by David Wood
It took only a few seconds for the aircraft to arrive and as they swooped over the island, they settled into a loose triangle, hovering in place as if to cover potential avenues of escape. The rear doors of each helicopter had been removed and crowded around each doorway were men in black battle-dress, faces hidden behind balaclavas. The men were all armed with rifles and carbines, and had their weapons trained on the trio stranded on the beach.
Bones curled his fists as if he might try punching the helicopters out of the sky. “What do we do, Maddock?”
His fingers curled around the medallion. He’d told Alex that it was leverage, and while he had not expected that he would need to use it thus quite so soon, or in such a dramatic fashion, he knew that it was their only bargaining chip. He held it up, turning it so that it gleamed in the afternoon sun, and cocked his arm, ready to hurl it out into the surf.
Somebody must have received the implicit message, for two of the helicopters pulled back, as if to establish a buffer zone. The Huey, however, edged closer, throwing up a tornado of grit that stung Dane’s face and arms, and settled onto the flat ground in the middle of the island just fifty yards from where Dane and the others stood on the beach. Dane kept his arm poised to throw as two black-clad figures emerged from the open fuselage and crept out from under the rotor blades.
As soon as they were in the open, the man in the lead straightened and held his empty hands up, signaling for a truce. He then tugged off his balaclava to reveal a handsome earnest face. The trailing man remained hunched over, as if he didn’t trust that he was actually clear of the whirling rotor. He kept his mask in place, and although he did not draw the pistol holstered at his hip, his hands were not raised in a supplicating gesture.
“Don’t do anything rash, Mr. Maddock!” called the handsome man, shouting to be heard over the noise of the helicopter. “If you throw it, you won’t have anything left to trade.”
“What makes you think I want to trade?” countered Dane. “I’d rather throw it away than let you get your hands on it.”
“Your bravado is misplaced.” The man stopped ten feet away, close enough to speak in a normal voice. He was an American, with a Southern accent and a genteel manner of speech. “I’m certain you don’t even know me.”
“I know him,” said Alex, pointing at the second man. “That’s the bastard that murdered Don.”
The hunched over man stared back at her, his hard eyes betraying nothing. Dane wondered how she was able to make that identification, but then he too noticed something familiar about the masked figure.
“Hey, it’s my old diving buddy. Say, you’re looking a little bent out of shape.”
“What, the guy with the stupid nickname?” Bones studied the man in question, as if contemplating an animal at the zoo.
Dane tsked. “Remember what they say about glass houses, Bones.”
The masked man evidently saw nothing amusing in the banter. He whipped off his balaclava and directed his accusing stare at Dane. The unveiling didn’t immediately confirm Dane’s identification, since in their previous encounter, he had kept his face covered, first with a balaclava and then with a diving mask, but the voice was unquestionably that of the man who called himself Scalpel. “You left me to die down there, Maddock.”
“That was thoughtless of me, and I’m truly sorry. I really should have made sure you were dead.”
“Funny guy. We’ll see who gets the last laugh.”
“Dude, your trash-talking is weak,” remarked Bones. He paused a beat, then continued in a slightly more subdued tone. “I suppose Gabby was working for you all along, right?”
Scalpel sneered. “Uh, oh, someone’s got hurt feelings.”
The handsome man cleared his throat, silencing his lieutenant’s retort. “Ms. Sandoval did agree to keep me informed as to your progress. She had no other obligations to me, so whatever…intimations…she may have made, were completely at her own discretion. I consider my arrangement with her concluded. Now, if we may dispense with the playground posturing, Mr. Maddock, and move on to the matter at hand?”
“What’s there to discuss? I normally don’t make deals with murderers, but if you really want this little trinket, maybe we can discuss price…once I’ve had it properly appraised of course. I’d hate to get suckered.”
