Текст книги "Circle of Bones"

Автор книги: Christine Kling

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Indian River, Dominica

March 27, 2008

1:15 p.m.

When Cole first saw the tree, he knew it had to be the one. He felt like he was starting to think like the old man – and he knew he would have picked that tree. Above the falls, they had found more rapids, and while there were stretches where they were able to hike up on the dirt banks, too often the shrubbery and low hanging trees forced them onto the slippery, algae-covered rocks at the edge of the stream. Theo had been calling out numbers, telling them they were getting closer, and then Cole saw the biggest tree trunk he had seen yet. The old man would have chosen an attention grabber like that. It was his style. The massive roots covered an area at least twelve feet in diameter. He didn’t know what kind of tree it was, but the proportions were so fantastic, he half expected to find a small door between the roots with Bilbo Baggins’ name on it.

He felt Riley looking at him as he stared at the enormous tree. “Wow. That’s an impressive tree,” she said.

Theo picked his way through the underbrush and stood next to the giant trunk. “According to the GPS, we are now on the latitude fifteen degrees, thirty-four minutes, and fifteen seconds.” He began to hike around the trunk, and he was out of sight when he yelled, “It would be nice if we could find a big red X on the ground right about now. This looks like a rather large area.”

“Cole,” Riley said, “now that we’re here, it seems a bit stupid to ask, but —” She made a little half turn like Vanna White.  “Why here? If your father was trying to hide instructions on how to find a submarine, why hide it half way up a mountain in the middle of a jungle?”

“I don’t know what to tell you that won’t make you think I’m even crazier. But my father saw the world differently than anyone I have ever known. Three years ago when he was here in the islands, he was already paranoid. But then again,” he tried to smile at her, “is it paranoia if someone really is out to kill you? He believed that his research had attracted the attention of these people. James Thatcher lived in a place he called the ‘tween. It was a world of shadows. I guess he knew I’d figure it out and find my way here, but he was pretty sure they wouldn’t.”

“You make me wonder what the hell I’m doing here when you talk like that.”

“Hey, Cole. Over here. Look!” Theo was perched on one of the huge razorback roots, and he had been unloading gear out of his backpack. Now his nose was an inch from the bark, and he was tilting his glasses up to see something.

Cole and Riley pushed their way through the underbrush to join him. The writing was crude. Cole figured his father had done it with a small knife. Carved in the bark of the tree was the word Liberté.

He held up the coin to show her in case Riley didn’t remember. Then he picked up the folding shovel from Theo’s pack and struck the ground between the roots. His arms felt the impact when the shovel clanged against hard wood. There were more roots under the surface that he couldn’t see. He tried again in another spot. It seemed the whole area – even ten feet away from the trunk – was a part of the massive root system. He was still searching for dig-able dirt when Riley called out.

“There’s another one over here.”

Cole handed Theo the shovel and then made his way through the underbrush to the smaller tree where Riley stood. She pointed. There, carved in the same crude letters was the word Égalité. 

“Good find,” he said. “That’s two, but there are three words on the coin.”

Riley swung her head around and surveyed the surrounding trees. “And with three, you could get a precise triangulated position.”

“You stay here,” Cole said. “I’ll go look. Theo,” he called. “Stay by that tree.”

It only took him a couple of minutes to find the word Fraternité carved into the bark of a large gumbo limbo.

“Okay, now let’s all walk the shortest distance to the center.”

Theo still had the shovel, and there was very little underbrush at the point where they met. “Looks like the ground has been cleared here,” he said as he thrust the spade into the ground. “Ground’s soft, too.” He tapped the overturned spade and a handful of dirt fell to the ground alongside the small hole.

Cole grabbed the shovel. The dirt was soon flying. The muscles in his back were feeling the strain of bending into the deepening hole. He knew his father would have been more than thirty years older than Cole when the old man was here. That is if he was here. Cole had hit more dry holes than he wanted to think about since coming to these islands.

He had dug down over two feet, and he was beginning to doubt that they had found the correct location, when he heard a clink as his shovel struck metal. He saw something shiny through the dirt.

He dropped to his knees, and then, almost standing on his head, he shoved his hands into the black soil at the bottom of the hole. Riley handed him a pocketknife, and he used the blade to clear away the dirt from the edges of what looked like a rusty, round Danish cookie tin with a shiny bright slash where the shovel had scraped through the dirt and corrosion.

Theo and Riley crowded him, blocking his light, and he blinked as the sweat dripped into his eyes. He thumped the box with the heel of his hand, trying to loosen it from the earth. When it broke free, he lifted the box out of the hole and sat back on his heels. For a moment, he felt light-headed after hanging upside down in the hole. The shafts of sunlight that filtered through the trees danced with Tinkerbell-sized balls of sparkling light.

