by Steve Berry
He smiled at the reference to the stereotype of a blindfolded man being forced to walk into the sea at the end of a plank. In reality that punishment had been used only by squeamish captains, those who avoided bloodshed or wanted to convince themselves that they were not responsible for another’s death. The bold and daring adventurers, the ones who forged legends that continued to be told in countless books and movies, were not afraid to stare their adversaries down, even in the face of death.
“We shall raise the flag,” he said.
EIGHTEEN
AIR FORCE ONE
CASSIOPEIA LISTENED AS DANNY DANIELS EXPLAINED HOW THE voice on the recorder had alerted everyone where to look.
“He had to be there,” Malone said. “In the lobby of the Grand Hyatt. It’s the only way he would have known where I went. They were clearing the place out as I left.”
“Our mystery man also knew what to say and how,” Davis noted.
She caught the implications. One of their own, or at least someone who knew all about their own, was involved. She spotted a look in Daniels’ eye, one she’d seen before-at Camp David, with Stephanie-one conveying that this man knew more.
Daniels nodded at his chief of staff. “Tell ’em.”
“About six months ago, I received a visit at the White House.”
Davis stared at the man sitting across from his desk. He knew him to be fifty-six years old, a fourth-generation American, with family ties that dated to before the American Revolution. He was tall, with luminous green eyes and a shadowy chin that appeared as tough as armor. His smooth head was bounded by a crescent of long, thick silver-black hair, swept back like the mane of an aging lion. His teeth shone like pearls, marred only by a noticeable gap in the front two. He wore an expensive suit that fit as comfortably as his voice projected.
Quentin Hale commanded a massive corporate empire that involved manufacturing, banking, and retail. He was one of the largest landowners in the country, mainly shopping malls and office buildings located in nearly every major city. His net worth lay in the billions and he consistently made the Forbes wealthiest list. He was also a supporter of the president, having contributed several hundred thousand dollars to both campaigns, a fact that had earned him the right to personally meet with the White House chief of staff.
But what Davis just heard took him aback. “Are you saying that you’re a pirate?”
“A privateer.”
He knew the difference. One was a criminal, the other worked within the law on an official grant from the government to attack its enemies.
“During the American Revolution,” Hale said, “there were but 64 warships in the Continental navy. Those vessels captured 196 enemy ships. At the same time, there were 792 privateers, sanctioned by the Continental Congress, which captured or destroyed 600 British ships. During the War of 1812 it was even more dramatic. Only 23 navy ships, 254 enemy vessels captured. At the same time, 517 congressionally authorized privateers captured 1,300 ships. You can see the service we performed for this country.”
He could, but wondered about the point.
“It wasn’t the Continental army who won the Revolutionary War,” Hale said. “It was the devastation on English commerce that turned the tide. Privateers brought the war across the Atlantic to the shores of England and threw the British coasts into continual alarm. We endangered shipping within their harbors and nearly halted trade. That sent merchants into an uproar. Insurance rates for shipping rose to the point that the Brits started using French ships to transport their goods, something unheard of until that time.”
He caught a tinge of genteel dignity in the recounting.
“Those merchants ultimately pressured King George to abandon the fight in America. That’s why the war ended. History makes clear that there would have been no victory in the American Revolution without privateers. George Washington himself publicly acknowledged that on more than one occasion.”
“How does this relate to you?” he asked.
“My ancestor was one of those privateers. Together with three other families, we floated many ships during the Revolution and organized the rest into a cohesive fighting force. Somebody had to coordinate the attack. We did it.”
Davis delved through his brain and tried to remember what he could. What Hale had said was true. A privateer bore a letter of marque, authorizing him to prey on a nation’s enemies, free from prosecution. So he asked, “Your family possessed a letter?”
Hale nodded. “We did, and still do. I brought it.”
His guest reached into his suit jacket and removed a folded sheet of paper. Davis opened it to see a photocopy of a two-hundred-plus-year-old document. Most of it printed, some of it handwritten:
George Washington, President of the United States of America
To all who shall see these presents, greeting: Know Ye, that in pursuance of an Act of Congress of the United States, on this case provided and passed on the Ninth day of February, One Thousand Seven Hundred and Ninety-Three, I have commissioned and by these presents do commission Archibald Hale, licensing and authorizing the said individual, his lieutenants, officers and crews, to subdue, seize, and take all property and wealth of any and all enemies of the United States of America. All items seized, including apparel, guns, appurtenance, goods, property, effects, and valuables shall belong to the recipient of this grant, after paying an amount equal to twenty percent of the value seized to the government of the United States of America. To further encourage a robust and continuous attack on our said enemies, in a manner that we have all enjoyed during the recent conflict, the said Archibald Hale shall be exempt from all regulatory and pecuniary laws of the United States, and any State thereto, that may affect or discourage any and all aggressive actions, except that of willful murder. This compilation is to continue in force from the date of this grant in perpetuity and shall inure to the benefit of any and all heirs of the said Archibald Hale. Given under My Hand and the Seal of the United States of America, at Philadelphia, the Ninth day of February, in the year of our Lord, One Thousand Seven Hundred and Ninety-Three and of the Independence of the said States, the Twenty-Seventh.
