The Treasure of Valcour Island: N/A

By Wayne E. Beyea

In 1751, a French ship left Montreal carrying chests of gold coin intended as payment to French troops stationed at Fort St. Frederic, located at the south end of Lake Champlain. Unfortunately for the French soldiers who had not been paid in two years, the ship struck rocks off Garden Island and sunk. Over the course of many years, numerous divers searched for the golden treasure without success. In July 2001, two recreational divers find the gold secreted in a cave beneath Valcour Island. The gleam of gold and their dreams of wealth triggered a path of death and destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532045417

Book preview

PROLOGUE

He was terrified. An interloper was entering his sanctuary, and the trespasser emitted the smell of the feared and dreaded land-dwelling beast. This two-legged creature had hurled lightning bolts and other objects at him in the past, causing pain, and therefore, he was careful to avoid any confrontation with the vile being.

His fear was heightened by confusion. He wondered how it was possible. How was the land creature able to find the entrance to my home so deep beneath the water’s surface? No alien creature – at least a creature large enough to concern him – had disturbed the sanctity of this hidden chamber in the millions of years of its existence.

The splashing sound of the intruder’s approach grew louder. His nostrils were assailed by the recognizable foul odor of the land beast. He had encountered the beast many times during his 110 years of life, but those encounters had always been in the open, where he could flee and disappear. This time, there was no way for him to escape. His home only had one entrance.

As the sound of the intruder’s approach grew louder, the protective darkness of the cavern started to dissipate. It brought some sort of sun with him.

Normally a shy, timid, non-aggressive amphibian enigma, he had evolved from the age of dinosaurs – more specifically, from the species referred to as plesiosaurs. At the moment, he was frightened, but anger – an emotion he seldom displayed – began to overwhelm fear. Why is this land animal invading my home? What are his intentions?

It was difficult to hide a body thirty feet long, two to four feet thick, and weighing nearly six thousand pounds, but he knew every inch of the half-mile long, pitch-black cavern, which ranged from six feet in height at the entrance to some fifty feet in its innermost reaches. He stretched his massive, dark body against the cool stone wall and tried to blend into the dissipating darkness near the far end of the cavern.

CHAPTER 1

JULY 13, 2001

The two men had probably launched from and loaded onto its trailer the 1990, 14-foot Larson boat at the Peru public boat launch site a hundred times. The procedures had become quite routine; and normally, when they came into shore from lake Champlain, whichever of them was behind the wheel would slowly ease the boat in close to the cement pier to permit the other man to step out (onto the pier). Then the man at the tiller would pull away from the pier, put the transmission in neutral, and wait for his partner to back the boat trailer down the sloping boat ramp. As soon as the trailer was in the water, the man at the wheel of the Larson slowly drove it right onto the trailer. It was a much quicker process than trying up at the pier, launching the trailer, and (using mooring lines) pulling the boat onto the trailer. However, on this day, excitement and lack of concentration caused the younger man at the helm to approach the pier too fast.

Slow down, Jack, the older man called out. You are coming in too fast and are going to hit the wall.

The warning was just a tad too late. Although Jack Weston yanked the throttle back and spun the wheel, the starboard side of the small boat scraped the solid wall of concrete.

Stan LaPierre, the older man, displaying amazing agility for a man fifty-two years old and carrying a piece of shrapnel in his left leg, compliments of the Vietnam War, jumped onto the pier an instant before the boat hit the wall. He immediately pushed against the boat’s bow to minimize damage; then, quickly, with one hand, he secured the mooring line to a pier pylon. After the boat had stopped and was secured, he inspected his pride and joy to see how much damage had been done. Fortunately, there was only a small scratch along the red-painted hull.

Damn, Jack, he mildly rebuked. Think about what you’re doing, man. Then he smiled and added, We’ve got to treat this fine yacht with respect until we buy the forty-footer that we can now afford.

Thirty-four-year-old Jack Weston sat behind the ship’s wheel, displaying what Stan would describe as a shit-eating grin, but he did not verbally respond. He was still in a daze as he reflected on their just-completed diving adventure.

Stan left the pier and walked briskly to the public parking lot, where his 1990 Ford pickup with boat trailer attachment was parked. Ten minutes later, the once-pristine Larson, now sporting a scratch, was out of the water and secured to the trailer.

As Jack climbed into the passenger side of the pickup, Stan noted, Son, you got the look of a young fellow who has just discovered the joy of sex.

They shared a hearty laugh as Stan put the truck in low and slowly towed the trailer up the boat ramp. He proceeded into the parking lot and stopped in an area that was not visible from state route 9, due to a high hedge between the road and parking lot. Stan let the truck idle as they sat there. He reached into the breast pocket of the black, western-style shirt he was wearing and produced two hand-rolled, twisted-end cigarettes. However, the substance concealed inside the paper was not tobacco.

