MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy

by William W. Johnstone

  “Alexander, Roderick, Roderick, Alexander,” she said in a singsong voice. “I swear, you are both so handsome and so fascinating, that I don’t know which of you I want to give the most attention. What is a girl to do?” She smiled flirtatiously, then turned and walked away from them, glancing once back over her shoulder.

  They had been at sea for five days when, early in the morning as Malcolm was asleep in his stateroom, he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder.

  “What?” he said with a start as he jerked awake.

  “Malcolm.”

  Malcolm saw Alexander sitting on the side of his bed, his eyes gleaming wildly and a look of panic on his face.

  “Wake up, Malcolm. Wake up,” Alexander was saying.

  “I am awake,” he said. “What is it? What is going on?”

  “We need some help.”

  “Who needs help?”

  “I do. So does Roderick.”

  “What do you mean you need help? You need help with what?”

  “Maybe you had better come to our stateroom,” Alexander said, referring to the cabin that he and his brother were sharing.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s about three o’clock.”

  “In the morning?”

  “Aye.”

  “What are you doing, waking me at this hour?”

  “Please, Malcolm, get dressed and come with me,” Alexander said. “We need your help.”

  “Yes, you keep saying that.”

  Although Malcolm dressed quickly, Alexander kept urging him to hurry. Finally, when he was fully dressed, he left his stateroom and followed Alexander down the corridor, feeling, not only the gentle roll of the ship, but also feeling and hearing the vibration of the steam engine.

  “Alexander, what . . .”

  “Shhh,” Alexander hissed, laying his finger across his lips.

  When they reached the stateroom shared by Alexander and Roderick, Alexander tapped, lightly, on the door.

  “Who is it?” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Roderick, open up.”

  The door opened, swinging inward, and Alexander and Malcolm stepped inside. Roderick closed the door quickly.

  “What is it? What is this all about? What’s going on, and why is it so dark in here?”

  “Turn on the light,” Alexander said.

  The Etruria was equipped with electric lamps, so it required but the flick of a switch for the dark to be pushed away.

  “She is over there,” Roderick said.

  “She? Who is—what the hell?” Malcolm gasped.

  Lying on one of the two beds, her arms and legs askew, her dress torn asunder to expose her naked body, her face blue, and her eyes bulging, but with her final expression of terror still discernable, was Miriam Phelps.

  “My God,” Malcolm said, speaking in quiet shock. “You killed her?”

  “We had to, don’t you see?” Roderick asked.

  “No, I don’t see. What do you mean, you had to?”

  “She was naught but a tease,” Alexander said. “First she said she wanted Roderick, then she said she wanted me, but it was a tease, all along. We brought her here, we gave her a chance to—be with one of us.”

  “We even said we didn’t care which one,” Roderick continued. “She could be with Alexander, and I would watch. Or she could be with me, and Alexander would watch.”

  “But she didn’t want to be with either one of us, so . . .”

  “You raped her?”

  “Aye,” Roderick said.

  “Which one of you?”

  “Both of us,” Alexander said.

  “But I think she actually wanted it,” Roderick said.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because she dinnae scream,” Alexander said. “No’ with either one of us.”

  “But afterward, she said she was going to report us,” Roderick added.

  “And we could nae let that happen,” Alexander said.

  “So, we, uh—we . . .” Roderick pointed to the girl’s twisted and bruised body. He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

  “So, what do you want me to do?” Malcolm asked.

  Roderick and Alexander looked at each other before Alexander spoke. “Tell us what to do now,” he said.

  Malcolm sighed, then stroked his chin. “We’ve got to get rid of the body,” he said.

  “How?” Roderick asked.

  “How? We are on a ship in the middle of the ocean,” Malcolm said. “We’ll throw her and her clothes overboard.”

  “See, Roderick? I told you that Malcolm would know what to do.”

  “Look out in the passageway, make certain there is no one there,” Malcolm said. “There is an opening at the end of the passageway. We can go there to drop her over the side.”

  When the coast was clear, the three men took Miriam’s body out of the cabin, then to the end of the corridor where, as Malcolm had pointed out, there was a railing that was open to the sea. They dropped the body overboard, then turned around just as a sailor was walking by.

  “Ha!” the sailor said. “Feeding the fishes, are you?”

  “What?” Roderick asked, startled by the question.

  “That’s what we say when one is seasick and throwing up over the rail. He is feeding the fishes.”

  Malcolm laughed. “Yes, that’s a good one,” he said. He put his hand on Roderick’s shoulder. “I’m afraid my friend isn’t that good of a sailor.”

  “Nothing to be ashamed of,” the sailor said. “I’ve seen all of my shipmates get seasick at one time or another. Ask the galley for an orange,” he called back as he continued on whatever mission had brought him on deck. “I’ve always found that an orange helps.”

  “Thanks,” Roderick replied.

  Because Miriam was traveling alone, her absence was not noticed immediately. It was two days before another young lady, who had befriended her, reported her concern over not having seen her. The captain authorized her cabin to be entered, and they found it empty. A thorough search of the ship turned up no sign of her, and the captain, reluctantly, concluded that she must have fallen overboard.

