Maroon Rising by John H. Cunningham

Author:John H. Cunningham [Cunningham, John H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B016QUC76C
Publisher: Greene Street, LLC
Published: 2015-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

Nanny had managed to arrange for Henry Kujo, the sitting Leeward Maroon leader, to meet us at a jerk stand just south of the town. She parked the Jeep beside the small yellow building, which had nearly been overtaken from behind by a dense wall of vegetation that looked as aggressive as kudzu. Once she turned the engine off, she rubbed her hands together, checked her hair in the mirror, rubbed her hands again—was that another shudder?

“You okay?”

“Not really.” She again glanced at the mirror. “I’m a university professor, not a treasure hunter. That might have worked for Indiana Jones or you, but it’s not for me.” She ran a palm up one sleeve, then repeated the gesture with her other hand.

I studied her. Beautiful, intelligent, passionate, and yes, a university professor. But also a direct descendent of the “Mother of us all.” That must come with immense pressure.

“So why are you doing this?” I said.

Her chest lifted with a long intake of breath. “Because I have to.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Between Dodson’s group and the well-publicized competition between the two of you, the island is aware—entirely too aware—of the possibility of buried treasure.”

I suddenly felt a tic in my right eyelid.

“The colonel and I feel responsible,” she said, “to ensure that if there is a treasure—a direct link to the history of cooperation between Morgan and the Maroons—it will benefit all of the Jamaican people, not fall in the hands of—”

“Treasure hunters who seek personal gain or if not, personal aggrandizement. Nanny, we’ve already had this conversation.”

She looked at my chest, unable to meet my eyes.

“What bothers me,” she said, “is that I’m using my lineage to get meetings with people like Henry Kujo and Michael Portland—jeopardizing my career, my stature at the university that I’ve worked so hard to achieve … once word spreads of my involvement in this—”

“But you’re not doing this for self-enrichment—”

“Nobody will believe that.” She sighed. “Every meeting like this will erode my reputation—people will say I’m using my lineage for profit, exploiting the memory of the Mother of us all—” Another shudder.

I leaned over and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her in tight. She quivered like a kitten during its first visit to the veterinarian. When I stepped back she must have caught the glint in my eye, because her face brightened a bit.

“Let’s play it like I’m the only one who’s searching,” I said. “Tell them you’ve imposed severe restrictions on me and you’re just monitoring my activities.”

A slow smile parted her lips.

“I’m certain I’ll have to barter to get answers, so I doubt that will work. But thank you.”

I leaned forward and gave her an unhurried kiss that made it clear I held no regrets from last night.

“Now,” she said when we finally broke apart, “let’s go—”

“One question,” I said. “The separate treaties with the British, between the Leeward and Windward Maroons? How long was the gap?”

“It’s not a piece of history our people are proud of, but it was relatively short-lived and it was later determined to be amongst only a few opportunists who acted as traitors.

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