“Mr. Maddock, at the risk of belaboring the obvious, you really aren’t in a position to negotiate. I am doing you a great courtesy by even talking to you; by all rights, I should simply let Scalpel here kill you and have done with it. I really have no reservations about…how does that bumper sticker put it? Prying it from your cold dead hands?”
“Is that you’re idea of an opening bid?” Dane made a show of ratcheting his arm back a few more inches.
“Throw it then. I’ve spent years searching for it, and I’ll spend more years sifting every grain of sand on this beach if I have to. The only difference is that you’ll be dead.”
Dane met the man’s stare and saw the truth of the statement. The man wouldn’t hesitate to kill them. So what’s he waiting for? “Who are you? What’s your story?”
The handsome face twitched with a smile. “Why, how careless of me? I feel as if I know you already, Mr. Maddock, even though we haven’t been properly introduced. My name is John Lee Ray. I’ll understand if you want to forego the customary handshake, but I do feel a certain kinship with you. We are both members of the very small fraternity of special warfare operators, though I myself have moved on to more lucrative endeavors in the private sector.”
“Special warfare?” said Alex. She turned a suspicious eye toward Dane.
“Ah, you didn’t tell her?” crooned Ray. “Mr. Maddock and his friends are SEALs, sent on this little errand by the Secretary of the Navy himself.”
Alex seemed to be weighing this revelation, perhaps trying to decide if it somehow changed the status quo, but Dane steered the discussion away from his mission. “And who’s giving you orders? Private sector? That’s a pretty word for mercenary, right? You’re a hired gun. Hired by whom?”
“You’re out of your depth, Maddock.”
There was a hard edge to Ray’s voice, and Dane knew that the accusation had put the other man on the defensive. “Then enlighten me. One warrior to another.”
“We don’t have time for this,” growled Scalpel.
Ray shot a look at his watch, then turned to look at the two hovering helicopters. Dane noted that the Huey was not powering down. Ray was eager to be on his way, and maybe not as willing to wade into the surf to retrieve the medallion as he wanted Dane to believe.
Keep him talking.
“If you want this,” said Dane, waving the medallion, “I suggest you make the time.”
“Give it to me, and I will tell you everything. One warrior to another.”
Bones snorted derisively.
“I give you my word. And while I doubt this assurance will do much to convince the skeptical Mr. Bonebrake, you have my guarantee of safety.” He cast a meaningful glance at Scalpel.
“You’ll just fly away, and leave us alone, is that right?”
“Precisely.”
Dane lowered his hand and gazed at the Templar medallion as if assessing its worth. He realized now that it wasn’t a bargaining chip at all. It was a poker chip, and it was time to ante up. He closed his fingers over it once more, squeezing it until he could feel its points biting into his palms.
There were four possible outcomes.
If he threw it into the sea, Ray would certainly kill them all, after which he might still find the medallion and go on to accomplish whatever it was he was planning. Or he might never find it. One way Ray won, one way he lost, but either way, they were dead.
If he trusted Ray and handed over the prize, Ray might break his word and kill them anyway, or he might let them live. Both ways Ray won, but one way they would live to fight another day.
“He killed Don,” warned Alex. “He tried to kill me. These people don’t leave loose ends.
”
“Don’t trust him,” declared Bones, flatly. It was good advice, especially from a man whose ancestors knew all too well the price of misplaced trust.
“I don’t. But I’m going to take a chance.” He tossed the medallion to Ray. “All in.”
CHAPTER 15
John Lee Ray caught the gold piece in his right hand. There was something sly in his triumphant smile, but it was the gleeful look in Scalpel’s eyes that told Dane he’d been had.
He was a little surprised when Ray simply slid the medallion into a pocket and then addressed him in the same easy tone. “There, you see? Everybody wins. And once you’ve heard what I have to say, you might be sympathetic to my cause. I’m always hiring, and you’ve certainly proven yourself capable.”
“First, tell me this. You knew that the SECNAV sent us out here. How?”
