David desperately wanted to turn around to peek in the coach and see how Harriet was doing but, thinking of Lot's wife, he repressed the urge. If they recognized him, it was over.
They hit a bump in the road, and David risked turning around. One of the men was looking directly at him. No... he wasn't. He was looking to see if the coach was being followed.
They rode for about half an hour. As the coach began to lose speed, David hopped off and sauntered over to an open air cafe where he ordered a coffee. He sat and watched the two men as they paid for the coach and walked into a hotel with Harriet.
The Windsor.
By the time David arrived at the Calista his feet ached, his eyes were bleary, and his head was throbbing. He was dusty and dirty. The adrenaline was fading. When he arrived, sailors were loading provisions onto the docking platform.
"Where's the lieutenant?" he asked Harris, the ship's boson. Harris was supervising the loading of the ship.
"Not here, sir." He was a grizzled old sailor with tattoos running up and down his arms. Suspenders were holding up trousers that were cradling a pot belly. He looked tough as nails. "Can I help ya with something?"
David explained what happened, rage building as he relived the events.
"My god," said Harris. The other sailors had stopped working at this point, their attention wholly captured by David's account
"They got the captain?" asked one of the hands.
David nodded.
"Sons of whores!" Anger was building in the group. This was personal.
"Well, sir..." asked Harris slowly, "do we go to the MPs with this?"
David was lost in thought. By the time the MPs arrived, Harriet could be dead. He had men here. Why not do something to fight back? He had the means now.
"Boyles," he said to a sailor standing to his right, "notify the MPs. Tell them I'm headed to the Walden Hotel and to meet me there."
"Yes, sir!"
"Harris," he said, "you're coming with me. Find five volunteers who know how to fight."
Harrison's reply could hardly be heard over the outcry of volunteers, but from Harris' grin, David guessed it was "My pleasure, sir."
David, Harris and the others sat at the cafe across from the Windsor, drinking coffee, and keeping an eye on the hotel entrance. They were all tense, and they were all heavily armed with pistols and knives. He wanted to be absolutely sure they had the right hotel. He was hoping to identify one of the men he'd seen to make sure they were still there.
David knew it was risky to be so far out in the open, but he was hoping it wouldn't matter. There were definitely at least two Spaniards. Maybe a couple more. If that's all there were, David and his men could go on the offensive if they were spotted.
He was completely out of his element, but he was calm. Once the decision to act had been made, there was no nervousness. No fear. They were going to get Harriet out.
Of course, he was assuming that she was still alive. There was really no reason for them not to kill her immediately. He was the one they wanted. He was the one who knew how to build the Engine and could potentially help his government. If there was any chance that she was still alive, he was going to get her out, but who knew how much time they had.
"That's one of them," he said sipping his coffee.
Harris looked. "The ugly bugger in the Homburg hat?"
"Aye." Christ, he was already talking like a sailor.
The man he had identified was still wearing the expensive suit, and was heading down the opposite end of the street.
"What's the plan, sir?" Harris asked.
"I'm going to walk in the entrance and sit at the bar. When Homburg Hat returns, I'll follow him to his room. Ten minutes after I go in, I want you to fire shots in the air and yell 'police' outside of the hotel. I'm hoping they'll panic. It'll draw them out. Be prepared for return fire. I'll use the distraction to find her and get her out."
It was the best he could come up with. Harris looked doubtful. "Not very subtle, is it sir?"
"No, it isn't."
"Won't the local police come lookin'?"
"I hope so. We'll need someone to dig us out of the mess we're about to stir up."
Rodriguez took stock of the situation. Flores and his men had failed to capture Marr, they'd lost Hernandez and Cortez, and they'd brought back this woman to the hotel who was worth absolutely nothing to him. Flores had thought he might redeem himself for failing in his mission by bringing back Marr's companion.
This level of incompetence just went to show that the Emperor's meritocracy was a fantasy. The only reason Flores had this job was because his Great Uncle was a minister in the Emperor's court. This never would have happened twenty years ago. He lit a cigar and did a quick scan of the streets from his balcony. Nothing yet.
"Lo siento, jefe," said Flores.
"We need to leave here. Immediately."
Harriet heard voices in Spanish.
Her head was killing her. She slowly opened her eyes and she remembered what had happened. She was in the fetal position, her feet bound, and her hands tied behind her back. She was gagged. Her hair was matted to her forehead. Blood? She was lying in a cast iron tub.
Her last memory was firing shots at the men who were running down the alley. They returned fire. She ran out of bullets. Once it was clear that there was no risk of being shot, they came at her head on. She knocked one down, but the other got a lucky punch in. That was the last thing she remembered. Why hadn't they killed her?
She decided not to think too deeply about that question.
The problem was escaping. She took stock of her situation. Her pistol was gone, but she still had her uniform and boots on. She wiggled her toes around to search for the small knife she kept in her boot. It was a habit she picked up when she was an enlisted sailor. One never knew when a knife would be useful. It was gone. She tested her bonds, but they didn't give. The only way she was getting out was if someone untied her.
She broke into a sweat.
