The Jefferson Key (Cotton Malone 7)

On his run over from the boat he’d realized that Carbonell would not just parade into the fort. She knew he’d come and she knew he’d want her dead. She’d have a plan with contingencies. So when he’d reentered he’d stayed hidden, intentionally avoiding the main gate, slipping inside through a collapsed portion of the exterior wall.

“Come on,” he whispered to her. “Don’t disappoint me now. Be your usual cocky self.”

HALE FOUND THE EMPTY CART AND HIS TWO DEAD CREWMEN about a hundred yards from the prison.

Dammit.

He’d been told that they’d stopped all of the intruders, but that apparently was not the case. Where were Nelle and Kaiser? They could not have gone far. It was more than a mile to the nearest fence, and depending on which direction they chose, that would take them either onto another captain’s land or to the water.

The river.

Exactly.

It had always been their greatest security threat, its wooded shoreline nearly impossible to patrol.

His cellphone vibrated in his pocket.

Security center.

“Captain,” the man said as he answered. “We’ve reviewed the recordings and noticed that a single intruder gained access to the dock by boat about ninety minutes ago. Resolution was poor because of the storm, but it appears to be a woman.”

“Any sign of her?”

“We’ve had trouble with the cameras everywhere tonight, but no, no other sign of her.”

“Is her boat still there?”

“Tied to a piling. Do you want it released?”

He thought a moment.

“No. I have a better idea.”

SEVENTY-FIVE

MALONE WAS ANXIOUS TO BE ON THE GROUND. THEY WERE BACK in American airspace, racing down the northeastern seaboard, headed for North Carolina. The pilots had informed him that they were about two hours from landing and the last thirty minutes would be extremely bumpy thanks to a late-season gale that had blown in from the Atlantic. In the meantime, there was nothing he could do but sit and worry.

His relationship with Cassiopeia had certainly added a new dimension to his life. He’d been married to Pam, his ex-wife, along time. They’d gone from the navy, to law school, to the Magellan Billet. Together they’d birthed and raised Gary. Pam had even become a lawyer, too, something they should have shared but actually drove them apart.

Neither one of them had been a saint.

His indiscretions were known by her from their start. Hers only came to light years later. Thankfully, they’d made their peace, but that had taken more than either of them had ever bargained for to accomplish. Now another woman had entered his life. Different. Exciting. Unpredictable. Where Pam had been the picture of patience, Cassiopeia was like a moth, fleeting from one thing to the next, all with a grace and agility that he’d come to appreciate. Her faults were there, but nothing he could not lay claim to himself. From the first moment they’d encountered each other in France he’d been drawn to her. Now she might be in trouble, single-handedly trying to challenge a company of pirates.

Damn he wished they would land.

The cabin phone rang.

“Cotton, I thought you’d like to know that it’s gone dead quiet at the compound.”

The deep voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable.

“Go get them,” he told the president of the United States. “Cassiopeia should not have been allowed to go in there.”

“She was right, and you know it. Somebody had to go. But I understand where you’re coming from. I feel awful about Stephanie. And Shirley Kaiser. The crazy fool. She’s placed herself right in the middle of this.”

“How much longer do you wait?”

“She said till dawn. We’ll give her that. Men have been arriving at the compound constantly. Beyond that, we don’t know what’s happening. She could be making progress.”

“I’ll be there in less than two hours,” he said.

“Did you find those pages?”

“I think so, but I’ll have to go back to get them.”

“Wyatt is still there. Carbonell is, too. She came after you left.”

“I figured Edwin had some eyes and ears on the ground.”

“I insisted. One of the Secret Service pilots who flew you there stayed behind. He’s watching.”

That wasn’t his main concern. “I want to know what’s happening in Bath, as it happens.”

“We’ll act the instant we have cause. Otherwise, it’s all yours in two hours.”

CASSIOPEIA STUDIED THE HALE HOUSE. LIGHTS HAD BEEN RESTORED and armed men patrolled the covered verandas.

“Stay low and in the trees,” she whispered. “Once we’re around the house, it’s not far to the dock.”

The storm continued to rage with little sign of slowing. The trip back across the river would be a challenge.

“I wish I could go in there and kill that son of a bitch,” Shirley muttered.

“How about you just testify against him,” she whispered. “That should do it.” She motioned ahead. “That way.”

They headed off.

Fifty meters past the house she heard shouts.

She turned back and, through the foliage, spotted men bursting out of doors and off the porches. Something had spooked them. None headed directly toward them. Most rounded toward the front, away from the river.

“We need to hurry,” she breathed.

WYATT WATCHED AS KNOX DOVE FOR COVER. THE SHOTS HAD come from the direction of Carbonell and her man. Through the night goggles he saw a man emerge from the stairwell Knox had just used to climb onto the wall walk.

One of the men who’d come with Carbonell, come to finish Knox off.

He decided to help out.

He aimed and fired, dropping the man to the stones.

Knox seemed to sense an opportunity and belly-crawled to the body, finding the man’s gun. He imagined what Carbonell was doing. She knew he was armed. His killing of her man had revealed his location. Now she was probably on her radio, trying to contact the two other men she’d previously stationed here.

Her aces in the hole.

Her plan with contingencies.

While she and the others occupied his attention, those two would take him out. She’d apparently captured Knox and brought him back, intent on cleaning up that loose end, too.

Poor Andrea.

Not this time.

CASSIOPEIA EMERGED FROM THE OAKS NEAR THE DOCK. THE long wooden expanse remained unlit, Hale’s sloop still tied at the end. There had to be men stationed on the boat. Unlikely that they would leave a yacht that large unattended in a storm. She motioned and they raced toward the ladder where she’d first gained ingress. Her boat waited at the bottom, tossing on the swells. They climbed down and she untied the lines.

So far so good.

She’d have to crank the engine, but not until the wind and current drove them out into the river.

A light appeared from the dock.

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 a

lready 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

NORTH CAROLINA

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.