by Rob Jones
“Don’t tell me – half-man, half-ape with a Reaper tattoo?”
Hawke nodded. “That’s the one – he took off on a tender with Miss Congeniality.”
“And you let them go?”
“I made the call to save you instead.”
“And this is why I love you, Josiah Hawke.”
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to call me that?”
“We did – sorry… but talking of names – we need to run Smets through our computers.”
“Agreed. We can do it when we get back to shore – and we need to get Alex to resend your father’s research files to your phone, but in the meantime let’s get after the bastards. We can easily track them down in this.”
Lea shook her head.
“What is it?” Hawke asked.
“No fuel left – I heard Crew Cut Lady and Smets talking about it. That’s why they took off in the Nautilus.”
“Bloody fantastic, and they’ve got the research files as well.”
Hawke determined they had enough fuel to go the short distance back to shore and slowly turned the yacht around, taking control and sailing her home with what little remained in the tanks. Arriving at the jetty and securing the yacht with a mooring rope, a small man in Bermuda shorts and a white bucket hat came running up to them, waving his fist in the air.
“Hey! You – I recognize you!”
“Who’s that?” Lea said, narrowing her eyes with confusion.
“Leave it to me.”
“You stay right where you are, buster!”
“Afternoon!” Hawke said chirpily as he tied off the mooring rope.
“You took my Seabreacher – where the hell is it?”
“Gone but not forgotten, mate,” Hawke said flatly.
“What the hell! That thing cost me fifty grand!” The man put his hands on his hips but took a step back when the Englishman straightened up to his full height and covered him with his broad shadow.
“Here,” Hawke said, casually tossing him the keys to the Maritimo. “Have this instead – it’s worth two million dollars.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Newfoundland, Canada
Lea woke up after a short sleep just in time to see the tops of thousands of pine trees flashing beneath the plane as they descended onto the runway in St. John’s. The island was a largely untouched wilderness on the eastern coast of Canada, still bearing the ancient glacier scars of the last ice age on the sparse face of its boreal landscape. It was hard to believe this was part of the same continent they had taken off from just a few short hours ago.
This was the island that the Icelandic Viking explorer Leif Erikson had sailed to over a thousand years ago. He had called it Vinland because of the grapevines he had discovered growing all over the island. This was the island where Portuguese explorers had come to find the legendary Northwest Passage. This was the island where Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Sir Francis Drake’s half-brother, had started the entire British Empire when he claimed it under Royal Charter for Elizabeth I in 1583. This was an island with history.
After the plane had taxied into the small airport they were soon on their way west, skirting the shores of Windsor Lake in a hired Land Rover Evoque. Less than fifteen minutes later they reached the small community of Portugal Cove on the Avalon Peninsula and drove the Evoque into the back of the Bell Island ferry.
“Did you know,” Ryan said, “that Portugal Cove was one of the first settlements in the entire New World?”
Scarlet sighed. “Do try and control your nerd, Lea.”
“He’s not my nerd,” Lea said with a shrug. “He’s Maria’s nerd.”
“Hey!” Ryan said, indignant. “I’m right here!”
Scarlet dragged on her cigarette and winced. “Like I could ever forget.”
Lea smiled at the banter. She had felt better since telling everyone about the research files and having Alex get them from her room and re-send them. At least now they were working as one again. She looked out across the waters of Conception Bay. Even now in summer they looked cold and gray, which wasn’t surprising considering they often still got winter snow and ice well into April or sometimes later.
She felt a sense of serene calm about the place and took the opportunity to relax as the ferry trundled slowly across the bay on its way to the island. After she’d explained about Ireland and the files on the plane journey, Ryan had enlightened the team about their destination, and while much of what he’d said could only ever be of interest to a person like Ryan, some of it had stuck in her mind.
The largest town was the community of Wabana, where they were headed now. The town’s name meant ‘the place where the sun shines first’ in Beothuk, the language of the first people to live here. More recently, the town had suffered U-Boat attacks in World War II in the Nazi drive to destroy Allied cargo ships transporting much-needed iron ore to the steel mills of Nova Scotia.
Today, just a few thousand people lived on the small island, and they were all dependent on the ferries for their connection to the rest of Newfoundland. When the ferry service stopped for whatever reason, helicopters had to be used to take people to the mainland for any emergencies.
It didn’t take long for them to make the short drive to the center of the island and then down a gentle slope to the northwest side where Martha Parsons had lived alone in her small white clapboard house for over thirty years. When they had started researching the blaze at the museum in which Nate Derby had died they had quickly discovered the name of the curator – Bill Smith. It hadn’t taken long to connect him to Martha, his former fiancée. A few phone calls had revealed an address and a local rumor about a mysterious engagement gift that was worth exploring. They figured she was as good a person as any to ask about what had happened to Nate and Bill at the museum.
“Come in,” she said, barely looking at them. “How’s she cuttin’?”
Ryan looked at Hawke, confused. “Um…”
“You want coffee?” she said sharply.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Anyone want something to eat? I can fire up a scoff if you want.”
