by Jude Watson
After a half hour at the cruise ship pier, Amy and Cara had to give up. There was only one ship in port. The cruise season didn’t start until May. The chilly weather had driven most people indoors, and there was nobody to ask about the cruise ships.
“I have a feeling we’re on the wrong track anyway,” Amy said. “Maybe the boys will have better luck.”
Cara shivered against the cold wind. “What do you say we find some hot chocolate before we head to the pier?”
Amy didn’t answer. She stared out at the wind-whipped harbor, thinking hard. “We’re making a mistake.”
“Sending Ian to talk to dockworkers? Disaster.”
“What is he after, anyway?”
“Ian? Most likely a cup of Earl Grey tea about now.”
“No,” Amy said. She stared out at the harbor as if her enemy would suddenly materialize. “The Outcast.”
“What does any evil guy want? Power.”
Amy frowned. “So why didn’t he just take over and edge us out? Why test us?”
“I don’t know.” Cara cocked her head, looking at Amy. “Do you?”
“He wants to humiliate us,” Amy declared. “He wants the entire Cahill network to judge us as incompetent children. The question is, then what? The guy has an endgame. I just wish I knew what it was. It would help us fight him. We have to get inside his head.”
“The lives that might be lost aren’t real to him. People are pawns in a game.”
Amy nodded. “Exactly. We saw today that it would be close to impossible to discover all the cargo that comes into this port. We could spend days, weeks trying to investigate. Is that what the Outcast wants?”
“Well, yeah,” Cara said. “Isn’t that the whole point?”
Amy shook her head. “No. If he makes it impossible, it’s not a contest. He has to impress the rest of the Cahills with his ingenuity. It’s got to beat ours. Can you think of any Cahill who would be impressed with someone who can plant a bomb on a ship? Or trigger some explosive cargo?”
“I see your point,” Cara said, a surge of excitement in her voice as she realized where Amy was going. “Child’s play for a Cahill. So it would have to be something interesting, some leap of technology or inventiveness. Something to show the family that he’s smarter than we are. Right?”
“Exactly. What if there wasn’t a bomb? What if the ship itself was a bomb, just like in 1917?”
“But there are no ships carrying weapons coming into port. We already found that out.”
“That we know of.”
“Smugglers,” Cara said. “Weapons trafficking.”
Amy nodded. “But that leaves us worse than nowhere. That means hidden cargo. Secret manifests. How could we possibly find it?”
“Unless we happen to know a major arms trafficker.”
“Right. But who would know someone like that?”
Cara’s face flushed. “I do.”
Sleet tapped against the steamy windows of the coffee shop. Outside looked blurry and unreal. Cara leaned in closer to Amy so that her voice wouldn’t carry. “When I was working for Pierce, he asked me to contact this guy Atlas,” she said. “I didn’t know why at first. I just had to find the guy. It wasn’t easy — he had an e-mail address that kept bouncing back. Fake IP addresses, servers … I was tracing it all over the place, from China to India to Sri Lanka. Finally I tracked him down. That’s when I figured out that Pierce was going for nukes.”
“Pretty twisted,” Amy said.
“Story of my childhood,” Cara said crisply. “Not my point. If I’d known who he was, I never would have found him for Pierce. Do you see what I’m saying? He is a nasty guy. The worst. He doesn’t live anywhere. Always on the move. He’s not one of those flashy types who has a legitimate business to hide behind. Just shell companies that don’t really exist.”
“So this guy is really connected to the weapons trade.”
“He basically is the global weapons trade. If there’s a big shipment, he’s probably involved. While you were getting the drinks, I put all the ship information through my search engine to see if it came up with a match of any of Atlas’s fake companies. No match, but … I found out that the captain of a ship coming into port once worked for one of them. He’s the captain of the cargo ship Aurora.”
“Do you think the ship might be smuggling weapons?”
“Don’t you?”
“If we can get aboard the Aurora …” Amy said.
“We might be able to find whatever it is that is going to trigger an explosion. But we need a solid intro to the captain. If we offer Atlas enough money, he might come and meet us. He always meets people face-to-face the first time.”
