THE TREASURE SEEKER
By Bill K.
Part One
Linda Wilson was in the scuba shop at the end
of the dock, dropping off used air tanks to be refilled. Though she could
be quite feminine looking, she wasn't now: the boyish cut of her chestnut brown
hair, the lean, hard muscles of her limbs stood out under the nut brown, tanned
skin as she hoisted her tanks gave her a masculine look on occasion.
Those muscles spoke of her years of work and told the observant that,
though she might be slight of frame, she was not a delicate flower. Dressed in
cut-off jeans and a man's shirt buttoned haphazardly down her front, the
twenty-six year old with the pretty, unadorned face hauled her in gear neither
seeking help nor trying to prove any point. She was what she was.
Linda Wilson was a professional scuba diver. She operated a
diving and salvage shop on the dock at Key West. From that business she
taught scuba diving, conducted underwater tours and hired on as a guide for
undersea treasure hunts or salvage operations. Due to her sex, she often
did more tours and teaching than salvage, but in the six years she'd been doing
this she'd developed a reputation for quality among the locals and things were
looking up.
She was looking over the latest spear gun, thinking of buying it,
when she heard her name.
"Come on over here!" called the shopkeeper, a
boisterous old black man named Ezekial Robinson. There was a woman with
him. Her back was to Linda, but the long legs coming out of her tan
shorts and the elegantly rounded ass the shorts held caught her eye and gave
her a moment's pang of jealousy. "This is the lady I was telling you
about. Best guide in Key West! Only been here six years, but knows
the Gulf like the back of her hand!"
The woman turned to Linda. She was a beautiful woman.
Her black hair was cut short as well, but she had a feminine face with
large eyes, soft cheekbones and a generous mouth that smiled easily. She
continued smiling even though Linda could tell she wasn't what the woman
expected. Her red tank top turned out to be a one-piece bathing suit that
hugged a powerful torso and held round firm breasts. Her shoulders were
as broad as a man's, but it only added to her beautiful image. Linda
guessed she swam regularly, possibly even dived. She figured this woman could
keep up with a guy, just as she could. Again, Linda felt jealous.
"Hello, Miss...Linda!" the woman smiled suddenly, her
eyes lighting up. "Don't you remember? Veronica
Anderson?"
The name sounded familiar, but the Veronica Anderson she knew was
a gangly little stick in jeans and a knit top that used to haunt the pool with
her back in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Linda looked close. She couldn't
be this broad shouldered water nymph. But there was something about those
eyes.
"Veronica!" she gasped happily and the two women fell
into each other's arms. "Good God, what happened to you!"
"I grew up!" chuckled Veronica happily.
"God, I haven't seen you in what, ten years?"
"I think it was twelve," Linda replied. "No,
thirteen! We were the terrors of the Fourth Street YWCA pool! And
then your dad got transferred."
"You swore you were going to write," admonished
Veronica.
"You know how well I write," alibied Linda.
"God, Linda Wilson, all grown up!" She scanned
Linda up and down. "Looks like life wasn't too cruel to you, girl.
You look like you could lift a Buick. And I know women who'd kill
for that tan! Is it still Wilson?"
"Still Wilson," blushed Linda. "Still Anderson?"
"Back to Anderson," she replied wistfully. Linda
didn't pursue it.
"What can I do for you?" Linda asked.
"Lady needs someone who knows the waters," Zeke said.
"I was telling her you're about the best around.
"You can't beat advertising like that," Linda grinned.
"What area were you interested in?"
"The straits between Cuba and the Bahamas," Veronica
replied.
"Treasure hunting?" Linda asked. She often got
requests to guide amateur treasure hunters who thought they could just roll in
and find Spanish gold in an afternoon.
"No," Veronica said, laughing. "I'm a marine
archaeologist. I look for sunken Spanish and British ships, mark their
location, take a few artifacts for study and dating and then call in the troops
for the heavy salvage."
"A scout?"
"I guess. And I've got a line on a possible shipwreck
about fifty-six miles east of here. I just need to look around and
confirm if it's true."
"And you need me to help you with the particulars?"
Linda asked. She nodded. "You've dived before?"
"Yeah."
"Been diving long?"
"Five years." Then Veronica's jaw set.
"How long have you been diving?"
"Eleven. I was just curious. I like to know the
experience level of my dive partners." Linda could see she was still
miffed. "Don't you?"
Veronica mulled Linda's response over, unwilling to relinquish
her belligerence.
"I suppose," she conceded grudgingly. "I'm
fully rated, so you don't have to worry." Then her mouth curled into
a smile. "And it's not like I've hired you yet, after all."
"If you think I'm going to let you dive with anybody else,
girl, you're nuts!" Linda growled playfully.
