trawler, he knew how to sew well enough, long as you weren’t too particular about scars.
“Somebody got him with a knife from behind, Fitz,” Hawke said. Fitz McCoy watched his old friend and partner get carried inside the wheelhouse. His face was clouded with sorrow and anger in the light of the flames from the tower.
“Which means it was someone Chief knew. Rainwater would never let anybody else get that close. Where’d you find him?”
“Inside the storehouse. Four dead tangos, too, but they didn’t do it. No knives on them.”
“Did you see Ahmed? Brock?”
“Negative.”
“It’s one of them did this,” Fitz said, “Maybe both.”
“Let’s go find out.”
The interior courtyard was strangely silent, considering the recent havoc that had taken place here. Fitz signaled a halt just inside the main gate. To the right, a large mosquelike structure with darkened windows. To the left, the old storehouse where Hawke had found Rainwater and left Stokely. Straight ahead, about five hundred yards away, was the fort’s central structure. Rommel’s former headquarters was a massive stone blockhouse, a squat four stories high, and looked to have been built in the nineteenth century. There were period battlements on the roof, a defensive parapet with indentations on all four sides. It looked completely impregnable.
“Holy Jesus,” Froggy said, looking at the thing, “When I packed my bombs I forgot to bring my bunker- busters.”
Fitz whispered, “You’d need a fooking nuke to take that big bastard out.”
“Sorry. Forgot my nukes, too,” Froggy said.
There was a cricket-rattle of safeties being flicked off and the clacking of Kevlar armor in the dark. A giant black apparition was sprinting toward them through the shadows, hugging the wall, coming from the direction of the mosque. Hawke had asked the man to do a quick recon.
“Easy,” Hawke said, “it’s Stokely.”
“Rainwater?” Stoke asked. “How’s he doing?”
“Not good,” Hawke said. “Ali’s doing all he can for him in sickbay. How’s it look out there, Stoke?”
“They want us to waltz right inside, looks like to me,” Stoke said. “Side door to that building is wide open. No guards inside. Nobody standing guard behind that bulwark either, that I could see. You can’t see ’em now, but there are snipers up on that roof.”
“What’s inside the mosque?” Hawke asked.
“It looks like a mosque, but it ain’t anymore. Some kind of dormitory. I heard lots of women. Crying and wailing and shit. Kids crying in there, too, boss, a whole lot more of them than we got room for in the inflatables.”
“We’ll think of something. No guards?”
“Not outside that I could see. All inside with the women and children.”
“So first we take down the main building,” Fitz said. “That’s where we’ll find the sultan.”
“Right. Let’s split up,” Hawke said. “I’ll take Froggy and his squad to the right. You and Stoke take the remaining men around the left side. We’ll rendezvous at the bulwark, up the front steps, and go in shooting. Move!”
“Shuck and jive, mon ami!” Froggy said, happy the thing was finally going down.
The two teams took off, hugging the walls at the opposite edges of the courtyard, moving at a half run through moonlight and shadow. When they rejoined under the overhang of the bulwark that stood before the wide stone stairs, weapons were flicked to full auto. Just as they prepared to mount the steps, Hawke suddenly showed the raised flat of his hand.
He whispered, “Nobody move.”
The heavy wooden doors had cracked open a few feet. Light spilled out from inside, silhouetting a lone man. He stepped outside and paused at the top of the steps. He was a tall, elegant fellow, wearing a white linen suit and smoking a cigarette in a slim ebony holder. At his neck, a navy bow-tie. He was Chinese, with a distinctly military bearing, but he dressed in the English fashion. The fact that ten automatic weapons were suddenly aimed at his heart seemed not to bother him in the slightest.
When he spoke, his English was flawless. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’ve been expecting you. Is Alex Hawke there among you? Sorry, everyone looks the same in body armor.”
“Who the bloody hell are you, man?” Hawke barked.
“Quite right. I haven’t introduced myself. I am Major Tony Tang of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army. I am currently here as an advisor to the French commander of this garrison.”
“Advisor, my royal butt,” Alex said, taking a step forward and removing his helmet and balaclava. “I’m Alex Hawke.”
“Lord Hawke,” the major said with a slight bow, “The pirate himself. I’m so glad you made it. I was hoping we’d have a chance to chat before you were killed. Won’t you come inside? I’ve alerted the sultan that you’re here.”
“He’s still alive?”
Hawke instantly regretted this show of hope that the hostage had not already been shot or otherwise murdered. This was no time to display weakness or anxiety.
“I’m sure he would appreciate your concern. He’s—not well.”
Hawke bent and whispered to Fitz, “I’m going in there. Alone. Give me twenty minutes or until you hear something spectacular. Then go in that side door Stoke found. And when you come, come shooting.”
“What?” Fitz whispered back, “Are you insane, man? You can’t go in there by yourself, for all love! Why —”
“Quiet, Fitz. Let’s hear what he has to say.”
“As you can see,” the major said, “I’ve closed the main gate behind you. It’s the only way out. There are men with weapons on the roof and many more inside.”
“I’m going inside,” Hawke said.
“No you ain’t,” Stoke said, “I agree with Froggy. You can’t go in there alone, boss. I’m dead serious.”
Hawke looked at him. He and Stoke had been in spots like this many times before. Stoke had an uncanny ability to talk his way out of tight situations. But it was the things they could leave unsaid between them that would offer them a slight advantage. Stoke would go in with him. Together, they mounted the steps to meet Tang.
“This is Captain Jones, Major. He comes with me. The rest of these men will remain here, unharmed, under the command of FitzHugh McCoy. I should warn you that there is a squadron of U.S. Navy F/A18 Super Hornets circling overhead at ten thousand feet. If any one of these men is harmed, this fort will be reduced to rubble in less than five minutes. Do we understand each other?”
“We do. Delighted to meet you, Captain Jones,” Major Tang said, “Won’t you both leave your weapons here and follow me?”
And they did.
“Captain?” Stoke whispered, “Why’d you make me a captain?”
“What the hell do you want to be?”
“An admiral at least. I didn’t know we had Super Hornets upstairs.”
“We don’t.”
Chapter Fifty-three
Southampton, New York
THE OLD TOPPING ESTATE, NOW SOUTHAMPTON HOSPITAL, had sprouted wings over the years. New, modern additions had been built in the last century to better serve the current local population of four thousand souls. That number tripled in the summertime when New Yorkers fled the city for the beaches of the South Fork and the Hamptons. July, especially, put more stress on everyone at the hospital, from the emergency room to the very
