by Jeff Abbott
“I am.”
“You’re not,” she said. “I can hear it in their voices. Those two freaks are just using you to get at this cash. You’re too gentle. You don’t have the stomach for this or what it might take. You’re as dead as me and Ben if this doesn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry you’re in this mess, but you picked your friends badly. You thirsty, hon? Want some water?”
“Please.”
A tap gurgled. Then he pushed a glass into her hands. She drank. He moved against the vinyl, making it squeak, trying to get comfortable. “Tell me what you know about Stoney.”
“Nothing. I know Ben. I barely knew Stoney in high school.”
“High school. Before he was a millionaire.”
“Yes.”
“He much different now?”
“He has more lunch money.”
A match scratched, she smelled the flash of fire. Cigarette paper crackled its whisper and silky smoke brushed her nostrils. “So in high school did he run roughshod over people? Kill anyone who got in his way?”
“Talk is cheap,” she said. “What proof do you have he killed anybody?”
“Because only he knew about the journal,” Danny said. “I told him about it, he decided he wanted it, and he killed to get it.”
The journal. The emerald. She’d heard him refer to both before. But this was about more, about stealing millions of Stoney’s cash. “Forget that for a minute, since he says he doesn’t have it. Y’all can’t get away with stealing his money electronically. Transactions leave electronic trails. You’ll get caught within days.” She leaned a little toward Danny and smelled rum. “Having a little liquid courage?” she asked.
“You want some?”
“Sure. For medicinal purposes. I get seasick when I’m uncomfortable. These ropes really hurt and my foot’s aching.” Let him think she was delicate and helpless.
A dribble of rum trickled into her glass. “Where you work, Claudia?” Danny asked, as though he were a bartender making conversation.
“I’m a secretary,” she lied. “I work for a justice of the peace in Port Leo. Judge Whit Mosley.”
“You didn’t work today?”
Today was Thursday. She had taken Wednesday, today, and Friday off. She would not be missed at the police department until Monday. But the pirates didn’t know that.
“I took off today,” she said. “Just today because Fridays we have juvenile court. It’s always a zoo.”
“Damned kids.” She heard the soft puff of his cigarette. “How about I call this judge? Tell him y’all ran into motor trouble down near Padre. You’ll be out another day. I’ll say I’m the mechanic fixing it. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
She prayed, silently, that if Danny made the call Whit would have the presence of mind not to blurt, What are you talking about? She doesn’t work for me. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. “He won’t accept a stranger calling and making excuses for me. I’d have to talk with him.”
“We’ll discuss that with my colleagues.”
“Colleagues. That’s generous.”
Ten seconds of silence. She couldn’t see his face. Frown of anger, smile of indulgence, scowl of disbelief? Or maybe ready to stub that cigarette out on her forehead.
“They breaking a deal with you?” she asked. “They care about the money, not about punishing Stoney or this emerald or whatever it is you care about.”
“Hush now.”
“Maybe I can help you.”
“Why would you help me, honey?”
“Because I want to live. I’ll get you what you want, if you’ll get us out of this alive.”
She heard only the hard rasp of his breathing.
“You’re not like those guys, are you? You’re a little older, a little wiser. They’re in this for the money. You’re in it because you want the money and you hate Stoney. That’s a big and.”
Now the silence stretched for half a minute. She couldn’t stand it, so her words came out in a flood. “Look. All I know about Stoney is he’s got a big house full of security. And I can get you past that security. Ben showed me the codes for the house last night, ’cause I might do some house-sitting for him and his brother when they go out of town. But I’ll only help you if you don’t hurt me or Ben or Stoney.” She wished she could tear the blindfold off, see his reaction to this lie. How did the blind navigate the emotions of the world, gauge human reaction? She listened for the quickening of his breath, for nervous tapping fingers against the table, for uneasy shifts in posture. But there was only the silence.
Then he said, “Do you know why Stoney Vaughn’s boat is called the Jupiter?”
“Because he thinks he’s a god?” She spiced a little bitterness into her tone, figuring she might as well play into his resentment of Stoney by faking anger.