"Why, you think you can make me?" Veronica volleyed
back. For a moment, the pair were tomboys running free in the Wisconsin
summer again. "You've got the job. Now that I know you're
here, I wouldn't want anybody else. Do you have a boat or do I have to
hire one?"
"I'd be a pretty lousy diving guide without a boat.
Name's 'The Treasure Seeker'. She's docked on Pier Four."
"Sounds like something you'd come up with," smirked
Veronica with a twinkle in her eye. "I'll see you there. Nine
OK? I'd like to get an early start."
"See you then."
Veronica turned to leave. Linda noticed Zeke's eyes were
locked on her friend's undulating ass. Veronica Anderson had evolved into a
very beautiful woman. In addition, she was physically athletic and had a
sharp, intriguing mind. Working with her would be a very good way to
spend the time.
"That's one pretty college professor," commented Zeke.
"I thought she was an archaeologist," Linda said.
"She's that, too. Does it on the side. Man, I
wish the college professors looked like that when I was college age."
"Mmmm. Hey, I didn't know you went to college,"
Linda said.
"I didn't," Zeke replied. "But if the
professors looked like her, I might have gone."
That evening, two men entered Linda's shop a little after six.
They were nondescript fellows, a man with sandy blond hair and rugged
good looks and an older, darker Cuban who wasn't ugly, but not particularly
attractive either. They both looked like the type that hung around docks
all along the Gulf Coast. Linda thought nothing about them.
"Something I can get you?" Linda asked, brushing a lock
of brown hair out of her eyes. "I'm about to close up."
"Yes, I understand you hire out on diving excursions,"
began the Cuban, his voice holding a trace of an accent.
"Yeah," Linda said, suddenly getting bad vibes from the
pair. She wished she hadn't shed the shirt she had on earlier in favor of
her blue bikini top, but it had been a typical muggy Key West day.
"Were you interested in a particular spot?"
"Yes," the Cuban said, trying to reassure her with his
oily smile. "I so love the Gulf waters west of here. I went
once and I swore that I had to go back again. They are so beautiful, do
you not agree?"
"They're gorgeous."
"Would we be able to hire you for tomorrow?"
"Can't," she shrugged. "I'm booked.
Booked through the week, probably. Sorry."
"It is a disappointment," he said with some deflation.
Then she noticed him nod ever so slightly. As Linda began
to turn, she felt powerful arms seize her from behind. The blond, the
cute one, had eased around behind her while the other one had engaged her
attention. Linda pulled, trying to pull out of the grip, but now the
hands were sliding to her arms, holding her in place as they forced her limbs
behind her back.
She inhaled to scream, for there was always someone on the dock
to hear. Instantly the Cuban's hand shot out and clamped over her lips,
smothering her shout before it could be born. Faced with superior
strength and numbers, the diver was forced over into the shadows of her shop.
Her attackers stopped long enough for the Cuban to pull a wad of cloth
out of the pocket of his light weight knit slacks. The wad replaced the
hand over her mouth, jamming in between her teeth. It was a thick cloth
and filled her mouth. From the breast pocket of his tropical shirt, the
Cuban produced another cloth, this one blue with a lively tropical print on it.
That cleaved her mouth and was knotted behind her to hold the packing in.
Linda shook her head violently, but couldn't dislodge it.
While the blond, in his slacks and white muscle shirt, held her
in place with some effort, his partner secured some rope from the shop.
Linda fought to keep from being tied up, but she had little chance
against two men. She managed to kick the Cuban in the knee, drawing an
angry howl from him, but they soon had her wrists crossed behind her back and
bound. Once that was accomplished, Linda was hustled into the back of the
shop, where she lived.
The blond pushed her down onto the floor, then knelt down beside
her, his hand around both of her ankles. Linda squirmed, trying to pull
free, to no avail. His partner tossed him the rope and he cinched her
ankles together, pulling the rope tight without any type of chivalrous regard.
To finish off the job, he attached one end of the cord between her
ankles, then pulled them back to her wrists and hitched them. Linda lay
hogtied on the floor, her back arched and her chest straining against her
halter.
The Cuban nodded for his partner to accompany him. The
blond started to get up, then was struck with an idea. He fished out a
cloth from his pocket, then pulled it over Linda's eyes and knotted it behind
her head, blindfolding her.
Listening, her head cocked, Linda heard the two men walk out into
the shop portion of the building. Instantly she began writhing around,
trying to see if she could squirm out of the loops around her wrists. The
rope was drawn too tight, though, and the drag from her legs drew the rope even
tighter.
All the while, she kept listening for sounds of her two
assailants. She wondered what they wanted. Were they thieves?
She'd hate to lose her diving equipment to a couple of quick hit thieves
looking for their next high.