“Not entirely sure what a scoff is,” Ryan said, peering into a small pot on the stove, “but I think your wallpaper paste’s gone off,”
“Wallpaper paste, what the..?” Martha looked at Ryan and squinted. “That’s fish and brewis you fool.”
Ryan repeated the words like an admonished child. “Fish and brewis?”
“Want some?”
“Um…”
“I’ll have a go,” Hawke said.
“Me too,” Scarlet said.
Lea and Victoria joined Ryan and passed, but Martha served Hawke and Scarlet two bowls of the local tradition – cod and hard tack – and added some scrunchions, a salted pork fat fried until crunchy and sprinkled liberally over the top.
Scarlet looked disappointed when Martha set the pot down and poured herself a coffee. “Don’t I get any of those little scrunchy things?”
Martha looked at Scarlet and then over at the scrunchions. “Women don’t need no scrunchions. Just sit down and eat what you got.”
Ryan smirked as a reprimanded Scarlet lowered herself to the kitchen table and spooned in a mouthful of the fish and brewis.
Martha jabbed the wooden spoon in Ryan’s face. “What about you – you sure you don’t want none? Scrawny little chicken like you could do with feeding up.”
A frowning Ryan peered into the pot once again. “You have to be joking.”
“Huh?” Martha looked at him accusingly.
With all eyes on Ryan, he had no escape. “I mean you have to be joking – of course I want some!”
Martha spooned out another bowl and set it on the table. “It’s all yours.”
Ryan looked at the food sheepishly. “Thanks.”
Lea had chosen to stick with the coffee, which came from an original Atomic coffee machine from the early fifties. She was marvelling at the thing as it creaked and whined when Martha caught her in
the corner of her eye.
“Wedding present.”
“Ah…”
“Don’t worry, it’s not gonna blow up or nothing like that.”
“No, I’m sure it won’t.” Lea stepped closer to the machine to highlight the meaning in her words.
“Just that the way you was looking at it made me wonder if it was admiration or horror in your eyes.”
Lea smiled. “A bit of both, sorry…”
“George fixed her up a few times over the years and I reckon she’ll outlive me – here’s your coffee.”
Lea took the cup. “Thanks.”
“Wait till you try it before you thank me,” Martha said flatly.
Lea watched the old woman shuffle across the small kitchen and sit opposite Hawke and Scarlet who were busily tucking into their meals, Ryan with slightly less enthusiasm.
Martha sipped her coffee and let out a long, tired sigh. “So how d’ya like the brewis?”
“Actually, it’s rather good,” Scarlet said.
“Well, don’t sound so surprised!” Martha said, laughing.
Three empty bowls was the real answer Martha was looking for, and she got that a few moments later when everyone was finished, including Ryan.
“Didn’t taste like wallpaper paste after all,” Ryan said.
Martha turned to Lea. “And how’s that coffee?”
“The best I’ve ever had.”
“You wouldn’t be bullshitting me now, would you?”
Lea laughed. “No! I mean it.”
“And what about you with them ear-rings?” The old woman stared at Victoria.
“Absolutely delightful, thank you.”
Martha grunted and nodded. “George’s parents got that for us the day we were married.”
“How long were you married?” Lea asked.
“Fifty years. He’s been gone nearly fifteen years now.”
“You must have been very much in love.”
Martha nodded. “Before I got married to George I was engaged to another man.”
They all looked at her but only Lea replied. “What happened?”
“Things didn’t work out – just the way it goes sometimes.”
“What was his name?”
“You already know his name – his name was Bill Smith, or Billy back in the day.”
Now she officially had their undivided attention, but again it was Lea who led the conversation.
“Why didn’t it work out?”
“He cheated on me in Korea,” Martha said without emotion.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why are you sorry? It was over half a century ago!” She leaned forward in her seat. “You know, when I read about his death it was a bolt from the blue. I hadn’t spoken to him since I got his letter when he was in the army.”
Martha rubbed her eyes and suppressed a yawn. She glanced at her watch before continuing. “I wondered if I was reading about the same man, but I guess I knew in my heart I was. A sad way for an old man to go out, and I just hope they catch the bastards who did it.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Hawke said bluntly.
Martha looked at him with scepticism in her eyes. “If you say so, young man. If you say so.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to find his killers,” Lea said gently.
Martha’s voice got harder. “But you’re not here to find his killers, are you? You’re looking for something altogether harder to find, if you catch my meaning.”
“Well…”
“Ah, it’s been so long… what odds?” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “You know, Billy was poor – very poor. He couldn’t afford no ring when we got engaged. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a mausey day all right, and he was so nervous about telling me. I made a big thing about telling him how it didn’t matter and I didn’t need nothing like that, but then he gave me something else.”
Lea leaned closer, gripped by the tale. “What did he give you?”
Martha looked at her sharply. “You must have some idea, or you wouldn’t be up here drinking my coffee.”
“We’re only trying to help,” Lea said.
Martha sighed again. She was looking tired. “So now you want to know about what Billy Smith had hidden away in the museum, am I right?”