Stan had toked his first joint as a Navy SEAL, in Vietnam. It was a gift from an old-timer only a year older than he. This buddy referred to as old-timer since he had been in Nam longer than any of his companions. Marijuana was easily obtained in Nam. Smoking weed (as it was referred to) relieved anxiety, promoted euphoria, and gave Stan the false belief that he was invincible. Smoking weed had made his participation in ten dangerous penetrations behind enemy lines seem like a walk in the park.

An act of cruel irony, not combat, would end Stan’s military career, and the psychological fallout from that incident was far more damaging than his physical wounds. His SEAL team was in a supposedly secure club in Saigon, celebrating the end of their tour of duty in Nam. These men were more than comrades-in-arms. They considered themselves brothers in a very special family. That evening, while high on marijuana and tossing down beers, the brothers swore that they would remain family for life. Less than one minute later, a Viet Cong operative, masquerading as a bus boy in the club, tossed a grenade into their midst. When Stan came to on a hospital ship, he learned that he was the only brother who survived the blast. He would forever carry a piece of shrapnel in his left leg as a cruel reminder of that fateful night.

Though Stan smoked marijuana and drank beer on a daily basis, he maintained a daily exercise regimen learned as a SEAL and consequently remained lean and muscular. He stood just a tad over six feet, had friendly brown eyes; and sported a thick, gray crew cut. The gray was a sharp contrast to the thick mop of dark hair he had been so proud of in his youth. Although a few lines creased his face and crow’s feet crowded his eyes, many folks thought this craggy look reminded them of Charlton Heston, who was a ruggedly handsome man. Stan was nineteen years older than Jack Weston, and they had first met when Jack was seventeen. Since that first meeting, Jack had come to adore Stan. Over time, Stan would become the father figure that Jack needed in his life.

Jack was the spitting image of his father, Robert Weston, who like Stan LaPierre, had served in Vietnam. The difference between them was that Bob Weston was an army draftee and had been killed during the Tet Offensive. The army captain and chaplain delivering the horrible news of Bob’s death appeared at the Weston home to convey their grim message on Jack’s second birthday.

Jack was tall, standing about six feet one inch, and had dark curly hair; an angular face; soft, blue eyes; and displayed the same small, cleft chin observed in Bob Weston’s photographs. Stan had introduced Jack to his rigorous SEAL exercise program, explaining to his protégé that as a diver, physical conditioning was an absolute necessity. Seemingly contrary to that advice, he also promoted the smoking of marijuana and drinking beer, which both men did frequently.

Jack’s interest and enthusiasm for diving began when, at age fourteen, he located a musket and skeleton, later identified as that of an American Revolutionary marine, in a small cave on Valcour Island. That day, Jack (wearing swimsuit, facemask, and flippers) was swimming with friends on the northeast corner of the island. While making a shallow dive, he found the entrance to a small cave located just below the surface of the water. Taking a deep breath, he entered the cave and spotted the skeleton and musket on a ledge just inside the entrance. The rays from a bright summer sun penetrated the crystal clear water, filtered into the cave entrance, and enabled the discovery.

Jack’s immediate reaction upon spotting the skeleton was fear and repulsion. He gasped in terror, fled the cave, and shot to the surface as he choked on lake water. He tore off his facemask and gasped for air as his companions looked on and wondered what had caused their normally intrepid friend to exhibit such panic. After recovering, Jack excitedly poured out the details of his discovery to his comrades. The group then hustled to the island’s park ranger’s office, where, in disjointed sentences, Jack related his discovery. The boys led the ranger to the area of the island where the cave was located, and the mechanics were set in place to arrange for exploration of the cave.

The discovery turned Jack Weston into somewhat of a North Country celebrity. He proudly posed for a photograph bearing the caption, Fourteen-year-old Finds Remains of Revolutionary War Hero, that appeared on the front page of the local newspaper.

Young Jack had thrilled as he watched the team of scuba divers commissioned to explore the cave. His big, blue eyes studied their work, and he was amazed at how long they could stay underwater. The divers brought back several artifacts consisting of a musket, musket balls, old coins, a powder horn, and metal buckle. Forensic anthropologists representing Plattsburgh State University and the University of Vermont studied the artifacts and skeletal remains, concluding that the skeleton was that of a young American Revolution-era male.

Historians and anthropologists concurred that any one of three theories answered the question as to why the young marine was in the cave: 1) He took cover in the cave, which was probably not below water at the time, to escape pursuit from the British or Indians. 2) He was assigned to the cave as a lookout to spy on the British navy. 3) He was a marine on board one of the American vessels sunk by the British during the battle of Valcour and, although wounded, made his way into the cave to avoid capture. Whichever theory was true, the experts agreed that all of the items found in the cave had been possessed by the young marine.

As Jack watched the divers, he told himself, I’m going to become a diver. He was determined in this endeavor; so while his friends and classmates in high school played school sports, he opted to enroll in a scuba-diving class taught by well-known diver Frank Pabst. Pabst owned the Sub Aqua dive shop located in Valcour, on the west shore of Lake Champlain. By the age of sixteen, Jack was a certified scuba diver and had joined the Wreck Raiders dive club, which had been created by his mentor, Frank Pabst; (Pabst, in later years, would captain the Lake Champlain tour boat Juniper which was used to recover the anchor shot from the bow of the famous British warship Confiance during the War of 1812.)