She heard him tap ashes. She sensed him leaning his head close to hers, his breath smelling of garlic, rum, tobacco. “What do you know about Jean Laffite?”
“Who?”
“Laffite. The pirate Laffite.”
The words were so unexpected she didn’t answer for a moment. “Well, uh, he was a famous pirate in the Gulf a long time ago. I guess the last of the great pirates. There’s all sorts of legends that he buried a lot of gold along the coast.”
“Jean Laffite had a schooner in his fleet called Jupiter. Stoney named his boat after Laffite’s. He even has that picture of Laffite in his stateroom. Not nearly as good as the paintings I have, but still an okay one.”
She remembered the print. Yes. Laffite the pirate, confident and cocky.
“And do you know why this boat is the Miss Catherine?”
“Tell me.”
“Laffite’s great love was a woman named Catherine Villars. She was a New Orleans quadroon—part black, mostly white—a legendary beauty. Skin like yours, Claudia, perhaps a bit darker.” He ran a finger along her hand but it didn’t scare her.
“So you and Stoney are pirate wanna-bes,” Claudia said. “Rent an Errol Flynn movie and get it out of your system.” This talk of pirates made her nervous. Pirates cut throats. Pirates made victims walk planks. Pirates raped and killed.
“Do you know what happened to Jean Laffite?”
“I don’t imagine he ended up in a rest home.”
“No one knows. Terrible and beautiful, the not knowing.” His voice took a strange tone, one of slow, sickened anger that goose pimpled her skin. “Here’s the basics. Laffite used Barataria Bay in Louisiana as a base. Made his fortune attacking Spanish shipping. He sold his booty—mostly slaves and luxury goods—in New Orleans. His pirating kept New Orleans fat and happy in black-market merchandise, except Laffite didn’t pay taxes.”
“They had IRS agents then?”
“Laffite’s the social god of New Orleans, but he’s an outlaw to the American government. So during the War of 1812, the British navy makes Laffite an offer: Help the English capture New Orleans, and they’ll give him gold, land, a high commission in their navy. Think how different our history might have been if the British had taken Louisiana.”
“Yorkshire pudding with jambalaya.”
“But Laffite tricks the British. He warns the governor about the British plans. Know what the Americans did to repay him?”
“What?”
“The Americans attacked Laffite’s base, burned his operations to the ground. All for warning them. There’s a sweet thank-you note.”
“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” Claudia said.
“But Laffite’s a patriot. A man of honor.” The heat in his voice rose. “When Andrew Jackson arrived to defend New Orleans, Laffite offered his pirates to help defend the city. Jackson badly needed experienced fighters and weapons. So Laffite armed New Orleans—he still had more guns than the government, even after they destroyed his camp. With Jackson’s blessing, Laffite and his pirates took charge of key positions as the British attacked.”
“And Laffite helped win the day,” Claudia guessed.
“
He dominated the day for them,” Danny corrected, battle in his own voice. “His cannons shredded an overwhelming British force. The pirates became national heroes. President Madison pardoned Laffite and his men of their past crimes.”
Maybe Laffite just didn’t want to lose his market, Claudia thought, but instead she said, “And they all retired to Club Med.”
“Well, he wasn’t gonna take a nine-to-five job. Once a pirate, you know. Eventually he left New Orleans for Texas.”
“And ended up on Galveston Island.” This part of the history Claudia knew—standard lore of growing up on the Texas coast.
“Imagine. A thousand pirates on Galveston, working all the waters of the Gulf, bringing Laffite their booty, funneling the goods to Louisiana. But one of his ships attacked an American merchantman. Laffite hanged the captain responsible on a beach gallows so that the American navy, from their ships off Galveston, could see the body dangling—but the U.S. government wasn’t appeased. They ordered Laffite out of Texas, out of the Gulf.”
Laffite sounded like ninety-percent jerk to her, barely a hero, but Claudia sensed Jean Laffite burned as real as the sun for Danny.
