John Hale arrived at Charles Town, in South Carolina, on Christmas Day. Three days later he plunged northward along trails known only to Natives. Two weeks after that he found the Pamlico River and a blue, tree- ringed bay where he built a house. He then founded a port, sheltered from attack by water, but navigable on an easterly course to the sea. He named it Bath Town, and five years later its incorporation was formally approved.
Always ambitious, John Hale built ships and made his fortune in the slave trade. As his wealth and reputation grew, so did Bath, the town becoming a center of nautical activity and a hotbed for piracy. So it was only natural that Hale became a pirate, preying off British, French, and Spanish shipping. In 1717, when King George announced his Act of Grace, granting absolution for men who swore they would not resume buccaneering, Hale pledged his oath and, openly, became a respected planter and Bath councilman. Secretly, his ships continued to wreak havoc, but he targeted only the Spanish, which the British would care little about. The colonies became an ideal market for the buying and selling of illegal goods. Under British law American exports could be shipped only on English ships with English sailors-a nightmare relative to cost and supply. Colonial merchants and governors greeted pirates with open arms since they could supply what was needed at the right price. Many American ports became pirate dens, Bath the most notable and productive. Eventually the Revolutionary War changed allegiances and led to the formation of the Commonwealth.
Ever since, the four families had been bound.
To pledge our Unity and assert our Cause, every Man has a Vote in Affairs of Moment; has equal Title to the fresh provisions, or strong Liquors, at any Time seized, and may use them at Pleasure. No man is better than Another and each Shall rise to the Defense of the Other.
Words from the Articles, which he took to heart.
He stopped the cart before another of the estate’s buildings, this one with a hipped roof, gables, dormers, and a tower at one end. It rose two stories with a cantilevered stairway. The delightful nature of its exterior concealed the fact that it acted as a prison.
He punched in a code for the heavy oak door and released the latch. Once the walls had been fashioned of only brick and timber. Now they were soundproofed with the latest technology. Inside were eight cells. Not a horrible prison, but a prison nonetheless. One that came in handy.
Like a few days ago, when Knox moved on the target.
He climbed to the second floor and approached the iron bars. The prisoner on the other side rose from a wooden bench and faced him.
“Comfortable?” he asked. The cell was ten feet square, roomy actually considering what his ancestors had been forced to endure. “Anything you need?”
“The key to the door.”
He smiled. “Even if you had that, there would be no place to go.”
“They were right about you. You’re no patriot, you’re a thieving pirate.”
“That’s the second time today I’ve been called that.”
The prisoner stepped close to the bars. Hale stood just on the other side, a foot or so away. He noted the dingy clothes, the tired face. He’d been told that his captive had eaten little over the past three days.
“Nobody gives a damn that you have me,” he was told.
“I’m not so sure about that. They don’t, as yet, realize the danger you’re in.”
“I’m expendable.”
“Caesar was once captured by Sicilian pirates,” he said. “They demanded a ransom of 25 gold talents. He thought himself worth more and demanded they raise the ransom to 50, which was paid. After he was freed, he hunted his captors down and slaughtered them to a man.” He paused. “How much do you think you are worth?”
Spit flew through the bars and splattered on his face.
He closed his eyes as he slowly reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped it away.
“Stick it up your ass,” his captive said to him.
He reached into his other pocket and found his lighter, plated with German silver and engraved with his name, a gift from his children two Christmases ago. He ignited the handkerchief and tossed the flaming cloth through the bars, straight at his prisoner.
Stephanie Nelle reeled back and allowed the burning bundle to drop to the floor where she extinguished it with her shoe, never taking her gaze off him.
He’d snatched her as a favor for someone else, but over the past couple of days, he’d been thinking how to make use of her for his own purposes. She might even become expendable if Knox’s news from New York-that the cipher may be solved-proved true.
Considering what just happened he hoped that was the case.
“I assure you,” he said to her. “You will regret what you just did.”
SIXTEEN
MALONE HELD TIGHT IN HIS CHAIR AS AIR FORCE ONE ROSE from the runway and vectored south back to Washington, DC. Everyone still occupied the conference room.
“Tough day at the office, dear?” Cassiopeia asked him.
He caught the playful look in her eyes. Any other woman would be highly irritated at the moment, but Cassiopeia handled the unexpected better than any person he’d ever known. Cool, calculated, focused. He still recalled the first time they’d encountered each other-in France, at Rennes-le-Chateau, one dark night when she’d taken a shot at him then sped away on a motorcycle.
“Just the usual,” he said. “Wrong place, right time.”
She smiled. “You missed out on a great dress.”
She’d told him before he left the hotel about the stop at Bergdorf Goodman. He’d been looking forward to seeing her purchase.
“Sorry about our date,” he told her again.
She shrugged. “Look where we ended up.”
“It’s good to finally meet you,” Edwin Davis said to Cassiopeia. “We missed each other in Europe.”
“This trip to New York was a lark,” Danny Daniels said. “Or as much of a lark as a president is allowed to have.”
Malone listened as Daniels explained how a close friend and lifetime supporter was having a retirement gathering. Daniels had been invited but had not decided to attend until a couple of months ago. No one outside the White House was told of the journey until yesterday, and the press was informed only that the president would be visiting New York. No location, time, or extent of the visit had been provided. Once inside Cipriani, attendees would have passed through a metal detector. By not forewarning anyone, and keeping even the press in the dark until the last minute, the Secret Service thought they had the trip reasonably secure.
“It’s always the same,” Daniels said. “Every assassination, or attempted one, happened because of screwups. Lincoln, McKinley, and Garfield had no guards. Just walk right up and shoot ’em. Kennedy’s protection was waved off for political reasons. They wanted him as close to the people as possible. So they announced that he’d be parading down a crowded street in an open car. ‘Come on out and see the president.’ ” Daniels shook his head. “Reagan took a bullet solely because his layers of protection broke down. Always some screwup. This time it was mine.”
Malone was surprised to hear the admission.
“I insisted on the trip. Told everyone it would be fine. They took some precautions, and wanted to take more. But I said no.”
The plane leveled off from its climb. Malone popped his ears to the altitude.
“When you decided to go,” Cassiopeia said. “Who knew?”
“Not enough people,” Daniels said.
Malone thought the response curious.
“How did you get into that hotel room?” the president asked him.
