Island of Thieves by Josh Lacey

Argentina. Round Cape Horn and up the other side. Up the long, long coast of Chile. And here, just into Peru, they moored at a tiny little island. The sailors traded with locals, offering knives and trinkets in exchange for fresh food and water. Midway through their negotiations, the locals made off with their booty without leaving anything in return. They were dirty thieves, said the captain, and he named the place after them.”
    â€œThe Island of Thieves,” I explained, in case Otto hadn’t gotten the point.
    He didn’t take any notice of me. All his attention was focused on the map, his eyes scanning for the island’s exact location.
    â€œFrom there they sailed north,” continued Uncle Harvey, his finger creeping slowly up the map. “They were heading for Lima. But things didn’t go according to plan. They spotted another ship on the horizon. It was a Spanish galleon, so heavily laden that it couldn’t sail fast enough to escape. The Englishmen captured it after a short battle. They went aboard and found that the hold was packed with silver and gold. There was too much treasure to carry on their own small ship. The weight would have sunk them as soon as they hit bad weather. The captain could have abandoned the treasure or tipped it overboard, but he couldn’t bring himself to surrender so much delicious booty, so he sailed the galleon and his own ship back to the nearest island. Once they reached the Island of Thieves, the captain took a small crew of trusted men and ordered them to load eight chests onto a little boat. They rowed or sailed to the northern tip of the island and buried the eight chests, letting no one else know the secret of their location. They returned to their own ship and sailed onward. Ten days later, they were in Lima. From there they went north, past Panama and Mexico, and landed on the shores of California, not far from modern San Francisco. They turned west, cut across the Pacific, and headed for home. But that’s a different story. Now let’s move to the other map.”
    We had used two maps, one of the world and the other of Peru. Each of them was dotted with a trail of tiny penciled crosses.
    â€œDo you see these?” said Uncle Harvey.
    Otto nodded. “That’s the boat, huh?”
    â€œExactly. That’s where it went. Each cross marks a date in the manuscript. A location mentioned by the writer. One of them is the Island of Thieves. That’s where we’ll find five chests packed with gold and three more with silver.”
    â€œSo where is it?” asked Otto impatiently.
    â€œRight here.” Uncle Harvey put his finger on the map. “It’s a tiny little place. Barely more than a speck on the map. It does have a name, though, and we wondered if you’d ever heard of it. It appears to be called . . . Isla de la Frontera.”
    Otto threw back his head and shouted with laughter.
    We both stared at him in amazement.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” I said.
    â€œYou want to know have I heard of Isla de la Frontera?”
    â€œWell, have you?” asked Uncle Harvey.
    â€œOf course! Everyone knows Isla de la Frontera.”
    â€œI don’t,” I said.
    â€œNor do I,” added Uncle Harvey.
    â€œYou are not from Peru,” said Otto. “You ask anyone in Peru, he will tell you. Isla de la Frontera, it is the most famous island in our country.”
    â€œWhat’s it famous for?” I asked.
    â€œIt is a prison,” said Otto.
    â€œA prison,” I repeated like an idiot.
    â€œYou understand what is a prison?”
    â€œYes. But, um, what sort of prison? For criminals?”
    â€œOf course for criminals. What else is prison for? In truth, I spend a little time there myself. It is the place where I get this.” He touched the tattoo on his neck, the snake’s head. “I am there only a few months. Because of politics, you know? Here in Peru, everything