"I'm not sure what we can do," Carter said when she told him. He kept his good arm curled protectively around the bandage above his wrist. "It's getting dark, and we don't know where to start looking."
Colleen nodded, knowing he was right. They couldn't ask the battered and bleeding diggers to go blundering into the darkness, scouring thirty square miles of thick jungle for armed men who might and might not be holding Bill.
And there were other priorities, she knew. The cult of Katharis was capable of great harm. It had to be thwarted, or many more lives would be lost. The sensible and responsible thing to do was to get back to town, turn the injured men over to the care of their families, get on board the Persephone, and flee.
Bill might be fine. He could be tracking the mob, or hurrying back to town for reinforcements. If he was a prisoner, he might be released anyway. He might be dead already and beyond help.
But if she left now, Colleen realized, she would never know. She would never make it back to this remote island. Bill's fate would haunt her for the rest of her life. And she didn't think she could live with that.
She gave the pistol to Carter and told him, "I'm going to look for Bill. Don't wait for me. I'll try to meet you at the Persephone." Then she turned and jogged away before he could argue.
She was at the base of the hill when she saw flashlights bobbing in the darkness. Men were walking along the shore of the island. Colleen darted over to the edge of the jungle, crouched behind some brush, and watched.
She recognized the island's two policemen by their uniforms. The six men behind them were harder to make out. Each wore a white shirt with some sort of sash across one shoulder. Improvised uniforms, Colleen decided. The cult wanted a veneer of legitimacy in its attack on Tanathos. The men had no doubt been deputized by the governor, at Falconer's urging.
There was one more unifying element to the deputies. Each one had a rifle slung across his back.
All she could do was crouch in the darkness and watch as the eight men clambered up the hill. They disappeared over the crest, and Colleen started climbing behind them, bracing herself for the sound of a shot.
It never came. When she peered over the crest she saw the diggers, Carter, and Maggie standing docile in a line, shoulder to shoulder. The six deputies, rifles ready, watched over them while the two policemen moved down the line applying handcuffs. When they ran out of cuffs they produced short lengths of rope and used them to tie people's hands in front of them.
Colleen crept onto the hilltop and worked her way around the scene of the arrest in a wide arc. She made it undetected to the donkey engine. Once there she crouched in the darkness, a wrench in her hand, afraid to make any noise.
An argument flared up between one of the diggers and a deputy. As men started to shout, Colleen set to work loosening the hatch on the bottom of the boiler. When a rusty bolt gave a particularly loud screech one of the flashlights swung her way. She leaned back behind the boiler until the argument started up again and the beam of the flashlight moved away.
A billow of steam came out as the plate loosened, but not the dangerous eruption she had feared. She got the plate free and reached inside.
The boiler was dry. Colleen groped around blindly, ready to flinch back if she encountered a hot surface. Then the tips of her fingers brushed smooth, curved ceramic and she smiled. She drew the stone out, holding it in her hands as she slipped back into the darkness. The rest of the dig site was in the hands of the cult now, but she had the most important artifact they'd found.
Except for the tablet, buried on the beach. She considered digging it up and re-burying it somewhere else. That way, if they tortured Carter he wouldn't be able to tell them anything of value. But if she got herself killed trying to save Bill, the tablet would be lost forever. And she had a feeling Carter would be a pretty tough nut to crack.
So she left the hilltop and plunged into the thick jungle on the side of the mountain ridge. The jungle canopy closed over her head, plunging her into near-complete darkness. Working her way forward by touch, hampered by the stone in her hand, trying desperately to hurry without making noise, Colleen worked her way through the trees. The ground sloped sharply toward the ocean, and she followed the slope. Branches cut her arms and face and slashed at her shins through her trousers. She slid as much as she walked, teeth clenched shut against inadvertent shrieks of terror, and after several minutes she found herself at the jungle's edge, peering out at the ocean.
Off to her left she heard cursing voices and the scuffing of leather on stone as the police force herded the prisoners down the hillside. She darted out of the jungle, turned her back on Tanathos, and started to run.
