Gold in the Keys Read online

  MATTHEW RIEF

  GOLD IN THE KEYS

  A Logan Dodge Adventure

  Florida Keys Adventure Series

  Volume 1

  Copyright © 2017 by Matthew Rief

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Maps

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  About

  Logan Dodge Adventures

  Gold in the Keys

  (Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 1)

  Hunted in the Keys

  (Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 2)

  Revenge in the Keys

  (Florida Keys Adventure Series Book 3)

  If you’re interested in receiving my newsletter for updates on my upcoming books, you can sign up on my website:

  matthewrief.com

  This book is dedicated to my beautiful, amazing wife, Jenny.

  MAPS

  PROLOGUE

  Tenochtitlan, Mexico

  1521

  The loud crack of thunder roared and hot lead shot through Xuacal’s left arm. The blow knocked the air from his lungs and twisted his body, forcing him to drop to his knees. Blood flowed out from the gash at the base of his left shoulder. Sharp pain burned through his body, but Xuacal ignored it as a large conquistador, dressed in full Spanish armor, marched towards him. The Spaniard eyed Xuacal with a grotesque gaze as he reached for the rapier sheathed to his waist.

  Using his right hand, Xuacal grabbed his macuahuitl and jumped to his feet. Moving towards his attacker, he reared back the wooden club and lodged its obsidian blades hard into the Spaniard’s neck, just below his helmet. The Spaniard gave a loud, anguished cry before falling to the ground. His body was motionless as Xuacal ripped his club free.

  With blood still dripping from the blades, he swung his macuahuitl at another conquistador, stabbing through his breastplate with a sharp screech. The Spaniard gave out a loud yell, then ripped the club from Xuacal’s grasp. He lunged at Xuacal, tackling him to the ground and sending both of their bodies tumbling down the stone steps before coming to rest on a small plateau. Shaking himself free from the haze and the dizziness, Xuacal jumped to his feet and reached for a broken spear under the bloody body of one of his brothers. Turning back towards the Spaniard, he saw that the man was taking aim at him with his firearm.

  With his shoulder burning from the bullet lodged there, Xuacal dove to the ground just as the Spaniard pulled the trigger. There was a bright flash followed by a loud crack and a small plume of white smoke that rose into the air. The bullet had soared just inches away from Xuacal, who charged at the Spaniard with his spear. Using all of his strength, Xuacal slammed the obsidian tip with enough force to slice right through the Spaniard’s breastplate. Blood dripped out as Xuacal ripped his spear free and kicked the dying man to the ground.

  Xuacal moved to the end of the plateau and looked down at the mass of white men forming at the base of the temple’s steps. The Spaniards turned and fired off a volley from their matchlocks, causing a wave of hot lead to cut through the Aztec soldiers’ lines, sending nearly an entire unit to the ground. Clouds of dark smoke filled the air above the streets of the Huey Teocalli, a structure that rose nearly two hundred feet into the air. On most days, it was a beacon that towered over the great city of Tenochtitlan, its brilliant dyed stones visible for hundreds of miles around. Xuacal looked up at the structure, then took a deep breath, feeling the sting of smoke crawl up into his nostrils.

  “Force them out of the city!” Xuacal yelled to his men. He pulled up his macuahuitl and pointed it at the conquistadors. Rushing down the stone steps towards the base of the temple, he rallied his warriors with a loud battle cry and charged right into the Spaniards.

  Aztec warriors swarmed the Spaniards, forcing them to fall back towards the lakeshore. They attacked relentlessly with their clubs and rained spears down from their atlatls. The Aztecs fell to the ground by the hundreds, but thousands more took their place as the armies of the most powerful empire in the Americas closed in on their foreign enemies. Xuacal watched as the Spaniards were surrounded. There was only one hope for Cortés and his men. Sitting on his white horse, surrounded by hundreds of his countrymen, Xuacal heard him give the order for his army to retreat.

  “They’re on the run, Xuacal,” an Aztec warrior said.

  Xuacal held his hand against his shoulder, feeling the bullet lodged inside him as he tried to stop the bleeding.

  “Keep it that way, Zolin,” Xuacal said. “Force them back to whatever abysmal land they came from. And let no pale demons enter the city again.”

  The young, promising warrior stared into his elder’s fiery brown eyes. Summoning all of his willpower, he turned and ran after the fleeing Spaniards, leading a charge of thousands of fearsome warriors. Xuacal ordered his men to flank their enemies and strike them with spears as they fled onto the causeway that connected the island city to the mainland. Seeing that the battle was soon to be over, Xuacal returned his gaze to the holy Huey Teocalli. He walked to its base and looked up at the brightly dyed cloths that hung from the two steeples at the top of the temple. Watched as they were engulfed in an inferno of yellow flames and black smoke. His eyes narrowed and his heart thumped loudly in his chest.

  Xuacal reached beneath his outer garments and felt a rolled-up parchment still tied by a thin piece of cloth, then heaved a sigh of relief. Gritting his teeth, he tackled the first few steps, trekking past the magnificent and detailed balustrades that flanked the broad staircase on both sides. Ignoring the pain throbbing from his shoulder, he soon reached the plateau at the top of the staircase.

