The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1)

by Richard Turner

  Kate walked along the wooden deck, the wind blowing her flame-red hair across her face. Sailors stopped and stared at her unmistakable beauty until berated by their petty officers to get back to work. Heading below deck, she walked to the Captain’s cabin, where she had been living since they set sail. The ship’s captain and Scott shared a room down from hers. A large, lazy orange tomcat, the captain’s only true friend, lay curled up. The cat, known as Jones to the crew, was one of a handful on board the Phoenix to deal with the rodents that seemed to make their way on board every time the ship sailed into port. Kate took a deep breath and then sat down at a small writing desk. Opening one of the books she had taken on the Island of Rhodes, Kate was becoming convinced that their journey would most likely not end there. Rhodes had been a bulwark against the growing Ottoman Empire for hundreds of years. Surviving many sieges, the island finally fell in 1522. The surviving knights were allowed to leave for Sicily. Kate was convinced that if the Grail had been hidden there that it would have been moved to prevent it falling into the hands of the Ottoman Empire. Where that was still remained a mystery. She hoped that her luck would hold and that a clue to the location of the Grail and her father could be found somewhere on the island.

  A knock at the cabin door startled Kate. “Yes, who is it?” she called out.

  “It’s just me,” replied Scott. “I’ve brought you an afternoon tea. Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” Kate said eagerly, a little too eager she thought.

  Scott opened the door to the cabin and walked in holding a wooden tray with two cups of tea on it. Placing one down beside Kate, Scott grabbed another chair and sat down beside her. Looking into her green eyes, Scott tried not to think about it, but he had become very attracted to Kate. With a smile, he politely inquired into her work.

  Kate went over her notes and told Scott flat out that Rhodes would only be another step on their journey to find her father. She was certain that the Grail would not be found there.

  “Let’s just hope your father hasn’t gone much further than Rhodes,” said Scott, only half-joking. “We’ve been on this journey for just over a month now. I hope that we find your father before the snows fall.”

  “So do I, Alex, so do I,” said Kate, not sure when or how it would all end.

  Above them on the main deck, a sense of urgency suddenly gripped the crew. Orders were shouted out as a boat was made ready and then lowered into the calm sea. Just off the port side of the Phoenix was a British frigate hailing them to stop. The captain of the British ship signaled that they had important correspondence and were prepared to transfer it at sea. A half-hour later, their task complete, the boat was hauled back up. A young officer, no more than seventeen, saluted the officer of the watch, and then requested permission to come on board. Stepping back onto the deck of the Phoenix, he held in his hands a sealed letter and a bottle of rum with compliments from the British captain for Captain Moore.

  Scott was about to leave Kate to her work when there was a rap on the door. A second later a round face with thick white mutton chop whiskers appeared. It was the ship’s master, Captain Archibald Moore, a thirty-year veteran of the U.S. Navy

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” said Moore with a wink at Kate.

  “No, sir, in fact, I was just leaving,” Scott said, feeling that he had put Kate in an awkward position.

  Moore became serious and asked Scott to stay and take a seat. Digging into his heavy blue woolen tunic, Moore dug out a hand-written letter. Before reading, he fished around for his silver-rimmed reading glasses and then placed them on his red bulbous nose.

  “Mister Scott and Miss O’Sullivan, I was just handed a letter from the U.S. Embassy in Paris. It came by way of our Embassy to the Vatican and then fortuitously brought to us by the HMS Crecy, a fine looking British warship if you ask me. I am sorry to say, but this message is already almost a week old,” said Moore as he cleared his throat and then continued. “You may not wish to hear what I have to pass on Miss O’Sullivan,” said Moore.

  “Is it about my father?” asked Kate her voice trembling.

  “No miss, no it’s not.”

  “Then please continue, sir.”

  Moore looked down at the note then said, “The men assigned to protect you from Paris to Toulouse were found murdered on the outskirts of Paris. It would appear that they were tortured before being killed.”