Ray cocked his head, as if trying to think of the best way to answer. “I believe you’ve made the acquaintance of a certain Edward Lord Hancock, so I’m sure some of what I am about to tell you will no doubt be familiar. I will recount the story to you as I experienced it.
“One of my first clients…I would tell you his name, but discretion is a part of the service he paid me for…suffice it to say, he was a very wealthy and powerful man. One night, while he was in his cups, he told me a most fascinating story. The true history of the world; a history of Templar domination. At the time, I took his account for the ravings of a drunkard, but as the years passed, I began to see patterns...a design as distinctive as the Templar cross.
“They control everything. Elections, wars, economic and social upheavals…nothing happens that does not serve this design. I can see that you are skeptical. I was too, at first. You asked how I knew about your mission? I knew because I have been watching. When Don Riddell made a request for information about the sinking of the Nagata Maru, it threatened to expose their grand scheme. It was a Templar assassin, not my associate here, that killed your employer Miss Vaccaro.”
“I saw him,” protested Alex, pointing at Scalpel.
“He was there, investigating at my behest, but too late to save Mr. Riddell.” Ray paused a moment, as if curious about whether she would accept his explanation. “It was always their intention to recover the key, but this development forced them to accelerate their plans. A full scale search and recovery effort was out of the question, so they sent you. What were your orders? Try to find the ship, but do not attempt a recovery?”
“So, the SECNAV is a Templar?”
“The echelons of power are rife with Templars and their lackeys. This is a conspiracy six hundred years in the making. Our government is nothing but a tool with which the Templars will execute their design. If the Secretary is not himself a Templar, then he dances to their tune.”
“Let me guess,” interjected Bones. “You’re actually the good guys.”
Ray smiled patiently. “As it happens, yes. This is a war, a war against a shadow empire that has controlled our nation from its very inception. We all took the same oath; to defend America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; the Templars are our greatest enemy, subverting the very principles of freedom that we—and all those who went before—pledged to defend with our blood. I will see them brought down. And I will use their own treasure to do it.”
Dane looked at Bones, saw the slight head shake; the unspoken warning had not changed: Don’t trust him. He turned back to Ray. “Yeah. Well, good luck with that.”
“You made it possible, Maddock. You did what even they could not do; you found Hancock, found the key. What do you say? Will you join me in the fight against America’s true enemies?”
“Sorry. I’ve got a job.”
“Told you,” muttered Scalpel.
Ray seemed neither surprised nor disappointed. He checked his watch again. “So be it. Our transaction is complete. I have what I came for, and you have your answers.” He turned away, waving his hand in a circular motion to signal the helicopter pilot to prepare for takeoff.
“That’s it?” said Alex. “You’re just going to leave us here?”
Ray ignored the question. He trekked toward the Huey and did not look back. Scalpel however lingered, his gaze fixed on Dane. “Time to settle up, Maddock.”
“So much for guarantees,” muttered Bones.
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. I just wanted to savor this moment. You left me for dead, so the least I can do is return the favor.” Scalpel stopped, as if suddenly struck by inspiration. “You know, actually there is one other thing.”
He raised his arm high overhead, wincing as the motion taxed his damaged shoulder, and then brought it down in a chopping motion. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
The meaning of his parting gesture became clear a moment later as one of the hovering helicopters tilted forward and began moving toward them. Alex drew close to Dane, pressing herself against his back as if he might shelter her from what was coming, but the helicopter passed overhead without slowing and continued out over the breakers.
Bones’ eyes went wide in horror. “Gabby!”
The Jacinta vanished in a flash of light beneath a rising pillar of black smoke.
The thunderclap of the explosion and a hot shockwave driving splinters and spray buffeted Dane and the others. He wheeled on Scalpel, but the mercenary was already aboard the Huey, and lifting off. He hadn’t believed Ray’s assertion that Scalpel was innocent of Don Riddell’s murder, and here was proof that Alex had been right about them not leaving loose ends.
Now, they were the only loose ends remaining.