“We’ll have to pose as customers to bait the trap,” Amy said.
“This could be dangerous,” Cara said. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do it. I’m just saying … he’s a really, really bad guy.”
“But we don’t have any time to waste,” Amy argued. “Why don’t you send out an e-mail right now? We can always change our minds.”
Cara quickly tapped out a brief e-mail. “I hope we don’t have to do this. Maybe the guys will get lucky.”
Ian, Ham, Jonah, and Dan walked into the motel looking wet and bedraggled. Ham gave the girls a thumbs-down.
Ian grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wiped the rain off his face. “Dockworkers are an extremely uncooperative bunch,” he said.
“I saw Jonah pull out every trick in his celebrity handbook,” Dan said. “We still couldn’t get aboard that ship.”
“I found out from some guys that Dan was right,” Hamilton said. “The storm is driving the ships into port ahead of schedule. They’re going at top speed. So we might be dealing with one or two days until disaster, not three.”
“Cara and I have been talking.” Amy quickly filled them in on contacting Atlas.
“Thank you for informing me of this major decision,” Ian said in a chilly voice. He wadded up his towel and tossed it on the bed. Amy knew he must be really upset. Ian would never toss a wet towel on a bed. “Don’t you think we should have all had a vote in this?”
“It’s not a decision,” Amy said quickly. “We haven’t set up the meeting. We just wanted options.”
“Well, this is certainly a dangerous one,” Ian said. “Meeting with a weapons trafficker?”
“Do we have a choice?” Dan asked. “Our guy is going to blow up a city. Whatever we’re dealing with here, it sure isn’t tractor parts.”
Ian hesitated. “I realize that we don’t have a choice. I just don’t like this.”
“Who knows if he’ll even contact us?” Cara pointed out.
Just then her phone buzzed.
She bit her lip. “He wants to meet,” she said.
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico / Boston, Massachusetts
Aunt Beatrice’s face loomed on the computer. “I don’t have time to talk to you now! I leave for Palm Beach tomorrow!” She walked across the room and disappeared. Her voice came to them faintly. “I have to pack! Now, where are my light cashmeres?”
“You have to stay in front of the computer, Aunt Beatrice!” Nellie yelled.
“How can I do that if I have to pack?”
“We can’t hear you if you get out of range! WE JUST NEED A FEW MINUTES! DON’T GO IN THE …” Nellie slumped back. “Bedroom,” she said in a despairing voice.
“I try to videoconference with her,” Fiske said. “Part of my brotherly duties. She hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it. It’s like she expects me to follow her around. Reminds me of my childhood. In other words, depressing and annoying.”
“So what do you do?” Sammy asked.
Fiske shrugged. “Eventually, I just give up.”
“We don’t have time to go to Boston and see her,” Nellie said. “This is impossible.”
“Wait, she’s coming back!” Sammy exclaimed.
Nellie shot forward. “AUNT BEATRICE! WE’RE STILL HERE!”
“I know you are, Nell
ie,” Aunt Beatrice said. “No need to shout. And why do you call me ‘aunt’ when I’m not your aunt? You’re not even a Cahill, technically. I mean, not by birth.” Aunt Beatrice made a face. “I don’t approve of this Outcast person taking over the family — because, after all, who are his parents? — but he might have a point about the youth taking over. I admit you had some early successes, but where is the wisdom? My potential, for example, has been entirely untapped. It’s obvious that I’m temperamentally a Lucian, due to my leadership qualities. Though my first husband always said I must be a Janus because of my creativity. And a Tomas because I always beat him at tennis. Oh, he was a lovely man. Until he divorced me. Then he was evil.”
“Aunt Beatrice, if we could just stay on the subject —”
“But I am on the subject. My leadership qualities are why Patricia invited me to Singapore to meet the Outcast a few months ago.”
“What?” Nellie exploded.
“Well, she didn’t call him that. She just said there was a fascinating man I had to meet who had wonderful ideas on how to manage the family. Naturally I said no. I smelled something fishy, and even though there are some sublime Singapore fish dishes, I wasn’t about to go.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sammy whispered to Nellie.