  Kate gasped.

  Scott ground his teeth in rage. He had had enough with whoever was shadowing them. He was going to make someone pay for the senseless murder of the two Marines.

  Moore continued, “The embassy in Paris believes that foreign agents must surely know your whereabouts and perhaps your destination. They advise caution,” Moore said, folding up the letter and placing it back in his jacket.

  Scott looked over at Kate, her eyes filled with tears. The strain of the past month was beginning to get to her. The sooner this ended, the better, thought Scott. Standing, he looked Captain Moore in the eye. “I think the time for caution is well past,” said Scott resolutely. “As for people knowing where we are going, I relish it. I am sick and tired of fighting men who hide in the shadows. I’d prefer a stand up fight to any of this damned cloak and dagger crap any day of the week.”

  Moore let out a chuckle. “I’ll tell Lieutenant Cole to get his Marines into fighting form,” said Moore. “I suspect that we may have need of their services before too long.” With that, Moore excused himself and left Kate and Scott alone in his cabin.

  Scott could see the pained look in Kate’s eyes. She was doing her best not to let it show, but the murder of two innocent men weighed heavily on Kate’s mind.

  “Why is all this happening, Alex…why?” said Kate, fighting back the anger and sorrow welling up inside her.

  Scott reached out, took her hands in his. “I don’t know Kate. I honestly don’t know why this is all happening. All I know is that the lives of many other innocent people will most likely rest upon our finding, your father or the Grail before someone else does.”

  Kate wiped a tear off her cheek and then tried to smile. “I bet I look a wreck,” said Kate.

  With a smile on his lips, Scott said, “I can’t think of a woman who could ever look as good as you do after all you have been through, you’re an amazing woman, Kate.”

  “Alex, when we find whoever is behind all of this, I want you to kill him,” Kate said coldly. “I don’t want to live in fear anymore. Someone has ordered the deaths of far too many innocent people. I want him to pay.”

  Chapter 17

  USS Phoenix, Greek Islands

  It had been almost a week since they received the letter warning them to be on guard. Captain Moore had been ruthless with his men ever since that day. Gun drills were practiced by day and night. The men sweated and toiled making their guns ready for action; it had to become second nature. Hesitation in battle got men killed. Only a precious few men on board, his ship, had ever heard a shot fired in anger, let alone been in combat. Aside from Captain Moore and a couple former Englishmen, who had served in the Royal Navy during the Crimean War, the crew was green and untried. His wrath fell on his officers more than the men. An officer who did not know his duty was useless once the shooting started, reasoned Moore, so he drilled them mercilessly.

  Scott joined Lieutenant Cole. He wanted to ensure that his detachment of forty-five marines were ready for the fight that Scott had no doubt would soon be upon them like a bitter storm at sea. The men practiced with their Model 1863 rifled muskets until they could load and fire off two volleys a minute. Scott was not surprised to see how young the Marines were. His men had also grown younger the longer the war dragged on. The Marines on the ship were no exception. Their officer, Lieutenant Cole, a freckled youth, was only twenty-one. The oldest marine present was their sergeant, and he was twenty-nine. Expecting the worst, Scott insisted that the marines practice bayonet fighting just as much as musketry drills.

  One day out from Rhodes, Lieute
nant Morrow, the officer of the deck, spotted a schooner following them in the distance. Close enough to be seen, but too far away to do anything about it. Captain Moore contemplated turning aft and giving chase, but realized that their mysterious guest was a lighter vessel and could easily outrun them if she wanted to.

  When Scott stepped out on deck and felt a charged mood in the air. He saw Moore with a small cluster of officers all looking through their telescopes at the phantom vessel dogging them.

  Seeing Scott, Moore nodded his greeting and then handed him his telescope. “It would appear that we have company,” said Moore, pointing towards the ship.

  “I can’t see any flags on her,” said Scott, peering through the telescope.