No, that wasn't right. The Cuban didn't seem like a drug
abuser, so far as she could tell. Pretty boy, who knew? But they
wanted something. The question was what? The possibility of rape
entered her mind. If that was it, why hadn't they done it already?
And what were they rummaging around for in the shop? Linda didn't
have any answers. All she had was a rapidly developing tightness in her
shoulders.
After a few minutes, Linda heard the door close. She listened
intently, but there was no sound. No one was here now but her. Now
that the immediate danger was past, she had to think about getting loose.
Linda arched her back, trying to bring her ankles closer to her fingers.
If she could reach the knot holding the rope that kept her hogtied, maybe
she could undo it and ease her position considerably. Stretching until
she felt her shoulders might rip, Linda found she could brush the knot with her
fingertips, but couldn't release it. She sagged back against the floor
and rested.
Cutting the cords was her next brainstorm. Where was there
a reachable edge sharp enough to cut this line? Linda thought, picturing
the small living quarters in her mind. She had some steak knives, but
they were in a drawer about four feet off the floor. Mentally, she toured
the room. She had a knife she used to cut line. It was in the shop
in the next room and on a countertop to boot. She needed something close
to the floor. With this hog-tie, there was no way she would be able to
roll up onto her knees or up to her feet.
Yes! That was it. Instantly Linda began slithering
along the floor toward the shop. The hog-tie hampered her movements and
she could only inch along. Every thrust of her body chafed her wrists and
it was hard work besides. Linda considered herself in good condition, but
she was breathing hard through her nose and could feel her heart hammering in
her chest, and by her estimation had only covered about two-thirds of the
distance to the door. By the time she felt the door jam beneath her ribs,
she was soaked in sweat.
It was there that she stopped. Though the protrusion in the
floor pressed painfully into her ribs, Linda had to stop and recall the layout
of the shop, since she was still blindfolded. The glass showcase was to
her right. Linda turned and began inching toward it. At one point
she inched forward and felt the case scrape against her nearly bare back.
Realizing she wasn't quite on course, the bound woman nudged herself over
and resumed.
Finally one lunge forward brought her head in contact with her
old spear gun that she'd left propped against the wall. Her bump hadn't
knocked it over, thankfully. Linda scooted forward a little, then raised
her chin up and brought it down against the handle. Her already dry
throat grew even more dry. This would be a little tricky. If she
knocked it over and it happened to strike the trigger when it impacted, she
might just send the spear into her thigh. However, pushing it the other
way would mean crawling further along the floor to reach the spear tip and she
just couldn't face that. Linda nudged the gun with her chin.
As luck would have it, the base slid as the gun toppled and Linda
heard it clatter to the floor near her without firing. Exhaling a sigh of
relief, Linda squirmed her way around onto her stomach, then over onto her
other side. After taking a moment to rest, she felt along the floor until
she found the spear gun, then worked it up her body until she got to the spear tip.
Cautiously she felt around with it until she was sure she had it resting
on cord. The tip of that spear was razor sharp and could very easily
slice through her wrists as well as her wrist ropes. Gingerly the woman
began sawing on the rope.
By now her shoulders were on fire. Her throat hurt, her
hamstrings were stretched unmercifully and if she didn't get free soon, she was
going to do something she hadn't done since she was an infant. Slowly the
spear tip cut into the rope. She didn't want to go too fast, for fear of
cutting herself. However, an ache was developing in the tendons around
her elbows from her efforts. All the while she worked, Linda kept hoping
someone would walk in and find her and make all of it simple.
With a wince of pain, Linda realized she was through.
Letting the spear drop, she began pulling her wrists against the loops
binding her. The ropes didn't part, due to the hitches in them.
However, the severed loop created enough slack in the rest of the binding
to allow Linda to painfully work her hand free. Once it came loose, she
sagged against the floor and expelled another relieved sigh. A surge of
energy flooded through her and Linda reached back to undo the ropes enough to
release her other hand. Once her limbs were free, she pulled herself up
unsteadily onto her hip, ripped the blindfold off and clawed the gag from her
mouth.
"Three cheers and a tiger for me," she sighed, weary
but happy. Then she remembered the pressure in her bladder and hastily
pulled the rope from around her ankles.
Returning from the bathroom, Linda took stock of her shop.
It was night now, nearing ten. She flipped the light on and looked
around.
"They got the tanks I rented for tomorrow's dive,"
Linda sighed in frustration. "Damn it! I guess they were just
a couple of crack heads!"
Linda trudged over to her phone and dialed the Key West police,
glancing at the blood trickling out of the cut on her wrist and the chafing
irritations of the rope burns. Nothing probably would come of it, but it
was the thing one did when one was robbed. As the phone rang, Linda
looked around the shop again. Something about this still bothered her.