The Jefferson Key (Cotton Malone 7)

WYATT KEPT CARBONELL AHEAD OF HIM AND ALLOWED THE flashlight beam to lead the way. Water in the chamber was rising, now almost shin-high, the tide definitely coming in. He and Malone had caught it at its lowest. Carbonell was her usual cocky self, oblivious to the real danger, confident that her men would follow and watch her back.

“Is this where the British prisoners died?” she asked.

“No doubt.”

“This water is cold.”

“It won’t be long.”

He followed the same path he and Malone had explored, heading for the convergence of the three tunnels where the symbols awaited.

They found the Y-junction.

With his light he pointed out the four symbols ringing the walls and the fifth centered in the ceiling.

“Incredible,” she said. “It’s hidden here?”

Water poured from the chutes that opened about three feet off the floor. Salt foam formed, then dissipated, but the flow remained constant. Another set of chutes awaited at the six-foot point.

“The fifth symbol is high for a reason,” he said. “What we’re looking for is behind that top stone.”

“How do you plan to get to it?”

“I don’t.”

KNOX ADVANCED WITH CAUTION, CAREFUL NOT TO SLOSH THE nearly knee-high water, which appeared to be rising. He’d found the flashlight near the bodies in the fort’s upper level and was keeping the beam down since Wyatt and Carbonell were ahead of him.

He could hear them talking, beyond a bend twenty feet away.

He switched off the light and crept forward.

CASSIOPEIA KNELT WITH STEPHANIE BESIDE SHIRLEY KAISER, who remained in shock, her wound sutured and bandaged by the doctor. He’d also given her a shot for pain.

“I don’t want you to think me a barbarian,” Hale had told them.

They’d watched as Kaiser’s middle finger had dropped to the floor, her eyes alight with shock, her screams muffled by the tape across her mouth. Both she and Stephanie had felt her agony. Luckily, Shirley had passed out.

“She’s still dazed,” Stephanie said. “Do you think Edwin got your message?”

She realized that Stephanie would catch the lie she’d cultivated with Davis.

“Trouble is, Edwin is a cautious soul,” Stephanie said.

Not when it came to Pauline Daniels, Cassiopeia thought. Hopefully, he’d be equally as impetuous here.

“President Daniels is concerned about you,” she told Stephanie.

“I’m okay.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

She saw that Stephanie caught the irritation in her voice.

“What did he say to you?” Stephanie asked.

“Enough.”

“I assure you, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“There are a lot of people saying the same thing. Yet we have all these problems.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She wasn’t going to breach Davis’ or Pauline’s confidence, so she said, “Stephanie, the Daniels’ marriage is a disaster. Obviously, you and the president have been speaking about that. Enough that he feels a connection with you. He told me that he thinks you feel the same. Is that true?”

“He said that?”

“Only to me. And there were good reasons to express it.”

Shirley moaned. She was coming around.

“That hand is going to hurt when she wakes up,” Stephanie said.

She waited for an answer to her question.

Stephanie cradled Shirley’s head in her lap as they sat on the cell floor. Hale and the captains were gone, as were all of the crewmen. The earless corpse had been dragged outside. They were alone, locked away, waiting for the fog to clear before they left.

“I don’t know what to think,” Stephanie quietly said. “All I know is that I think about him more than I should.”

The makeshift prison door opened and Hale entered.

“Good news. We’re off.”

MALONE BURST FROM THE VEHICLE AS IT STOPPED IN THE DARK near a boat ramp at the end of a wet, sandy trail. Only a light misty rain fell, the sky overhead clearing to reveal scattered stars. Dawn was less than an hour away. It had been a long night and he’d caught only a short nap on the plane, his mind churning with fear over Cassiopeia and Stephanie.

“What have you heard?” he asked Davis, who waited beside an SUV.

“She called about an hour ago.”

He knew that was required in order to buy more time, but he caught the reservation in Davis’ tone.

“She gave me false information. Implied that the men who were attacking the place were ours.”

“You think the call was forced?”

“Probably. We still have no probable cause for anything, except what Cassiopeia reported, which we can’t use since she’s there illegally.”

He knew what the Fourth Amendment provided, but screw the Constitution. “We need to act.”

“You’re our only move.”

He realized this man had more to consider than just Cassiopeia.

“There’s a fog out over the water that’s spread inland to the north shore. It stretches downriver a few miles, toward the sea. Not uncommon, I’m told, this time of year.”

“Great cover to use to get onto that estate.”

“I thought you might feel that way.” Davis pointed toward the darkened river and the concrete ramp.

“There’s a boat waiting for you.”

WYATT SENSED THAT SOMEONE ELSE WAS NEARBY. HE’D CAUGHT only the faintest hint of water splashing, but instinct told him Knox had followed them.

Two birds with one stone?

Was that what the quartermaster was thinking?

HALE WAS BOTH PLEASED AND CONCERNED. HE’D CONTAINED the intruders and thwarted a prison break, but the extent of his problem in Virginia had yet to be ascertained. Vitt’s statement that they had a man in custody, if true, could be troublesome. He’d already called lawyers and told them to investigate. He’d also heard no more from Knox in Nova Scotia. Thankfully, the three other captains had left. He’d severed Kaiser’s finger because his men, his equals, and his enemies had to know that he was someone to fear.

He watched as Nelle and Vitt helped Kaiser into the bed of a wet pickup truck. Four armed crewmen joined them. A contingent of six more would follow in another truck.

“To the dock,” he called out.

MALONE NAVIGATED THE TWELVE-FOOT V-HULL THROUGH THE short, blunt-shaped waves of a tossing Pamlico River. Finally, he encountered the fog and kept a bearing due east toward a dock that should extend a couple of hundred feet from the north shore. The storm had subsided, the wind and rain gone, but the river continued to churn. He’d been told it was about two miles across and he estimated that he’d gone just about that distance.

He checked his watch.

5:20 AM.

A bright glow through the mist to the east signaled dawn on the horizon.

He shifted to neutral and drifted, lightly working the throttle on and off to compensate for a swift current that drew him back toward the river’s center and east to the sea.

A nest of blurred lights sparked ahead.

Four arranged in a row.

He shut off the outboard and listened.

Davis had told him about Adventure. A two-hundred-foot-plus, state-of-the-art sailing sloop. The ship’s outline appeared ahead, and he heard activity on the deck. Men shouting.

Swells drove him closer.

He could not strike the hull.

More activity seemed to be happening beyond the ship, toward shore, perhaps on the dock. Jouncing beams of light stabbed the dark. Two together, like headlights. Nothing could be seen clearly, the fog masking reality, as if he were viewing the dark world through a smoky bottle.

He gripped his gun and shifted the outboard into gear, keeping the throttle barely out of neutral, easing closer.

He found the hull and angled left, following the waterli

ne.

An anchor chain appeared, apparently used for stabilization even while docked, which made sense given the river’s strong current.

Above him stretched fifty feet of thick, wet chain.

He could do it, but he needed to know something.

He spun the wheel hard to port and shifted the throttle into neutral. Immediately the boat drifted away. Satisfied as to the current’s direction, he reengaged the throttle and gave himself a gentle nudge forward. He stuffed the gun between his belt and waist, switched off the engine, then grabbed the wet links above him and climbed.

He glanced back and watched the current grab the boat as it disappeared into the night.

Only one way left to go now.

EIGHTY-ONE