the painting.

“Perhaps it’s a message from my mother,” said Marcel, holding the envelope.

“It’s yours to open,” said Gaspar. “We can leave you alone if you like.”

“No. No, you’re family,” he said, shaking his head. “The handwriting is familiar, but I don’t believe it’s my mother’s.” Sliding a butter knife beneath the red wax seal, he opened the page.

“Who is it from?” asked Amy.

“Your ancestor. It’s from Arturo Babin.”

I know that one day you will read this. I know it because evil sunk our ship and killed you, my friend. If that evil exists, then I must believe that there is good that exists to allow you to live again. We were sunk intentionally. You were murdered intentionally. And I moved the gold, silver, and as much of our cargo as I could to a safe location.

“What’s he mean? Evil exists?” asked Tailor.

“I’m not sure. I mean, we always knew that Jacques Couvillion was not a good man and was pirating vessels.”

“Maybe he was doing more than that. I mean, his ancestor of the same name was damn sure picking up where he left off. I wonder if he wasn’t doing something big that involved your murder. To kill you it would have meant something more than just stealing tobacco,” said Nine. “I know you said that you were rammed returning from Barbados with tobacco and a number of things, but what were those things?”

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat, “well, obviously gold.”

“Yes, he mentioned that in the letter,” said Nine. “What else does he say?” Marcel squirmed a bit, eyeing the men around him. It was two hundred years ago. Would anyone judge him for doing what he thought was best?

“I didn’t know that I was carrying it. Not at first.”

“Marcel, you’re about as difficult to get information out of as my mother,” said Gaspar. “What else were you carrying?”

“Spanish coins. The most desired and sought-after currency of the day. It was widely accepted by everyone in every country, including those here in the new colonies. To have such a load would have meant great wealth for anyone finding it.”

“How much were you carrying?” asked Angel.

“Well, coins were worth 2-reale, about 1 shilling and 1 pence. I was carrying approximately four hundred thousand coins…”

“At about four dollars and fifty-seven cents per ounce if melted, which would be a crime, they’d be worth almost two million dollars,” said Angel.

“Uh, well, yes. But I didn’t finish. I was carrying four hundred thousand coins per crate, and I had nine crates.”

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