Buccaneer

Chapter 18

Angel sat perfectly still, her eyes on the widening band of gray light where someone was opening the door to her small room. She was locked in what looked like a basement storage room, but she didn’t know where. A dark figure loomed in shadow, and then a light clicked on. In the instant before she closed her eyes against the sudden glare, she caught a glimpse of a blocky man with red hair.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” He smiled. “We need to talk.”

Angel’s only reply was to suggest he use an orifice other than his mouth when speaking. She usually liked a guy with a British accent, but not under these circumstances.

“That won’t do.” Still smiling, he shook his head, his eyes roving up and down her body. “I’ll explain.” He pulled up a stool and sat down next to her. “We want information, and we will have it. If you talk to me, things will go easier for you. If you talk to Locke…” He let the words hang there, and gave her a look that told her Locke was the last person she wanted to deal with.

“Where am I?”

“We’re in the museum. Now, tell us what we need to know and we can have you back with your friends in a thrice.”

“Right.” She didn’t believe a word of it. “Explain to me why I should believe anything a kidnapper tells me.”

“I didn’t kidnap you, love. I’m merely gathering information.” He winked, making her stomach twist. Even if he wasn’t her captor he’d be creepy. That big, moon face and massive body reminded her of the inbred killers that hacked their way through so many horror flicks. “I’m not one of the bad ones.”

“So, you’ll take these off of me,” she indicated her handcuffed wrists, “and let me go.”

“Sure.”

The reply surprised Angel. She searched his eyes for signs of deception.

“I’ll take the cuffs off right now to show you I’m a reasonable man and, after you answer my questions, you can walk. Hell, I’ll even give you a lift to the airport.”

No way in hell was she getting in a car with this creep, not that she believed for a second that he intended to release her, but she played along. If he was willing to uncuff her, that meant he didn’t expect a girl of her size to pose any kind of threat. At a good two hundred-fifty pounds, she imagined few women, or men for that matter, were a threat. She’d have to be fast and would need a bit of luck on her side, but what did she have to lose? They were going to kill her anyway.

“Fair enough.” She held up her hands, and watched as he fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked one side of the cuffs. The moment he turned his attention to the other cuff, she struck.

She drove her fist into his Adam’s Apple, and he reeled back, gasping and clutching at his throat. Angel sprang to her feet and whipped her left hand around. Still locked onto her left wrist, the handcuffs cracked across the bridge of his nose, sending up a spray of blood that spattered across the wall. She attacked with fury, knowing the blows she had struck were far from incapacitating. She poured all her strength into an overhand right that caught the taller man squarely on the chin, followed it up with a knee to the groin, and pounded away with rapid flurry of punches to the chin, face, and temple. It was like chopping down a tree. He was too stunned by surprise and the force of her blows to do more than throw up his beefy hands in a weak attempt to fend off her attack.

It did no good. Angel was a well-conditioned professional athlete and this was nothing more than a training exercise to her. She threw in a few hard kicks to the side of the knee and, slowly, the man slid down to the floor, Angel delivering kicks and elbow strikes as he went down. When he finally fell into a sitting position, his eyes were glassy and his face a mask of blood. She drove her knee into his forehead for good measure, smashing the back of his head against the wall. His eyes rolled back in his head and he was out.

She made a hasty search of the floor, found the handcuff key, and freed her wrist, then searched his pockets for a weapon or anything else that might be of use, but all she found was a key ring. She took it just in case and crept to the door, tried the handle, and found it unlocked. Holding her breath, she opened it an inch and peered out.

She was looking at a narrow corridor lit by a row of bare bulbs. At the far end, a staircase led up into the darkness. Her pounding heart was the only sound she heard, so she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. She tried three keys on the ring before finding the proper one, and locked the thug in.

Smiling, she trotted down the corridor, almost wishing someone would try to stop her. She was ready to take somebody else down. She wasn’t that stupid, though, so she proceeded up the stairs with caution.

