“Might be slim pickings at this time,” Kennedy guessed. “And expensive.”
Drake shrugged. “We’ll take what we can get.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The ship they boarded, at the last minute, could have been renamed RustBucket without even hurting the owner’s feelings. But the food was free, along with the alcohol until 7 p.m., so they decided to take the night off.
Drake and Kennedy took their fancy-free cocktails to one of the ships feeble-looking railings and watched the ocean for a while. Drake tried several different ways of drinking but, in the end, conceded that the only way to actually get a real swig was to throw the multi-coloured umbrellas and cocktail sticks overboard.
Kennedy looked a little lost. “What the hell am I doing?”
“Living on the edge!” Drake squawked, Steve Tyler style.
“Don’t. Even your mouth’s not that big. I mean, where’s my career gone? I haven’t seen New York in months, let alone my boss.”
“You’ve started a new career.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
“I never do.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Drake said slyly. “I’ve heard a few enthusiastic shouts from you.”
“I don’t need to be here,” Kennedy turned to him. “I - we - could be anywhere.”
“Could we? Knowing what you know, Kennedy. Could you just leave all this for the CIA to take care of?”
“They’re good at what they do. I should be moving forward.”
“Not what I meant. The problem is the Blood King. And not who he paid off, but how many he paid off. Imagine a man who would hire Boudreau as a side-kick with enough power to hold the world to ransom.”
Kennedy tugged at her jeans and then gave him a quick smile. “Wanna get some enthusiasm going?”
“Mmm. Let’s try to do something about those jeans of yours.”
*****
Hayden didn’t want to think. She said her goodnights to Kinimaka and then took a bottle of Jim Bean and a fistful of Ben’s T-shirt and dragged him back to their room. The JB was a third empty by the time she got his pants down; another huge swig and she’d driven him to the corner of the room. Fully clothed, she undressed him and watched the expression in his eyes turn from shock, to pleasure, to lust.
The alcohol burned away the stink of memory, like a blunt knife scraping away congealed blood. Ben’s body responded to her touch. To his credit he seemed to realise she was using him and he accepted it. Who wouldn’t, she thought with gruff humour.
She climbed on top of him, blonde hair scraping his thighs and belly and then framing his face. “Make me forget them,” she said in a small, out-of-character voice. “I need them out of my head. If only for a little while.”
Ben stepped up.
*****
Nassau was already in view before Drake surfaced from below decks. He made a point of tugging Kennedy’s jeans up for her before she climbed the short ladder in front of him. She smiled back. “Cheeky bastard.”
He blinked. “Hey, you’re sounding more and more like a proper Yorkshire lass every day.”
“New York bitch ‘til I die,” she whipped back. “And then some.”
The ship docked and they walked the plank with hundreds of others. One thing about Nassau, Drake told them, was that tourists would find it hard to get lost. There was a main street, a strip with a few minor streets that dissected it, a big market, and a herd of taxis that took you to the impressive but aging Atlantis hotel and back.
“Follow the pack,” Ben shouted with a swing in his step.
Drake gave him a little sidelong glance. “Good night?”
Ben opened his mouth to speak but then his mobile rang. “Karin?”
“Hope that didn’t interrupt you too much last night, my friend.”
Drake moved up to walk alongside Mano Kinimaka. The big Hawaiian had kept himself slightly apart since the ‘old’ friends got back together and Drake didn’t want him to feel alienated. Especially since he wanted to keep an eye on him.
“How’s it goin’, big guy? I know you saw the same things Hayden saw. You handling it any better than she is?”
Kinimaka looked a little shocked. “I was warned you were blunt, but . . .”
“Take me as I was born and bred,” Drake shrugged. “As a Yorkshireman.”
“We weren’t friends, but I feel sorry for them and their families. I hate Boudreau and his boss. I’m in this to the very end, believe me.”
“Good.” Drake slapped the giant on the back and, for the thousandth time in his life, wondered if every trained soldier sized the other man up for his weak spot even as they were simply chatting.
