Page 99 of Dangerous

Adam

Mia stared, stunned at the horror he’d borne alone. The thought of her beloved Jibril carrying something in him that could one day turn him mad was beyond bearing. To never know, to never be sure—how could a person live with the constant threat, the dread?

As she recalled the awful things she’d flung at him before he’d left, hot tears of shame burned her face. She wept for what she had said to him but she cried even more because she might never have a chance to apologize.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when the Ghost dropped anchor. They’d hardly been there an hour before Ramsay began getting messages hinting Assad was planning something that appeared to require a great many men.

“It’s possible Assad may attack us in the harbor—even tonight. We must act quickly and hope to be gone from here before he can carry out whatever it is he has planned.”

The enormous baron was all but unrecognizable in his disguise. His hair, normally an almost guinea gold, was a greasy brown. He wore a ragged turban and capacious cloak the locals called a djellaba. He had a crutch and when he crouched over in his limping walk he seemed no larger than most men. He’d also removed his distinctive eye patch. Adam tried not to stare as he looked into Ramsay’s mismatched eyes. The cut that had robbed his eye of sight had sliced from his forehead to his jaw, leaving a remarkably clean wound beneath his patch. The eye hardly appeared damaged except for the clearly bisected iris, which had turned a dull greenish gray.

“Should your captain take the ship farther out after we go? We could always meet them elsewhere if you fear a trap,” Adam suggested.

Ramsay shook his head. “We need the distraction. If Assad is watching the Ghost, he won’t be paying too much attention to the palace or looking elsewhere—like Quora’s Bluff. Fontine will be in charge. He is Delacroix’s first mate and knows well enough what to do if he becomes overwhelmed. I have also sent messages to several other ships that are at anchor. We have friends nearby if we need them.”

He handed Adam an old cloth bag. “Here, put these on. The quicker you do, the sooner we can be gone. Delacroix has already left for the Bluff and taken his men with him. They will locate the entrance and see to any clearing it might need. If it can’t be cleared? We will then have a look at Assad’s front door.”

Adam pulled out a white and red cloth, which Ramsay showed him how to wind and wrap. He also had a loose, dirty white shirt and a djellaba similar to Ramsay’s. When he was dressed, the bigger man had him rub ashes on his hands and face.

“Here is a piece of rope. Use it to secure your sword to your leg. As soon as we are off the pier you can scuff the polish from your boots. Until then try to stoop, keep your eyes on the ground, and be humble.” The baron’s lips twitched. “Try not to think like an English marquess. Think like . . .”

Adam snatched the piece of rope from his hands. “Thank you, Ramsay. I bloody well know how to think.” He buckled his sword beneath the robe and secured it to his thigh. When he was done he looked up. “I am ready.”

They headed west once they left the docks. Ramsay stopped a half dozen times to make sure they weren’t being followed. They took the small, winding alleys through the district known as Hai Imam El-Houari. Above their heads, perched on a rocky promontory, was the massive fort that loomed over the city, watchful and menacing.

“Fort Santa Cruz is a plum that has been passed between many hands,” Ramsay whispered, lurching beside him in the slow, painful walk he’d affected. “Beneath it are caverns running to the other two forts, as well as to the far west of the city. I have never been in them, but they are said to be extensive. I can’t help feeling the tunnel at Quora’s Bluff is somehow part of the same system.” He stopped speaking when they came to a bottleneck in the narrow road, where a man with three camels was impeding a rustic wagon, pulled by a giant ox.

Ramsay yelled something very rude-sounding in Arabic, his big hand waving the crutch as he spoke. The man with the camels yelled something back, but grudgingly moved the animals aside. Adam followed a grumbling Ramsay through the small opening.

When they passed beyond the clutch of people, Ramsay again turned to him.

“Once we get into the slave quarters, Delacroix and I will separate as he knows the pens as well as I do. We will search our sections and then meet back at the Bluff afterward. If we get split up and one of us does not make it back by the appointed time, leave. Do not wait, do not come looking. We will either have left some other way, or you won’t be able to help. Do you understand me, Exley? You will have to make sure Delacroix obeys you. He holds me in some affection.” Ramsay gave a low chuckle.

Adam didn’t bother asking how he was supposed to strong-arm a group of hardened privateers into doing anything they did not wish to do. He would deal with that eventuality if it happened.

Once they cleared the populated part of the city, they were able to move faster on the hard-packed dirt road that led into the countryside. The odd stone houses that had been packed side by side dwindled to individual buildings, and then to the occasional hut.

“We leave the road here.” Ramsay led him down a steep embankment and into a gully that looked like a dry riverbed. They followed the riverbed for perhaps a quarter of an hour before Ramsay cut west toward a small grove of trees.

“Here we are.” He gestured to the right and Adam peered through the gloom. They were not fifty feet from the base of an impressive cliff face. “Quora’s Bluff,” Ramsay said.

Adam glanced around. “Are your men late?”

Ramsay whistled and men materialized from rock, sand, and scrub. He greeted his crew with the same forearm handshake Adam had seen many times in the past weeks. One of the men was Delacroix, Ramsay’s captain. The Frenchman was squat, thick, heavily scarred, and looked every bit as roguish and disreputable as his employer.

“You found it?” Ramsay asked.

The Frenchman led them toward the cliff face. “Oui, Captain. It took a bit of digging. I don’t think it has been used in years.” He shrugged. “Maybe not since we left.”

A clump of scrubby trees were growing beside the big outcrop of rock and when Delacroix pushed apart some of the lower branches Adam could see a rude plank door sitting beside a rectangular hole cut into the stone face of the cliff.

Ramsay peered into the blackness of the cave and nodded. “Good. Let’s hope Assad knows nothing of it.” Ramsay took off his heavy robe and turban and tossed them onto the ground beside the trees. Adam did the same, and Delacroix handed them both torches. Ramsay took the lead.

The tunnel was so low the baron had to crouch almost double. Even Adam, just shy of six feet, had to walk in an uncomfortable slouch. Although the tunnel was cramped, it was remarkably cool compared to the muggy warm air of the harbor. Three times they came to a split, and three times Ramsay took the right-hand tunnel.

“Where do the others lead?” Adam asked Delacroix, who was behind him.