  From the New York Sentinel:

  New York Debutante Lost at Sea

  TERRIBLE TRAGEDY HAD NO WITNESSES

  A terrible tragedy occurred on board the RMS Etruria during its voyage from Glasgow to New York. Miss Miriam Phelps, daughter of Edward Phelps, wealthy owner of the New York Bank for International Investment, was lost at sea during the ship’s transit. Miss Phelps was seen by many at dinner in the First-Class dining salon on Wednesday of the week previous, and by two guests who saw her later that night outside her cabin door.

  First-Class passengers have their own deck, a large roomy area affording the more affluent the privacy necessary to protect them from unwanted contact with those passengers who transit via steerage. The First-Class deck is complete with shuffleboard and reclining chairs, and often passengers will, if the night is particularly pleasant, visit the First-Class deck to view the stars, or just to watch the luminescence of the water breaking white along the hull of the ship. It is thought that, perhaps to enjoy the deck in complete privacy, or perchance in an attempt to get some fresh air to combat a bout of mal de mar, Miss Phelps decided to visit the deck and, getting too close to the rail with no one to express caution or extend assistance, she fell overboard.

  With nobody to hear her plea for help, the ship sailed on, leaving the poor woman floundering helplessly in its wake. Miss Phelps, 21, was a graduate of Smith College and is remembered by her classmates as a woman of talent, beauty, and generosity.

  “Ha,” Roderick said after reading the newspaper. “Did you read this in the newspaper? They think she fell overboard.”

  “We got away with it,” Alexander said.

  “This time,” Malcolm said. “You were lucky. You might not be so lucky next time. So my advice to you is, stay out of trouble.”

  “Our fat
her may have appointed you in charge of us while we are looking for MacCallister,” Roderick said. “But he dinnae put you in charge of our personal lives.”

  “Nor do I want to be in charge of your personal lives,” Malcolm replied. “But I am in charge of finding Duff MacCallister and dealing with him. And until that is accomplished, anything that might get in the way of our finding him comes under my purview.”

  “All right, we’ll go along with what you say until then,” Alexander said. “But after we take care of MacCallister, you are no’ in charge of us anymore.”

  “The first thing we need to do is find the Rex Theater,” Malcolm said.

  “When we find the theater, let’s get us good seats,” Roderick said. “I like watching plays. Alexander, do you remember the play we went to in Edinburgh?”

  “Aye, that was a good play,” Alexander replied.

  “We will find the theater,” Malcolm said, “but we will nae put ourselves into position where he might see us.”

  “Do you mean we will have to sit in the very back row?”

  “We won’t sit in any row,” Malcolm said.

  “What do you mean? How are we going to see the play if we don’t sit in any row?”

  “We are not going to see the play,” Malcolm said. “We will wait outside until the play is over and the audience has left. It will be dark in the auditorium then, so we will be able to sneak in without being seen.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rex Theater—New York, N.Y.

  Rosanna (as LADY MARGARET): (sitting on the

  ground of Castle Carrick, cradling Andrew’s, as

  Lord Dumbarton, head in her lap) Oh, noble

  Lord, were that I a man, that with claymore

  and dirk I could have joined you in your

  noble fight. You won, noble knight, you won,

  for all those of the evil clan of Hutchins are

  now dead. Ahh, but the sad thing is that,

  even in your final victory, you gave your life.

  (Takes Lord Dumbarton’s claymore sword and

  holds it over her head) And with that sainted,

  but Pyrrhic victory, I vow by all that is holy to

  keep the name Lord Dumbarton forever in

  my heart.

  (Curtain closes)

  The theater erupted with applause and cheers. Duff stood in the wings where he could see both the actors on the stage, and the audience, all of whom were now on their feet. It had been Duff, in his capacity as stage manager, who signaled the curtains closed, and now he brought his hand down again.

  “Curtains open,” he hissed loudly enough for the stagehands to hear him, but not so loudly as to be heard by those in the audience.

  The curtains opened again and all the secondary players rushed out to take their curtain call, their appearance onstage in inverse order of the significance of their roles. Finally, the last curtain call had been taken, the curtains closed, and the troupe gathered backstage.

  “Wonderful performances from all of you,” Andrew said, congratulating all the actors and actresses. “We will meet here tomorrow at six, one hour before curtain rise. Don’t be late.”

  The actors, still up from their performance, laughed and exchanged comments on the play as they headed for the dressing rooms to get out of costume and makeup.

  “Oh, Julie, you were just wonderful,” one of the “nobles” said to the beautiful young woman who played the daughter of the Laird Carrick. “I have been in the theater for five years now, and have never seen an actress who, in her very first role onstage, performed it with such mastery.”

  Duff chuckled to himself as he overheard the conversation. The young lady was certainly adequate to the role, but he knew Phillip Cain to be a notorious “ladies’ man,” and he knew that he was using flattery to attain his goal.

  “Duff, will you be taking dinner tonight with Rosanna, me, and some of the others?” Andrew asked.

  “I would like to, Andrew, but I think I will stay and work on the forest flats. I noticed during the play that they were not holding their position as well as they should.”