  “Exactly,” Moore said. “It would appear that they do not want us to know who it is following us. I suspect that your foreign agents, whoever they may be, have found you.”

  Scott lowered the telescope and looked over at Captain Moore, his eyes hard and sober. “Captain, they tried once before to kidnap Miss O’Sullivan at sea, I wouldn’t put it past them to try again.”

  Moore nodded his head and then called over Lieutenant Cole. A minute later, a detachment of Marines, prepared for battle, formed up on the main deck.

  “Now let’s see someone try something,” said Moore with a self-assured smile on his broad face.

  For the remainder of the day, the other ship stayed with them, until the Phoenix started to navigate through a series of small islands jutting out from the sea. They were bleak, rocky, and empty of life except for a multitude of gulls, who sat there watching and waiting until the ship had passed by then they noisily dove at the fish stirred up in the wake of the warship.

  Scott remained on deck for several hours, his mood growing tense.

  A voice called out from the rigging above deck. Their mystery sloop had inexplicably vanished from sight.

  Deep down, Scott could not shake the feeling that it was going to take a lot more than a few young Marines to deter their opponent. Knowing that the captain and his men knew their jobs, Scott excused himself and went below deck. He headed straight for his room, opened the door, and stepped inside. He reached under his bunk, pulled out a canvas bag and opened it. Inside was a sawn off two-barreled shotgun and two navy revolvers, all courtesy of the ship’s quartermaster. Loading the weapons, Scott placed one revolver into his holster on his hip, and then walked down the narrow hallway with the other pistol in and shotgun his hands until he came to Kate’s cabin.

  Kate sat up at the sound of footsteps coming her way.

  A familiar voice called out.

  “Come in,” said Kate, happy to see Scott.

  Scott opened the door and stepped inside, his face serious, in his hand a pistol.

  “What’s going on, Alex?” asked Kate, looking at the revolver in Scott’s hand.

  “I think our friends are back.”

  “Well, we knew would only be a matter of time,” Kate said, wishing that it wasn’t true.

  “I know you know how to fire a pistol,” Scott said, thinking back to how Kate had saved his life in London. “But the revolver I am about to give it is quite different.”

  “How’s that?”

  Scott handed Kate the pistol. “Take a look, there is a trigger behind the front trigger. Once you squeeze the trigger, it pushes back on the rear one, automatically cocking the hammer for you. So all you have to do is aim, pull the trigger, and then aim again. No more cocking the hammer after every shot,” explained Scott.

  Kate picked up the revolver and felt the weight in her hand. It was heavier than the one she had used before, but seemed comfortable and balanced in her grip. She placed the pistol down on the table beside her and looked over at Scott.

  “Do you really think we will need these?” asked Kate.

  “I have no doubt that they will not rest until they have you,” said Scott. “So the answer is yes.”

  Kate looked into Scott’s deep-blue eyes for a moment and then said, “Promise me, Alexander, that no matter what, that you won’t let them take me.”

  Scott reached over placed a hand on Kate’s hands. “I promise you that no one will ever take you away from me, no matter what.”

  Scott and Kate stood there looking at one another, their eyes saying what their hearts were thinking. Slowly, tenderly, Scott leaned forwards and kissed Kate on her soft, tender lips. She pushed back, embracing Scott, her heart was racing.

  Suddenly, Scott heard the sound of drums beating on the main deck. He let go of Kate and looked up at the wooden roof of the cabin, as if he could see what was happening above them.

  The sound of voices calling out filled the air. All through the ship, men dashed from their bunks or workstations; the alarm had been given. The crew was standing to general quarters…battle was coming.

  With a hurried embrace, Scott kissed Kate on the forehead and then ran to the cabin door. Turning, he saw the fear in Kate’s eyes. “Lock the door behind me and don’t let anyone in here, unless you positively know who they are,” said Scott firmly.