Dane looked around, desperate to find cover, but the expected hailstorm of bullets did not materialize. Instead, the three helicopters banked away from the island, and headed for the eastern horizon.
Bones continued to stare in horror at the shattered smoking remains of the Jacinta. The blast, probably from a satchel charge, had obliterated the superstructure and nearly broken the boat in half. It took less than a minute for water to inundate the broken vessel and pull it under the surface.
Alex was also staring in disbelief. “I don’t get it. Why kill her and leave us alive?”
“We’re stranded here now,” Dane answered. “He didn’t spare us; he left us to die, stuck on this rock, just like Trevor Hancock. If we’re lucky, that is.”
“Lucky?”
“You may have noticed that Ray was in a hurry to get out of here. These islands are disputed territory. China, Vietnam, and Malaysia, among others, have claimed them, and while they aren’t exactly ready to go to war over them, they all keep a close eye on what goes on here. They might not bother with a visit from an idle fishing vessel, but an intrusion by three helicopters would definitely get their attention. And chances are very good that they noticed that.” He pointed to the dissipating black cloud that marked the place where Jacinta had broken up. “So, there’s a better than even chance that a Chinese or Vietnamese patrol boat is already on its way here.”
“To rescue us?”
Dane shook his head. “To arrest us.”
“Surely if we explain—”
“Right,” snarled Bones. “We’ll just tell them that a crazy mercenary tricked us into finding a lost treasure so that he can destroy a bunch of secret modern Templars. Hey, we might as well let them know that we’re SEALs while we’re at it. Worst case scenario…they actually believe it.”
“Oh.” Alex sagged in defeat.
Dane took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Because we’re not going to be here.”
Alex did not seem heartened by Dane’s declaration, but Bones perked up. “You got a plan?”
“It’s more of a mission statement right now,” replied Dane, with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “It goes something like this. We get off this island. We go find what Ray wants before he does. And if we get another chance, we don’t make the mistake of leaving anyone for dead.”
“Amen, brother.”
“Even
if we get off this island,” said Alex, “we don’t have the medallion anymore. How are we going to find the Templar treasure without the key?”
“We have this.” Dane held up his hand, palm facing her. There, stamped deep into his skin, etched in blood, was a perfect outline of Trevor Hancock’s medallion.
CHAPTER 16
South China Sea
Professor didn’t feel good about leaving Maddock and Bones in the middle of the mission, but he agreed with Maddock’s decision to break radio silence and contact Maxie. Professor didn’t necessarily believe in a centuries old Templar conspiracy, but he knew that the people who did believe—the fanatics who were desperate to wrap themselves in something mysterious and powerful—were capable of anything and were very, very dangerous.
That potential for danger made every mile, every minute of this race for port, pass with excruciating slowness. Four hours after parting company with Maddock and Bones, they were less than a fourth of the way back to Manila. It would be at least another day before they could call Maxie, and of course, let the world know that they had found the wreck of the hell ship Nagata Maru.
After that, he and Willis would move purposefully back to rendezvous with their comrades.
Professor was on the open-air flying bridge of the Sea Sprite, one hand resting on the wheel, keeping the boat on course. He was mentally calculating the length of the return trip—again—to pass the time when he heard Willis call out to him. “Hey, Professor. Check our six.”
Professor craned his head around and stared out across the cabin cruiser’s frothy wake. He expected to see a very familiar motor yacht closing on them, but there were no other vessels to be seen. Instead, there was a black speck in the sky, coming out of the west, and getting larger with each passing second.
Willis climbed halfway up the ladder to the flying bridge, so that only his head and shoulders were visible. He held out a pair of binoculars.
Professor trained the field glasses on the speck and confirmed his worst fears; it was a helicopter and it was chasing their wake. By the time he lowered the binoculars, the aircraft was close enough that he didn’t need them to confirm his identification. Five seconds later, the noise of its rotors was audible over Sea Sprite’s chugging engine, and five seconds after that, the bird passed overhead.