  Rotating his body around, he gazed out over the vast horizon and quickly focused on the horde of warhorses and glistening armor being pushed back by Aztec warriors. Men tackled each other in the shallows near the causeway. Screams filled the air, coming from both the battle and the city around him. Cracks of thunder and flashes of lighting erupted across the air like a passing storm. Small puffs of smoke combined to cover the fleeing soldiers in a haze of white.

  Turning back towards the steeples, Xuacal gripped his macuahuitl and stumbled towards the structure’s main façade. Blood dripped from his shoulder, splattering small streaks of dark red across the smooth tezontle floor as he entered through the middle towering opening in the northern façade. Fire flickered from the lamps around the edges of a massive space that was filled with statues and ceremonial objects, its walls covered with paintings depicting images from the Aztecs’ past.

  Xuacal, moving with labored steps towards the main chamber of the structure, noticed two Aztec warriors lying dead on the floor. There were pools of blood surrounding both of them, and as Xuacal rolled one of them over, he instantly recognized the warrior’s face. It was one
of his oldest and most trusted friends, a man who’d been chosen by Montezuma himself to be one of his personal guards. Xuacal pushed back his emotions and pressed onward, taking a few more steps before reaching the opening to the main chamber. His body froze in an instant as he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps and the rattling of metal echoing from inside the chamber. He gripped his macuahuitl as hard as he could and tried his best to control his shaky breathing.

  The source of the sounds soon materialized as a conquistador stormed out from the main chamber with heavy steps. He was a large man who wore a full set of Spanish battle armor, including a heavy breastplate, arm and leg greaves, a metal skirt and a gorget that offered protection for his neck. A Morion, a heavy steel helmet with a pronounced comb on top and sweeping sides that came to points on either end, covered most of his curly black hair. His hands were full, carrying an assortment of gold ornaments and heirlooms.

  The conquistador grunted and took a small step back as he noticed Xuacal staring at him and blocking off his escape. Glaring at Xuacal, he opened his arms, allowing each and every gold piece to rattle to the ground at his feet. He reached for the rapier sheathed to his waist and slid out the fine Toledian blade in one crisp motion, then pointed its tip straight at Xuacal. The conquistador’s armor and weaponry were vastly superior to Xuacal’s, and the bullet lodged in his shoulder would hold him back, but he didn’t care. He’d seen thousands of his warriors die at the hands of the white demons, and he vowed that this last conquistador would never make it out of the temple alive.

  The conquistador gave a loud grunt, then charged at Xuacal. Rearing back his rapier, the conquistador swung it swiftly towards Xuacal’s chest. Xuacal dropped to the ground at the last second, narrowly escaping the blade as it sliced through the air just inches from his head. The conquistador brought his sword around, then swung it downward, forcing Xuacal to roll to the side in order to avoid having his body chopped into pieces. Just as Xuacal looked up and regained his balance, the conquistador slammed his boot into his forehead, whipping his head back and knocking the air from his lungs. Placing his hand on the ground to steady himself, Xuacal felt a sharp pain explode from his leg as the conquistador’s rapier cut a gash across his exposed thigh. He rolled backward, ignoring the pain, and avoided two more swift attacks from the conquistador before painfully rising to his feet. Blood dripped down his leg, pooling on the ground beneath him. He kept his gaze drawn to the Spaniard, not allowing himself to wince for a second.

  Gritting his teeth, Xuacal lunged at the conquistador, dodging a swing of his rapier before rearing back his macuahuitl. He gripped the wooden handle and launched the obsidian blades through the air with all of his strength, stabbing them forcefully into the back of the conquistador’s breastplate. There was a loud screeching of metal as the blades cut through, barely cutting deep enough to penetrate an inch into the conquistador’s back. He gave a loud yell, then slammed the handle of his rapier onto the top of Xuacal’s head.

  Forcing his body away from Xuacal, the conquistador ripped the macuahuitl from his hands, then pried it free from his breastplate. Throwing the Aztec club to the other side of the chamber, the conquistador sliced a gash across Xuacal’s chest, forcing him to fall backward as blood flowed out. Xuacal felt his life slipping away as the conquistador gripped his long black hair with a tight fist. The conquistador stared deep into Xuacal’s eyes, watching him as he brought his rapier back, preparing to strike a final blow. He gritted his teeth, then yelled as he forced the rapier towards Xuacal’s neck.

  Just as the blade was about to sever Xuacal’s head from the rest of his body, he ripped his hair free of the conquistador’s grasp and reached for the dagger latched to the conquistador’s ankle. Summoning all of the strength he had left, he tackled the conquistador to the ground, and in one quick motion, he stabbed the dagger hard into the side of the conquistador’s face. The conquistador gave out a final, labored breath, then his body went limp.

