The Ghost Ships of Arizona

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Drake felt his face go slack as a lost wonder from a bygone age filled his field of vision.

Beyond the crest of the slope lay a deep valley. About a third of the way down the opposite slope, half buried into its vertical side, its deck even now being exposed by a bevy of mercenary workers, was a perilously perched, ancient pirate galleon.

Men slipped and skidded downhill about twenty feet to reach the excavation around its deck, taking their lives into their own hands. They worked very slowly, fearfully. No wonder this was taking some time. The great bulge that constituted the galleon’s side jutted out from the slope’s face, an enormous stepping stone. Drake saw several rivers of sand falling away from the unseen base of the ship and winced.

That thing could go at any moment.

Or it could last an eternity.

Maybe it had. Maybe sometimes the valley filled up and allowed men to walk across. Maybe the other side emptied of sand and allowed men a glimpse of what lay beneath. But none of that mattered now. What mattered was the ship was real and the Pythians were here.

“It’s… staggering,” Jenny whispered, the first time Drake had seen her anything other than entirely self-assured.

“It’s cool,” Smyth agreed. “Sorta cool enough to strip even my coolness away.”

Drake gave him a look, followed by Jenny. Smyth motioned ahead. “Stop staring at me, guys. There’s a friggin’ ship stuck to the side of that sand dune.”

“I did notice,” Drake said. “And the boatful of mercenaries attached to it. I wonder where Bell is at?”

Jenny motioned briefly toward the top of the sand hill and away to the right. Drake tore his gaze away from the galleon. There, arrayed a short distance from the edge of the drop, were a muddled arrangement of camouflaged tents, covered by wire netting. He fished a pair of binoculars out of his pack.

“Jackpot. I see Bell and Bay-Dale just lounging over there. Deck chair, I think. Bay-Dale has a glass of red.”

Smyth flushed with anger. “Figures. Let the commoners do the work and take the risk whilst the management sit back and laugh.”

“It could be worse,” Karin offered. “In ancient times, in Europe and Egypt, the Kings and Queens would have roped their own people into this undertaking. Literally.”

“There’s a waiter over there too.” Drake rubbed his eyes tiredly, just happy that the endless drudgery of the search was over. “Lauren, you keep saying Bell’s a potential ally in the enemy camp. I must admit, I really don’t see that.”

Lauren exhaled. “After everything I witnessed in that hotel room with General Stone, I’d like a chance to try.”

Drake lowered the binoculars. “He’s over there hobnobbing with Bay-Dale, whom we know to be less than sea scum. The guy’s an ass.”

“Maybe they’re drawing Bell in. The more time you spend in someone’s company the more you accept their failings. I know people, Drake. I read people. If I wasn’t good at it I’d be long dead by now.”

Drake hesitated. Lauren was correct, of course. Her job — essentially her old job — challenged her with that very decision every day. He looked away to the east where the galleon’s narrow valley ended and the desert became a flat surface again. The way across was easy — a fifteen minute walk — so he couldn’t even dissuade her with that excuse.

“I don’t like it,” he said.

Lauren glanced at Smyth. “Should I even ask what you think?”

“They’re both arrogant pricks. I favor burying them up to their necks in sand and leaving ‘em both with their wine glasses balanced on their fucking condescending heads.”

Drake laughed. “Now there’s a plan.”

“Bell…” Lauren paused, thinking hard, “is a good man at heart. I know he is. I liked him, despite what happened in that hotel room. He was nice. I can make him help us.”

Now Smyth looked over. “What? You wanna date?”

“Stop being an ass. I want what we—”

Drake’s cell vibrating interrupted them. “This isn’t good,” he said and slithered further back down the slope until he was clear of the ridge. “Yeah?”

A deep voice explained the situation at the electrical substation where all contact with Agent Jaye and the SPEAR team had been lost just ten minutes ago. An assault team had been readied but the man had initially been ordered to inform Drake of any unexpected incidents. Drake listened with features as hard as a rough-cut diamond, then thanked the man and hung up.

He relayed the conversation to the others as they lay on their sides halfway down the dusty slope.

“Even more important now,” Lauren said.

“What was your other job?” Jenny abruptly wondered.

Drake put his phone away. “Why is it more important, Lauren?”

“We need to know what the Pythians are planning. Now and next week and next month. Where the hell is Webb and what’s he doing? The ghost ships are all about money, yes? Well, why? They already have a ton of the stuff.”

Drake looked bleak. “And that’s not even half the problem. Saint Germain, I believe, is paramount. Then we have Beauregard and the Pythians’ endgame, which is already afoot.” He regarded Lauren with a rueful smile.

“Now you want me to go in?”

“Bloody hell, no. I trust the bastard less than I would trust Alicia with a male stripper at a bachelorette party, but I’m not sure we have a choice.”

“I can’t imagine Alicia at a bachelorette party,” Lauren said. “But the rest is accurate enough. I truly believe I can turn Nicholas Bell.”

Smyth sat up. “I’ll cover for her. All the way.” He patted her shoulder. “As usual.”

Drake saw the care and concern in the soldier’s face. Lauren was not a woman who easily accepted help — or needed it in fact — but she gave him a grateful smile.

“So what are we waiting for?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said. “But let’s go talk to our friendly Pythian.”

“He ain’t friendly yet,” Smyth growled low in his throat like a dog would.

“True. But it’s either friendly or dead,” Drake said. “We’ll see how he wants to play it.”