Castro Directive

by Mertz, Stephen

  "If either of you makes a sound, you're dead," Simms said. "You got that?"

  The front doors opened and warm, pungent night air wafted over them. K.J. opened the back door, and his beefy arm reached in and jerked them out. They were led down to a canal with a half-dozen slips filled with boats. The state park was on their left, and private homes to their right. But the houses were too far away, Pierce realized as they were hustled over to a streamlined Cigarette boat. Nobody could see them.

  Death at sea, he thought grimly, and saw an image of Scarjaw's bloated body in the morgue. He touched the amulet through his pants pocket. But the little bag offered faint hope of protection - hope that faded with each second that they moved closer to their destination.

  "Get in," Simms said. K.J. took the wheel of the boat and fired the engine. Simms released the guide ropes and they eased out of the slip. K.J. and Simms were seated in comfortable swivel chairs while Pierce and Elise sat side by side in the bow on a bench covered by a thin cushion.

  K.J. guided the boat through the canal toward Biscayne Bay, keeping the speed low so as not to attract attention. As they reached the mouth of the canal, they passed close to a house, but the place was dark. And even if they yelled, it wouldn't have mattered, because K.J. pulled back on the throttle. The Cigarette whined as it picked up speed. It barely skimmed the surface of the water as though it were a creature of the air, not the sea, and they were soaked with the spray.

  Pierce looked over his shoulder and saw the lights of downtown Miami twinkling in the distance. To his right he momentarily glimpsed the shadowy houses of Stiltsville that stood like sentries in the moonlight on the bay. Then they were beyond the tiny water community and out into the glistening ocean.

  They were heading south along the keys, but the ride lasted only another ten minutes. They pulled up to a white yacht that rested quietly on the placid waters. ARGO-II was painted in bold, black letters on the side. Pierce remembered seeing a photo of the yacht in Andrews's study. There was no doubt who was waiting for them. He saw a couple of men on the deck; then a spotlight flooded over them, bleaching out everything.

  They were taken aboard and into a plush, wood-paneled salon that was larger than his living room. Simms pointed his pistol at a leather couch in the corner and told them to sit down. Across from them was a large-screen television set.

  "We going to watch a movie? Is that what we're going to do? Eh, Steve?" Elise emphasized his name as she spoke it.

  "Sure, Lisie. Wait till you see the main feature. Gripping stuff."

  Pierce looked around and noticed that the walls were mahogany and decorated with nautical clocks. To his right was a grandfather clock, and he noticed it was bolted to the wall. At the other end of the salon was a dining area and bar. In the center of the salon was a high-backed captain's chair, obviously awaiting their host, and next to the television was a video camera on a tripod. The camera was turned on, its red light glowing and its lens aimed directly at them.

  Simms said something to K.J., took the box, and tapped lightly on a door. It opened, and for an instant Pierce glimpsed a stateroom with gold-painted walls. Then Simms closed the door behind him.

  He looked over at Elise. Her clothes, like his, were wet and soiled; her face streaked with dirt. Her eyes were red and troubled. "You okay?"

  She bit at her lower lip, whispered: "What're we going to do?"

  "Shut up," K.J. barked.

  Their plan to trap Andrews had backfired before they'd even had a chance to set it in motion, Pierce thought. And now he didn't even know if anyone was looking for them. When Redington heard Carver was missing, he must have told Bellinger about the Coral Castle. Now Bellinger was dead, and he didn't have much hope for Carver. Redington would have no idea where to look for them now.

  "Well, we're all ready, aren't we?" said a voice from across the salon.

  Pierce saw Andrews step through the door of the stateroom, Simms behind him carrying the box.

  Andrews beamed at them a moment, then motioned for Simms to set the box on the bar. Andrews was dressed in a navy blue blazer with an open white shirt, navy pants, and white shoes. His yachting attire, Pierce thought.

  "Welcome aboard, Nicholas. I thought this would be much nicer than your office." He smiled as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about their meeting. "And Dr. Simms. I don't believe we've ever met."

  "I've heard about you." As if they'd just dropped by for cocktails, Pierce thought.