George Washington
Davis glanced up from the page. “Your family essentially has a grant from the United States to wreak havoc on our enemies? Exempt from the law?”
Hale nodded. “Given in thanks by a grateful nation for all that we did. The other three families likewise have letters of marque from President Washington.”
“And what have you done with this grant?”
“We were there in the War of 1812 and helped end that conflict. We were involved in the Civil War, the Spanish-American War, and both world wars. When the national intelligence community was created after World War II, we were recruited to assist them. Of late, for the past twenty years, we have plagued the Middle East, disrupting financial activities, stealing assets, denying funds and profits. Whatever is needed. Obviously we have no sloops or corsairs today. So instead of sailing off in ships armed with men and cannons, we travel digitally, or work through established financial systems. But as you can see, the letter of marque is not explicit to ships.”
No, it was not.
“Nor to time.”
Davis rose and reached for a small pamphlet he kept handy on a shelf titled The Constitution of the United States.
Hale saw the title and said, “Article One, Section 8.”
The man had read his mind. He was looking for legal authority and found it exactly where Hale had said.
The Congress shall have the power to declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water.
“Letters of marque have existed since the 1200s,” Hale said. “Their first recorded use was by Edward III in 1354. It was considered an honorable calling, combining patriotism with profit. Contrary to pirates, who are but thieves.”
That rationalization was interesting.
“For 500 years privateering flourished,�
�� Hale said. “Francis Drake was one of the most famous, devastating Spanish shipping for Elizabeth I. European governments routinely issued letters of marque not only in war, but in peacetime. It was so common a practice that the Founding Fathers specifically granted Congress the power to issue such letters, and the people approved when the Constitution was ratified. That document has been amended twenty-seven times since our founding, and never has that power been modified or removed.”
Hale seemed not to attack his listeners so much as to persuade them. Instead of thundering out his point, he dropped his voice, exhibiting a focused attention.
Davis raised a half-open hand to say something, then changed his mind as the pragmatist within him reasserted itself. “What do you want?”
“A letter of marque grants the holder legal protection. Ours is quite specific on that. We simply want our government to honor its word.”
“He’s a damn pirate,” Daniels blurted out. “So are the other three.”
Malone nodded. “Privateers were the nursery of pirates. That’s not my observation, but Captain Charles Johnson’s. He wrote a book in the 18th century, A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates. A big seller for its time, still in print today. An original edition is worth a fortune. It’s one of the best records of pirate life that exists.”
Cassiopeia shook her head. “I didn’t realize you had such an interest.”
“Who doesn’t love pirates? They declared war against the world. For a century they attacked and looted at will, then they vanished, leaving almost no record of their existence. Hale’s right about one thing. It’s doubtful America would be here except for privateers.”
“I admit,” Daniels said, “that I never knew just how much these opportunists did for us. A lot of brave and honest men took to privateering. They gave their lives, and obviously Washington felt an obligation toward them. But our merry band today isn’t quite that noble. They can call themselves what they want, but they’re pirates, pure and simple. Incredibly, though, the 1793 Congress sanctioned their existence. I bet there aren’t too many Americans who know that the Constitution allowed that to happen.”
They sat in silence for a moment while the president seemed lost in thought.
“Tell them the rest,” he finally said to Davis.
“After the Revolution ended, Archibald Hale and his three compatriots formed a Commonwealth. Using their letters of marque, together they fattened their pockets. They also added to the Treasury, paying out the specified twenty percent they owed to the new national government. That’s something else I’m sure most Americans have no idea about. We made money off those thieves. With the current bunch, their income tax returns bear little relation to their lifestyles. And yes, for the past couple of decades their talents have been used by our intelligence community. They managed to do some damage in the Middle East, pillaging financial accounts, stealing assets, devaluing companies whose profits were being funneled to extremists. They’re good. Too good, actually. They don’t know when to stop.”
“Let me guess,” Malone said. “They started stealing from folks that we’d prefer they leave alone.”
“Something like that,” Daniels said. “They’re not real good on taking direction, if you know what I mean.”
“A dispute broke out between the Commonwealth and the CIA,” Davis said. “The last straw came with all the trouble in Dubai and its financial meltdown. The CIA determined that the Commonwealth had been engineering most of that chaos. As the Dubai national debt skyrocketed, the Commonwealth cherry-picked the best assets, buying them for pennies on the dollar. They also thwarted certain debt restructures that nations in the region were offering to solve the crisis. In general, they were a giant pain in the ass. But we couldn’t let Dubai go under. They’re one of the few moderates in that region. Somewhat of an ally. The Commonwealth was told to stop, they said they would, but then they kept right on. So the CIA pointed the IRS at them. They then squeezed the Swiss, who caved and provided financial records on all four members of the current Commonwealth. It’s been determined that those four owe hundreds of millions in back taxes. If done right, we can seize all their assets, which total in the billions.”
