Before landing a few miles south of town, they’d overflown and he’d studied the island-strewn bay. They’d found Paw Island and reconnoitered it from the air, a mass of dark rock, tumbled grass, oaks, and spruce. Limestone cliffs dominated the shore that supported the ruined fort. He’d noted several places to beach a boat on the south shore and also saw the birds. Thousands of them scattered across the decaying walls, on the cliffs, in trees. Gannets, kittiwakes, gulls, terns, and murres massed so thick they obscured the ground in places.
He parked near a cluster of shops, art galleries, and cafes. Though it was late on a Sunday afternoon, he was glad to see that most of the businesses remained open. A bakery drew his attention and he told himself to pay it and a nearby fruit market a visit before heading out. Food would be good. He had no idea how long he’d be on the island.
Buildings backed to the bay above boulders that protected the shore from a restless tide. Kayaks, motorboats, and sailboats were all available for hire, and he decided that a fast and sturdy powerboat would do the trick. Paw Island was about six miles away by water.
Some local knowledge could also help.
So he decided to make a few inquires about the fort before heading for the island.
CASSIOPEIA STUFFED HER DIRTY CLOTHES INTO THE SHOULDER bag. She’d packed light for the New York weekend, bringing only a few items. Davis had offered her use of what he called the Blue Bedroom on the White House’s second floor. It came with its own bath, so she’d been able to shower. While she bathed and rested-a lack of sleep had caught up with her-the staff had laundered her clothes. There was no rush to head back to Fredericksburg. Shirley Kaiser would not be home for another four hours. They’d told Kaiser to do nothing out of the ordinary. Stay as long as usual. Be herself.
A light knock drew her across the room.
She opened the door to see Danny Daniels standing outside.
Her guard immediately went up.
“I need to speak with you,” he said in a soft voice.
He came in and sat on one of the twin beds. “I’ve always liked this room. Mary Lincoln lay in shock here following ol’ Abe’s assassination. She refused to enter their bedroom down the hall. Reagan used it as a gym. Other presidents had their small children live here.”
She waited for what he wanted.
“My wife betrayed me, didn’t she?”
She wondered about the question. “In what way?”
“I listened to Edwin when he told me what happened with Shirley. He’s convinced that Pauline’s motives were innocent.” The president paused. “But I wonder.”
She had no idea how to respond to that comment.
“Edwin told you about Mary?”
She nodded.
“I asked him to do that. I don’t speak of her. I can’t. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Why are telling me this?”
“Because I can’t tell anyone else.”
“You should tell your wife.”
Daniels’ eyes seemed distant. “I’m afraid there’s little left to say between us. Our time has come and gone.”
“Do you love her?”
“Not anymore.”
The admission shocked her.
“I haven’t in a long time. It’s not malice, or hate, or anger. Just nothing.”
His mellow tone unnerved her. She was accustomed to the booming voice.
“Does she know?”
“How could she not?”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked again.
“Because the one other person I could speak to about this is in trouble and needs your help.”
“Stephanie?”
Daniels nodded. “Last Christmas, with all that happened with Cotton’s father, she and I began to talk. She’s an extraordinary woman who’s led a tough life.”
Cassiopeia had known Stephanie’s late husband and had been there, in the Languedoc, a few years ago when the tragic events finally played out.
“She told me about her husband and son. I think she wanted me to tell her about Mary, but I couldn’t.”
Pain clouded the president’s face.
“Stephanie went out there because of me. Now she’s gone. We have to find her. My gut wants to send a hundred FBI agents into that pirate compound at Bath. She could be there. But I know that’s foolishness. What you’re planning is the better way.”
“Are you and Stephanie… involved?”
She hoped the question would not offend him, but she had to ask. Particularly considering what she already knew.
“Not at all. I doubt she even gave our talks a thought. But I liked that she listened. Stephanie has a great respect for you. I don’t know if you know that. That’s why I agreed with Edwin. We need you both on this.”
A moment of strained silence passed between them.
“Stephanie told me that you and Cotton are an item. Is that true?”
Strange, having this conversation with the president of the United States. “It looks that way.”
“He’s a good man.”
Speaking of which, “What do you think is going to happen in Nova Scotia?”
“Cotton and Wyatt will be there. It remains to be seen if the Commonwealth appears. If Carbonell is in league with them, that’s a definite possibility. But Cotton is tough. He can handle things.” Daniels stood from the bed. “A little advice from an old fool?”
“Of course. Not that you’re a fool.”
“Actually, I’m one of the biggest. But follow your heart. It rarely leads you astray. It’s thinking that gets us into trouble.”
FIFTY-NINE
MAHONE BAY
MALONE CHOSE TO RENT A TEN-FOOT V-HULLED WITH A SINGLE outboard and two spare gas tanks. The time was approaching five PM. He was running behind, thanks to the weather delay back in DC, but he hoped Wyatt was, too. He’d been told that flights all along the eastern seaboard had been affected.
He’d visited the bakery and the market. The boat came equipped with a heavy-duty flashlight and spare batteries. It definitely appeared that he’d be spending the night on Paw Island. Thankfully, he was armed, the benefit of arriving on a Secret Service jet with official Canadian clearance. No questions from anybody. Wyatt would not have that luxury if he’d flown commercial, or even a charter, as customs would search both the plane and his belongings.
Before leaving town he decided to visit a bookstore that’d caught his eye. When he’d worked for Stephanie Nelle at the Justice Department, after assignments ended he’d always found one wherever he was in the world. This shop was located inside a brightly colored clapboard house with nautical touches that included maps, knots, even a ship’s figurehead. The shelves lining the walls were crowded with tales about the bay, the towns, and Oak Island. Davis had explained a possible connection between the five symbols in Jackson’s message and a mysterious slab found ninety feet belowground by treasure seekers on Oak Island. He located the slab in one of the books and showed it to the woman behind the counter. She was older, with brown hair streaked by waves of red.
“This drawing,” he asked her. “The stone, with writing on it. Where is this located?”
“Not far. It’s a replica of the original, on display. You into the Oak Island thing?”
“Not really. Seems like the only real treasure there is the money made from people who come to visit.”
“No reason to be so cynical. You never know. There could be something to it.”
He could not argue with that.
“The symbols are unique. Is there any explanation where they might have come from?
“You’ll find them on several islands in the bay.”
That was news.
“They’re common around here. Carved into rocks, trees. But, of course, nobody knows when they were put there.”
He caught her drift. Which came first, the Oak Island slab that no one had ever seen or the other symbols? Davis had told him that the stone was supposedly found in 1805 so, if the slab ac
tually existed, symbols in other places could have appeared after. He recalled Rennes-le-Chateau, in France, and the mystique associated with that place, nearly all of it manufactured by a local hotel owner to generate business.
“Is Paw Island one of those places where the symbols can be found?” he asked.
She nodded. “There are a few scattered around near the fort.”
“I flew over coming in. Quite a few birds live there.”
“You could say that, and they don’t like visitors. You headed there?”