by Steve Berry
He looked and sounded tired.
“How are the president and First Lady?” she asked.
“I heard he paid you a visit before you left.”
She had no intention of violating Daniels’ confidence. “He’s upset over Stephanie. He feels responsible.”
“Don’t we all.”
“Anything from Cotton?”
“Nothing from him personally.”
She caught what he hadn’t voiced. “Who have you heard from?”
“Cotton wanted no backup on the scene.”
“And you went along with that?”
“Not exactly.”
HALE REALIZED THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME HE’D EVER HAD A weapon pointed at him. A strange sight, particularly given that he was lying naked in his bed. Kaiser held the gun like she knew what she was doing.
“I’ve been shooting since I was a little girl,” she said. “My daddy taught me. You used me, Quentin. You lied to me. You’ve been a terribly bad boy.”
He wondered if this was some sort of game. If so, it could be particularly arousing.
“What is it you want?” he asked.
She shifted her aim from his face to his crotch, only the blanket separating his bare skin from the gun.
“To see you suffer.”
SIXTY-FIVE
PAW ISLAND, NOVA SCOTIA
MALONE STUDIED THE CRENELLATIONS ON THE CRUMBLING walls for movement. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. His heart raced.
Just like the old days.
He retreated to a stairway and quickly found the ground. Leading with the automatic, he crept forward into the darkness of the inner ward. He stopped in the shadows and allowed his eyes to adjust.
A deathly chill crept into his body.
One that primed every nerve to be ready.
The fort was like a maze on three levels, rooms leading one into another. He recalled what he’d read about its lowest levels and the 74 British prisoners who’d drowned. The courts-martial had revealed that the fort’s foundations rested on a tangle of tunnels, cut from rock, high tide filling them, low tide offering a respite. The colonial officers claimed that they had no knowledge of the fact and simply chose the underground locale as the securest place to hold their prisoners. Of course, none of the Brits survived to contradict that testimony and none of the hundred or so colonial soldiers refuted the account.
He heard movement above.
Footsteps.
His gaze shot to the ceiling.
CASSIOPEIA WAITED FOR EDWIN DAVIS TO EXPLAIN.
“Cotton was insistent that no one be there except him,” Davis said. “But I thought that foolish.”
She agreed.
“So I had the two Secret Service pilots who flew him there keep an eye on things from shore.”
“What is it you’re not saying?”
“I got a call just before I arrived. There’s a lot of gunfire coming from Paw Island.”
She didn’t want to hear that.
“I’m waiting for an update before deciding what to do.”
She checked her watch. 9:20 PM. “Kaiser should be home by now. She told us eight thirty at the latest.”
“Has anyone been inside the house?”
She nodded. “They went in a little while ago.”
“The prisoner? Still quiet?”
“Not a word.”
“Some lawyer, expensive and connected, will appear tomorrow and demand bail. He’ll get it, too. The Commonwealth takes care of its own.”
A soft chime came from Davis’ coat pocket. He withdrew his cellphone and retreated from her.
An agent exited Kaiser’s front door and stepped over to her, saying, “I think you should see this.”
HALE HAD BEEN CAUGHT OFF GUARD. HE’D ALLOWED THIS woman to seduce him, thinking all the while that he possessed the upper hand.
“How long have you been listening to my phone calls?” she asked.
The gun aimed at his midsection made clear that lying would not be a good idea. “Several months.”
“Is that why you’ve been involved with me? To find out about the president?”
“At first. But that changed over time. I have to say, it’s been a joyous union between the two of us.”
“Charm doesn’t work anymore.”
“Shirley. You’re a big girl. You’ve never used anyone to get what you want?”
“What is it you want, Quentin?”
The storm continued unabated outside.
“For my family to keep what it has worked three hundred years to achieve.”
MALONE ENTERED WHAT APPEARED TO HAVE ONCE BEEN A large hall, most of the walls and the ceiling gone. Above him, on an exposed walk, he caught no sign of anyone. The sky above glowed from an ever-brightening moon, a cool wind swirling from east to west.
His mouth was dry from anticipation and a light sweat prickled his chest.
He crept to the far end toward a massive hearth framed by a crumbling stone mantel. A rectangular chasm, maybe ten feet wide and eight tall, opened in the center beneath a flue. He knew the hole was for hot embers, swept below for easier removal. The vertical shaft above vented smoke to the roof. He stepped into the hearth and stared into the opening below. Nothing but blackness could be seen, though the sound of surf was louder. He could use his flashlight and learn more, but that would not be smart.
The flue above might provide a concealed way for him to climb toward the roof.
He turned his head to gaze upward.
The sole of a shoe slammed his forehead.
He staggered back, but retained a grip on his gun.
The scene before him winked in and out, but he managed to see a black form drop from the flue into the hearth.
The form rushed him and they pounded onto a pile of rubble.
Pain seared through his right arm, which caused his fingers to release their grip on the gun.