“So, come on. Open it,” Riley said. “What are you waiting for?”

He closed his eyes for a second trying to clear his vision, hoping the dizziness would pass. “Wait a minute,” he said, trying not to smile. “Didn’t we skip lunch? Maybe we should take a break. Theo, what have you got to eat in that pack of yours?”

“Are you nuts?” Riley asked.

Cole opened his eyes in time to see the look Theo gave her.

Theo said. “Riley, do you have to ask that question?”

Cole smiled at the two of them, wanting to savor the moment, but unable to keep his fingers from working to loosen the tight-fitting lid. Riley handed him her pocket knife, and he slid the blade under the lid and wiggled it to break loose the bond of rust.

“Okay, okay, boys and girls. Let’s not squabble.” Cole yanked the top off the tin. Inside was what looked like a wad of old newspapers. But it was too heavy for paper. He dropped the tin and began to unwrap the layers of newsprint. Inside, he found another package wrapped in an olive green oilcloth. He turned it over and unfolded the flaps of the cloth.

“I was really hoping,” Riley said, “that it would turn out you were just crazy.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The Atlantic south of Bermuda

February 13, 1942

Woolsey saw Sean McKay stagger back a step when the bullet struck him in the shoulder. McKay managed to stay on his feet, and he hung tight to the crate.

Lamoreaux babbled away to the ensign, while Woolsey remained on the deck where he had fallen, nursing his bloody mouth – thanks to Gohin. Woolsey hoped the captain was persuading Gohin not to take another shot. If that bomb went off out here, just over their heads, it would kill them all for certain. Woolsey watched as McKay tucked the crate under his wounded arm. He then climbed down the ladder to the gun deck. No one tried to stop him. Gohin was still covering him with the pistol, but his eyes were wide with apprehension now. Lamoreaux must have succeeded at explaining the situation.

“Mister McKay,” the captain said. “Put the box down. Ensign Gohin here will shoot you again if you don’t comply.”

The big man twitched as though to repel a mosquito buzzing about his ear. The blood that soaked the front of his sweater appeared black in the starlight. McKay paused at the bottom of the ladder, his dark hair fluttering in the wind, his eyes focused on something in the distance back in the boat’s white wake. The two Frenchmen were quiet for a change, waiting to see what McKay was going to do next.

Gohin broke the silence first by shouting what sounded like orders. The man couldn’t seem to comprehend that his French was no good at all with the Englishmen.

McKay shook his head, as though waking himself from a reverie. He walked straight across the deck, a trail of black-looking blood following him, his eyes focused on the distance as though the other men were not even there. He ducked around the 37-mm cannons, staggered to get his balance back, then headed for the rear of the gun deck. The ladder down to the main deck was off to the port side, but McKay didn’t head for the opening to descend.

Injured as he was, Woolsey wondered if Sean McKay would be able to throw the bomb far enough away from the sub to prevent damage in the event it should go off.

When McKay stopped at the far starboard aft corner, Gohin began shouting and raised the pistol to aim at the English sailor.

“Arrête,” he yelled. “Arrête.”

“McKay, you fool,” Woolsey said more to himself than with any hope that the signalman would hear him.

McKay turned round and faced the opening opposite him. He spread his legs wide for balance and wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve.  His mouth was a thin straight line, his cheeks creased from the effort of holding on. He swayed, unsteady on his feet.

Gohin shouted more French gibberish, but McKay appeared not to hear him. The French ensign was working himself into a lather over the Englishman who would not recognize him as commander of the submarine.

McKay stood stock still for several seconds and Woolsey watched, waiting for the shot.

Then, McKay threw back his head, opened his mouth and let loose a wounded roar as he launched himself into a dead run. He crossed the twenty feet of deck that separated him from the opening in the railing in seconds. Gohin fired, but the shot went wide as McKay hurled himself into the air in a powerful rugby player’s leap that carried him over the side deck and into the sea.

Woolsey scrambled to his feet just in time to be blown back onto the deck again as the bomb exploded in the water off the boat’s port side. The submarine rocked as though it had been hit with a depth charge. Sea water and bits of what was left of Sean McKay rained down on the deck around them.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Indian River, Dominica 

March 27, 2008

2:00 p.m.

“Did you hear that?” Riley asked.

Cole stopped shoveling the dirt back into the hole where he was burying the newspaper and the tin. He cocked his head to one side. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Forget that.” Theo waved his hands at Cole’s efforts with the shovel. “It’s too quiet, mon. I can’t even hear the birds. It’s not natural.”