At the top, she found herself in the middle of a long hallway lined with doors on one side. None were marked.

“How the hell am I supposed to choose?” she whispered. Figuring one was as good as the other, she tried the closest door. It wasn’t locked. She peeked through and found herself staring at a dark figure holding an upraised sword. She gasped and almost slammed the door shut, but just as quickly had to suppress a laugh.

It was a wax figure, a pirate armed with a realistic-looking sword. He loomed over another wax figure posed as a cowering woman. She had discovered the access door to one of the museum’s exhibits. She inferred from the dim lights and empty museum that it was early morning and the place was not yet open. Good!

Only a low rail separated the exhibit from the museum’s viewing area and, across the way, a window beckoned to her. She crept into the exhibit area and closed the door behind her when heavy footsteps sounded in the quiet room only feet from her. She lay down behind the woman on the floor and tried to cram herself into the tiny space behind it. She watched, heart in her throat, as an armed man walked past. He wasn’t a uniformed security guard, and that frightened her even more. She’d take a rent-a-cop over a dude who looked like he could handle himself any day of the week.

He was a tall, muscular man with a shaved head. He wore a pistol on one hip and a knife on the other. He moved with detached ease, as if nothing could harm him, but his eyes were alert. As a fighter, she was always the aggressor, taking the battle to her opponent without fear. That same drive urged her to jump the guy, but common sense prevailed. This guy wasn’t a careless idiot like the dolt she’d taken out downstairs. She’d need more than her bare hands to deal with this fellow.

She held her breath, convinced he could hear the pounding of her heart, and prayed for him to pass her by without seeing her.

After three eternal seconds he did just that, continuing on through the museum. She didn’t permit herself to breathe until his footsteps faded in the distance. When she was certain he was gone, she counted to three before rising and peering around the side of the exhibit. He was gone. What was more, the lobby was only fifty feet or so to her right. As she watched, a woman in a cleaning uniform appeared from somewhere near the lobby, unlocked the front door, and left. She did not lock it behind her.

Angel didn’t hesitate. She sprang to her feet, knocking the pirate to the floor, vaulted the rail, and made a dash for the door. Outside, the cleaning lady was climbing into a van. Maybe Angel could catch a ride.

She hit the lobby at full steam and was just reaching out to push the door open when her world dissolved into ice and pain. She slammed face-down on the tile floor, her arms and legs suddenly useless. The wind was knocked out of her and she tasted warm, salty blood in her mouth.

“Was my little dove trying to fly the coop?” Locke loomed over her, holding a taser and smiling. “I must say, I do enjoy shattering dreams at the very moment they are to be realized.”

“She almost made it.” The big guy she’d seen patrolling moments before stood behind Locke, looking equally pleased. “I wonder what she did to Charles?”

“Yes, I wonder that as well.” Locke dropped to a knee and leaned in close. “Charles was a test. He’s a great fool, and I’d have been disappointed had you not escaped him. Just know that you can’t escape me.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a syringe. “By the time we get you back to your cell, you should be most tractable.”

Angel watched in horror as the needle descended toward her limp arm. She heard someone screaming, then realized it was her.

Tamsin stared across her desk at the surprise guest who had just interrupted her day. He was a pale man his blond hair nearly white. She’d have mistaken him for an albino, but his eyes were alarmingly blue. He grinned, his perfect white teeth blending in to his pale face. Ordinarily, she’d never have granted an audience to a perfect stranger, but his cryptic explanation of his business had been enough to get her attention. He knew something about Kidd, or so he claimed.

He smiled at her, his manner easy as if this were his office and she the visitor. Was he ever going to speak?

“Who are you and what do you want?” She immediately chastised herself for speaking first. Patience had never been her strong suit. “Tell me now or I’ll have you tossed out.” It was a feeble attempt at regaining the upper hand, but it was all she could think of. For a moment it seemed as if she would be forced to make good on her threat, because the man continued to smile. But, just as she was reaching for her intercom, he spoke one word.