“The man had saved New Orleans but they forgot about that. Typical American arrogance. But Laffite obeyed. In spring of 1820, he sailed away, leaving Galveston burning to the ground.” He stopped, as though picturing the scene, a fading shot of an old black-and-white movie in which the cutthroats were the gallant heroes.
“Then what?” Claudia asked, wanting to slap him, to shake him, to say, This happened almost two hundred years ago. Why am I gonna get killed over this?
“The stories vary. Some say he went to Yucatán and died of fever. Some say he went to Cuba and died in a sea battle. Some claim he tried to rescue Napoleon from Saint Helena. One man, a supposed descendant of Laffite’s, claimed Laffite returned to America under an assumed name, and lived out his life in small-town Missouri.” This last option was pronounced with sarcasm dripping from every word. “But no one knows. Of course, so many say that he buried a treasure, worth millions, somewhere in Texas or Louisiana.”
“Treasure,” she repeated, thinking of Ben talking yesterday at lunch about Stoney. He’s financed some treasure dives in the Florida Keys… Crazy way to risk your money.
“Imagine the scene, Claudia. The government Laffite served so well in a time of need has completely betrayed him. He left as he promised, but the American navy shadowed and harassed him all the way down the coast. He would have had reason to believe the navy might board or attack him at any time. Or the British or the Spanish might attack him. Remember, he was being evicted, leaving his base, leaving nothing behind. Nothing.” A pause. “His only option to keep his treasure from falling into others’ hands would have been to bury it so he could return when the heat died down and retrieve it.”
“It seems risky,” she said.
“Laffite knew the shallows and reefs in getting through the barrier islands and the bays. The American navy couldn’t follow him there.” Danny cleared his throat. “The proof was in the journal—real, actual documentation—that Laffite buried a fortune near St. Leo Bay. Before Stoney stole it from me. Like you said, you help me, maybe I help you?”
He’s inviting you in. The trickle of sweat began between her breasts, down her ribs. It was the only chance she saw; Stoney knew who Danny was, which meant a trail could be followed back to Gar and Redhead. She and Ben were guaranteed dead, unless she could make herself valuable.
Make it good. “Tell me more about this journal. Maybe I can figure out where Stoney hid it. I’m pretty familiar with his house.”
“Looks like an old diary, brown, leather-bound, small pages. Written in the 1820s by Dr. John Fanning. He was the ship’s surgeon on the navy schooner Lynx. According to Fanning, Lynx detained Laffite after he left Galveston, boarded his ship outside St. Leo Bay, searched it for traces of loot from a Spanish treasure ship, Santa Barbara, which had been lost barely a week before. Lynx escorted Laffite to Mexico, dumped him there penniless, pardoned his crew. One of Laffite’s crew, a drunk, told Fanning Laffite went ashore with a few other men and buried a trove from Santa Barbara at Black Jack Point—but that only Laffite returned. Of course the historians have it wrong, the Fanning journal rewrites Laffite’s history. And I had it. It was mine.”
Claudia bit her lip.
“If the journal’s right, the treasure might be worth several million now, on today’s market. The historical value alone would be astonishing. Actual, provable buried pirate treasure. Think what the museums would offer, Claudia. The Smithsonian, for instance. Millions. And there was supposedly a great emerald aboard Santa Barbara—a huge Colombian gem called the Devil’s Eye. It would be of… particular value.”
“So you approached Stoney about helping you find this treasure? And Stoney stole this journal from you so he could locate this treasure himself?”
“Yes.” He sounded completely serious, for a moment completely sane. If you ignored the words.
“But Stoney has money. He doesn’t need a bunch of old gold that might not even exist.”
“He has money that anyone else can have. But a treasure, that’s one of a kind. His ego can’t resist it. And I don’t think it’s buried anymore. I think he’s got it.”
“You think he dug it up?”
“I don’t think he’s been waiting around,” Danny said. “He came to New Orleans, where I live, when I was out of town, and he took the journal. He killed my cousin, who was house-sitting for me. A bullet to the brain. A cowardly way to kill.”
