by David Wood
“We’d have to be crazy to go back,” Corey said. “They know we’re here and they know what three of us look like. Surely they’ll be watching for us.”
“Maybe not,” Maddock mused. “They know we found the map, but they have no idea where it leads. They probably figure we’re already on the way out of town, headed for wherever this map leads.”
Just then, Bones’ phone rang. He answered it, listened for a minute, then uttered a stream of curses. The conversation didn’t last much longer, and when he hung up, he cursed again and slammed his fist into the wall.
“Locke’s got Angel.”
Maddock felt like he’d been dropped into freezing water. He sat there, unable to speak, or even move.
“Charlie went back to see Meade. I don’t know what he said, but the sheriff broke down and admitted they don’t have her. The deputies tried to bring her to Meade on the island, and Locke’s people basically intimidated them into turning her over.”
The icy shock was melting quickly, warmed by Maddock’s kindled fury. He pictured Angel in Locke’s power and suddenly felt a blood rage he’d only experienced in the heat of battle in the service.
“Locke said he’d give her back.” Bones’ tone of voice made it clear what he thought of that promise.
“Oh my God.” Avery looked like she was about to faint. “This is crazy.”
“We’re going back to the island,” Maddock said. “Screw the treasure hunt. I’ll kill every one of those...”
“They’re gone.” Bones cut him off. “He left some researchers behind, and that’s it.”
“Damn!” Maddock stood and began to pace the room. “Does Meade have any idea where they’ve taken her?”
“He gave us two clues: the museum, and somebody named Morgan.”
“The Bailyn Museum?” Avery asked. “That’s where Locke supposedly works, and it’s right here in New York.”
“Let’s go.” Maddock headed to the door, his thoughts bent on mayhem.
“Hold on there, bro. We need a plan.” Bones motioned to the chair Maddock had vacated. “Sit down and let’s think this through.”
Bones acting the calm, rational part was such a departure that it brought Maddock up short. He turned back to face the others, but didn’t sit down.
“I want to hurt somebody too,” Bones said, “but if we just go storming in there, we could get Angel killed, assuming she’s even there. We need to do this right, and we need you at your best.”
“You’re right.” Maddock squeezed his eyes shut and turned the problem over in his mind. “They know me, you, and Avery by sight, but they don’t know the rest of the crew. Corey, if we get you close enough, could you hack into their network?”
“Jimmy would be the better choice, but it’s possible,” Corey said. “It depends on what kind of security measures they have in place.”
“It’s worth a try. We don’t need access to everything, just their security camera footage.”
“I’ll call Jimmy right now. Maybe he can give me some pointers.” He excused himself and stepped out onto the balcony to make his call.
Maddock turned to Willis.
“Would you be willing to go inside, take a look around?”
“Hell yes. Let me put on my nerd clothes and I’ll be ready to roll.” His smile, normally so open and friendly, was hungry and dangerous. “Nobody messes with our girl.”
“What about me?” Matt raised his broken arm. “I’m ready to bash some more bad guys with my cast.”
“I have a job for you too. We,” he indicated Bones, Matt, and Avery, “are going wherever this map leads.”
Chapter 23
Corey parked the van in the parking lot of the Bailyn Museum as close to the building as possible, cut the engine, and moved to the back, out of sight of passers by. He quickly located the Bailyn’s wireless network, clicked to access it, and activated a program Jimmy had given him. He nervously drummed out the beat to “Apache” as the program began trying security codes at a dizzying rate. He worried that the Bailyn would have systems in place to detect intruders, but Jimmy had assured him this program was as good as invisible.
In a matter of minutes, he was in. Jimmy had programmed an Elvis icon that gave a thumbs-up and said, “Thank you very much,” upon a successful hack. Corey chuckled at the image and moved on.
A few keystrokes and a list of directories scrolled down the screen. He selected /security and Jimmy’s program began its work. Two minutes later he was looking at a list of sub-folders containing video from various parts of the building. Where to begin? Angel had been taken less than twenty-four hours earlier, so he chose a likely time frame and began his search.
He sighed, wondering how long this was going to take. He hoped Willis was having better luck.
Willis, clad in khaki pants, a baggy polo shirt, and glasses, and wearing a camera around his neck, made his way through the museum. It wasn’t the greatest disguise in the world. He was more than six feet tall, so he stood out in any crowd, but at least he was dressed appropriately for the setting.
He regularly consulted the map in his brochure, but it wasn’t the exhibits he was interested in. He was marking off the rooms he had inspected, searching for access to offices, storage, or mechanical rooms. So far he’d met with no success. The few doors he had seen were locked and required electronic clearance to enter.
The only room he had not yet checked stood adjacent to the entryway. If he struck out here, he wasn’t sure what he’d try next. Maybe go outside and look for a service entrance. The exhibits here were devoted to pirates. He took that as a good sign. A replica of a seventeenth century pirate ship hung suspended from the ceiling, with a second-floor viewing area up above. Tall windows lined the wall to his left and a series of exhibits filled the wall to his right.