The jungle to her right was a black and featureless wall. Somewhere, she knew, was the path she had taken with Bill and Peter to the bonfire. They had found the path effortlessly, but to Colleen every part of the beach looked the same. She ran, the hot rock clutched in her fist, hoping against hope to see some familiar landmark. When she saw the glow of the town ahead of her she knew she had gone too far. There was nothing to be gained by turning back. She needed help. She kept going.
Chapter 6 – Assault on the Persephone
There were no streetlights in the little town. A few lights shone in windows, and the entire second floor of Government House was lit up, but the rest of the town was dark. She thought the town was silent until she had her breathing under control. Then she heard the distant mutter of angry voices.
Two ships were anchored in the harbor. Colleen felt a little bit of the tension leave her as she recognized the familiar lines of the Persephone. Another, larger ship floated a few hundred yards beyond. It had to be the mystery vessel that had brought Falconer.
Colleen walked along the water's edge, examining boats, looking for anything small enough for her to handle alone. Nothing was locked. On an island in the middle of nowhere there was no place to take a stolen boat.
The dinghy she chose had the word "Persephone" written across her stern. The oars were in the bottom. Colleen tossed in the hot rock, dragged the boat into the water, clambered aboard, and started to row.
The boat was designed for a dozen passengers, and she found it slow going. Her right hand ached in dull, throbbing pulses from her punch of the night before, and her left hand stung from the scalding she'd gotten from her improvised steam weapon. She longed to let go of the oars, cradle her injured hands to her stomach, and wait for someone to rescue her.
But the last person who'd saved her life was Bill, and Bill had no one else to count on but her. So she gritted her teeth and kept rowing.
Finally the Persephone loomed above her. Colleen stopped rowing and stared up at the ship, wondering how she would get someone's attention. She jumped when a voice spoke in the darkness.
"Is that you, Colleen? Is that our boat?"
"Sol? Where are you?"
He moved, and she saw his outline against the lights on the bridge. "You want to come aboard? Toss me the painter."
She scrambled to the front of the boat, grabbed the rope at the prow, and tossed it up to Sol. He towed her aft to where a ladder descended from the deck to the water's surface. She tied the boat at bow and stern against the rubber tires that acted as fenders and climbed the ladder, moving awkwardly with the hot rock in her hand.
Sol leaned against the railing, the bridge lights gleaming on the dark skin of his face and lighting up one of his earrings. "What's the matter?" he asked. "What's going on?"
Colleen dropped the hot rock in an empty bucket and turned to face him. "Oh, God, Sol, it's good to see a friendly face. I need your help."
"All right. What do you need?"
She scrubbed a hand through her hair, wondering where to begin. "A flashlight, at least. A gun would be nice. An army would be better."
He looked into her eyes, concern on his face. Then his gaze drifted away. In a moment he was staring at the air beside her head. Colleen was just opening her mouth to ask him what was wrong when she heard a s
teady splashing from behind her.
She turned and saw the gleam of a lantern in the prow of a boat moving steadily toward the Persephone from shore. She could make out a man kneeling, holding the lantern, and four more men behind him, rowing. As the boat moved closer the details became clearer. It was a police constable holding the lantern. Four of the newly-minted deputies manned the oars.
"This isn't good," she told Sol. "Don't let them on board."
A door creaked behind her and she turned. Libertad, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to show the face of the dragon on his chest, came out of the bridge with Mick, a burly Frenchman, at his side. "Welcome back on board," Libertad said. "Now, what's got the two of you so fascinated?"
"Company's coming," Sol said, and pointed.
"It's trouble," Colleen said. "Don't let them board the ship."
Libertad gave her a speculative glance. "I don't know. They look pretty official."
"Don't let the uniform fool you," she told him. "There are people who don't want us leaving the island. They'll arrest you if they think it will slow us down. They'll cut your throat, for that matter, if it looks like that will work better."
His eyebrows rose. "Just what have you gotten me involved in, girl?"