The Wreck Raiders made many dives in Lake Champlain, mostly on the charted locations of sunken ships, salvaging numerous historical artifacts. During one of these dives, Jack met Stan LaPierre, whom he recognized as leader of the dive team that was called in to explore the cave discovered by Jack at Valcour Island. When he learned that LaPierre had been a member of the elite navy SEALS and, like his dad, had served in Vietnam, he was awestruck. Stan took Jack under his tutelage, and the two were now practically inseparable companions.

Jack equally admired and respected Uncle Tom Weston, his dad’s younger brother, who was a nineteen-year member of the New York State Police and supervisor of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation (BCI) at Plattsburgh. Like Stan, Uncle Tom was a scuba diver and certified state police diver. Tom infrequently accompanied Stan and his nephew on dives because police work was very demanding of his time. Also, whereas Stan was single and lived alone, Tom Weston was married and had five children, ranging from seven to sixteen years of age. Needless to say, most of Uncle Tom’s free time was spent with family.

For about fourteen years, Jack had been going steady with a vivacious redhead by the name of Kathleen Kelly. He and Kathleen had been high school sweethearts. Kathleen operated a beauty salon in Plattsburgh, which had a small but dedicated clientele who supported her needs.

In high school, Jack had aspired – because of his admiration for Uncle Tom – to join the New York State Police. After high school graduation, he had enrolled in Clinton County Community College and graduated at age twenty with an associate’s degree in criminal justice. Unable to apply for the state police until he was twenty-one, Jack obtained employment at a local Subway store and six months later was named store manager. At the time, he and Kathleen discussed getting married but decided to wait until Jack had become a state trooper. Unfortunately, that dream would not come true. He had taken the state police entrance examination five times since turning twenty-one and scored well each time. Five times, initial elation would dissolve into bitter frustration, as his number was not reached on the list of eligible candidates. Uncle Tom had made some inquiries and informed Jack that the reason he was not hired was because he was a white male. The federal government had directed New York to give preferential treatment to women and minority candidates. As a result, minorities and women who had scored much lower than Jack on the exam were selected for employment ahead of him. Although Jack harbored no bias toward his fellow man, the circumstances of preferential treatment in hiring, denying him achievement of his dream career, made him bitter. Now having passed the maximum age for entrance into the state police, Jack continued employment as a Subway shop manager and waited to hear from the Clinton County sheriff’s department, where he had applied to become a deputy. He and Kathleen now agreed to marry when he became a deputy sheriff. In the meantime, Jack lived with his mom in a modest 1500-square-foot home in the Hamlet of Peru. Mrs. Weston was a meticulous housekeeper who kept their small home neat and clean. She was also an excellent cook and, despite holding down a full-time teaching career, she made sure that her son was well fed. She did require Jack to do his own washing and ironing in addition to washing the daily dishes.

Stan LaPierre lived alone in a well worn but serviceable house trailer located less than four miles from the Weston home. When he wasn’t diving, he worked for the Town of Peru highway department in a mundane job that didn’t pay much. However, his trailer was paid for and he owned the lot it sat on. His income provided the small amount of food that he consumed. Beer, smokes, and marijuana were his more important necessities in life – those and, of course, the tanks of oxygen required for diving, his one true passion in life. His old Ford truck and Larson boat were also paid for, and Jack Weston paid for all the fuel used by the boat.

Stan had married his high school sweetheart before shipping out to Nam. At that young age and committed to a life of love, they discussed having a large family. Stan thought six boys just the right number. Mary Lou thought four boys and four girls would be a fine balance. They would keep her busy; and when they became successful adults, married with children of their own, she would become a doting grandmother. Neither foresaw the possibility that a hellish nightmare in a hellhole referred to as Nam would drastically alter their lives and their plans for the future would go up in smoke. When Stan returned from Vietnam, he appeared to have aged ten years; and Mary Lou thought that a stranger had returned to her arms rather than her sweet, caring, beloved Stan. The man who embraced her was the same handsome Stan; however, the dark brown, sexy eyes that made her want to tear off her clothes were now dark, emotionless orbs. The warm smile that always made her heart beat faster had disappeared during their one year of separation. Oh, it was readily apparent that Stan still loved her. He treated her with kindness and respect and was passionate in their lovemaking, but he seemed to have lost his zest for life. She convinced herself that Stan had experienced some unspeakable hell that he would not share with her and that she would learn to live with the change. However, Stan’s liberal consumption of beer, his chain smoking, and his affinity for marijuana soon caused her to grow concerned as to what sort of influence this behavior would have on any children they produced. She was also concerned that Stan would eventually become an alcoholic, and she worried about how embarrassed and ashamed she would be and how she would support herself and family if Stan was arrested for drugs and went to jail. She tried to reason with Stan to no avail. She tried to convince him to see a therapist to no avail, later ashamed that she had done so. She even threatened to tell Tom Weston about her husband’s drug usage. Stan was dealing with some sort of demon