David sipped his gin in the Windsor hotel bar. The bar was right next to the lobby, so David was able to monitor the entrance from his seat. It was a well to do hotel, with a full bar, restaurant, and rooms that were far nicer than he could ever have afforded. He felt out of place in the plain, work clothes that he'd been wearing in the shipyard. The bartender had given him a look, staring at the oil stains on his shirt, but served him the drink without comment. He hadn't thought his plan through. The bar was filled with expensive suits, flowers, marble, elegant dresses, and fine grooming. It screamed class. He stuck out like a sore thumb.
He stared at his watch. Five minutes.
The calmness he had felt earlier was fading. He decided his probability of success would increase the less he thought about the dangerousness of what he was about to do.
He sipped his drink and waited. He felt the cool iron of the pistol tucked into the front of his pants, underneath his shirt. It was not comfortable. He noticed his hands were shaking as he put down his glass.
The man in the expensive suit entered the lobby.
He didn't appear to notice David. He walked past the check-in desk and up the grand staircase that led to the second floor. After a second, David paid for his drink, and headed towards the stairs. Once he was up, he saw the man turn the corner at the end of the hallway. David hurried after him. If he lost him, finding him would be hopeless.
David rounded the corner and came face to face with a pistol. He froze.
The person holding it was the man in the expensive suit, standing about ten feet in front of him.
This is it, thought David. Then David realized that the man didn't know it was him. He must have just noticed that someone was following him, not that it was David Marr. Recognition dawned on the man's face.
Gunshots. Shouts in the distance. "Police! Police!" The shouts were muted, but audible.
David saw panic cross the man's face as he looked back down the hall. Before he realized what he was doing, David tu
cked his head down, and slammed into the man's stomach with his head. They went down. He heard a gunshot. This time louder and closer to his head.
David grabbed the man in a bear hug and slammed his knee into his groin. It was his favorite move. He then bit into the man's shoulder as hard as could. He broke the skin and tasted blood. The man yelped. He dropped the gun.
David sat up to lunge for the weapon, but felt a blow to the side of his head. He was momentarily stunned, but the desire to live made it impossible for him to lose sight of his goal: the pistol a few feet away from them. The other man scrambled for it too. David was first.
He grabbed it and as he turned, he saw the man lunge at him.
He fired.
Rodriguez faced a dilemma.
The policed had arrived. They were firing at someone, possibly Ortega, who he'd sent to pick-up the drop-off from La Mujer. He clearly couldn't stay. This obviously meant disposing of the woman. But what to do about Flores? The man would only slow him down.
"Do you think the police are for us, jefe?"
The stupidity of this question made his decision a little easier.
"Sí, mi amigo." He took a derringer out of his pocket and walked towards Flores, placing the gun against Flores' heart. He fired just as Flores began to push away. He was slow to figure out what was coming even to the end. His mouth made a silent 'O', and he fell to the ground. Rodriguez nudged him with his foot, and then headed towards the bathroom.
Harriet was lying in the bathtub, still bound. She looked at him dispassionately.
"I'm sorry, my dear." He said raising the gun. "It's nothing personal."
A gunshot.
It came from right outside the room. He froze. If he fired his gun, he might as well shout out his room number. He gave Harriet an apologetic expression, shrugged his shoulders, and then opened the bathroom window and climbed onto the fire escape.
David sat for a moment considering the enormity of what he had done. At his feet lay what used to be a man. Now it was a hunk of flesh that was missing half of its skull. He stood up slowly, holding on to the wall for support, remembering where he was and what he was supposed to do. He looked down the long row of rooms. A few people had stuck their heads out their doors to see what the noise was. When they saw David with a gun, and what remained of the Spanish agent, they slammed their doors shut.
He had to move quickly. Where could Harriet be? He had an idea. He searched through the dead man's pockets. He found it. It was a key attached to a wooden block with a piece of string. Carved into the block was the number 217. He looked up. It was directly to his right.
He hurried to the door, but then hesitated. What if someone was in there waiting for him? He didn't have time to go back to his comrades for backup, so he'd just have to go in prepared for anything. He raised his pistol, turned the key in the lock, and slowly opened the door.
The room appeared to be empty. On the floor was a dead man. It was the other man who had chased him and Harriet through they alley. This was not encouraging. He slowly entered, his heart pounding, holding up the pistol, his hands shaking. The room appeared to be completely empty.
He heard a muffled noise in the bathroom.
When he entered, he saw Harriet bound and gagged in the bathtub. He rushed over to remove the filthy rag from her mouth.
"Well..." she croaked. "I didn't know you had it in you, Marr."
He grinned.
Tanenhaus surveyed the scene outside the hotel. Not surprisingly, a crowd of gawkers had formed. Two corpses were on the sidewalk. A crowd of sailors, including Marr and Milton, were in irons and about to be loaded into a police wagon.
"Hey you," he shouted to a plainclothesman who was giving orders to uniformed officers.
"What's your name?" he asked approaching the policeman, holding up a military MP badge. He was flanked by several MPs.
"Inspector Woods. Can I help you?"