They took a right down Bay Street, still among the horde, but as the gift shops and restaurants began to grow more plentiful the crowd began to thin. They followed the signs for the Pirates Museum - not that they had to, because when they found the place it was one of the gaudiest buildings Drake had ever seen. Painted in light purple, with a massive depiction of the skull and crossed swords, the museum seemed to offer tack and fake plunder rather than authentic swag.
Kennedy frowned as she eyed the makeshift stocks outside. “This the right place?”
“Aye, me hearty,” Drake growled, laughing at their disgusted expressions. Then he sobered. “And on that darker note, keep an eye out, boys and girls. We won’t be the only team in town.”
“We might be.” Ben sounded a little hurt.
“I’m not saying you’re crap, mate, just that there might be one or two others out there who measure up to your talents.”
They walked into an air-conditioned room, found a guide and beckoned him over. To their surprise he knew immediately what they were looking for.
“There is a small authentic museum out back,” he told them. “Tourists are usually too busy with the stocks, eye-patches and dress-up to even notice it’s there.” The man was old and grey, but virile-looking, as if he still worked out and ate well. “You folk are the third set since yesterday been asking ‘bout that ole rag. Not unheard of, but unusual.”
“Third set in two days?” Ben shook his head. “I must be losing it.”
Drake immediately eyed Kinimaka. The Hawaiian caught on straight away and fell back to scout the surrounds. Who was to say one of the sets hadn’t left a welcoming committee?
“Anyway, it’s over here,” the old man said as he wandered through a pink door with rickety hinges and pointed at an open display case, one of half a dozen in the tiny room. “Thing’s chained down, o’ course. Trust ain’t one of the museum’s strong points.”
Hayden led the way, striding over to the display case without heed or evaluation. Drake followed a few steps behind, giving Kennedy the same stare as Kinimaka and making sure she understood to check their perimeter.
When he reached the display case he wasn’t all that impressed.
A tatty old rag lay before them. Nothing but yellowed and blackened paper, scrawled over in faint spider patterns, the ink worn and washed away.
“That it?” Ben voiced everyone’s thoughts.
Hayden reached out to flick the pages. Ben said the obligatory: “Careful.” With a few practiced movements she had found the passage they were looking for. Drake took a moment to appraise the room. Kennedy was at the door. The cabinets all around them were dull and dusty, suffering from neglect. The shelves were bowed and creaked every time someone moved. The single row of windows, high up, held a layer of dirt so thick even the Bahaman sun failed to penetrate.
Kennedy nodded that she was satisfied with their perimeter.
Hayden leaned forward to study the writing. “Edward Teach brought forth two boxes, one of shiny and magnificent lustre and one of cheap design. But when joined, imagination would struggle to conjure a more Hell-like image. The very ground did begin to swell and shake and with mine own eyes I did see some folk vanish as if they had never existed.” She looked at Ben and Drake. “That’s just the fir
st page,” she read a few passages to herself. “It seems Blackbeard brought the device to their meeting and demonstrated its power to prove his superiority. Calico Jack invited Blackbeard back to his-” Hayden squinted. “Abode? Does that say abode?”
Ben nudged her aside, eager to get a look. Drake grinned. “Yes,” his young friend said. “They retired to Calico Jack’s abode and, luckily, our scribe went with them.”
Hayden pushed her way back in. “The air between the two Pyrates was charged with a fearful tension. Blackbeard himself set off the fuses beneath his hat, making them fairly crackle and fizz. Jack took great mirth in this, miming the terror and quick flight of his enemies. Blackbeard, his face barely apparent through his magnificent growth, explained to Jack how he was feared there and that a battle was coming. A battle he could not ignore.”
“Interesting,” Ben nudged again. “My turn.”
Hayden suffered him to lean in. Ben refused to speak Pyrate, instead first digesting the text and then reciting it his own way. “Blackbeard arrived at this meeting with Calico Jack hotly pursued by two men-of-war. Now, Teach didn’t back down from a fight so he fully intended to take them on, but he wanted Calico Jack to look after the device until he returned.” Ben paused. “Now that’s one trusting pirate.”