  Andrews laughed. "Oh, a little humor. I like that." He settled into the captain's chair and swiveled toward them.

  "How about explaining what's going on, Ray?" said Pierce.

  "All in time." Andrews's smile turned to a frown as he noticed the handcuffs and their clothing. He turned to K.J., who was cleaning the salt spray from his .357. "Frey, please come and take these handcuffs off, and keep the gun out of sight."

  He stuffed it in a shoulder holster and unlocked the cuffs. Pierce rubbed his wrist; it felt bruised from the tight grip of the cuff.

  "Why did you call them Frey and Thor?" Elise asked. She still maintained her casual, conversational tone, but her hands were trembling.

  "If you aspire for godliness, it helps to identify with the gods of the past. Let me formally introduce myself. You can think of me as Odin. You, of course, know Thor, and Nicholas knows Frey as my mute bodyguard. He can speak, but he usually prefers not to do so in my presence, which I find suitable."

  Andrews is mad, totally mad, Pierce thought. Their only hope was that somehow they could turn his obsession to their advantage. The yacht's engines revved; they started to move. "Where're you taking us, Ray?"

  "No place special. Just the cruise of your life, that's all. It won't be boring. I'll keep you entertained." His eyes flicked over them; an expression of disdain claimed his features. "You two are terribly dirty. Why don't you wash up and change clothes. I think we can find something for both of you."

  "We're fine," Pierce said.

  "No. Really, I'd prefer it. Frey, show Dr. Simms to the master head, and Thor, please take Nicholas to the other one, then find them something to wear."

  A few minutes later, they were back on the couch. Elise wore a pair of baggy shorts and a loose sweatshirt, and Pierce wore cotton drawstring pants and a t-shirt. The clothes they'd been given were not only clean, but neatly pressed.

  "Now, that's better," Andrews said. "You look much more comfortable." His dark eyes focused on Elise. "See, I'm not such a bad guy, am I? And, Nicholas, I want to thank you for completing your job with such efficiency. But then I'm not really surprised that the missing skull turned up when it did. Not at all. It fits." Andrews rubbed his chin; he looked pensive. "It's just too bad you didn't have the guts to stick with me."

  Here it comes, Pierce thought. Things were about to turn nasty.

  "So he could die like your wife?" Elise snapped. Andrews looked amused. "You think I killed her, do you?"

  "Nick found out the truth. You can't hide it any longer."

  "I'm not hiding anything, Dr. Simms. Let me show you something." He took a remote control device out of his pocket and clicked on a VCR. The large screen was blank a moment, then Marisol Puente's face appeared; she looked distraught. He hit the fast forward and her head jerked around, then dropped into her hands. Andrews switched it to normal speed.

  "Just get it over with," Marisol said, shaking her head. "Kill me. I know that's what you're going to do."

  Andrews turned off the tape. "Marisol Puente was as much a surprise to me as she was to you, Nicholas. But we've taken care of her."

  "Is destroying people your favorite pastime, Raymond?" Elise's tone was thick with vitriol.

  "I'm like you, Dr. Simms. When someone acts against you, you want them to pay the price. It's a matter of balance." He slipped off the chair, walked over to the VCR, and changed tapes. He turned it on. The screen filled with the image of a man with a bushy, gray-streaked beard who stood behind a cluttered counter. Andrews froze the f
rame.

  "What did you do to him?" Elise screamed, and suddenly bounded off the couch toward Andrews. But Simms grabbed her and tossed her back onto the couch.

  "Stay seated and you'll find out," Andrews admonished. "Nicholas, this is John Mahoney, Elise's father, in his junk store. Excuse me, antique shop." He smiled. "I made this tape a few days ago."

  Pierce realized he was going to see what Andrews's recent business trip had been about, and he wasn't looking forward to it. As the tape began again, he heard the man speak. "Get that goddamn camera out of my face, Raymond. What're you doing here?"

  Mahoney's features were strong, like Elise's, but his eyes were melancholy, almost painful to look at. He took a step back. His gaze shifted to one side, as if he were watching someone else who was out of the camera's view. "What do you want from me? You've already got my skull."

  "Where's the other one hidden?"

  "I don't know. Nobody does."