“Herrschaft.”

She held on to her calm exterior with the greatest of effort. Inside, she was a mess. Why would anyone from Heilig Herrschaft, that vile branch of the Dominion dedicated to restoring the Nazis to power in Germany, using the church, of all things, as its vehicle, dare come anywhere near her or any Sister? Was he an assassin? Surely not.

“Please, Fraulein.” He spoke with only the mildest German accent. “Be at ease. I know who you are.”

“Then you are a fool for coming here today.” She ought to have him taken into custody immediately, but something stayed her hand.

“Perhaps, but a brave fool, no?” Each time he smiled, he seemed ever more wolflike. “There is enmity between our organizations, that is true, but I believe we can find common ground.”

“Morgan would never hear of it.”

“Not with Morgan and not with the Sisterhood. With you.”

“What could we possibly have in common?”

“A common enemy. Your sister.” He held up a finger, silencing her protest. “How much has Morgan told you about Oak Island?”

Tamsin’s stomach lurched. The honest answer was ‘nothing,’ but she didn’t care to admit it.

“Yes, I see,” he said, correctly interpreting her hesitation. He leaned forward and adopted a conspiratorial tone. “Morgan has found something on Oak Island.”

“Impossible. The island has been searched countless times, and nothing has ever been found. The Money Pit is well named, for too much money has been wasted looking for treasure that is not there.”

“You know it is not treasure we seek.” He paused. “A Kidd chest has been found.”

This time she could not keep the surprise from her face. “How do you know?”

“Of course I cannot tell you that. It is enough that we know, and now, you know.”

Tamsin stared at the man without seeing him. It was no surprise that Morgan was keeping secrets, but it galled her none the less. And this was one secret that belonged to all three Sisters. It was what they had been working for.

“How do I know you are telling the truth?”

“You do not, but you can find out. Put the question to your sister. Look into her eyes and see the lie. Or, perhaps, she will tell you the truth.” He shrugged, as if the whole issue was of no import to him.

“Assuming you are telling the truth, and Morgan has found… something.” She could not bring herself to say what, exactly. “What is it you want from me?”

“We want you to take control away from Morgan, with our help if you like. In turn, when you find what you seek, we ask only to be permitted to make use of it one time. Nothing more.”

“You believe the stories?” she scoffed. “They are symbols, and only to Britons at that. To the rest of the world, they are mere curiosities.” Her words rang false, and she knew it. She’d had enough glimpses in her lifetime of powers not understood by the modern world to know better.

“We believe,” he said simply. “If you think they are, as you say, curiosities, then surely there is no harm in permitting us to try.”

“Suppose it will do what legend says. How will you use it?”

“That is our affair.” He sat up straight. “You should not so easily cede control to Morgan. What power does she truly wield, save the court of public opinion and the allegiance of a few politicians? You have authority.”

“I am Chief Constable of the transport police. That is a far cry from powerful.”

“You underestimate yourself, and we both know you have forged many alliances behind Morgan’s back. Let us help one another. In fact, I have some information that might be of interest to you. Someone in America is making quite an effort to find Kidd’s chests. I can provide you with specifics, should you choose to work with us.”

“What benefit is there to helping Heilig Herrschaft? The last time your people controlled Germany, our nations tried to destroy each other.”

“Yes, and now America has come to dominate the world. What if we had formed an alliance, instead? Where might both our nations be?”

She shook her head. Dealing with the Dominion? The very idea was mad. Then again, perhaps this was the opportunity she had long sought. She rose from her chair, turned, and gazed down at the slow-flowing waters of the Thames. On the opposite side, the London Eye stuck out like a festering boil on the landscape of her beloved city. Too few held on to the things that truly mattered any more. The ancient things rooted in history and tradition; things that held power to make modern inventions seem trite by comparison. If the Dominion could help her obtain them… Perhaps it was time to take a risk.

“Tell me more.”