The Jefferson Key

PAWISLANDMAHONEBAYDOMINION

“We need a computer,” Cotton said.

The curator led them to an office off the exhibit room where a desktop waited. Cassiopeia decided to do the honors and typed PAW

The screen filled with sites. She selected one.

Mahone Bay was located at 44°30?N, 64°15?W, just off the coast of Nova Scotia, a respectable body of water that opened to the Atlantic Ocean. Named after the French mahonne, which was a type of boat once used by the locals. Dotted with nearly 400 islands, the most famous of which was Oak Island, where for more than two hundred years treasure hunters had excavated a deep pit into the bedrock, searching to no avail for gold. Paw Island was south of Oak, upon which lay a British fort, long abandoned, once called Dominion.

“Jackson chose his site with care,” Cotton said. “That’s about as out of the way as you can get. But it’s appropriate. That area has long been associated with piracy. It was a haven for pirates in the 18th century.” He faced Davis. “I’m going.”

“I agree. It’s the best thing for Stephanie. We need those pages.”

She already knew what Cotton wanted her to do. “I’ll slow them down through the phone tap. We can feed Hale whatever we like.”

He nodded. “Do it. Wyatt has the wheel and he’ll be headed north, too.”

“I’ll find Stephanie,” she told him.

He turned to the curator. “You said you created that duplicate wheel. Is the fact that it’s an exact duplicate of the original advertised anywhere?”

The woman shook her head. “The manufacturer and I are the only ones who know. I didn’t even tell the estate manager until a little while ago up in the house. It really wasn’t that important.”

But Cassiopeia realized exactly why that fact was critical. “Wyatt thinks he’s the only one who knows.”

Cotton nodded.

“Yep. Which means, for the first time, we’re ahead of the game.”