The Jefferson Key

TWENTY

HALE WATCHED AS THE OTHER THREE CONSIDERED HIS PROPOSAL about raising the flag. He knew they understood its significance. During the glory days pirates and privateers survived on their reputations. Though violence was certainly a way of life, the preferred method of taking a prize was without a fight. Attacking cost in many ways. Injuries, deaths, damage to the ship or, worse, to the booty. Battles unnecessarily escalated operating costs and, inevitably, reduced revenue. Plus, the vast majority of crewmen could not even swim.

So a better way to fight developed.

Raise the flag.

Display your identity and your intentions.

If the target surrendered, then lives would be spared. If the target resisted, the crew, to a man, would be slaughtered.

And it worked.

Pirate reputations became infamous. The cruelties of George Lowther, Bartholomew Roberts, and Edward Low were legendary. Eventually, simply the sight of a Jolly Roger became enough. Merchantmen who spotted the distinctive flag knew their choices.

Surrender or die.

“Our former friends in the intelligence community,” he said, “need to understand that we are not to be taken lightly.”

“They know it was us who took the shot at Daniels,” Cogburn said. “The quartermaster has already reported in. NIA stopped us.”

“Which raises a list of new troubling questions,” Hale said. “Most important of which is-What has changed? Why has our last ally turned on us?”

“This is nothing but trouble,” Bolton said.

“What is wrong, Edward? Another bad decision gone worse?”

He couldn’t resist the jab. Hales and Boltons had never really cared for one another.

“You think yourself so damn invulnerable,” Bolton said. “You and all your money and influence. Yet it can’t save you or us now, can it?”

“I’ve been a bad host,” he said, ignoring the insult. “Would anyone care for a drink?”

“We don’t want drinks,” Bolton said. “We want results.”

“And killing the president of the United States would have achieved those?”

“What would you have done?” Bolton asked. “Go back to the White House and beg some more?”

Never again. He’d hated sitting across from the chief of staff, after being denied a face-to-face with Daniels. And the call that came a week after his meeting with Davis had been even more insulting.

“The U.S. government cannot sanction your breaking the law,” Davis said to him.

“That’s what privateers do. We pillage the enemy with the blessing of the government.”

“Two hundred years ago, perhaps.”

“Little has changed. Threats still remain. Perhaps more so today than ever. We have done nothing but support this nation. Every effort of the Commonwealth has been directed toward thwarting our enemies. Now we are to be prosecuted?”

“I’m aware of your problem,” Davis said.

“Then you know our dilemma.”

“I know that the intelligence people are fed up with you. What you did in Dubai almost brought the entire region crashing down.”

“What we did was frustrate our enemies, attacking them when and where they were most vulnerable.”

“They are not our enemies.”

“That’s a matter of debate.”

“Mr. Hale. If you’d kept on there and bankrupted Dubai, which was a real possibility, the repercussions would have disrupted this nation’s entire Middle East policy. The loss of such a key ally in that region would have been devastating. We have so few friends over there. It would have taken decades to cultivate another relationship like that one. What you were doing was counterproductive to anything reasonable and logical.”

“They are not our friends, and you know it.”

“Maybe so. But Dubai needs us, and we need them. So we put aside our differences and work together.”

“Why not do the same relative to us?”

“Frankly, Mr. Hale, your situation is not something the White House cares about one way or the other.”

“You should. The first president and the second Congress of this country legally granted us the authority to act, so long as it was directed toward our enemies.”

“With one problem,” Davis said. “The legal authority for your letter of marque does not exist. Even if we wanted to honor it, that could prove impossible. There is no written reference in the congressional journals for that session addressing them. Two pages are missing, which I believe you are well aware of. Their location is guarded by Jefferson’s cipher. I read Andrew Jackson’s letter to your great-great-grandfather.”

“Am I to assume that if we solve the cipher and find those missing pages, the president will honor the letter?”

“You can assume that your legal position will be much stronger since, as of now, you don’t have one.”

“Gentlemen,” he said to the other three. “I am reminded of a story my grandfather once told me. A British merchant ship spotted a vessel on the horizon, its identity and intentions unknown. They watched for the better part of an hour as it bore down upon them. As it approached the captain asked his crew if they would stand and defend the ship. ‘If they be Spaniards,’ the crew said, ‘we will fight. But if they be pirates we will not.’ Once they learned that it was Black Beard himself, they all quit the ship, believing they would be murdered.”

The other three stared at him.

“It is time to raise our flag. To let our enemy know that we are bearing down upon them.”

“Why are you so smug?” Cogburn asked. “What have you done?”

Hale smiled.

Charles knew him well.

“Perhaps enough to save us all.”