  Andrews stepped up to the counter and into the picture. He set a suitcase down, opened it, and lifted out a gleaming crystal skull. "I'll return your skull if you tell me where the other one is hidden."

  "Your deal is a lie."

  "You've got ten seconds."

  Mahoney stared impassively at him, accepting his fate calmly.

  A figure with a gun appeared in the corner of the picture. The muzzle was thrust out at Mahoney's head.

  "Five more seconds, old man."

  "I've told you the truth."

  "I believe you're lying. Shoot him."

  The report of the gun rang out. Mahoney's head snapped back, and he collapsed. Elise screamed and struggled against Simms, who grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face forward. "Look, Lisie, look!" He jabbed his finger toward the screen.

  The camera relentlessly followed the body to the floor. It zoomed in, focusing on the bleeding head as her father died. "He's dead, dead, dead. Andrews killed your daddy." Simms's voice echoed in the silence, punctuated only by Elise's sobs.

  Pierce pulled Elise into his arms and glared at Andrews. But Andrew's gaze was riveted on Simms, and his eyes were cold and hard.

  Chapter 35

  The TV screen was black; the show was over. Andrews ordered the engine cut, and now the yacht rocked gently in the tranquil sea. He sat back in his captain's chair and watched as Pierce tried to calm Elise. Her head was buried in her hands and she was weeping, shaking her head.

  "I admire your outspoken attitude, Dr. Simms. I really do. But living your life for a vendetta is a misguided use of your talents," Andrews chided. "Look where it's gotten you."

  "So is a life devoted to chasing a myth at all costs," Pierce countered.

  "I'm not chasing a myth, Nicholas. I'm fulfilling it. There's a difference. And you two are very fortunate to be here to witness the event. It's too bad Dr. Bill couldn't be with us, too. But you can't expect everything to work smoothly." He paused a moment, then added: "Who would have guessed Mr. Slick was an honest cop? But my shore crew will mop things up before the night's over. Now why don't we take a look at the skull you found?"

  Andrews glanced at K.J. "Frey, bring it here, please." The bodyguard carried the box over to him and held it out. Andrews made no effort to take the container from him.

  Elise raised her head; her eyes were red, and tears stained her cheeks. "I hope it's full of dirt," she rasped.

  He laughed and raised the top of the box, reached inside, and lifted out ,a leather drawstring bag that was stiff and cracked with age. He rested the bag on his lap and, as K.J. moved aside, carefully loosened the strings, then peeled back the bag. First the top of the skull showed, then Pierce saw the diamond-shaped eyes, the nose hole, and finally the jaw and gleaming teeth. Andrews lifted it up, turned it slowly around, admiring it.

  Pierce couldn't wrench his eyes from the skull. It's enigmatic diamond-shaped eyes begged attention, called to him. It was an artifact, a relic, a work of art. Yet, it was also an image from the dream world of hypnosis that suddenly and irrevocably existed here and now.

  'You two really have fulfilled my highest expectations." Andrew's voice was hushed, reverent. He gazed at them over the top of the skull. "It's too bad you won't be around to see what will happen."

  There was a certain finality in his comment, and Pierce reacted by touching the amulet, which he'd taken from his jeans when he'd changed pants. He glanced at Elise, who sat rigid, chivvying at her lower lip, worrying her hands, revulsion contorting her face.

  "What are you going to do with it?" Pierce asked.

  "Don't worry. I plan to tell you all about it. You do deserve that much for your help, deceitful though it was."

  He walked over to the couch and knelt down on one knee in front of them. "Dr. Simms, how would you say this skull compares with the other one?"

  Pierce had an overwhelming urge to snatch the skull from Andrews's hands and crack him over the head with it. But Simms must have read his thoughts, and moved in close keeping his eyes on him.

  "Well, Dr. Simms?" Andrews repeated.

  Elise kept her head lowered, refusing to look at it. Simms grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her head back. "Yes," she screeched.

  "Yes, what?" Simms asked, tugging her hair.

  "It resembles the other one." Her voice wavered and broke.

  "I'll ask the questions, Thor." Andrews waited patiently for her to pull herself together. "Is it an exact likeness?"