Hawke nodded. “That would be a good start, yes.”
“Then listen up, because I want to go bed and I can’t yarn all night like I once could. I’m only going to say this once.”
CHAPTER SIX
The Pyrenees Mountains
Álvaro Sala watched with unrestrained delight as the inland taipan slithered through his fingers and glided up around his neck. He felt the smooth head of the world’s most venomous snake parting his long lampblack hair and pushing its way around the base of his skull. Moments later it appeared on the other side of his head, nudging through his hair once again like a wicked magician emerging through black velvet stage curtains. It slid back down into his hands and he wondered if the serpent was enjoying this game as much as he was.
Lit only by a narrow crack of light emanating from the entrance to the mountain cave a hundred feet behind him, a devilish grin could just be made out on the Andorran recluse’s morbidly thin face.
The man opposite him strained against the tension of the climbing ropes which Sala’s loyal thug, the convicted Belgian serial killer Marcus Deprez had used to lash him to the rocks at the back of the cave. High above them was Sala’s impressive luxury château, but down here in the cave systems far below was nothing but an eerie whistling wind and the stench of imminent death.
Álvaro grinned. “Tell me, Antonius… did you ever think it would end like this?”
“Threaten me all you like, Álvaro, but we’ve known each other for long enough to understand why I can’t tell you what you want to know.”
Sala paused as the taipan made another circuit of his neck. “And we’ve known each long enough, Antonius, to know what will happen to you if you do not get what your fragile body so badly craves. Now you are here, you face the same fate as I.”
Antonius attempted a laugh, but the nearness of his terrible destiny killed it in his dry, constricted throat. “The Oracle was right to ostracize you, Álvaro. I can see that clearly now, and you must surely see it too. Your failure in Ethiopia was quite unforgivable.”
Sala’s grin faded from his gaunt face as Antonius’s words blew gently away on the cave’s cold breeze. “I’m very disappointed in you, Antonius. I thought when you accepted my invitation to come here you would bring me better news than this. Now, you force me to act against my own will.”
“Be sensible, Álvaro! We both know why I can’t tell you what you need to hear. No one goes against the Oracle.” Antonius yanked at the chains holding him fast but there was no chance of escape, only the sound of the steel links rattling against the rocks in mockery of his dire situation.
Sala nodded his head thoughtfully. “I suppose you realize by now that I will not simply allow you to perish the normal way.”
Antonius’s eyes crawled from Sala’s face to the snake in his arms. “Yes, I thought that unlikely. Mercy was never in your character, Álvaro.”
“Ha! You talk of mercy after you and your brethren tried to consign me to the worst fate imaginable.”
“You deserve it.”
Sala was silent for a short time as he paced around the cave deep in thought. His most loyal personal security guard, Marcus Deprez, leaned up against part of the rock face and watched in silence as the exchange unfolded, his only animation being to light an unfiltered Gauloises caporal and blow a smoke ring into the cave’s cold atmosphere. A heaving, rasping cough followed moments later.
“I deserve it, you say – how curious… In all your years on this planet, Antonius, did you ever find your way to the North?”
Now, goaded by the question, Antonius’s deep laugh found its way to the surface at last. “The North? I know the North better than yo
u ever will, Álvaro!”
Sala took a step forward and raised the snake closer to Antonius’s face. “You mock me, but you cannot begin to imagine the hatred burning in my heart for your damned Athanatoi. My vengeance will be savage and final.”
Now Antonius laughed. “You of all people must surely know how many men have sworn to take their revenge on us, and you must also know they all failed. We are too mighty to be touched by mortals.” He paused for effect and smiled smugly at Sala. “You are a mortal now, aren’t you, Álvaro?”
Sala’s face began to twitch with rage and he had to fight hard not to squeeze the snake in his hands, such was the level of anger coursing through his veins and muscles. “Do you know, dear Antonius, how I will destroy the Athanatoi and take my revenge?”
“Enlighten me.”
“By exploiting the weak link in your chain.”
“And what is that?”
“It’s the same weak link that has brought down countless empires… the factions.”
Antonius scoffed, but kept his eyes on the writhing taipan. “What are you talking about, Álvaro? Have you finally gone mad?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Antonius. Throughout history the story of conquered peoples has been one of exploiting factions and sects – I believe Philip, the king of the ancient kingdom of Macedon summed it up very well over two thousand years ago when he called it dīvide et īmpera… divide and conquer.” He leaned in ever closer to his victim. “Is that right, dear Antonius – you knew the king, didn’t you?”
“I have nothing more to say to you, Álvaro.”
Sala gave an evaluating nod. “I don’t need your words or thoughts, brother. Those days are far behind us. I simply need you to know, before your death, that I will destroy your precious brotherhood – or should I say cult? – and that I know how. That I will exploit the sects and when I reach the dark heart of the Athanatoi I will tear it out with my bare hands and burn it.”
“You’re insane even to contemplate it,” Antonius said sharply. “My death at the fangs of that serpent will be as nothing compared to what they will do to you if you dare to challenge them.”