Riley felt certain she had heard some noise that didn’t belong out here. Perhaps it had been a land crab or some small animal that had come to drink at the stream and been startled by the three humans there. Or maybe it was her nerves.

She shrugged, then extended her hand palm up, nodding at the bundle in Theo’s hands. When he handed it to her, she turned back the flaps of oil cloth and examined the device more carefully this time, wondering what new games Cole’s father would put them through now.

She had no doubt that this was something buried by James Thatcher. It was some sort of fancy desktop paperweight. More numbers. The small object was the size and shape of a hockey puck, and the outer casing looked like green marble. Felt cushioned the bottom, while the top facing was covered by two layers of brass plate; the uppermost plate was more like a ring with holes punched in it that revealed the dates and the days of the week that were engraved on the lower plate. She slid the upper plate around and it revealed dozens and dozens of numbers. At the center were written the words “For 40 years Calendar, 1998-2037.” Cole stood, folded the shovel, and stuck it into Theo’s pack. He turned to her brushing his hands on the sides of his shorts. “What do you make of it?”

Theo answered first, his voice still low. “Looks like a cipher disk to me, or that’s how your old man meant for us to use it. Plenty of time to examine it when we get out of here.” His head swiveled around, his round eyes staring into the woods around them. “I don’t like this. Come on. Let’s get moving.”

Riley lifted her head and listened again. She agreed with Theo. Something wasn’t right. It was too quiet.

Cole put out his hand to take the device from her, and this time all three of them froze at the loud crack of a branch breaking and the anguished word, “Fuck!”  They sure weren’t islanders.

Cole shoved the device deep into Theo’s rucksack and slung the pack onto his own back as Riley scanned the jungle around them searching for an escape route. She waved her finger back and forth in the air to signal the others to move out, then she started into the bush, leading them, stepping to avoid hard wood and turning her body sideways to ease past the bigger branches of the trees, palmettos, and ferns.  The Indian River followed the narrow rocky ravine until it reached the coastal plateau and the broad forested swamps. Up here, the rain forest canopy was high, but the brush on the ground was still thick, prickly and almost impenetrable. She didn’t want to veer too far from the stream bed for fear they would get lost.

They were only about fifty feet away from the stream, and she could hear the noise made by the other men as she and her companions passed even with them. She guessed there were two of them. She could hear heavy breathing and grunting as they jumped from boulder to boulder following the stream bed up the ravine the same way she and the others had gone. And there was the occasional guttural curse, but otherwise, not a word. They weren’t tourists who had decided to hike upstream for fun. Nothing about them said fun. These guys were hunting.

Through the trees, she glimpsed a flash of white, perhaps a T-shirt. They were close. Too close.

She wondered if they should continue in stealth mode like this, no matter how it slowed them down, or say the heck with it, and haul ass back down to Zeke’s boat at the river landing, hoping they could outrun them. But Zeke had rowed them up the river, and he didn’t have an outboard on the back of the Providence. Who knew what kind of boat the hunters might have.

The decision was made for her two minutes later when Theo stumbled and crashed into a thicket of bamboo.

“Over there!” a man shouted behind them.

Cole yanked Theo to his feet.

“Follow me,” Riley said and she took off running, oblivious now to the noise, as they angled back toward the river bed and down towards the falls.  She kept her ears tuned to the regular breathing of her companions. She’d lost men once, and she wasn’t about to let that happen again.

Ahead, she could hear the roar of the water over the rasp of her ragged breaths. The air grew more humid as they neared the churning stream. They’d have to go back down the trail they had climbed on the way up. The walls of the ravine narrowed to sheer rock leading them to the switchbacks that led down alongside the waterfall. It had taken the three of them an hour to climb up the cliff, but she didn’t see any other way.

Riley broke through the underbrush and leaped on to a rock that protruded above the fast moving water. She leapt to another, and a third, and paused to check on the men behind her.

Cole jumped first and with his arms spread out like a tight rope walker he wobbled, then found his balance. He stepped to the next rock.

Theo stood on the bank of the river and stared at the rapids.

“Go on,” she said. “You grew up here. You should be used to this.”

He looked up at her and smiled ruefully. “Yeah, but I always hated doing this,” he said, and he jumped across to the first rock. He teetered for a moment. “Because when I hurry,” he said, one long leg extending outward as he tried to counterbalance his tilting body, “this is what always happens.”  He crashed sideways into the rushing water.

“Theo!” she called reaching out to him. “Grab hold!”

His fingers came within inches, but not close enough. “Shit!”