  She wiped her eyes and focused on the skull.

  "Tell me, Elise," Andrews persisted, and Simms tugged on her hair again.

  "I'd have to see them both," she said, and sniffled.

  Andrews smiled. "I can do that for you. But first things first."

  He stood up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out an old copper coin the size of a half-dollar. He held it up in front of him. "This is a commemorative coin," he said, turning it over in his hand. "Its inscription says, 'They Took Cartagena, 1741.' "He looked from Pierce to Elise and back again. "That probably doesn't mean anything to you, but this coin is related to the skull."

  He looked over at K.J. "Frey, move my chair closer, please."

  Andrews rocked from side to side in the captain's chair—his goddamn throne, Pierce thought. K.J. and Simms were standing on either side of him: the king and his knights. "A short time after we graduated from college, Nicholas, I inherited some family documents from my grandfather. One of them was a letter written by my fifth-generation ancestor, William Andrews, and with the letter was this coin."

  William was a British soldier who fought under the command of Vernon Washington, the brother of George, and survived the disastrous British loss in Colombia. Washington was so certain of victory at Cartagena that coins like the one he'd shown them were minted before the battle. In his letter, William Andrews wrote that when he'd left home, he was angry at his father for paying more attention to his collection of gems and antiques than to his family. To spite of the elder Andrews, he'd taken with him a metal box that contained his father's prize possession, an ancient crystal skull. William's father had inherited it from his mother, who was of Basque ancestry. Not long after the battle of Cartagena, William jumped ship in Jamaica. He made his way across the Caribbean to North America and became a homesteader in the Florida wilderness.

  Andrews flipped the souvenir coin, snatched it out of the air. "At the time, I thought that someday, maybe when I was retired, I'd look for the skull," Andrews continued. "It would be a challenging pastime, since the only clue William left was that the artifact was hidden near the tip of Florida, and, of course, I didn't have the slightest idea where. Now we know that an immigrant stonemason—the man who built the Coral Castle—must have found the buried skull and put it to his own strange use."

  Andrews surveyed his audience as he re-pocketed the coin. Then he told them that a decade ago, he'd changed his mind about the importance of the search, after mentioning the subject to an acquaintance of Basque ancestry. Over dinner the two men had discussed their heritage, and ponde
red the mysterious and puzzling history of the Basque people, when Andrews had mentioned the letter from William and the tale of the Basque skull. A few weeks later they met again, and the man showed him a document from his own family library, a silver scroll written in ancient Greek. The man claimed that it was written by Plato, that it was his missing dialogue on Atlantis. In part, it dealt with the tale of the two ancient crystal skulls.

  "He told me that each succeeding head of the family had pledged not to reveal the existence of the scroll to a soul until approached by someone with knowledge of a lost crystal skull. The scroll was to be made known to the world only when the two crystal skulls were reunited.

  "I studied the interpretation of the scroll, and you can imagine my surprise to learn that Plato once owned the skull that had been in my family. It was given to him in Egypt during his initiation into the mysteries."

  Andrews paused and looked down at the skull again. He touched it; the caress, thought Pierce, was almost sexual. "Plato spent three days in the Great Pyramid, and during that time the priests taught him the secret to withdrawing the knowledge that had been psychically programmed into the crystal in the time of Atlantis. At that point, I knew that my life was tied with the destiny of the skull. I became partners with the man who owned the scroll and together we formed a fellowship of searchers—Noster Mundus."

  "And you killed him, too," Elise accused. "It was Paul Loften."

  Andrews's dark eyes widened. When he spoke, Pierce heard a barely subdued rage in his voice. "Loften betrayed me."

  "What did Plato do with the skull?" Pierce asked, anxious to keep Andrews talking to buy them some time.

  "He learned from it. He wrote the third dialogue on Atlantis."

  "What about the first two." Pierce asked.

  Andrews smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It was because of the first two that he was initiated into the secret priesthood of the Great Pyramid and given the skull. The priests realized that his dialogues were so accurate, as far as they went, that they knew Plato was the 'speaker,' the chosen Atlantean descendant they had been seeking, who would take the message of the skull to the world."