by Mark Stone
He scooped her up and walked her out the back, tossing her into the back of a dark van.
That was when her eyes got too heavy to keep open. As the doors to the van slammed shut, condemning her to darkness, sleep stole the last of her away.
And now she was here...wherever here was.
She imagined she was still in the van. Though, if she was, it was moving slowly. There was a sensation of moving, though not like what she would have expected from a van careening down the road, trying to outrun cops she hoped we coming after her. Shaking her head hard, she gathered her strength and tried to move.
It was no use though. The world around her was black and, it turned out, her arms and legs were now bound. She had been tied up and tossed somewhere dark. All she could hear was her frantic breathing, her intensely pounding heart and-and something else.
Steadying her breath and calming herself, she zeroed in on the other sound, the one not coming from her. In the dark, she realized it was a familiar thing, almost a comforting thing. Still, she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
She blinked and then blinked again, hoping for any sort of light to break through the darkness. The idea that she might have been blinded by whatever Patrick did to her crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed it out. There was no pain in her eyes. Surely, if she'd have sustained that sort of trauma, there would be some discomfort as evidence.
The sound, a rising and falling, called to her. What was more, the movement punched itself up. Her body pulled upward and then, with a start, it all came to her.
She wasn't in the van anymore. In fact, Katherine Cross wasn't even on dry land anymore. Though she couldn't see anything to verify it, she knew in her blood, in her bones, that she was on a boat.
But why, and where on this bright blue earth was she being taken?
That question was answered with a start, as a door off in the distance opened, flooding the room with bright, punishing light as well as the salt smell of the ocean.
She winced, her eyes practically screaming as they struggled to adjust to the light.
A backlit figure walked toward her. Her eyes, a hazy mess, couldn't put a face to the figure, even as the person jerked her to her feet and led her toward the light.
He was holding her by the chains wrapped around her arms, and pulling her much quicker than she could have comfortably walked, thanks to the chains around her feet.
"Who-who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice, hoarse and more panicked than she would have preferred.
The man's only answer was to pull her harder, thrusting her out into the light completely.
Losing her balance, she fell hard against the wooden hull of the ship. The ocean sang around her loudly now, no longer impeded by walls. It was a song that, in her childhood, had meant something close to happiness. Now though, and ever since her father had dropped off the face of the earth while looking for those damned jewels, it meant death to her. It meant pain, and hurt, and never seeing the people you love again.
"I'm a little bit offended, Katie," a familiar, Northern tinged voice, said from above her.
Looking up, shielding her eyes with her still bound hands, Kate managed to finally get a look at the person who was responsible for taking her captive.
It was strange to look at him now, to actually see a person she thought was dead so long ago. Sure, she already knew the truth. The blood on Anchor's knife told the impossible tale. It was different to actually look at him though, to see his eyes, to watch the way his lips curled when he spoke. It was actually him. It was her godfather, her father's best friend in the entire world, and he was standing right in front of her. She felt like everything she knew had been a sick twisted lie. She once thought that man hung the moon, but she was finally seeing him for what he really was and that was a monster.
"Albert?" Kate asked, swallowing.
"There was a time you called me Uncle Albert," the man lamented, shaking his head.
"There was a time when the whole world thought your body was at the bottom of the ocean," she answered. "I guess we've both seen better days."
He laughed hard. "You are a spitfire, just like your father." He stepped toward her, even closer than he already was. "Now stand up, dear. It's time I told you what was really going on here."
Chapter 29
Anchor walked into the Vero Beach Police Department, his entire body jerking with a mix of nausea, nerves, and indescribable pain. He had just watched the bank he was standing in front of back in Orlando blown to bits in front of his very eyes. To make matters worse- so, so much worse- Kate had just walked through the door of that bank.
As he stepped through the doors of the department, after having been driven back from Orlando in the back of a police car, the dozens of eyes that fell upon him said everything words hadn't about how they felt about him and what happened today.
This was, at least in part, his fault. Just like with Patrick, he had been right there when all of it went down. And, like with Patrick, he hadn't been able to to stop it.
His stomach churned as he looked the officers up and down. He had only known Kate for a short time and yet, the pain he felt at her loss was so great it threatened to double him over where he stood. He could only imagine what these people- those who had worked with her for years- must have been feeling now.
That was the thing though, what if she wasn't lost? What if the things he thought had happened really did? What if it really wasn't over? What if…?
"Did you get lost or something?" Marcus asked from the open door of his office, his voice a warning.
"Marcus," Anchor said, rushing into the man's office and closing the door. "We need to talk."
"I asked you a question," Marcus responded. From this close, Anchor could see the red rings around the man's eyes. He could see the exhausted, destroyed nature of his features. It was a look only worn by someone who had lost a person they cared about. It was a look Anchor knew well. "Are you lost, Mr. Anchorage? You see, I told those idiots in Orlando not to bring you back here. In fact, I told them I didn't give a damn if they tossed you in the ocean for all you did. Lord knows they'd have been within their rights."
