“A deputy will complete a report at the hospital. You both can give your full account of the crime at the emergency room,” Tubbs said firmly.

“I’m okay, Sheriff. You can talk to me at my house down the road. I’m a little late taking my insulin. But that’s no big deal. I’ve been late before. I just adjust the dosage. Besides, my wife will be worried sick,” Ned said.

Tubbs turned to one of the EMTs. “Can you examine Ned here?”

“We need to take Colette to the hospital. She needs surgery at once. But if you want to examine Ned here, I suggest you have another ambulance meet you here or at his house.”

Tubbs nodded. And then the EMTs went to work immediately on Colette, placing her on the gurney. They performed a few vital signs checks and then loaded her into the ambulance. The doors to the emergency vehicle slammed shut. Seconds later, Laskey watched the ambulance speed off down the road, sirens blaring.

It was then Laskey noticed a news vehicle pulling up. The two U.S. Marshals on the scene intercepted the reporters before they could even get out of their vehicle. Laskey was glad the marshals were here. They were here only because Jon and Annie were in WITSEC—the Witness Security Program, or more commonly known as the Federal Witness Protection Program. And like a mother bear protecting her cubs, the marshals charged over to ensure their witnesses’ anonymity didn’t get exposed to the world.

“What do you think is going to happen now, Newt?”

Laskey faced Kevin Brubaker. He didn’t quite know how to answer his agent’s query. “I’m not sure, Kevin. I guess further negotiations will determine what happens.” Laskey walked over to Roy Nixon and tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, but the next time you talk to the hostage taker I’d continue to address him as Jon Rafter. Let him think we’re buying his story.”

Nixon, a short, middle-aged man nodded. “Yeah, if I call him on it he may become agitated and do something rash. We don’t want that.”

Sheriff Tubbs drifted over. He looked at Nixon. “When are you calling the house again? Lieutenant Brock needs a distraction. His boys are getting set to implant the cameras.”

“I’ll call in a few minutes. I thought I’d give the hostage taker a few minutes to come down off his adrenaline rush. Releasing Ned and Colette sent his emotions into overdrive. And now that he sees nothing bad has happened to him, he should relax a bit and become more agreeable.”

Tubbs pressed Nixon for more specifics. “So maybe in five minutes you’ll make the call?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. In five minutes we’ll start the dialogue all over again.”

Chapter 49

Arcadias pulled open the attic door and stepped inside. He hadn’t yet explored the attic and didn’t know what to expect. He sneezed several times as he looked around at all the junk stored chaotically, some of it covered with sheets, and all of it dust-covered.

But then as his eyes accustomed to the dim lighting he realized the items weren’t junk at all, but well-preserved antiques. Everywhere he looked he saw items from yesteryear. The attic was an antique lover’s dream come true, a disorganized museum longing to be cataloged and organized.

Arcadias stepped carefully around the items. “Damien, where are you?”

“I’m over here, brother.”

Arcadias turned his head in the direction he heard Damien’s voice. “I still can’t see you. What are you next to?”

“I’m behind a roll-top desk.”

Arcadias scanned the cluttered room for a few seconds until he spotted the desk tucked in a corner, a sheet hiding most of it. He moved in that direction, bypassing an open wardrobe filled with vintage dresses. And then he saw the top of Damien’s head near the floor.

Arcadias skirted around an ornate Victorian headboard leaning up against the desk and found Damien on his hands and knees and looking intently at a locked wooden crate.

Damien looked up at him. His LED headlamp shone right into Arcadias’s eyes. Arcadias shielded his eyes, and then squatted down next to his younger brother. Nearly blind from Damien’s headlamp, he struggled to make out the crate.

But then the spots gradually faded and the twinkling stars disappeared altogether. He directed his gaze onto the wooden crate. Disappointment stabbed at his heart almost immediately. “It’s antique looking but not old enough to belong in the nineteenth century. Plus, I don’t see any Spanish writing or carvings on it.”

“But don’t you think whoever initially found the treasure would’ve transferred it into something less obvious? That’s what I would’ve done.”

Arcadias shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible they might have done that. It makes sense in a way. So how did you find it?”

Damien shrugged. “I sort of stumbled over it. In a way I feel like the treasure drew me to it. Look, I feel good about this, Arcadias. This crate might just hold what we’re looking for. A pity we won’t be able to keep it.”

Arcadias ignored Damien’s last comment. And despite his misgivings about the crate’s appearance, his chest pounded. However long the odds, perhaps they really had found Lafitte treasure. “I guess there’s only one way to find out if we’ve located it. We have to open it. Have you found the key to the lock as well?”

Damien shook his head and held up his Dewalt saw. “I don’t need a key. I can use the reciprocating saw to cut through the shackle. For that matter, I can just cut the whole lid off.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Start cutting the lock.”

“I can’t.”

Arcadias frowned. “You just said you could cut open the crate with the saw.”

“I need an extension cord for the saw. The only receptacle is way over there,” Damien said, pointing to a receptacle mounted to a stud about twenty feet away.

“We should be able to find an extension cord somewhere in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

Damien nodded. His dark eyes flashed. “We need to hurry then.”

“I agree. We don’t have much time. You scour the west bedrooms and I’ll look in the east ones,” Arcadias said.

****

While Arcadias and Damien hunted for extension cords, two SWAT team officers crept toward the plantation house, one toward the front door and one to the back door. Already wearing black Kevlar body armor and black tactical helmets, the two officers blended into the night as easily as black cats slinking in a dark alley.

SWAT officer 1 reached the front steps and stealthily ascended them. He reached the door and knelt down on his knees. Pulling a small pack off his back, the officer pulled a UDC—under the door camera—from out of his pack. He slid the thin insertion tongue containing the camera under the door. He quickly looked at his viewing hub and adjusted the insertion tongue, which resembled a spade, slightly to the left in order to view a larger area. A high resolution black and white image of the foyer, hallway, and staircase appeared on the hub. SWAT officer 1 spoke quietly into his boom mic. “Camera 1 is into place and recording images.”

Swat officer 2 knelt by the backdoor and performed the same operation as his cohort. He slid the UDC under the back door and adjusted the insertion tongue camera until the entire kitchen, including the pantry came into view on the viewing hub. SWAT officer 2 spoke quietly into the boom mic attached to his Motorola headset. “Camera 2 is in place and recording images,” he said, echoing his cohort.

Chapter 50

Still unable to find an extension cord, Arcadias left the Rose room and entered the landing. Lifelike artwork surrounded him on every side. Jon Rafter had obviously spent months and years painting on the landing walls, and his artistry took one’s breath away. But Arcadias didn’t have time to view the master artwork or interpret it. He had a greater purpose in mind.