“And the reason he demonstrated his power,” Drake said. “Best guess - there’s a way to make it work that only Blackbeard knew.”
“And don’t forget Blackbeard’s Claw,” Kennedy shouted. “Dude sounds like some serious backup.”
“So that would make me-” Ben raised a dreamy face, “Drake’s Claw.”
Hayden pushed him away. “Our Heroe, Captain Teach, the man who scared America more than any other, did charge Calico Jack with the safekeep of his fearsome Storm Maker, and promised to heap gold cups and barrels of wine and many other treasures upon him, but did leave a dire warning-”
“That Calico Jack would vanish from this Earth, leaving no trace of him ever living, if he dared to double-cross Edward Teach,” Ben finished with a flourish.
Drake thought about that. “Nasty threat to say the least. I would imagine a pirate like Calico Jack would take heed, bearing in mind the reward of course.”
Through the open door, voices drifted. Drake turned to Kennedy. The New Yorker shook her head, miming: “Tourists.”
“He did,” Ben was reading rapidly now, “Ole Blackbeard went off to fight his battle. The scribe says Jack sent the pieces of the device home for security and pretty much went on with his pirating ways. That was until he was hanged, of course, not long after, in 1720.”
Drake frowned at them both. “Is that it?”
Ben pulled a face. “Yeah.”
“So the story might continue from Jack’s home, or from when Blackbeard returned,” Hayden said, stepping down from the dais that surrounded the cabinet. “We don’t know of anything on the Blackbeard side,” she said looking up at Ben. “In your research did you read anything about Calico owning land? I know several of these pirates were landowners or had wealthy families.”
Ben thought back. “Not much was known about Calico - or Jack Rackham - before he became a pirate. Seems you have to be notorious to be famous. I think he was born in Jamaica, though English.” Ben blinked and snapped his fingers. “But yes, of course, Anne Bonney was his wife. She became pregnant by him.”
Drake saw where he was going. “And what happened between them?”
“Gimme a break, crusty. I can’t remember.” The young lads’ eyes gleamed. “Take me to a computer.”
Hayden received a call and headed towards the exit. Drake shrugged at Ben and followed. Outside they met up with Kinimaka and waited on the sun-blasted corner whilst the CIA agent finished.
It didn’t take long. With a jab of frustration she turned to them. “Still not one single shred of information leading to the Blood King. The guy’s harder to find than a damn ghost.” She took a moment to breathe. “Ed Boudreau however, is extremely well known. High on the watch lists, even higher on the wanted lists. The world and its dog wanna hump this guy’s leg all the way to jail.”
“Mercenary? Ex-military?” Drake guessed.
“Most of them are as you know. Boudreau appears to have one extra thing going for him though - his connections. For some reason he has his claws into some very powerful organisations.”
Drake’s own phone sang out an old Dinorock number, specially selected for Ben. School’s Out by Alice Cooper.
“Hello?”
“Drake, my friend.”
Mai’s soft, sensual tones filled his senses once more. Drake steeled himself before answering. “Hello, Mai. Do you have information for me?”
Ben turned to stare. Kennedy raised an eyebrow, privy only to the smallest details of the Japanese superspy, but aware much more was hidden away.
“I have concluded my business in San Francisco. My government want me to take an interest in the Blood King conspiracy. Various American arses are currently being . . . greased? I told them I might join a team that was already on the ground.”
“Us?” Drake blurted before he could stop himself. “You want to join us?”
“Could you handle it?” The barest suggestion of laughter.
Drake coughed to gain a little time. The question was accurate and fully loaded. Could he? Mai Kitano – codename Shiranu in tribute to some deadly video game character who was big in Japan - was a fantastic operative; a woman who never failed to get what she wanted. An advantage that could sometimes turn certain things into a huge problem.
“I guess we could use you.”