CASSIOPEIA ENTERED SHIRLEY KAISER’S BRIGHTLY LIT HOME and followed the agent through the entrance hall, to the kitchen and a small work area that opened off it, leading toward a laundry room and the garage. A granite-topped built-in desk supported a computer, printer, and wireless modem along with stationery, pens, pencils, and other office accessories, all in a matching flowery print.
“We decided to remove the camera upstairs,” the agent told her, “so we came inside. Our transmission line was through the house’s Internet connection. That’s when we saw this.”
He pointed to the computer.
She focused on the screen and read GAULDIN CHARTERS.
A closer examination revealed that the company operated private air flights out of Richmond to various locales along the eastern seaboard.
“We checked,” the agent said. “Kaiser booked a charter flight earlier today and left several hours ago.”
“Where did she go?”
“Pitt Greenville Airport. In North Carolina.”
Fear surged through her.
Though she had no idea how far away Bath lay from Greenville, she knew it was nearby.
WYATT FINALLY HAD COTTON MALONE WITHIN HIS GRASP. He’d watched Malone’s progress through the ruins, the night-vision goggles granting him a clear advantage. When he’d spotted his target entering the hall, he’d made his way down the flue in an easy climb. Malone’s appearance within the hearth itself just made things easier.
His hands went for the throat and clamped tight.
They rolled off the rock onto the rough floor and kept rolling until they collided into another pile.
He slammed a fist into Malone’s ribs, working the kidneys. Malone reeled but did not let go.
He punched again, harder.
Malone pivoted onto his side and sprang to his feet.
So did he.
They circled each other, hands empty, arms ready.
“Just you and me,” he said.
CASSIOPEIA WAITED IN THE KITCHEN FOR EDWIN DAVIS. THE Secret Service agent had volunteered to get him. What Shirley Kaiser had
done may well have jeopardized everything. What was she thinking? The man she was dealing with was every bit a pirate, his only goal to survive, and killing a scorned woman would not be a problem.
Davis entered, concern on his face. He, too, apparently realized the implications. “That airport in Greenville is the closet one to Bath. She’s nuts to have done this.”
“I’m going,” she told him.
“I don’t know if I can allow that.”
“So it’s okay to drag me into that mess at the White House, but not okay for me to do any more?”
“That was private. This isn’t. You’re not on the payroll.”
“Exactly why I’m the one to go. And by the way, me not being on the payroll wasn’t a problem the last time Daniels was in a mess.” He seemed to get her message, so she added, “Give me a few hours, and if you don’t hear from me, then send in the Secret Service.”
He considered for a moment then nodded. “You’re right. It’s the best move.”
“What about Cotton? That call you took outside was about him, wasn’t it?”
“The agents reported in. They’re a few miles away, on shore, but they have telescopic night-vision equipment. One boat left the north shore a short while ago. Lone occupant, heading north, toward shore, away from their location. Lots of gunfire has been occurring, though it’s subsided some now.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I have to give Cotton the time he asked for to play things out.”
SIXTY-SIX
MALONE TACKLED WYATT WHO, WITH GREAT AGILITY, REVERSED the situation and pounded the back of Malone’s head into stone.
Everything winked in and out.
Nausea swelled in his throat.
Wyatt slipped off him and he caught the blurred image of a gun in his opponent’s right hand.
He struggled to one knee.
His head throbbed with every beat of his heart. He rubbed his scalp and tried to stand. “You do realize there are people high on the food chain who know you and I are here.”
Wyatt tossed the weapon aside. “Let’s finish this.”
“Is there an actual purpose here?” The question gave his stomach the few moments it needed to calm. “And what did you want, those New York cops to kill me? Or a Secret Service agent?”
“Something like that.”
His eyes surveyed the darkness, but he could not determine much beyond the stacks of collapsed walls and old timbers. The bird stench remained, which didn’t help his queasiness.
“I have a friend in trouble,” he said to Wyatt. “Stephanie Nelle. The guy you just let walk out of here works for the people who probably have her captive.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Anger swelled inside him. He sprang forward, wrapping his arms around Wyatt’s body and allowing momentum to propel them both onto the floor.
But instead of finding hard stone, a crack signaled that they’d landed on wood, the timbers offering little resistance, their combined weight sending them crashing downward.
And they kept falling.
HALE WAS BUYING TIME, TRYING TO FIND A WAY INTO SHIRLEY Kaiser’s psyche. He hoped compassion might be the way.
“My family,” he said, “has served this nation since before it was formed. Yet now the government wants to prosecute me and my associates as criminals.”
“Why?”
The gun continued to be pointed at his crotch, but he told himself to show no fear.
“My family were first pirates, then privateers. We have lived on this land for nearly three hundred years. We became for the fledgling colonial forces its navy, destroying British shipping during the American Revolution. Without us, there would have been no United States. We’ve performed similar services for many administrations since that time. We are patriots, Shirley. Serving our country.”