Then behind her, she heard another splash and she turned in time to see Cole’s head surface as two men, one she recognized as Spyder Brewster, busted through the brush and stepped onto the stones fifty feet upstream. Riley stretched her hand out to Cole and when her fingers closed around his, she braced herself to pull him to safety. She did not expect the quick tug that produced a burst of pain in her shoulder and pulled her off balance, plunging her into the freezing cold water.

When she surfaced, she couldn’t see Theo’s head anymore. Cole was pulling ahead of her.

“When you go over the falls,” Cole called out, “be ready to break your fall with your feet in case it isn’t deep enough.”

Then he was gone, lost in the white water at the head of the falls.

And seconds later, the white foaming water sucked her down before she’d taken a proper breath, and she was free-falling. She wanted to follow Cole’s advice, but she was disoriented and could not tell if she was falling feet first or not. Then she hit the water and plunged down and down until her feet touched the soft, silty bottom. She pulled for the light above her, but she wasn’t making any progress. The downward current at the base of the falls forced her down and the light remained out of reach. The pressure in her chest was building as her body craved oxygen. She realized she had to get out from under the falls so she let the water force her deeper and then she swam parallel to the bottom. After traveling no more than twenty feet, the pressure changed, the surface brightened, and she swam up and finally broke into the air, filling her aching lungs with a loud rasping gulp of air.

Theo was already on the bank at the edge of the pool, and Cole was hauling the dripping rucksack out behind him. She stroked over to join them.

“That’s always been the fastest way down,” Theo said.

She glared at Cole. “Thanks for the warning.”

He looked up at the top of the falls. “Think they’ll try it?”

“I suggest we don’t wait around to find out.” Riley took off down the bank of the river, her sneakers now squeaking like a leaky pump.

Zeke and Galen were sitting cross-legged on the dock next to the boats when they ran, still dripping, into the clearing. Zeke shook his dreads and called out, “Theo, how come you not tell these people nobody care up if you skinny dip?”

Cole’s boots thudded down the dock. He stopped in front of the two men and bent forward, hands on knees, gasping for breath, and struggled to say, “Did you see two guys come through here a while ago?”

“Yeah, mon. Red Man brought dem up in de Sally B.” He indicated another of the boats tied to the dock. “Dey axe about you.”

Riley cut in, “Zeke, we’ve to go. Now.” She leaped into the boat. Cole followed her.

Zeke looked at Theo who nodded. “We go, den,” he said and he stepped into the Providence.

Riley glanced up and saw Galen’s face under the brim of his palm hat. His left cheek and neck were marred with lumps and craters. Patches of skin stretched smooth and red in a way she had come to know well during her stay in the burn unit at Bethesda.

Theo untied the dock lines and pushed them off.

“Galen,” she said as their boat drifted away from the dock. He didn’t seem to hear her. She looked back the way they had come, and she could hear the others crashing through the bush beyond the clearing. She turned back to Galen. “Marine,” she shouted in her best drill sergeant voice. “We need a distraction. Something to hold them up here long enough for us to get back to our boat. Can you handle it?”

She saw him get to his feet. He straightened his back and snapped her a salute. “Yes, Ma’am. Semper Fi.”

They passed two boatloads of German tourists who glared as Zeke splashed them with his oars, but the boat boys pulling the tourists upriver merely nodded at Zeke. Cole opened the bag and showed her that he had not lost the paperweight. He handed the yellow GPS to Theo. The younger man groaned when he held the electronic device up and water dribbled out of the plastic case.

It looked as though the same three taxis were parked under the banyan tree at the Indian River Boat Tours dock, and the two other drivers were still smoking and talking politics when the Providence glided alongside the dock. They glanced up at Zeke’s arrival, but went right back to their conversation. Riley was first out of the boat. The sun was brutal. She stepped into the shade to wait for Zeke to finish securing his boat, then pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She didn’t have to open it to know what condition it was in. She was peeling wet bills out of her pockets to pay Zeke, when she felt a hand on her right elbow and a familiar voice spoke her name.

“Riley.”

She knew who it was even before she turned around. She tried to yank her arm out of his grip. “Let go of me.” It was crazy, but she was certain her arm burned where he touched her.

His hand opened, releasing her, and she backed away rubbing her hot skin. He stood there in his creased khaki Dockers, white Polo shirt, and yellow and navy Henri Lloyd jacket, looking as if he had stepped right out of the pages of Yachting Magazine. Diggory the chameleon. He was no yachtsman. His eyes traveled up and down the soggy length of her, and she saw a slight smile flash across his features.