“Just roll with it,” she murmured, her eyes on the screen.
“Besides, I detest those long flights. My ankles swell —”
“Singapore?” Nellie asked. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, do I, because I didn’t go,” Beatrice snapped. “Keep up, dear. Patricia was very put out. She said this person had big plans, and I’d be sorry. That he could … What was the word? Professionalize us. Is that even a word?”
“Wait a second,” Fiske said. “Are you saying you knew about the takeover?”
“Of course not! Nobody said anything about a takeover, and they completely misjudged me if they thought I would approve. I may not agree with putting this young whippersnapper Kabra in charge, but he was chosen and then approved, and if we start overthrowing things, we’ll be no worse than that horrible Rasputin, who shouldn’t be a Cahill at all. Talk about outcasts!”
Nellie pressed her fingers against her eyes. “Aunt Beatrice, please. Can we stick to the point? Was the Outcast in Singapore?”
“Yes, I said it three times, didn’t I? When Patricia said he’d been an Outcast, I just assumed he was one of the Cahills who Grace had booted out of the family. Some of them were quite charming, you know. Despite their wrongdoings. Take Fiske here — when he isn’t glowering at me, he can be quite pleasant.”
“I’ve told you,” Fiske said with an edge to his voice, “over and over, Grace made me an Outcast to protect me.”
“So you say. I don’t ask questions, and I’m not a gossip.”
Fiske snorted.
“So you don’t know who the Outcast is?” Nellie asked.
“I only know what I told you. I didn’t pursue it. To tell you the truth, I never liked Patricia all that much.”
“Can we talk about Grace’s enemies?”
“That Patricia — all she cares about is money, shopping, and her position. She was furious when her cousin Alistair — what is that expression, went rogue? — and helped Amy and Dan.”
“Can we get back to my original question?” Nellie asked.
“No, I haven’t found my light cashmeres,” Aunt Beatrice said. “And you know perfectly well I can’t go to Palm Beach without them.”
“Not about sweaters! About Grace! Did she have any enemies?”
Aunt Beatrice laughed. “Are you serious? Enemies? You might as well have asked if she owned shoes. Over the course of years, she managed to infuriate anybody who was anybody in the Cahill family. People would swear they’d never talk to her again! Me included. I could sit here and count them for you, but then I’d never catch my plane!”
“Did you know any of the Outcasts?” Nellie asked.
Aunt Beatrice waved a hand. “Of course. Cousin Delphine, John Beame Cahill, Trudy Macon-Fling, and poor Stephano, my second husband … I realize he did embezzle from the Cahill treasury, but you’d think a little forgiveness for her own brother-in-law was in order. But Grace never forgave anybody. Her retribution list was endless.” Aunt Beatrice leaned closer. “Don’t you know that Grace wasn’t a nice person? She was mean and petty!”
“Come on now, Bea,” Fiske said. “Grace had her issues, but —”
“Don’t talk to me, baby brother,” Beatrice snapped. “You were always her favorite, and she could do no wrong in your eyes. And may I remind you that you were floating around the Riviera when Grace was head of the Cahills? How would you know what she did?”
“I knew enough,” Fiske said. “She was tough, but honorable. She had high standards —”
“She had ridiculous standards! Look what she did to her own husband! You are a fool, Fiske Cahill. You always were about Grace. You are still blind. You refuse to admit what she did.” Aunt Beatrice’s voice shook with bitterness.
Nellie glanced at Sammy. Suddenly, the tension in the room was thick. Fiske gripped the arms of his chair as though he wanted to launch himself through the computer screen.
“It’s time you face up to what she really was. What she was capable of,” Beatrice said.
“Beatrice, don’t.” Fiske’s tone rang with steel.
“You want information, don’t you? Try this.” Beatrice leaned closer to the screen. “Grace made her own husband, Nathaniel Hartford, an Outcast.”
“What did he do?” Nellie asked.
“He told her he wanted a divorce. That’s all.”