He passed wax figures of Blackbeard, Captain Kidd, and Black Caesar. A heavy tarp was draped across the next exhibit and a sign taped to the rail indicated it was “closed for repair.” That didn’t necessarily mean anything, but he had a feeling about it, and his instincts had kept him alive through a youth spent in one of the worst neighborhoods in Detroit, and then through service in the Navy.
He checked to make sure no one was looking, then peered behind the plastic. A wax figure lay on the floor, one arm broken. Nothing too weird about that. And then he spotted something very out of place- the tip of a sneaker print. Even that might not have seemed unusual if it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen enough bloody prints in his life to know one when he saw it. Whoever had come through here had stepped in blood. He leaned farther in and spotted a doorknob on the back wall.
“Can I help you?” A big man with a shaved head and battered face stood behind him. The man wore a museum ID badge that named him A. Shears, a radio on one hip, and a pistol on the other.
Willis immediately recognized him by the description Maddock had given. This was the man who had accosted Maddock and Bones in the chapel earlier in the day and whom Matt had taken out. He suppressed a grin, wishing he’d seen what Bones had described as an “epic takedown.” He had to hand it to Shears, though. The guy bounced back quickly.
“Just wondering what this display was. First time I’ve been here, you know.”
Shears looked him up and down before answering.
“Nothing special, just a diorama of a pirate raid. The bloke got himself a broken arm.”
“All right. Cool.” He continued down the line of exhibits, feeling Shears’ gaze boring into him. He checked his watch. Forty minutes until closing time. If Shears didn’t move along soon, he’d have to find a place to hide.
Thirty minutes later, he stood alone on the second floor balcony that afforded visitors a view of the pirate ship. Shears still stalked the ground floor, ushering the last visitors out of the museum. As the last group of people left, Shears mounted the steps, heading up to the second floor.
Willis was cornered. The stairs were the only way down and, with Shears already suspicious of
him, he had no way to explain his presence here. He looked for a way out. He had less than ten seconds before Shears reached the top of the stairs, turned, and spotted him. He looked around, seeking a way out, and his eyes fell on the pirate ship.
It would be a bit of a leap, but he could do it. His mind made up, he clambered up onto the rail, not looking down at the floor below. Hoping this wasn’t the day his impulsiveness finally came back to bite him, he jumped.
His stomach fluttered on the edge of nausea as he flew through open space. Next thing he knew, his arms and legs were wrapped around the stout cable that supported one corner of the stern. He slid down its length, his hands burning as the rough steel scoured his palms, and dropped with scarcely a sound into the ship.
He hit the deck and reached for the Beretta M9 he wore concealed underneath his shirt. If Shears spotted the gentle rocking of the ship, he might investigate, and Willis was through playing around. He waited, wondering if he’d be spotted and, if not, how he was going to get down.
“It’s somewhere around here, I think.” Avery let out an exasperated sigh and stamped her foot. “This is so frustrating. We need more to go on.”
They stood in the Trinity Churchyard, looking at the rows of gravestones, many of which had eroded over the centuries until the engraving on them was nearly illegible.
“If we’re looking for another Templar church, we have to assume it was built long before Trinity Church or this graveyard were here,” Maddock said.
“Thanks for that ray of sunshine,” Bones replied. “If we don’t find something soon, I’m going to get all weepy and emo like that Keep America Beautiful Indian.”
“Iron Eyes Cody?” Avery said. “Did you know he wasn’t even an Indian? He was Italian.”
“Shut it! No freaking way.”
“Yes, way.” Avery laughed.
“Focus.” Maddock knew Bones was trying not to think about Angel. Maddock too was having a hard time keeping his mind on the task at hand. “The map has three of the cross-in-circle symbols set in a triangle. Why don’t we see if we can find that same pattern on any of the gravestones?”
They spread out, moving quickly because evening was rapidly approaching and the light growing dim. Maddock soon found what he was looking for on the gravestone of William Bradford. The three crosses formed a triangle around a cherub face. Hope rose, but fell as he realized it was only a simple headstone and could not be the entrance to anything.
“Got one!” Bones called. “Three crosses around an angel dude. Just a headstone, though.”
“Same here.” Avery sounded disheartened.
“Well, that was a big, freaking fail,” Bones said. “What now?”
Maddock considered the situation. Like the crosses, the headstones formed an equilateral triangle, and at the center of that triangle stood...
“Alexander Hamilton’s tomb,” Maddock whispered.
The tomb of Alexander Hamilton was perhaps the most impressive of all the structures in the churchyard. Square at the bottom, with columns at each corner surmounted by urns, the tomb was topped by a weathered obelisk.
Maddock knelt down behind Bradford’s headstone and followed the cherub’s line of sight. Sure enough, it pointed directly at the obelisk. He instructed Bones and Avery to do the same with the headstones they had found and, moments later, they confirmed his theory.
Maddock made his way over to the tomb and circled it, searching for any indication that this was what they were looking for. An epitaph to the famed patriot was engraved on one side, but he saw no Templar symbols. He let his eyes drift upward to the top of the obelisk where he thought he saw the faint outline of a circle engraved on the weathered top.
“You two, keep a lookout,” he said to Bones and Avery, and climbed onto the tomb. The obelisk was short enough that he could easily see the four sides of the capstone.
