Bright, like the sun. Blinding her.
She raised an arm to shield her burning pupils.
She reached for her weapon and saw that Stephanie and Shirley were already raising theirs.
“That would be foolish,” a male voice said over the wind, through a loudspeaker. “We have guns trained. Your engine has been disabled and the boat is tied from beneath to the dock. You can die there, if you like. Or-”
“It’s Hale,” Shirley said.
“You can come ashore.”
“Let’s swim for it,” Cassiopeia said.
But another light appeared out on the river, coming their way.
Anxiety turned to fear.
“My men are quite the seamen,” Hale said. “They can handle this storm. There is no place for you to go.”
KNOX SCRAMBLED OVER TO THE DEAD MAN AND FOUND A GUN, along with a spare magazine in a jacket pocket.
Good to be armed.
He descended back into the fort, but avoided the ground, exiting one level above into a darkened passageway. He negotiated a short hall and entered a tight space where the outer wall, facing the sea, had collapsed. For a moment he allowed the breeze to alleviate some of his apprehension. Only the stench of guano disturbed the tranquility. He was just about to leave when something to his right, beyond a pile of rubble, caught his attention.
A leg.
He crept forward.
A mutter of concern growled among some nearby restless birds.
The darkened image sharpened.
Two legs, prone. A pair of rubber-soled shoes.
He glanced over the pile.
Two men lay sprawled. Their necks were broken, heads drooped at odd angles, mouths agape. A flashlight lay beside them. Now he knew why Wyatt was so bold.
He’d eliminated Carbonell’s safety valves.
Now it was just the three of them.
SEVENTY-SIX
HALE’S TRAP FOR THE FUGITIVES HAD WORKED AND NOW HE had them all in custody at the prison. The rain outside had slackened but was still falling, a stiff breeze from the southeast hurling droplets through the destroyed windows. Crewmen were busy nailing plywood across the open frames. Another sheet already had been rigged as a makeshift door. The estate was on full alert. Nearly a hundred men had answered the late-night call. While patrols began on the grounds, he’d ordered the captive man prepared for questioning. He’d housed his three female prisoners in a nearby cell so they could watch.
He entered the prisoner’s cell, two of his men following. “I want to know the answer to a simple question. Who sent you?” The man, on the stout side, with wet, stringy black hair and a mustache, stared back at him.
“Your comrades are dead. Do you want to join them?”
No reply.
He’d almost hoped this fool would be difficult.
“Centuries ago, when my ancestors took prisoners, they had a simple way of extracting the truth. Would you like me to explain the method?”
CASSIOPEIA WATCHED QUENTIN HALE, HIS EYES AGLOW WITH fire. He carried a gun in one hand, brandishing it toward the prisoner as if it were a cutlass.
“He takes this pirate crap seriously,” Stephanie mouthed. “I watched him torture another one.”
Hale turned toward them. “Whispering over there? Why not speak up so we can all hear?”
“I said I watched you mutilate another man, then shoot him in the head.”
“That is what we do to traitors. Do you perhaps know the answer to the question of what my ancestors once did to their prisoners?”
“My knowledge of your family tree is limited to Pirates of the Caribbean, so why don’t you enlighten us.”
Shirley Kaiser stood silent but Cassiopeia spied the hate in her eyes. This woman had, so far, shown not the slightest hint of fear. Surprising. She hadn’t expected such courage.
Hale faced them. “There’s a book that I particularly don’t like, written long ago. A General History of the Pyrates. Mainly garbage-fiction-but there is one thing in it I agree with. Like their patron, the devil, pirates must make mischief their sport, cruelty their delight, and damning of souls their constant employment.”
“I thought you were some virtuous privateer,” Shirley said. “Who saved America.”
He glared at her. “I am what I am. What I am not, is ashamed of my heritage.” He motioned with the gun toward the man in the cell with him. “He is the enemy, employed by the government. Torturing government officials was acceptable then and remains so today.” He turned back to the prisoner. “I’m waiting for an answer to my question.”
Still nothing.
“Then I owe you an explanation. Bring him.”
The two men with Hale dragged the prisoner out into an open area before the cells. Three stout timbers rose about ten meters apart and supported the upper story. Candles wrapped the center post, held aloft in iron brackets.
The plywood shielding the front door was pushed open and seven men entered. Among six of them, in both hands, they carried knives, pitchforks, and shovels. A seventh held a fiddle. The prisoner was shoved toward the center post wrapped with the burning candles. The six men encircled him, standing a meter or so away, making it impossible for him to flee.
Hale said, “It is called the sweat. In the glory days, the candles would encircle the mizzenmast. Men would surround it with points of sword, penknives, forks, anything sharp in each hand. The culprit enters the circle. The fiddler plays a merry jig and the culprit must run around the circle while each man jabs him. The heat from the candles works on the culprit. Hence, the sweat. Exhaustion becomes an issue as the men gain the upper hand, thrusting the points ever deeper. Eventually-”
“I’m not watching this,” Stephanie said.
“You shall watch,” Hale made clear. “Or you will be next to experience it.”
WYATT WAITED FOR CARBONELL TO COMMUNICATE WITH THE two men she’d stationed within the fort. Maybe they already had their orders and knew what to do? They’d both carried guns and radios, and he’d relieved the corpses of both just after breaking the men’s necks. He now held a radio and heard nothing through its earpiece. He hadn’t killed anyone so directly in a long while. Unfortunately, it had been necessary. He’d hidden the bodies near where Knox had disappeared back into the fort. Perhaps he’d found them.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Cliche as hell, but appropriate here.
Carbonell had yet to leave her hiding spot. He had a clear view of where she’d ducked for cover. She was probably waiting for some sort of radio confirmation from her men.
Since none would ever come, he decided to move things along.
“Andrea,” he called out.
No reply.
“You can hear me.”
“Let’s talk this through,” she said in her usual calm voice. “Come out. Face-to-face. You and me.”
He wanted to chuckle.