“That’s enough to make a bunch of pirates real nervous,” Cotton said.
Davis nodded. “Hale came to me and wanted protection under his letter of marque. And he has a point. The language specifically immunizes them from all laws, save for murder. White House counsel tells us the letter is legally binding. The Constitution of the United States directly authorizes it, and the letter itself mentions an act of Congress that approved it.”
“So why isn’t it being honored?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Because,” the president said, “Andrew Jackson made that impossible.”
NINETEEN
NEW YORK CITY
WYATT HAD NOT APPRECIATED THE REMINDER ABOUT HIS FIRING. True, charges had been brought against him by Malone, a hearing was held, and three mid- to high-level paper pushers, none of them a field operative, had determined that his actions were unwarranted.
Was I simply to shoot it out with Malone? he had asked the tribunal. He and I, guns blazing, hoping we make it, while three agents wait outside?
He’d thought the question fair-it was the most he’d said at the entire hearing-but the tribunal decided to accept Malone’s assessment that the men had been used as targets, not as protection. Incredible. He knew of half a dozen agents who’d sacrificed themselves for less reason. No wonder intelligence gathering was rife with problems. Everyone seemed more concerned about being right than being successful.
With little choice, he’d accepted his termination and moved on.
But that did not mean he’d forgotten about his accuser. Yes, these men were right. He owed Malone.
And he’d tried to repay that debt today.
“Do you realize that Carbonell is all but gone?” NSA said. “NIA is useless. Nobody needs it or her anymore.”
“The Commonwealth is going away, too,” CIA made clear. “Our modern-day pirates will live out their lives in a federal prison, where they belong. And you never answered our question. Were the pirates responsible for what happened today?”
The dossier Carbonell had provided about the Commonwealth had contained a brief overview of its four captains, noting that they were the last remnants of 18th-century adventurers, direct descendants of pirates and privateers. An excerpt from a psychological evaluation had explained how a navy man went to sea knowing that if he fought the good fight and won, rewards would come his way in the form of praise and advancement. Even if he failed, history would record his exploits. But it required a person of unusual bravery to face danger when he knew that no one would learn of his deeds. Especially when, if he failed, most would cackle at his misfortune.
Privateers had labored under both conditions.
If successful, their reward was a division of the spoils. Vary from their letter of marque in any way and they became pirates and were hung. A privateer could capture one of the king of England’s most formidable cruisers and the act would scarcely have been known. If along the way life or limb were sacrificed, too bad.
They were on their own.
Easy to see, the report had concluded, why they might play loose with the rules.
NSA stepped close. “You set Malone up, then led him straight into a trap. You knew what was going to happen there today. You wanted someone to shoot him, didn’t you? What’s the matter, Wyatt, lost your taste for killing?”
He stayed calm and asked, “Are we through?”
“Yep. You’re through,” CIA said. “Here. But since you’re not going to tell us anything, we have people who can be more successful in acquiring answers.”
He watched as they shifted on their feet, waiting for him to acknowledge their superiority. Perhaps that threat of a more intense questioning was designed to scare him. He wondered what possessed them to think that such a tactic would work. Luckily,
he’d socked away enough tax-free money in foreign banks to live comfortably forever. He really needed nothing from any of these people. That was one advantage of being paid from a black-ops budget-no W-2s or 1099s.
So he debated his options.
He assumed the two men who’d brought him were just outside the door. Beyond the window, on the opposite side of the room, past the blinds, was surely a fire escape. All these older buildings possessed one.
Should he be quiet and take two down or make some noise and drop all four?
“You’re coming with us,” NSA said. “Carbonell has a lot of explaining to do and you’re going to be witness number one for the prosecution. The man who can contradict her lies.”
“And you think I would actually do that?”
“You’ll do whatever you have to do to save your hide.”
Interesting how little they knew about him.
A mechanism from deep within seized control, and he allowed it.
One swing of his body and his right fist found CIA’s throat. Then he doubled NSA over with a kick to the chest, careful for the legs not to lose their balance. While the one man fought to breathe, he pounded NSA’s neck with a short chop, breaking the man’s collapse with his arms, then gently laying the stunned man on the floor.
He then stepped behind CIA and wrapped an arm around his neck.
“I could choke you to death,” he whispered in the man’s ear.
He gritted his teeth and increased the pressure on the windpipe.
“I’d actually enjoy watching you suck your last breath.”
Tighter.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Stay. The hell. Out of my way.”
CIA reached for his arm.
He increased the hold. “Do you hear me?”
Finally, the man nodded, then a lack of oxygen sucked all resistance from the muscles.
He released his grip.
