Page 110 of Doyle

Doyle stood there, his light shining on the crypt, eyes earnest in hers. “Ethan’s right, Tia. We find this treasure and we have the upper hand. Sebold has to play to our rules. We have the power. And as for Declan—my guess is that he’s going to want to seal this place off to keep the kids from ever getting lost here again. So it’s now or never.”

Never.

Except he stepped up next to Ethan, put his hands on the crowbar.

“Doyle!”

He looked at her. “This is the right thing to do. Please, trust me.”

She blinked at him, swallowed, andoh no,shedidtrust him. With every cell in her body.

“Oh, I hope we don’t burn in hell for this.”

Doyle raised an eyebrow.

“Or break some ancient Mariposa law. Am I going to have to learn how to say ‘pass the bread and water’ in Spanish?”

“I think it’s Dutch,” Ethan said, and then he and Doyle heaved against the stone.

It broke, chipping off a large section of what looked like plaster, and the piece thudded on the floor at their feet.

Doyle leaned in, his light exposing decaying wood. “It’s just plaster over a wooden crate.”

“Like acoffin.” She folded her arms.

“No,” Ethan said. “If it were a coffin, it would be actual stone.” He wedged the pry bar against the wood and plaster, and again Doyle added oomph.

The next section broke off, revealing the end of the crate. “That’s not a treasure chest.”

“It’s a shipping crate.” Ethan lifted the flashlight. “Oak, and look at these dovetail joints.” He pointed to the corners of the box, then dusted off the front. A faint stamp had been burned into the front.

“WIC,” Ethan read. “Vereenigde West-Indische Compagnie.”

“What does that mean?” Doyle asked.

“It translates to ‘United West Indies Company,’ which was active in the Atlantic trade, including the Caribbean.” He palmed the edge of the box. “This is it. The treasure of theTrident.”

She stilled, looked at Doyle, who met her gaze with a hint of a smile, a nod.

And then Ethan slammed the end of the pry bar into the box.

“Ethan!”

It broke, enough for him to open a hole with his next strike.

He stuck his hand inside, and for a second, she imagined one of those river-monster shows?—

He pulled out a fist. Opened it.

A gold ingot roughly the size of an old school eraser, with rough-hewn edges. He held it under Doyle’s light.

An eagle stamped in the center with a bear beside it, a number and a mysterious symbol at the end, along with a date.

1697.

Ethan handed it to Tia. She took it, the weight surprising, at least a couple pounds.

“What are these symbols?” She handed it back.

---