"Marcus," Anchor interrupted, swallowing hard.
"You held a gun on a group of police officers," he said. "You facilitated reckless behavior that resulted—” His voice caught. "That resulted in the death of one of the finest detectives I've ever known."
"What Kate did-”
"Was stupid," Marcus said. "And, believe me, if she was here, I'd rip her a new one. But she's not. Only you. But believe me when I tell you that the only reason federal charges aren't being pressed against you is because my superiors think the liability we'd face in bringing you on in the first place would make it more trouble than it's worth."
"She's not-”
"An entire building, Anchor!" Marcus said, shaking his hand and pounding his fist hard against the top of his desk. "He blew up an entire building! Two innocent people were killed!"
"Patrick wasn't innocent!" Anchor shouted, finally managing to get a word in. "And I have this strange feeling that no one died, Marcus. Not yet anyway."
"What nonsense are you babbling about now?" he asked, glaring at Anchor with unblinking eyes.“They have the bodies in custody.”
“They have bodies, Marcus,” Anchor answered. “But those bodies haven’t been identified yet, and they won’t be for at least a few hours; not with the burned condition they’re in right now.”
Anchor pulled out his phone. “I want you to look at something.”
“You and that damned phone,” Marcus muttered.
“Two bodies were stolen from a morgue in St. Augustine last week; one male, one female,” Anchor said.
“St. Augustine?” Marcus asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m betting that when the IDs are made you’ll find those are the bodies that were blown up in that bank. All of this was planned, Marcus, every bit of it.”
“Y
ou’re not making any sense,” the gruff chief said.
"He used the magazines," Anchor said. "He used magazines to recruit them. The woman told me as much when she took Patrick, or when she pretended to. She said the words were in plain sight. She said only the truly worthy would see them, would know what they meant."
"Anchor-”
"I thought it was girly magazines at first but, on the way back here, I Googled the name John Abernathy, and do you know what I found?" Anchor asked.
"The famous English explorer?" Marcus asked, shrugging, his patience obviously wearing thin.
"Yes!" Anchor said, his eyes widening. "The famous English explorer, but something else too. I found a freelance writer who, in the last couple of years, has written for every type of magazine. He's written for girly mags, for cooking mags. Hell, he even wrote for cat magazines, which I didn't even know was a thing. All of those articles have one thing or another to do with treasure and exploration. He wrote about the cuisine pirates would eat at sea. He wrote about the sex lives of explorers in the 18th century. He even wrote about the best New World explorer names for your damned cat."
"Get to the point so I can throw your ass out of here," Marcus said, fuming.
"It was Albert Kane, Marcus," Anchor said. "He was presumed dead. He was all alone and he needed to be able to trust whoever he brought into things. So, he used the name of a famous explorer and hid clues in all of his articles. They must have told people how to contact him. That way, when someone contacted him, he knew they were worthy. Kate and I found those magazines in Patrick's trailer, Marcus. I just didn't know what they meant until Wanda's husband found them in his storage shed too. That was when all the pieces came together."
"Wanda, the woman who called in the tip in the first place?" Marcus asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I don't know," Anchor said. "Maybe, after she got blown off by the department here, she kept looking into it. Maybe she found the clues he laid out. Maybe she joined the group."
"You think Wanda Wilkins is part of the Willful Guild?" he asked.
"I'd bet on it," Anchor asked.
"What does that have to do with no one having died today, Anchor?" Marcus asked. "You saw that building explode. You know who was in it. There'd be no way to survive that."
"If anyone was in it in the first place," Anchor said. "I think that, when the feed from inside the bank was cut, Patrick took Kate and made a run for it."
"Made a run for it?" Marcus asked. "The roads were closed."
"That's what I thought too," Anchor said. "But I Googled that as well. Turns out there's an old service road that's not in use anymore. I'd bet dollars to sand dunes that they didn't block that road off. I'd also bet that's where they made their escape."
"For what, Anchor?" Marcus asked. "What would Albert Kane want with Kate?"
"It's all there," Anchor said. "It's the story of John Abernathy."
"Refresh my memory," Marcus said.
"As you know, he was an English explorer," Anchor said. "What you might not know is how he died. He pillaged some Mayan temple, stole some artifacts. On his way out, one of the priests told him he would be cursed for what he did, because he had done the people of the temple wrong, they had power over him, and that power would manifest in horrible ways." Anchor shook his head. "Now, I'm not a superstitious man, and apparently neither was Abernathy, because he took the loot anyway. Still, a short time later, he came down with something. It was probably the consumption or cancer or some other perfectly explainable illness, but all Abernathy could think about was what the old priest said. He vowed to go back there, to burn that temple down and, in doing so, take his power back. He thought it would cure him, but the bastard never made it back there. He died out on the ocean."
"What does this story have to do with anything?" Marcus asked.
"The Jewels of Pascal were given freely by the Mayans. They were gifted and, as such, free of the curse. But if someone were to steal the jewels—”
"Are you talking to me about curses right now, Anchor?" Marcus asked.
