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He descended to ground level, caution lacing each step, the night-vision goggles helping within the dark recesses. He found the base of the stairway, then a doorway that opened to the inner courtyard where Carbonell waited.
He checked his watch.
Nearly three hours had passed since he and Malone were underground. Every six hours. That was the rhythm-low tide to high.
“I’m here, Andrea,” he said.
“I know.”
Both of them remained concealed.
“You lied to me,” he said.
“Did you expect that I wouldn’t?”
“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
He heard her chuckle. “Come on, Jonathan. You’re not some rookie agent. You’ve been around. You know how this is played.”
He did. Duplicity was a way of life in intelligence. But this woman had gone beyond the norm. She was using him. Nothing more, nor less. He had little or nothing to do with her goal. He was simply a means to that end. And though he was being paid well, that did not offer her immunity to do with him as she pleased. Besides, she’d come here to kill him, never intending for him to enjoy her money.
“What’s the problem?” he asked her. “You can’t have me talking to anyone? I know too much?”
“I doubt you’d say anything. But it pays to be one hundred percent sure. Did you really find those pages?”
“I did.” Not exactly true, but close enough.
“And why would I believe you?”
“No reason I can think of.”
He knew the idea was to keep him talking so her men could zero in and finish him off.
“There’s no need for this hostility,” she said.
“Then come out and face me.”
He removed the goggles.
Knox was nearby, and armed. He could feel him. Hopefully, he’d do more listening than acting, since he wanted what Andrew Jackson had hidden here, too.
CASSIOPEIA COULD DO NOTHING. TWO OF THE CREWMEN HAD yanked a screaming Shirley Kaiser from the cell while three more trained guns on her and Stephanie. Shirley was dragged into another cell, two down, a clear view of her through the open bars. Her wrists and ankles were taped to a heavy oak chair, her mouth gagged, her head shaking in protest.
The two men with guns had withdrawn from their cell.
She and Stephanie stood alone.
“What do we do?” Stephanie whispered.
“If I don’t make the call, the cavalry is coming.”
“But there’s no telling what’s about to happen to her. How much time do we have?”
“An hour or so till dawn.”
Another man appeared, carrying a black leather bag.
“This is our company surgeon,” Hale said. “He tends to our wounds.”
The doctor was a solid, bland-faced man with closely cropped hair. His clothes were soaking wet. He laid the bag on a wooden table in front of Shirley. From within, he withdrew a set of stainless-steel bone shears.
“A doctor is an important member of any crew,” Hale said. “Though he didn’t fight or defend the ship, he always received a higher portion of the booty than a regular crewman, which everyone gladly paid. That remains true today.”
The doctor stood beside Shirley, holding the cutters.
“Ms. Vitt? Ms. Nelle?” Hale said. “I have no patience left. I’ve dealt with deceit until I’m sick of it. I want to be left alone, but the U.S. government will not do that. Now my home has been attacked-”
The plywood covering the prison door burst open and three men entered, shaking rain from their coats.
They were about the same age as Hale.
“The other captains,” Stephanie whispered.
KNOX EASED HIS WAY CLOSER TO WHERE WYATT AND CARBONELL were confronting each other. He wondered if Carbonell realized Wyatt was drawing her close, allowing her to think that she retained the upper hand. He could hear snippets of their conversation as he maneuvered to a point directly above them. Rocks and rubble made the going slow, the loitering birds an aggravation as he had to be careful not to disturb them, a change in their rhythmic cooing a clear alert to his presence.
Wyatt had said that he’d found the pages. Was that true? And did it even matter anymore?
Maybe.
If he could return to Bath with Wyatt and Carbonell dead and the two missing pages in his hands, his worth with the captains would multiply a hundredfold. Not only would they be legally protected, but he would have saved them all.
That prospect was appealing.
He held the gun tight.
His targets were now just below him.
“All right, Jonathan,” he heard Carbonell say. “I’ll face you.”
HALE DID NOT APPRECIATE THE INTERRUPTION FROM HIS COLLEAGUES. What were they doing here? This did not concern them. His house, not theirs, had been attacked, and they hadn’t lifted a hand to help. He watched as they spotted the body on the floor, one ear missing, a hole in the head.
“What are you doing?” Bolton asked him.
He was not going to be reprimanded by these fools, especially in front of his men and prisoners. “I’m doing what none of you has the courage to do.”
“You’re out of control,” Surcouf made clear. “We’ve been told that there are nine dead men outside.”
“Nine men who attacked this compound. I have the right to defend myself.”
Cogburn pointed to Shirley Kaiser. “What did she do to you?”
None of the three had ever met her. He’d made sure of that.
“She is part of the enemy.”
Though the prison building sat on Hale land, the Articles expressly made it neutral ground where they shared jurisdiction. But he was not going to tolerate any interference.
“That woman there.” He pointed at Vitt. “Came with the others and attempted to free my prisoner. She killed two of our crew.”
“Quentin,” Surcouf said. “This is not the way to solve anything.”
He wasn’t going to listen to their cowardice. Not anymore. “The quartermaster is, at this moment, retrieving the two lost pages. They’ve been found.”
He saw the shock on their faces.
“That’s right,” he said. “While you three slept, I saved us all.”
“What are you about to do?” Bolton asked, pointing at Kaiser.
He held up the phone. “I need a call made. Ms. Vitt will not cooperate. I’m simply going to motivate her. I assure you that if I don’t act we will all be visited shortly by a contingent of federal agents, this time with warrants.”
He watched as that realization took hold. The attack tonight had been a rogue action designed to catch him off guard. The next round could be different. More official. He still did not know what had happened in Virginia. For all he knew the authorities already possessed the requisite probable cause to act.
“Quentin,” Cogburn said. “We’re asking you to stop. We understand you were attacked-”
“Where were your men?” he asked them.
Cogburn said nothing.
“And yours, Edward? John? I’m told that not a one of your people came to our defense.”
“Are you implying we had something to do with this?” Surcouf asked.
“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”
“You’re insane,” Bolton said.
He gestured for his men to train their weapons on the captains. “If any of them makes a move, shoot him.”
Guns were leveled.
He motioned, and the doctor nestled the shears to the base of Kaiser’s middle finger. Kaiser’s eyes went wide.
He turned to Vitt.
“Your last chance to make the call. If not, I’ll start snipping off fingers until you do.”
SEVENTY-NINE
NOVA SCOTIA
WYATT WATCHED AS ANDREA CARBONELL STEPPED FROM THE shadows and into the moonlight. He’d just checked his watch and noted that time was running short. He caught her shapely silhouette and saw the outl
ine of a weapon in her left hand, the barrel pointing toward the ground.
He, too, stepped out, a gun in his right hand, pointing down.
“It shouldn’t have to come to this,” she said. “You should have just died.”
“Why even involve me?” he asked.
“Because you’re good. Because I knew you’d be tough when others weren’t. Because nobody would give a damn if you disappeared.”
He smiled.
She was still buying time for her men to act.
“Do you care about anything beyond yourself?” he asked.
“Oh, my. Jonathan Wyatt going soft? Do you actually care about anything other than yourself?”
Actually, he did. There wasn’t a day that went by he didn’t think about those two dead agents. He was alive thanks to them. They’d done their job, drawn fire, and the mission had been a success because of their sacrifice. Even the admin board had voiced that finding.
But he’d never sacrificed them to save himself.
Not like this woman.
The only human life that meant anything to her was her own. That was the worst part. You were a good agent. Malone’s comment to him after the board’s verdict, when they confronted each other, his hand at Malone’s throat.
Yes, he was.