“You don’t know that!” Fiske cried. “She would never make him an Outcast just because her marriage was over!”
“I know about her pride,” Beatrice sneered. “And her inability to admit failure! So yes, she made him an Outcast because he rejected her. And not only that —”
“Beatrice, I’m warning you —”
“Warning me? Just like Grace? Your precious Grace? Well, I didn’t listen to her, and I’m not listening to you! Grace put out a kill order on her own husband!” Aunt Beatrice’s words came out in a rush, and she sat back, satisfied.
“That was just a rumor!” Fiske thundered.
“Fine. Believe what you want.” Aunt Beatrice glared at the screen. “He’s still dead. He was killed in Moscow. Poisoned!”
“What?” Nellie blurted. “I never heard this! It can’t be true. Grace wouldn’t put out a kill order on anyone!”
“Don’t be naive, child. Of course she would! And did! She was ruthless. She did it, and then she scrubbed the archives. But we all know the truth.” She shook her finger at the screen. “You are all so blind! Don’t you understand? Grace was evil!”
“That’s enough, Bea,” Fiske said, unfolding from the chair and standing in front of the computer. He pointed his finger at the image of Beatrice on the screen. In his billowing white shirt he looked like an avenging angel. “It’s you who is full of malice!”
“I do have a sense of loyalty left, no matter what you think, Fiske, and no matter what Grace was. I wouldn’t get mixed up with that Outcast. But I’m not going to pretend my sister was an angel. I’m not! And don’t point your finger at me!”
Fiske turned away. He was shaking with anger. “This conversation is over.”
“I’m sorry, Fiske,” Nellie said, glancing from Beatrice’s tight face to Fiske’s back. “But whatever Grace did or didn’t do, the fact remains that one of the Outcasts is out for revenge. There’s a pattern here. Ian said Magnus Hansen was involved in the conspiracy. Vikram Kabra. Patricia Oh. They are all people who have been disgraced for some reason or another. Who were forced out of leadership positions. It gives us something to go on.”
“And Singapore,” Sammy said. “If the Outcast was recruiting from there, someone must know about it. And I know just who to ask. My godparents, the Chens, are prominent Ekats in Singapore. He went to Oxford with my dad.�
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“No time to waste,” Nellie said.
“I’m still here, you know,” Aunt Beatrice said. “If you go to Singapore, bring me back some of that divine silk. Pink. I’ll give you the address. I have the most talented dressmaker in Palm Beach….”
Fiske strode across the room and switched off the video feed. He crossed to the window and stared out into the courtyard. Nellie studied the stern lines of his face. Anger had changed the set of his mouth. She found to her surprise that he looked much more like the pictures of Grace she’d seen. She’d never thought they looked alike before.
Sammy called softly from across the room, where he was staring at his phone. “We can just catch a connecting flight to Singapore from Mexico City if we leave now.”
Nellie nodded at Sammy, then turned back to Fiske. “You said that if any of the Outcasts crossed Grace, they would suffer retribution. You may not believe what Beatrice said, but how far do you think Grace would go? You have to tell me. It’s important.”
“The past is the past,” Fiske said tightly. “Leave it.”
“But it’s not the past!” Nellie argued. “It might be the key to identifying the Outcast!” She put a hand on his arm. “Fiske, tell me. How far would Grace go?”
She saw him swallow. His eyes were haunted.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Halifax, Nova Scotia
At noon, the gang gathered behind a tall stone monument in a square in downtown Halifax. They stared at a white shingled church with a green steeple at the south end of the square.
“It’s beautiful,” Cara said. “St. Paul’s Church. The oldest building in Halifax, built in the seventeen hundreds. It survived the explosion in 1917.”
“It even has a ghost,” Dan said. “Look at this window!” He held up his phone and showed them a picture of one of the stained glass windows. A profile was clearly shadowed in the pattern of the once-shattered glass.
He read from his phone. “‘In the explosion, the window shattered in the form of the profile of the one-time assistant at the church. He is said to still haunt the aisles.’ Boo!”