“What does that have to do with me? Tell me why you used me to try to kill Danny Daniels.”
“Not me,” he made clear. “That was my associates, unbeknownst to me. I was furious when I learned what they did.”
“So they tapped my phones?”
Careful. This woman was no dummy. “No. I did that. I was looking for anything I could learn that might help our situation. I knew of your relationship with the First Lady before I made contact with you.”
“So give me a good reason why I shouldn’t make you a soprano.”
“You’d miss me as a baritone.”
“More of that charm. You don’t quit, I’ll give you that.”
He shifted in the bed.
Her grip on the gun stiffened.
“Calm down,” he said. “Just lightening the load on some old muscles.”
“What did you do with what you heard on the phone?”
“Most of it? Nothing. But when I heard of the New York trip, I did inform my associates. With the White House not announcing the trip, we thought an opportunity might have opened. We discussed the matter, but decided not to act. Unfortunately, they changed their minds and did not bother to inform me.”
“Have you always been such a good liar?”
“I’m not lying.”
“You used me, Quentin.” Her voice carried no anger, no contempt.
“So you come here, lure me to bed, simply to shoot me?”
“I decided to use you a little.”
“Shirley, my wife and I have been apart a long time. You know that. You and I have enjoyed quite the healthy relationship. As we are speaking, right now, men are at your house removing the listening device. That’s over. Can’t we let it be? We can enjoy an even healthier relationship now—”
“That we know what a liar and cheat you truly are.”
“Shirley,” he said in gentle voice. “You are not naïve. The world is a difficult place, and we all have to do what we can to survive. Suffice it to say that my situation borders on desperate, so I chose the means I thought might achieve results. I did lie to you. At first. But once we came to know each other that changed. You know that I could not fake everything—if only from what just happened. You are an exciting, vibrant woman.”
The gun stayed aimed. “You destroyed my relationship with the First Lady.”
“She needs professional help. You know that. Or better yet, allow Mr. Davis to be her confidant. She seems to like him.”
“It’s not a dirty thing.”
“I’m sure it is not. But it is still a thing. One they would not want public.”
“What were you going to do? Blackmail them?”
“The thought had occurred to me. Luckily, better solutions to the problem may have come along. So their secret is safe.”
“How comforting.”
“Why not lower that gun and you and I consummate our new relationship. One built on mutual trust and respect.”
He liked her eyes, so blue they could at times seem purple. Her angular features barely reflected her age. She possessed the lissome grace of a dancer—curvy, slender-waisted, full-bosomed. And she always wore a peculiar scent of perfume with a citrus aroma that lingered long after they parted.
“I don’t think any relationship between us is possible,” she finally said.
And she pulled the trigger.
KNOX DITCHED THE BOAT ON SHORE AND HUSTLED BACK TO THE vehicle he’d left parked near a small strip of closed shops. He was glad to be away from Paw Island.
Him dying there was not part of any equation.
No one was around. He needed to leave Canada, and fast. The stolen boat would be discovered tomorrow by whoever. His two associates would also be found inside Fort Dominion. One was clearly dead, the other most likely. None of them carried identification, though they both lived toward Nags Head, on the Atlantic shore. He’d long ago encouraged many of the crew to move out from Bath into the surrounding communities, the farther away the better, though close enough to be on site within two hours. Many were single, like these two, with few attachments. Once the bodies were identified and it was
determined that they worked at the estate, law enforcement would appear. There’d be inquiries. But then that was why the Commonwealth employed a bevy of lawyers. It should not be a problem.
Andrea Carbonell, on the other hand.
She was a problem.
He was tired of being scared. Tired of watching his back. Tired of worrying. A good quartermaster would never have placed himself in such jeopardy.
Yet he had.
A year ago he might have stayed at Fort Dominion and fought it out with Jonathan Wyatt. But he’d already chosen another course, one that paid no heed to either duty or heritage. He just wanted to get out and not be killed by either the government or the Commonwealth.
He was a survivor.
And Jonathan Wyatt was not his enemy. Nor was Quentin Hale, really, or the other three captains.
They knew nothing.
Only Andrea Carbonell knew it all.
SIXTY-SEVEN
BATH, NORTH CAROLINA
HALE HEARD THE TRIGGER CLICK BUT NO RETORT.
Kaiser smiled. “The next one will be live.”
He did not doubt her prediction.
“Do you have any idea the situation you’ve placed me in,” she said to him. “Pauline Daniels will probably never speak to me again.”
“Are they aware of my listening in on your calls?”
“They found your little device in my backyard.”
Panic surged through him as he thought about the two men sent to retrieve the equipment. Were agents waiting for them?
“Shirley, you must listen to me. There is more at stake here than your pride. The entire weight of the U.S. government has been brought to bear on me and my associates. I need allies, not more enemies. It’s long past time for me to divorce my wife. Having you here full time would be most pleasant.” He paused. “For us both, I hope.”