"I'm sorry, Captain," she said quietly. "I never meant to put you or your crew in harm's way. But I've interfered with the plans of some desperate people."
He frowned and gave her a long, searching glance, then moved to the railing as the boat approached.
The policeman in the front stood and raised the lantern as the men behind him shipped their oars. "Ahoy the ship," he called. "Customs inspection."
"I spoke to the governor," said Libertad. "He never said anything about this."
The policeman shrugged. "That's as may be. I need to come aboard."
Libertad rubbed his jaw. "How do I know you're a real policeman? Maybe you're here to rob me."
"Don't be ridiculous!" the policeman snapped. "Now, you can either allow me to board your ship, or you can leave the territorial waters of the Dutch East Indies. The choice is yours."
Colleen looked at Libertad. She could see the doubt in his face, sensed that he was going to give in. The police officer looked reasonable enough, but she could see the gleam of fanaticism on the faces of the deputies behind him. Letting them aboard the Persephone would be a disaster.
She stepped to the railing and leaned out. One of the deputies saw her, spoke urgently to the man beside him, and pointed. The man was shaking with rage.
He looks like he's about to snap, she thought. I wonder if I can put him over the edge.
"Katharis isn't real," she shouted, and all five of them stared at her. "It's all a lie. Falconer just wants to use you. Forget about him. Go home."
The policeman turned back to Libertad, ignoring her, but the four deputies glared at her, faces filled with rage. "That's a lie!" one man shouted.
Just a little bit more. Come on, show the good captain your true colors. "Katharis is a myth," she called. "You had some bad dreams. That's all. Don't be more gullible than-"
That was as far as she got. The deputy who had shouted reached into the bottom of the boat. She saw the shape of the rifle in his hand and she scrambled back. Libertad swore and dropped to his hands and knees, the policeman shouted something, and a shot rang out, chipping paint from the railing in front of Colleen.
Libertad bellowed, "Mick! Get those bloody engines going! Sol, get the anchor up. Then be ready to repel boarders!" And he scrambled across the deck on all fours, heading for the bridge.
The boat below them erupted in shouting. Colleen retreated to the middle of the deck, keeping low, trying to stay out of reach of the rifle and out of the way of the crew. There didn't seem to be many people on board. She didn't know whether to be alarmed that the ship was caught unprepared, or relieved that Libertad was unlikely to flee.
Chain clattered as Sol used an electric motor to raise the anchor. When the rattling stopped, Colleen heard the slap of oars in the water. The last she'd seen of the boat, it had been no more than thirty feet out. It wouldn't take long to close the distance.
The Persephone began to vibrate beneath her as the engines engaged. The boilers would be just about cold, though. It would be a slow start.
The slap of oars stopped. That meant the boat was pulling up alongside. They would be coming up the ladder in moments. She looked for Sol and couldn't see him. Then he appeared in a hatchway, a barrel over his shoulder, staggering under the weight. He reeled across the deck, heading for the top of the ladder. He let the barrel tumble without looking. Colleen heard cries of alarm and the splintering of wood as the barrel smashed down into the boat.
There was a gap in the railing to give access to the ladder, and Sol stood with his toes over the drop, waving his arms for balance. Colleen darted out, grabbed his belt, and dragged him back to safety. The two of them collapsed to the deck, panting.
She crept to the edge of the deck and looked over the side. The boat she'd taken from the shore had been in the way, and they'd cut the rope on the bow so it trailed out beside the Persephone.
The police boat was alongside, drifting. Two men were in the water. The rest struggled with the barrel, which lay in a wreckage of boards in the bottom of the boat. The oars on one side were smashed, and the boat was taking on water.
Movement to her right made her turn her head. A deputy clung to the ladder, his head just below the deck of the Persephone, a rifle slung across his back. Colleen sprang to her feet, frantically scanning the ship for a weapon, and the man came scrambling onto the deck. She jumped at him, aimed a kick at his chest, and he grabbed her ankle.