“I’m sorry your cousin was killed,” she said. “Truly. But what happens to me if I help you? If I can get you this journal? Or this treasure?”
“Well, Claudia, I’ll let you go.” Easy, like he was suggesting they grab an ice cream cone down at the beach.
Right. But she pretended to believe him. “What about Ben?”
“Oh, I’ll let him go, too. I don’t have a quarrel with either of you. I have a sense of honor.”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Your sense of honor’s why I’m tied up and blindfolded with a broken toe.”
A silent minute passed. Then there was a gentle downward tug on the chamois blindfold. It slipped down to her shoulders, like a scarf. The light in the cabin was dim, and she blinked, but now she saw Danny sitting across from her. Thick dark hair was shot with salt, combed back from his temples, his eyes an earthy brown but feverish and bloodshot, a drunkard’s eyes. Crazy-man eyes.
In his hand—aimed at her heart—he held an automatic pistol.
“If we’re gonna help each other, I gotta trust you, you gotta trust me, right?” he said.
“That’s true. And I would like to trust you, which is hard for me if I think you’re going to kill me or Ben or even Stoney. Even if he’s a killer and a thief.”
“I’m not the monster Stoney is, Claudia. I won’t kill him. I just don’t want him to have the treasure. It’s mine. It belongs to me, in every moral way.” Heat colored his voice, his hand slapped down on the tabletop, emphasizing the last three words. “I’ll let him live if I get the treasure. I swear on my family’s name.”
Then that makes it all just fine, buddy. “You don’t know me. Why would you trust me?”
“I don’t trust you. You don’t trust me either, I know. But I don’t want to have to kill you. I want the treasure, I want to be shed of these two jerks now, and I don’t want to go to jail. You get me into Stoney’s house, you live. It’s your choice.”
She said nothing for a minute. The hunger in his eyes made her skin crawl. Fine. It’s his weakness. Use it against him to save you and Ben.
“So we got us a deal?” he asked.
Claudia nodded.
15
I’M BEGGING YOU NOT TO HURT MY BROTHER,” Stoney Vaughn said over the speakerphone. “Please. Let me explain.”
“We just called the banks. Ain’t no money streaming in,” Redhead said. No giggle now. “Where’re those scissors?”
Stoney’s throat cleared. “I can’t. The transfers couldn’t go through. The computer systems at my investment firm are down. We got a virus. They aren’t going to be up until tomorrow.”
A moment’s silence. “Stoney…” Ben said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“A virus, you know. Like that Anna Kournikova picture that got e-mailed around. It wasn’t a picture, it was a virus. Our servers are down.”
Gar sprang up from the couch, pacing, angry little hums coming from him. “So move it via another bank.”
“I can’t. This server’s got to work first. My accounts are all locked and accessed through here. Please, you got to give me more time.”
“Wrong answer,” Redhead said.
Ben felt the tickle of scissors moving along his jaw, his throat, downward along his chest. “Stoney, please, they’re gonna kill us! Give them what they want.”
“Stoney,” Gar said quietly. “You understand our position. It’s not negotiable.”
“Let me talk to Danny,” Stoney said. “Let me suggest an alternative.”
“He’s not here right now,” Redhead said. “You can talk to us. We’re all partners.”
“Oh. Well. I don’t have this journal or this emerald he’s talking about, okay? That whole idea, that’s just crazy, man. I don’t have it. I’ll give you the money. But you got to give me time.” He paused. “As a sign of good faith, I raise the pot.”
“We’re listening,” Redhead said. The scissors stopped their wandering, poised above Ben’s stomach.
“Get Danny to forget about this imaginary jewel he’s asking for. Eliminate it as a condition. Let my brother and his friend go. I’ll pay you an extra half million.”
“Wait a minute,” Redhead said. He jabbed the speakerphone’s mute button. “What do you think?”
Ben heard Gar let out a long breath. “I’ll take a half mil in cash over legends. But he still ain’t wired no money yet. So that could be a lie, too.”
Redhead jabbed the button again. “How do you get us the extra money?”