They sat up on the flybridge, eating Thai food and watching the sun set, filling JD and Hagan in as they ate. Kelly kept close enough to Nick to maintain contact surreptitiously. He could feel Nick winding up, and Nick’s peace of mind often fed off contact. Now and then Nick would seek out Kelly’s hand and merely squeeze it, then go back to eating.
“Masons, Revolutionary treasure, Irish royalty,” Hagan said through a mouthful of food. “I think you’re all insane.”
“I bet we get a shrink in here, he’d say you’re right,” Nick said. He stretched out, throwing his arm over the back of the bench seat behind Kelly. Kelly put his plate down and leaned into him, resting his feet on a stool off to the side.
“So, let me see if I have the timelines correct,” JD said. He was looking down at his food, pushing it around his plate. He hadn’t eaten much. “The Rosicrucians pop up in Germany in 1600. They’re . . . esoteric, to say the least. They concentrate on learning, secrets of nature, and healing. But they gain enough steam to inspire the Masons two hundred years later, who become a far more prevailing organization. Based more in wealth and power.”
“So far I’m following,” Hagan commented.
“The Masons stretch across the sea to the Americas, they build themselves a country, and they amass a treasure,” JD continued, wincing a little. “And then some dumb shit loses it to a British lieutenant and shrugs and says whoops?”
“We’ve all heard the theories about how the Masons inspired the American forefathers,” Nick said, taking up the timeline. “Whether they’re true or not . . . eh.” He shrugged, wobbling his hand in the air. “But there are enough proven connections to make me believe in a Colonial treasure trove of Masonic origin. I buy that. But why in God’s name would they pile all that treasure into a wagon, and then cart it into the middle of a war?”
“They had to have some purpose for it,” Julian mused. “A hiding place. Hell, perhaps they really were using it to pay soldiers.”
Nick shrugged.
“Maybe it was a payment for something else,” Kelly suggested. “Something besides the soldiers.”
Nick pursed his lips, humming thoughtfully. “They were looking for help from the French. They could have been taking it north as oil to grease the wheels of a treaty.”
Kelly put a hand on Nick’s thigh and let it rest there.
“Okay, so the treasure is taken, the British soldiers hide it, intending to come back for it. But if the legends are true, they never do. A few years later, King Whoever the Something creates this Order of St. Patrick in Ireland.” Kelly stopped, raising his hand. “See, that’s where it loses me. Where’s the connection between Colonial treasure, the British getting their asses handed to them, and Ireland?”
“Ireland is part of Britain?” Hagan tried.
“The lieutenant who took the treasure was Irish,” JD reminded them. “He was a member of the Order of St. Patrick.
And he fought in the Irish Rebellion of 1798. Oh God, that’s so obscure.”
Nick wrinkled his nose. “Let’s . . . make some assumptions for the sake of argument, here. Dude goes home to Ireland, becomes a knight, and realizes he doesn’t need to deal with the sea crossing again to get to that shit he left back there.
He’d want to leave a mark, though. He’d want people to know he took it away from the Americans, right? He’d want to somehow let someone know where to find it. Leave clues.”
“Perhaps that’s where the theft comes in,” Julian offered.
He’d barely eaten any of his dinner.
Kelly couldn’t imagine what the man was suffering through, knowing the love of his life was in the hands of ruthless men and still trying to figure out a centuries-old mystery.
Nick shrugged. “Makes as much sense as anything else.”
Julian gave a distracted wave.
“You know what don’t make sense to me?” Nick continued, his voice still casual but his body tensing against Kelly’s. “Why they’d tap you for this shit.”
Julian put his utensils down with care and met Nick’s eyes.
Nick cocked his head. “Hey bud, you don’t have to prep for a fight every time I ask a question. I get it, okay? But I told you I’d help you. I’m not attacking you, you feel me? Just trying to understand.”
Julian glanced around at them al , then met Nick’s eyes once more and nodded.
“You’re not alone in this,” Nick assured him.
Kelly found himself leaning closer to Nick the more gentle his voice went. Nick squeezed him close, probably not even aware that he was doing it.
“I don’t trust anyone,” Julian finally said. “Do understand it’s not personal.”
“Fair enough. Your cover was as an antiques dealer, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Nazi Germany was notorious for archaeological digs in search of religious relics. Do you have anything in your background that would ping you for a job like this? Hunting . . . myths? CIA? IRA?”
“I’ve been assured by a close contact within the Company that the CIA has nothing to do with this, nor do any of the other alphabets I’ve ever crossed. It’s . . . a private matter. That was as much as he was able to glean without putting himself in an awkward position.”
Nick smiled, laughing silently. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
Julian snorted. “Fine. I was schooled in the art of relieving artworks of their cages.”
“You were an art thief,” Kelly summed up.
“Very briefly. And very badly, might I add. It was one of the few things I was caught doing. It would be on a record . . .
somewhere.”
“What concerns me is that it wasn’t your shitty art theft abilities that caught someone’s attention,” Kelly said. “I think your purpose is to . . . kill things, pretty much.”
“Deftly put,” Julian said with a hint of a smile.
“Well, someone had the contacts and the information to sniff you out, and to hand you these leads you’ve been following,” Hagan said. His mouth was half-full and he was hurrying through his food. “What the hell kind of private citizen has those resources?”
Nick and Kelly shared a glanced, and Kelly raised an eyebrow. “What about Johns? He’s back with that security company, he might have some feelers to put out.”
“He’s worth a cal ,” Nick said with a curt nod. “I’ll do it after dinner.”