The Blood King Conspiracy

CHAPTER TWENTY

Kennedy twisted around in her chair, shuffling and tugging at her jeans as she did so. Drake saw Raychim take a quick gander towards the offending area before looking away with a guilty expression.

“Don’t sweat it, old man. Ass cracks are in this year,” he paused … “or out, depending on your point of view. Lol.”

Kennedy sent him a mock glare. “Dick. You don’t say lol. You spell it out in an email or something.”

Hayden was running a hand through her blonde hair, looking tired and overwhelmed. “Jack double-crossed Blackbeard? How?”

“Simple. He just sent the crappy box back to the rendezvous and then somehow alerted the British about the drop-off. His plan’s only failure occurred when Blackbeard himself didn’t turn up. That problem was negated later, though, when the pirate accepted his pardon.”

“That means Blackbeard wouldn’t have known about Jack’s double-cross until the moment he found the box in the British stronghold.”

“Yes,” Ben was on a roll, “and then, of course, he ran off and got dead.”

“Taking the ‘hard-drive’ to the bottom of the sea,” said Drake nodding his head, “where it lay, randomly emitting displacement waves whenever a chain of events set it off, until the salvage team brought it up.”

“Like in Lost.” Kinimaka mentioned a series close to his heart and his actual home.

“Which could be anything,” Hayden said, talking over her colleague. “From sea-bottom earthquakes to crazy currents to-”

“A stroke from a mermaid?” Drake’s soldiers mind couldn’t help it.

Kennedy sat back a bit self-consciously. “That takes care of the box. But what about the controller? What did Jack do with that?”

Raychim slurped down more beer.

“He kept it,” Kinimaka said unnecessarily.

But that simple sentence made Ben sit up. “Of course he did! He ordered all his treasures shipped home and stored away in his cellar. Remember?”

All eyes turned to Raychim. The man in white finished off yet another Bud, wiped grease from his cheeks, and smiled for the first time. “Wondered when you’d catch up.”

Hayden rounded on him in an instant. “Sir, this is an official investigation. We’re on a deadline here. If you have-“

“Calm down, calm down. Keep yer frillies on,” the old man laughed. “I wouldn’t have gotten fed and watered if I gave it up in the first place. Good lesson for you there, young lady,” he cackled. “Any case — I don’t have Calico Jack’s treasure. The whole shebang was donated to a museum about ten years ago. Famous one, too.”

Drake looked at Ben and Kennedy thinking for God’s sake don’t say the Louvre. They hadn’t yet repaired it properly since their last little visit.

“It was all donated to the Key West Museum of Art and History. I remember it, too. Shaped like an hour-glass with brass arms that I’m guessing now are what attach it to this box of yours. Fancy thing. Classic pirate swag.”

“Key West?” Drake looked around at his friends. “End of the line in more ways than one.”

Mano Kinimaka looked thoughtful. “Isn’t there a Hard Rock Cafe there?”

Drake pushed out the door first into the blinding sun. Despite the glare his eyes fell immediately on the trio of men standing around Lionel Raychim’s car. One of them was bent over by the passenger-side door, the other two were watching. Were they working for the council?

Without a word Drake signalled the others and took off at a sprint. By the time the men looked up he was among them. They were untrained, probably local muscle who’d never come up against a trained soldier before.

By the time Hayden and Kennedy arrived Drake stood over two writhing bodies and had the third pinned by his neck against the car.

“What are you doing?” he shouted as the man struggled. Drake slammed him back against the car. “No! What the hell are you doing?”

“Just… looking,” the Jamaican wheezed. “We didn’t know it was yours.”

“It’s not.” Drake looked around, assessing the situation. If these guys were locals tasked by an unknown to steal Raychim’s car then they would know nothing. They weren’t even worth beating up. He kicked a few ribs and threw the man to the ground, careful to keep an eye out for weapons.

“Get the hell out of here.”

All the time he searched their surroundings. Empty windows stared back at him from up high. Cluttered gardens and dishevelled yards stood on three sides, a kind of barren no-man’s-land to the north-east. If they were anywhere, they were in there.

“Something’s there…” Kennedy said as she quested around. “Can’t actually see a damn thing though.”

Drake shared her unease. Once you’d served a stretch in the 22 Regiment with the SAS you tended to develop extra senses even faster than a three-year-old wants to grow up.

“I get the feeling we’re being watched,” Drake agreed. “But, by Christ, if we are — they’re good.”

“Boudreau?” Hayden’s discomfort showed in her voice.

“Wouldn’t he come out spitting blood?” Drake said. “No. By someone more subtle, someone with a different game to play.” He made a snap decision. “Let’s go. Hayden,… you need to make a call. Get Mr Raychim here some protection.”

Hayden nodded at Kinimaka. “Do it.”

Drake smiled at Raychim. “Better put those keys away, pal. You’re not driving. Now where’s the airport?”