Chapter 11 - The Submerged Safe
The heavy steel bulkhead door began to groan as the exterior tide swelled against it, the rising water level threatening to jam the locking mechanism permanently. Julian scrambled to the bottom of the boat, plunging his hands into the freezing bilge water to fish around for the revolver Clara had dropped. His fingers brushed against the cold steel grip just as a heavy wave washed over the gunwale, nearly knocking him off balance.
"Clara! Grab the flashlight from the overhead rack!" Julian shouted, coughing as a mouthful of salt water splashed into his face.
Clara stood frozen near the cabin hatch, her hands still shaking from the shock of the gunfire. She stared at the spot where her father had vanished into the shadows, her breathing shallow and erratic. "He’s going to seal the estate. Even if we find the box, we'll never make it past the front gates."
"We aren't going back through the mansion," Julian said fiercely, hauling himself up and gripping her by the shoulders. He looked directly into her wide, terrified eyes. "The bulkhead leads to the old smugglers' path along the cliff base. If we can reach the sea caves before high tide, there’s an old Zodiac boat moored there from when your grandfather ran whiskey in the seventies."
Clara blinked, the fog of shock clearing from her mind as she registered his words. She nodded quickly, spinning around and tearing the heavy rubber-cased flashlight from its mount above the navigator's bench. She flicked the switch, casting a bright, steady beam into the flooded stern compartment where the fireproof lockbox sat half-submerged.
"The keypad is dead," Clara said, shining the light directly on the digital display, which was now completely dark. "Without power, the electronic release won't fire."
"Stand back," Julian ordered. He raised the heavy service revolver he had retrieved from the water, aiming the barrel directly at the keypad housing.
"Julian, no! If there’s an internal thermite charge—"
"It’s a mechanical backup disguised as digital," Julian interrupted, remembering a conversation his father had let slip years ago during a drunken poker game. "Hit it with a kinetic strike while I pull the casing."
Clara didn't argue. She grabbed the heavy brass poker they had brought down from the living room—which had fallen into the boat during the initial slipway slide—and swung it with all her remaining strength directly into the side of the metal box.
With a loud, metallic shriek, the side panel buckled inward, shearing the internal wires and releasing a heavy steel spring that popped the primary latching mechanism open with a sharp ping.
Julian reached into the dark opening, his fingers brushing against cold, stiff paper. He pulled out a thick, sealed manila envelope stamped with a red federal seal and the date: October 14, 1974.
May you like
Before he could open the flap, the emergency lights in the boathouse suddenly flicked off, plunging them into absolute darkness except for Clara’s flashlight beam.
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