"I need you to release these sailors into my custody."
"Now look here, we have jurisdiction..."
"There's a war on. We have jurisdiction over the entire goddamn country. Haven't you read the War Powers act?" Tanenhaus was indignant. Despite the credentials he had shown, he wasn't actually a lieutenant nor was he an MP, but that wasn't really the point was it? The person he pretended to be was in the right.
The Inspector open and closed his mouth wordlessly. He had the look of a man who knew he had lost, and knew that his next best option was to duck his head and limit the damage.
"Well, someone's going to have to explain this to the chief. We've got two dead bodies here. The owner of the Windsor carries a lot of water in this town, and he's going to want answers."
Tanenhaus waved his hand, "There will be a thorough investigation. We'll keep your people appraised of the situation every step of the way."
This seemed to satisfy the Inspector. He gave the order for the sailors to be released into the custody of the MPs. The prisoners were loaded into two naval wagons: one for the men and one for Harriet and David. Tanenhaus joined them in the back.
"I can explain everything..." started Harriet.
"No need," said Tanenhaus. "You've orders to return to the ship until you're ready to ship out. You're not to leave the docks."
Harriet appraised this small man.
"You're not Navy."
"No, I'm not."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who is keeping you out of prison." He leaned in closer, "Stay on your ship until you ship out." With that, he knocked on the side of the wagon. When it stopped, he hopped out and headed down the street.
CHAPTER NINE
David was nervous about his new role as Master of the engine room, but he also knew that he was in his element. Between his knowledge of mechanics, honed over the years at the university, and his brief but thorough apprenticeship with Jebediah, he knew he'd excel at his new position.
The rules of the ship and the Navy were another matter. He still knew very little about Naval custom, the chain of command, the rhythms and rules of the ship and its crew, or basic navigation. Thus, it was with more than a little trepidation that he took his post in the engine room as the ship cast off.
Despite the moniker of Master Engineer, the position required very little engineering. The engineer's main objective was to keep everything from coming apart, which was always a very real possibility. Because of the sheer amount of energy used by the machine and because of the mixture of systems relying heavily on biological components, coal, and gold, the machine's parts frequently broke down.
One of the first things that David learned as engineer's mate was that systems hate a quantum field. For some reason, the probability of a mechanical breakdown increased when the quantum field of the gold was activated. David wasn't sure whether this was an actual fact or a sailor's superstition, but it didn't change the fact that it appeared to be true.
Because the Calista was only a frigate, he did not have an engineer's mate. He did, however, have an extremely large assistant named Tong. The man was over six and a half feet tall and must have weighed in at almost three hundred pounds. Tong was a difficult man to know as he did not speak much English, and the little English that he did speak suggested that he was of limited intelligence. Tong installed himself as David's servant, bringing him food, pressing his clothes, and running errands for him. Apparently Tong had played this role on his last ship, and David had to admit he was quite good at it. David didn't think of himself as the type of person who had servants, but Tong was undeterred by his objections.
The rest of the Engineer's crew appeared competent. The engine room and its crew were smaller than that of the Dakota. He had six men who he worked with closely. None had worked together before, but they were all veterans and knew how to do their job. The build-up to their departure was uneventful.
After the adventure in the hotel, neither David nor Harriet were particularly excited about venturing out of the docks, and both decided to live aboard ship when not
supervising the ship's outfitting. The crew's pride had been horribly wounded by the kidnapping of their captain, and the enlisted men organized armed watches around the clock to ensure that none of their officers would go missing. When Harriet found out about this, she told the men directly that it was unnecessary and ordered them to leave her alone, for several men had taken it upon themselves to shadow her, keeping close guard, pistols at the ready. The men respectfully acknowledged the order, but discreetly ignored it.
David's role in Harriet's rescue along with his escape from the captured Dakota elevated him to the status of a mythological figure in the eyes of the crew. Some of the younger ship's boys could barely look him in the eye. A few couldn't talk to him without stammering. The older hands gave him winks or approving nods out of the blue. He was embarrassed by the attention, for he felt it was undeserved, but he soon realized that explaining that he was not actually a hero was pointless. They saw him as Jack Marr's son, and had taken to calling him Junior, in honor of his father. He was seen as a swashbuckling man of action whose engineering expertise was unsurpassed by anyone in the fleet. David hated it.
In the captain's quarters, David, Harriet, and Lara discussed the details of the voyage. The time delay for opening the ship's orders had ended, and Harriet had summoned them for a briefing.
"You'd have better luck ordering each of them to skip the wind than telling them not to call you Junior," laughed Harriet. "Nicknames stick. Especially in the Navy. You've got yours, whether you like it or not."
"Junior doesn't sound very respectful," noted Lara.
"No," said Harriet, shaking her head, "listen to how they say it. They might as well be saying his lordship. That's how much they respected Jack Marr, and that's how much they respect you, David."
"It's just a bit ridiculous. I'm no Jack Marr. Why don't they call me 'that fellow who does incredibly stupid things without thinking to save his neck.'"
The Gold Engine (The Gold Chronicles) Page 12