“They’re here!” he exclaimed. “A templar cross on three sides of the point. This is it.”
“But Hamilton wasn’t a Freemason. Why would that symbol be carved onto his tomb?” Avery looked puzzled.
“It shouldn’t be here. Someone put that mark here for a reason.” Maddock had no doubt he was on the right track.
“What do we do now? Say open sesame?” Bones asked.
Maddock looked down at the symbols and two details immediately caught his attention: a groove ran around the capstone, as if it were a separate piece; and on the fourth side, instead of a cross, a small arrow was carved. It was so tiny he almost missed it, but it was there.
“What’s that thing you’re always saying, Bones? Righty tightie, lefty loosie?” With that, he took hold of the capstone and gave it a deft twist. It didn’t budge.
“Impressive.” Avery smirked, then turned and gave Bones a wink.
“Thanks for the support.” Maddock got a better grip this time and poured all of his strength into the effort. Slowly, inch by inch, the capstone began to rotate, and rose as it turned. After a quarter turn, Maddock heard a loud thunk and the capstone froze. “Anything?”
“Nothing,” Avery said.
“There are three crosses,” Bones said. “How about three turns?”
“Or maybe three quarter-turns,” Avery added.
“You’re already correcting me, woman?” Bones asked. “We hardly know each other.”
Maddock tuned them out and gave the capstone another twist. He felt the strain in every muscle of his shoulders, arms, and back as he turned the stone another quarter-turn, and then another. When he’d completed the third turn, the tomb vibrated beneath his feet and a hollow, grating sound rose up from down below.
“Yahtzee!” Bones exclaimed.
“You did it, Maddock,” Avery whispered.
Maddock leapt down and looked down at the base of the tomb on the side facing away from the street. The entire side of the tomb had sunk into the ground, revealing an empty space below. They had found it!
Chapter 24
Corey sighed and opened the last sub-folder. His search had been utterly fruitless, and now it was closing time. He wondered if Willis had fared any better. Considering how long he’d spent in the museum, he’d better have found something. If Willis had been browsing museum displays while Corey worked his butt off, they would have a talk later.
This folder contained footage from the security camera in the delivery area. He quickly scrolled through the clips, as the museum apparently didn’t get many deliveries. One clip after another, all showing an empty loading bay, rolled by. He was ready to give up, but figured he might as well keep going, at least until Willis showed up, which ought to be any minute now.
The most recent clip was from this afternoon, and ended shortly before they’d arrived. For no particular reason, he skipped down to it and double-clicked. This clip began the same as the others, footage of an empty room, but it soon grew interesting.
On the screen, a heavy-set man with a pistol on his hip opened the bay door and a black sedan with tinted windows rolled in. Another man, short and dark, also armed, stepped out. The two spoke for a minute, then moved off screen. Two minutes later, they returned, supporting a figure in jeans and a t-shirt.
It was Angel.
She could barely stand, as if she was under the influence of some sort of drug. She also might have been injured, and unable to walk on her own, but he didn’t want to consider that. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and ankles shackled. They weren’t taking any chances with her.
They put her into the back seat and the big guy got in after her, while the dark-skinned man took the wheel. A minute later, a lean, tawny-haired man climbed into the passenger seat and they drove away. Corey scrolled through the rest of the clip, but the car did not return.
Angel was gone. They had missed her by a matter of minutes.
Corey reached for his cell phone, then thought the better of it. They had agreed Corey would not call Willis, in case his phone should ring at an inopportune time, but Willis would call Corey if he needed help.
>
When they weren’t certain anything was amiss at the museum, he hadn’t been too concerned about Willis, but now things had changed. What if the guys he’d seen leaving in the car weren’t the only armed, dangerous men on the premises? Willis should know that Angel was gone and there was nothing more he could do in there, but how could Corey let him know? He supposed he could go in after him, but the very thought made his stomach threaten to heave up. He was a computer guy, not a soldier. Besides, what if he walked into a trap and they both wound up...
He dismissed the line of thought with a shake of his head. Willis had been in worse situations than this plenty of times. He’d be okay.
Willis checked his watch. Thirty minutes since he’d heard so much as a footstep down below. Hoping Shears and the rest of the museum staff had gone, he crawled to the bow of the pirate ship and peered over the edge.
Down below him, the museum was empty. He watched for another five minutes before deciding it was safe to come out. But how to get down? He scanned the deck and his eyes fell on a coil of rope in the stern. Unlike most of the ship, which was constructed from new materials, this appeared to be an authentic rope from an old sailing ship. It looked dry and brittle, but he had no choice.
He lashed the rope to the stern and tossed it over the edge. It was too short, ending about ten feet above the floor, but it would have to do. Not willing to waste time fretting over something beyond his control, he took hold of the rope, climbed over the rail, and shimmied down.
The coarse rope scoured his already scraped hands, but he worked his way down in a controlled slide.
Halfway to the floor, he heard a snap and the rope gave an inch.
“Oh hell.” He dared a look down. Twenty feet was too far to fall.
Another snap as strands of the aged rope began to break under the strain of his weight. And another.