She hopped on one foot, and Sol stepped up beside her. His kick was much more effective, slamming into the deputy's lowest rib. The man gave a grunt of pain and slid backward, both hands locked in a death grip around Colleen's ankle. He pulled her, hopping desperately, toward the edge of the deck, and Sol threw his arms around her waist, pulling her back. She kicked with her imprisoned leg and the man suddenly let go. She and Sol fell back onto the deck, and the man disappeared with a splash.
The Persephone was picking up speed. By the time Colleen crawled to the side and looked down the man was bobbing in the water a dozen feet back. As she watched he unslung his rifle and dropped it so he could swim. Beyond him, the others had pushed the barrel overboard, but the rowboat was sinking quickly.
Libertad came out of the bridge and joined her at the railing. "Has the whole island gone mad?" he asked.
"It's Katharis," she told him. "He's some sort of pagan god. I think he must be real. He corrupts people in their dreams. I think things here will return to normal once we collect what we came for and get out of here."
"I'm starting to wish I'd never met you," he rumbled. "But it seems I'm stuck with you. Are you both all right?"
Colleen nodded, and Sol said, "Yes, Captain."
"Good. We'll put some distance between us and those pirates, and send a boat for Jake and the others. And then we'll get the Hell away from this God-forsaken island, and never come back."
Fifteen minutes later, Colleen found herself perched in the bow of the Persephone's little rowboat while Libertad and Sol manned the oars. She wasn't sure how she would persuade him to wait until Maggie and Carter were released, but there was time to focus on only one crisis at a time.
The three of them beached the boat and walked to one of the few buildings showing lights, the town's only bar. Being the only one it didn't have a name, or a sign, but Libertad and Sol clearly knew it well. Colleen followed them as they pushed the door open and marched inside.
Three local men sat around a table playing cards. No one else was in sight. One man must have been the bartender, because he put his cards down, stood, and said, "What'll it be, gentlemen?"
Libertad growled, "Where are my sailors?"
The bartender shrugged. "Some other fellas came in and talked to them. They all of them left."
"How long ago?"<
br />
That brought another shrug. "Ten minutes? Twenty minutes?"
Libertad hurried out, Sol and Colleen trailing behind him. They stood in the middle of the dark street, staring around, and Libertad stiffened. "I heard something," he said. "This way."
He set off down the street at a trot, and Sol and Colleen hurried to keep up. They left the lights of the bar behind, and Colleen opened the shutter on the little hurricane lantern she'd brought from the boat. Libertad made an impatient gesture, though, and she closed the shutter.
A faint glow lit the darkness ahead of them.
They hurried through the streets, stumbling occasionally in the darkness, quickly reaching the edge of town. A dark jungle path opened before them. A man swore somewhere ahead of them, his Yiddish accent unmistakable.
"It's Abe," Libertad said. "Let's go."
The trees quickly blocked out any trace of moonlight, and Colleen opened the lantern a crack, letting out just enough light for them to hurry down the path. Libertad was in the lead, and Colleen froze when he stopped and raised his hand. He made a quick gesture and she closed the lantern.
Light glowed through the trees, no more than fifty yards ahead. Colleen set her lantern on the ground and the three of them moved forward. They caught up with the party ahead of them almost before they knew it, rounding a bend in the trail to find a cluster of figures a dozen feet away.
There was only time for Colleen to catch quick impressions. Four men wore hoods over their heads, stumbling along with their hands tied behind their backs. A handful of local men prodded them along, the ones in the back turning, seeing the three of them, mouths opening to shout-
Libertad leaped forward with a shout. The closest man had been prodding a sailor along with the tip of a knife. He turned toward Libertad, bringing up the knife, hopelessly too slow. Colleen didn't see the punch land, just heard the meaty crunch as she ran past him.
One sailor, Jake Keefe by his build, put his head down and charged at the cultist closest to him. He was running blind, and he nearly missed, but his shoulder caught the man under the ribs and knocked him sprawling. Keefe fell as well, and a man stepped up behind him, pulling a machete from a sheath on his belt, lifting the blade high.
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