“Ah, there’s the sweet talking Drake I know. I’m heading over to Miami on the next flight out. Call you when I land.”
The connection went dead. Drake let out a deep breath and gestured wildly. “Let’s go find a damn computer.”
*****
“Calico Jack and Anne Bonny did have a child together. Born in Cuba, it was quickly taken to sea. It started its life in battle as Jack attacked several Dutch merchant vessels . . .” Ben paused, reading on. The others were all stood around him like a team of bodyguards, taking up most of the tiny cafe on Marlborough Street.
“Child’s not spoken of again for some time. When Calico Jack was captured, Anne Bonney spoke at his trial, saying the immortal line - if he had fought like a man, he need not be hanged like a dog.’” Ben whistled. “Nice woman.”
“Be warned . . .” Hayden said with half a smile.
“After the trial Bonnet claimed to be pregnant, an act which gave her a stay of execution. Her trial was halted and then . . . then she was spared execution.”
“So they had two kids?” Kinimaka was frowning as if all the information hurt his brain.
“The trial was in Jamaica,” Ben lectured. “If Bonney was pregnant then she probably settled there.”
“You said Calico Jack was born in Jamaica,” Drake said. “Ironic that he was hanged there too. But what if Bonney - the lonely, pregnant widow - was taken in by Rackham’s old family and brought her two kids up in his old house?”
“Makes sense.” Ben nodded. “And the historical records should be right here.”
Drake slapped his friend’s shoulders. “Were Bad to the Bone, matey. Bad to the Bone.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Blood King, man, myth and psychotic killer, stood at the prow of his boat, gazing out to sea. The sun was fading in the sky, sinking low towards the far mountains, and it was that time of day when he felt the need and the deep desire to preserve his reputation.
His men were well versed. They nodded respectfully at the mere flick of his head and scurried off to initiate the most terrible deed of the day.
On this quiet day, at least.
The Blood King took a few minutes to survey his kingdom. And it was a vast, sumptuous kingdom. Six hundred feet and fifteen thousand gross tons. An early-warning system. Laser shields. Armour plating. Helicopter hangar. Submarine dock. The list went on to the tune of $800 million.
But no matter. There was no record of the Stormbringer ever being commissioned, let alone constructed. No matter, its on-board mini-sub and tenders allowed the ‘crew’ access and egress without danger of being spotted, and its tendency to keep to unused waters kept its visibility low key. Even if it was seen in the occasional harbour, its outside was designed to look like a Super Yacht’s charter, something the mega-rich of Monaco or Dubai might rent for a few months at a time.
Occasionally he lost track of exactly who was on his ship. He employed a small army, literally, and a crew of hundreds. But again, no matter, he employed people he trusted to look after the banality of everyday life.
He pursued other interests.
Like now, for instance.
His men were dragging a half-starved Ukranian up from below decks. The Blood King let his lip curl in distaste. The prisoner wore little apart from tattered boxer shorts and a stinking blanket of filth. After so many days of imprisonment he’d lost the will to scream. All hope of escape or reprieve had well and truly deserted him.
The Blood King liked seeing desperation in a man’s eyes. The thrill came when his captive finally understood he was about to die. After that it was the gloating, and then moments of pleasure when the Blood King watched the man’s blood wash across his shoes.
The Blood King lifted an eyebrow. A lackey brought today’s weapon of choice - a good old-fashioned broadsword. No doubt priceless. No doubt ancient. But still something that would rest at the bottom of the ocean in about ten minutes.
“Here.” He drew an imaginary line with the point of the sword. His men dragged the prisoner forward, carefully placing his knees exactly where the Blood King demanded.
Voice deep and rough, accent unblemished from untold years of being away from his mother country, the Blood King asked the prisoner if he had had a good life; if he missed his family, his children. If he hoped one day to see them again, in heaven.
The blank, broken look turned immediately into recollection and regret. Into hope. A momentary spirit galvanised the prisoner and he started to have thoughts about moving. Then the Blood King severed his dirty head from his dirty shoulders and he thought no more.
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