  “Very well,” Andrew said. “But if you finish earlier than you suspect, please join us at Delmonico’s.”

  “I shall,” Duff replied.

  Duff waited until all the actors and stagehands were gone. Then he made certain that all the house lights were turned off and the backstage lights were on. He looked up at the flys to examine the flats that were used for the forest scene and saw at once where the problem lay. Lowering one of the flats, he took it to a work area offstage and placed it across two sawhorses. All he would have to do is adjust the frame to take out the warp.

  Across the street from the theater, Malcolm, Roderick, and Alexander watched as the patrons left the theater. The theatergoers were talking about the play they had just seen.

  “I swear, Rosanna MacCallister just gets more beautiful as she gets older.”

  “It’s all makeup. I’ll bet she isn’t that pretty.”

  “Makeup can’t make you more beautiful. It just enhances what is already there.”

  “I liked the fight scene in the second act. It looked so real.”

  “Of course it looked real. It’s called acting.”

  “When are we going in?” Alexander said.

  “When we are sure that everyone has left,” Malcolm said.

  “They’re all gone now. You can tell that.”

  “Don’t get so anxious. We need a plan,” Malcolm said.

  “We have a plan. He killed our brother, and we are going to kill him. That is our plan,” Alexander said.

  The lights outside the theater went off.

  “Now,” Alexander said, starting across the street. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait, it won’t take a minute to come up with a plan as to how we are going to do this,” Malcolm said.

  “I don’t want to wait another minute. I want to kill him now,” Alexander said.

  By now the three men were under the marquee and all the way up to the double doors that opened into the lobby.

  “It’s locked,” Roderick said when he tried the door.

  “I’ll take care of that,” Alexander said. He took out a pocketknife, opened it, then slipped it in between the doors. It took no more than a couple of seconds for him to overcome the lock and open the doors.

  “Quiet,” Malcolm whispered as he closed the doors behind them.

  “What if he is already gone?” Roderick whispered.

  “He hasn’t gone. There are lights on back there, see?” Alexander said. “And he’s the stage manager, which means he would be the last to leave.”

  The three men moved quietly through the darkened theater until they reached the stage. Then, climbing onto the stage, they stepped through the curtains and crossed the stage before moving into the backstage area.

  That was when they saw Duff working on something with a plane.

  Duff leaned over to see if he had leveled the edge of the flat.

  “Duff MacCallister, we have come for you,” a familiar voice said from the darkness.

  The voice was familiar, because it was the voice of Alexander Somerled.

  Startled at hearing Alexander’s voice here, in America, Duff turned toward the sound, but saw nothing in the darkness. He was at a disadvantage, because while Alexander was cloaked by the darkness, he was well lighted.

  “Alexander Somerled,” Duff said. “Have you come alone?” Duff moved away from the flat to the properties locker. Alongside the properties locker was the light control panel.

  “I am with him,” Roderick said.

  “And so am I, Deputy Malcolm,” a third voice said.

  “Deputy Malcolm, is it?” Duff replied. “Well, you have wasted a trip, Deputy Malcolm, for you have no jurisdiction here. You cannot arrest me.”

  “It is not for to arrest you we have come, Duff MacCallister, but to kill you,” Alexander said.

  Reaching his hand up to the light control p
anel, Duff turned off the backstage lights. As soon as the theater went dark, he grabbed the claymore sword, the same sword Andrew and Rosanna had handled onstage. And though it was used as a prop, it was a real claymore sword, fifty-five inches in overall length, with a thirteen-inch grip and a forty-two-inch blade.

  “What the hell, where did he go?” Malcolm asked.

  “Where is he?” Roderick asked.

  “Shoot him!” Alexander shouted. “Shoot him!”

  “Shoot where?” Roderick asked.

  Duff picked up a vase and tossed it through the darkness to the opposite side of the room. When it hit the floor, it broke with a great crash.

  “Over there! He’s trying to get away! Shoot him! Shoot him!” Alexander yelled at the top of his voice.

  All three men began to shoot in the direction of the sound of the crashing vase. The flame patterns of the muzzles illuminated the room in periodic flashes, like streaks of lightning.

  The flashes of light enabled Duff to come up behind them.

  “Here I am, boys,” he said.

  The three men turned toward him, but with a mighty swing of the great claymore sword, Duff decapitated the two Somerled brothers. Malcolm, who had managed to avoid the blade, pulled the trigger of his pistol, but the hammer fell on an empty chamber. He turned and ran.

  Duff heard the side door open and close. He waited for a long moment, listening to see if Malcolm had actually left or if he had just opened and closed the door, pretending to leave. When he heard nothing, he turned the lights back on.

  The two decapitated Somerled brothers lay on the floor, their heads a few feet away. Alexander’s head was looking up; Roderick’s head was facedown. There was a great deal of blood surrounding the two bodies and Duff knew that he was going to have his work cut out for him tonight.

  The first thing he was going to have to do was get rid of the bodies. He did that by putting both bodies and their heads in a pushcart that had been part of the properties of a previous play. Dropping their guns in there as well, he pushed the cart down the alley for at least a full mile away from the theater before dumping the bodies behind a trash container.