"I'm talking to you about what people do and don’t believe, Marcus,” Anchor said. “I’m talking to you about the way people look at this treasure, and I’m here to tell you that sometimes it doesn’t mesh with what you people on the land know to be true.”
“You think Albert Kane is cursed?” Marcus asked.
“I think he might think he’s cursed,” Anchor said. “When they took Patrick- or, when they pretended to take Patrick, a woman said something to me. She said they had to make this right, that they had to attain balance again. That’s what they were doing, Marcus. That’s what the Willful Guild was up to. It’s why they chose the family members of people on the ship that supposedly found the Jewels of Pascal to be part of their robberies. It’s why they put the jewels front and center. In taking the family members, the people closest to the people on that boat, Albert took the power back.”
“Back from what?” Marcus asked. “For what?”
“He must have stolen the jewels, Marcus. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Then why take Kate?” Marcus asked. “The ship that supposedly found the Jewels of Pascal wasn’t the same that Kate’s father was on. What does any of it have to do with her?”
“I think Kate’s dad might have known where the jewels were, Marcus,” Anchor said. “I think he might have even got ahold of one of them. Think about it, Kate’s father was the greatest treasure hunter any of us have ever seen. Are we really supposed to believe a bunch of rookie yokels found what he couldn’t on their first trip out?” Anchor shook his head. “No. This was a plan. Albert and Kate’s father were the only people on his ship when it went down. I’d bet every red cent in my bank account that Albert funded the second trip, that he knew where the jewels would be because he was there when Kate’s father found them, and I’m betting he took those jewels and left the people in the second ship to die after taking them.”
“That still doesn’t answer the question of why he would take Kate,” Marcus said. “If getting his power back from the others he left to die meant strapping bombs to their family members chests and forcing them to rob banks with the artifacts on their persons, then why wouldn’t that work with Kate? Why go through all of this?”
“Because of John Abernathy,” Anchor said. “You see, after the priest told him he would be cursed, Abernathy slit his throat. When he got sick and doctors said there was nothing they could do, he went to mystics. They told him that, since he had spilled innocent blood by his own hand, he had to kill again to balance the power. He had to, with his own hands, murder the person loved the most by his victim. And he had to do it in the same place where he killed his victim. He had to go back to that temple.” Anchor’s body tensed. “Which means that, if Albert Kane really does think he was cursed, and if he killed Kate’s father after the man found where the Jewels of Pascal were—”
“Then he’s going to take Kate where it happened and murder her,’ Marcus said.
“Out to the middle of the ocean,” Anchor said. “Out to a place where only the greatest treasure hunter who has ever lived knew to get to.”
“And how do we find that?” Marcus asked.
Anchor leaned forward, a sly, but hesitant, smile inching across his face. “With the second greatest treasure hunter who's ever lived, of course.”
Chapter 30
"You look different," Albert said, looking over at Kate from across the table where both of them were sitting. She was still shackled, but her restraints gave her enough leeway to be able to move around a bit.
She glared at him from over a bowl of stew, something that might have been a kind gesture if he hadn't been such an obvious monster. Was he serious right now? Did he really think he could just sit there across from her, chatting over a bowl of stew as though nothing had happened, as though everything was the same as it had been years ago?
If so, Kate was about to relieve him of that idea.
"It's bec
ause I'm in chains," she said, sneering at the man she used to love. "Why don't you get rid of them? It'll be just like old times."
Albert laughed softly, shaking his head and diving back in for another spoonful of stew. "I know you too well for that, my dear. With a set of free hands, you'd have me on the ground in no time."
"Oh no, Albert," Kate said, glaring at him. "I'd make sure to take my time."
"Spitfire," he repeated, grinning. "I'm not a monster, you know. You might think I am, but that's just because you're too much like him, too much like your father."
"Don't you talk about my father," she answered, rage pouring into her, seemingly without end.
"That's a shame," Albert said. "I don't have many bad things to say. He was my best friend, after all. He was my partner. He was a strong man. He was a kind man, but that didn't mean he was a forgiving one." Albert blinked hard. "In the end, that was what proved to be his undoing."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Kate asked, breathing heavy.
Albert pushed the bowl away from himself, standing up. "When we were out on that ship, just the two of us, things were well. They were normal. I never thought he'd actually find the jewels though. No one did. It was why we were the only ones on the ship." Albert sighed loudly. "He did find them though. Well, he found one."
"One?" Kate asked, narrowing her eyes.
"He came back up holding it," Albert said. "He was sure it was from the jewels and it turned out he was right. I wanted to send him back down there right then, to get the rest of them, but there was a storm coming, and he said he didn't want to risk it." Albert scoffed. "Can you believe that? I remember a man who used to stare down danger like it was a beautiful woman. He couldn't wait to run its way. Then it all stopped. He became hesitant. He became cautious, and do you know why, Kate?'
"I have a feeling you're going to tell me," she answered.
"Because of you," he said. "He kept telling me he couldn't leave you alone. You had already lost your mother. He said we would go back to get the jewels later, when it was safe."