  Xuacal ripped out the blood-covered dagger and dropped it to the ground. Unable to stand, he crawled towards the main chamber, moving over the gold pieces the conquistador had dropped. Easing his body down two large stone steps, he soon reached his destination, a chamber that was filled from floor to ceiling with gold artifacts, bars and coins. Xuacal let out a sigh and fell to his side. He heard footsteps approach but didn’t move, let alone reach for a weapon. He was dead now regardless, and he knew it wouldn’t take long. Blood pooled around him as the footsteps got louder, soon materializing into a figure he recognized as one of his own.

  “Chieftain Xuacal,” a young Aztec warrior said as he ran over to the dying man. He dropped to his knees beside his leader, grabbing hold of a nearby cloth to try and stop the bleeding. The young warrior’s clothing was plain, not like the colorfully adorned garments of a seasoned Aztec warrior. He wore a simple red loincloth with matching small red feathers forming bracelets around both wrists. Xuacal noticed a large jaguar tattoo across the side of his chest, indicating that he too was a member of the jaguar militant group.

  Xuacal shoved the young warrior’s hands aside. “But, Chieftain, you’ll die,” the warrior continued.

  Xuacal let out a labored breath. “Nothing can stop that now.” He took a good look at the warrior, staring into his youthful almond-shaped brown eyes. “You are a jaguar. Tell me, what is your name?”

  “Acalan. From the House of the Pelts.”

  Xuacal nodded as best as he could. “Acalan. I knew your father and knew him to be a good man. Your eyes tell me you are as well, and you will need to be to complete the task I have for you.” Xuacal coughed up blood, then held his right hand up against the gash across his abdomen.

  “What will you have me do, Chieftain?”

  Xuacal took in a deep breath and let it out. He reached for the young warrior, bringing him in closer. “These white men from across the great waters will return.” He stared into Acalan’s eyes with a fierce gaze.

  “But, Chieftain, we have them on the run. Their beasts carry them across the causeway towards the mainland as we speak. Their dead bodies fill our streets.”

  Xuacal shook his head. “As the wave draws back, only to regain its strength and strike once more, so too will the white men return.”

  “And then what will happen, Chieftain?”

  “I don’t know. But the king’s treasure must be taken away from this place. It must be kept safe.” Xuacal’s shaking arm reached behind a cloth tied around his Tlahuiztli and pulled out a rolled-up parchment. Handing it to Acalan, he said, “Take this. It was given to me by our beloved king. He tasked me with it just before he died. Now you must do as it says, Acalan.”

  Acalan unraveled the parchment and examined it briefly, his eyes widening as he realized what it was. “But, Chieftain, how will I complete this task? No one will follow my orders.”

  Xuacal reached for the necklace tied around his neck and pulled out a stone crest. Soaking it in the blood oozing out of his chest, Xuacal reached for Acalan’s hand and pressed the object against the top of it. Removing the object, Xuacal revealed the marking imprinted on Acalan’s skin.

  “That is my crest,” Xuacal said. “Show that to Zolin, along with the parchment, and he will help you.” Xuacal’s eyes began to close and his head fell softly to the ground. Tears filled Acalan’s eyes as he saw that his chieftain was dying. “The Aztec treasure must be kept safe,” Xuacal said before taking a final, slow breath. His body went limp, and Acalan knew that he was gone.

  Acalan rose to his feet and moved into the main chamber. He froze as his eyes focused on the pile of gold that filled the entire room along with the adjoining rooms. He’d never seen anything like it before. Still holding the parchment in his hands, he held it up to his eyes and read the instructions at the top of the page. The bottom half of the page was a detailed map describing the location where the treasure was to be taken.

  Looking back up at the treasure, Acalan whispered to himself, “May the gods bless our journey.�
�

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  Curacao, Southern Caribbean

  Spring, 2008

  I held the long metal spear out in front of me as I finned through the clear tropical water, moving closer and closer to my prey. Rays of sunlight snuck down through the blue overhead, reflecting off the colorful corals and tropical fish surrounding me. My body glided smoothly over a patch of dark green seagrass, then around an edge of pink coral.

  Looking ahead of me, I watched as the large grouper I was following swam towards an opening under a rock. It had olive-colored scales with lighter splotches across its sides, and I estimated its stout oblong body weighed over fifty pounds. Kicking my fins harder, I shot my body towards it, moving in for the kill. Taking aim, I let go of the spear, and the rubber tubing snapped forward, launching the spear through the water like a torpedo. The tip pierced the center of the grouper’s head, causing its massive body to go lifeless in an instant.

  I grabbed hold of my spear and kicked for the surface, letting out the rest of my air just before breaking through. The sun beat down on me from the west, and I looked at my dive watch. It was already well past four. I’d lost track of time and had spent over three hours in the water. Not that it mattered. I had nowhere I needed to be and no schedule I had to keep. I locked the two prongs at the end of the tip back into place, slid the spear out of the grouper’s body and clipped its mouth onto a black mesh bag I’d filled with lobster. Feeling the weight of the fish in my hands, I estimated that it was even larger than I’d originally suspected. After making sure everything was secure, I swam the quarter mile or so back to shore. When I was able to stand, I slid my mask down and slipped out of my fins, carrying them by their straps in one hand as I moved towards the beach.