  Kate nodded her understanding, picked up her revolver, and locked the door securely behind Scott. Looking about, Kate grabbed a chair and then jammed it against the door handle, grabbed another, and then took a seat at the far side of the room. If an intruder tried to force their way into her room, they would not see her until it was too late, reasoned Kate as she said a silent prayer for the crew of the USS Phoenix sailing into danger.

  Scott ran up on deck, his sawn-off shotgun clenched in his hands. Sailors and Marines were sprinting to their stations all over the ship. Scott saw Captain Moore standing dead center of the ship, calm, and firm, like a rock waiting to be battered by an approaching storm. A young Marine drummer boy beating a steady drum staccato. Soon voices from all over the deck called out to the captain as the officers one by one reported their stations ready for battle. Laying a hand calmly on the drummer boy’s shoulder, the captain thanked him and then told him to head below to assist the ship’s surgeon with the wounded. With a smart salute, the boy turned on his heels as if on parade and quickly dashed below.

  Scott walked over beside Captain Moore. “Has our friend decided to give battle?”

  “No, Mister Scott, I wish he had,” said Moore as he pointed to the port quarter. “It would seem that we have company.”

  Scott looked out. He could not believe his eyes. Steaming out to meet them from behind a rocky bay was a long steel gray sea serpent. However, this was no mythical beast. It was an ironclad. Sitting low in the water, it looked almost as long as the Phoenix herself. A lone smoke stack protruded from the top of the sloped and heavily armored metal hull, trailing a thick black cloud of smoke behind it as it maneuvered to place itself across the bow of their vessel. Scott could see that her gun ports were open; four guns were already primed and aimed at the Phoenix’s wooden hull.

  “My God,” said Scott.

  “Yes, God indeed,” replied Moore. “What would you say…nine inch guns?” said Moore to Scott, calmly sizing up his opponent.

  “Yeah…I’d have to agree with you on that one sir,” replied Scott, wondering how Moore could stay so composed when all hell was about to be unleased.

  The crew grew quiet as the ironclad moved to within a few hundred yards and then slowed down until it was directly in front of the Phoenix.

  “What do you notice about her Alexander?” asked Moore as if he was schooling one of his young midshipmen.

  Scott looked over the menacing iron vessel barring their way and then said. “No colors, like the other vessel, she isn’t flying a flag.”

  “Exactly,” said Moore, his hands resting together behind his back. “Either a foreign power does not want us to know who they are or this is a pirate vessel. Either way, Mister Scott, she can go to hell.”

  “Have you ever seen an ironclad like this before?” asked Scott.

  “No, never. I’ve seen Austrian and Italian ones at port, but this seems sleeker, faster, and more up
to date. Whoever they are, they have a fine vessel.”

  A voice called out from bow gun. “Captain, something’s going on, looks like there’s a man coming out on deck.”

  Moore and Scott strode up to the bow gun and looked over at the ironclad resting on the crystal-clear water of the Mediterranean.

  The bow gun officer, a thin man with a Maine accent, was correct. Standing on top of the metal monster was a man in a naval style dress blue uniform, similar to Captain Moore’s, in his hand a megaphone.

  “Ahoy USS Phoenix, I have been told to advise you to surrender Miss Katelyn O’Sullivan to me, or you will be boarded, and she will be taken by force,” said the officer with a thick Spanish accent.

  Scott and Moore traded looks. Both men thought the same thing, who the hell would be so brazen to attempt to take an American citizen by force from a U.S. ship of war?

  Moore cupped his hands around his mouth and then yelled back. “Ahoy, ironclad, who do you speak for and what country has just declared was on the United States of America?”

  “Who we are is unimportant,” replied the officer. “You have five minutes to send her over to us or I will be forced to fire upon you.”

  “Damned presumptuous bastard,” muttered Moore as he ran his hand over his chin. “What do you think, Alex? Will they follow through with their threat or is this all just some sort of an elaborate game to see if I’ll blink first?”

  “Sorry, Captain, these people play for keeps. If we don’t give them Kate, they will try to board your ship and take her by force.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Moore said defiantly.