She slid between Cole and Theo who had come over to join her. She squelched the desire to reach up and attempt to tame her unruly hair. She thought her pulse must be throbbing cartoon-style in her neck.

“You’re coming with me,” Dig said, all traces of the smile gone.

She wanted to smash her fist into that smug cleft chin of his, but she wanted even more to run.

“How did you find me?”

“That’s irrelevant. We have to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Diggory.”

“Yes, you are.” He sighed and turned to face down river toward the sea. His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t looking at her when he said, “It’s about your father, Riley. They sent me to get you.”

“What? Who sent you?”

He turned and looked at her with a face that asked her why she was even asking. “You know, State.”

“What are you talking about?” Her mind whirled with thoughts of her passport, her father’s dementia, the possibility of another terrorist attack somewhere in the world outside these small islands.

“He’s had a stroke, Riley.”

His words hit her like a physical blow and she took a short step back. “What? When?”

 His blue eyes seemed to sear into her, burning even more than her skin. “He’s asking for you. The doctors say it doesn’t look good.”

“But —” She wanted to say something intelligent that would make him be quiet, but she couldn’t find the words. She bit the insides of her cheeks when she felt her throat tighten. She’d be damned if she’d let any of them see her cry. Her father? But they said he’d live another ten years.

“Riley.” Cole put his arm around her shoulders as though he expected her to swoon. He steered her away from Dig. “If what he says is true, then I’m very sorry about your father. But you don’t know what’s true for the moment.” He glanced back over his shoulder, then turned back to face her. “Who is this guy?”

“It’s a long story, Cole.”

“It’s the guy from the photo, isn’t it? The one on the boat with the Brewsters.”

She nodded. She was looking for the pattern in all these connections: Dig, the Brewsters, her father, Michael, and now Cole Thatcher.

“How can you believe what this guy says?”

She couldn’t. She knew that. Dig was the most talented liar she’d ever known. But she couldn’t entirely not believe him, either. She’d been looking for an opportunity to get answers out of this man. So maybe this was it.

Diggory called out to her. “Phone him, Riley. Call your father’s townhouse.”

She went for her pocket, but remembered that everything, including her phone, was soaked. Her mind felt waterlogged, too.

She walked back over to Diggory. “Can I use your cell?”

“My battery’s dead. You can phone from the airport.”

“Dig, I don’t think I can get on a plane right now. I don’t even have my passport. I have to be in Pointe-à-Pitre on Monday for a hearing and I have —”

While she was talking, Diggory reached inside his jacket and produced a small blue folder with gold lettering that read U.S. Passport. He handed it to her. “I took care of it. Here.”

She opened the cover and saw the old photo taken before she left for her posting at Lima. She thumbed through the dozens of visas stamped in the back. It was hers. She looked up at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I have us booked on this afternoon’s American flight to San Juan. We’ll get into DC before midnight. Let’s go.”

She clutched her passport to her chest. “Diggory.” She wondered again if she knew who was playing for what team. She held up her passport. “How did you get this?”

“Riley, we don’t know how much more time your father has. We can talk about this on the way.”

She turned away from Dig and saw Cole’s green eyes fixed on her. She walked up and stood in front of him. “It’s my father,” she said, her voice soft.

Cole glanced over her shoulder, then took a deep breath and returned his eyes to hers. “Even if it’s true, Riley, you don’t have to go with him. I can get you to the airport.”

She saw the pain in his eyes.

Dig’s deep voice intruded. “The flight is overbooked already.” He coughed as though to clear his throat. “I had them bump two passengers to get us on. We miss this flight and the next one’s not until tomorrow and that might be too late.”

She mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” She wanted to tell him she knew what she was doing. That she knew better than to trust Diggory Priest, but she hoped to find more answers down this path. Then she spoke aloud without turning to look at Dig. “What about them?” She pointed at Cole and Theo.

“They’re free to go,” Dig said. “They’ve nothing to do with this.”

She placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Take care of my boat, okay? I have no idea when I’ll be back.”

He reached up, covered her hand with his. “Don’t go with him, Magee. Please.”

She gave his shoulder a squeeze and withdrew her hand. “The combination for the hatch padlock is 1996, the year she was built. I’ve got business cards on my chart table with my contact information. I’ll get a new phone in DC.”

“How do you know he isn’t lying to you?”

She glanced at the waiting taxi, and then turned to meet his gaze. “I don’t. But I’m not a fool, and I can take care of myself. I’ll call my father’s housekeeper before I get on the plane.” She leaned in and brushed her cheek against his for an air kiss. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered.

Diggory took her arm and led her to the minivan. He slid open the side door and Riley climbed inside without looking back.