The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake 2) (13 page)

“Not now,” Drake chastised the youngster. “Speak, or the dummy goes back in.”

“The scribe wrote that after Blackbeard’s battle had finished the pirate could not return to Calico Jack. It doesn’t say why . . .” Ben scanned forward for answers. “No, nothing. Maybe the Queen Anne’s Revenge was damaged?”

Drake nodded. “Or being pursued. There were a lot of British men-of-war around here at the time tasked with ridding the seas of pirates.”

“Whatever,” said Kennedy tapping the table. “What happened next?”

“Blackbeard got word to Calico Jack and ordered him to send the devices to a prearranged meeting place. Look. There’s a map here, and even an X. A real pirate treasure map!” Ben’s excitement made his eyes wide and glassy.

To a person, everyone stood up and craned over to take a look. The revered silence that followed was a testament to notorious pirate history.

Ben continued. “It seems that Calico Jack did send the devices to the agreed meeting place on a small ship, or boat. It’s not clear. But the boat was intercepted by the British, its crew killed and its valuables confiscated.”

“So the British claimed the devices?” Hayden wondered.

“Yes. Blackbeard never collected them, in any event. Maybe he sent a scouting party to the rendezvous point and they saw what happened.” Ben read on for a few minutes and then closed the book.

Hayden glared at him. “Well?”

“That’s it.”

“
That’s it?
What the hell-”

“There are a few passages about how Jack shipped his own treasures home and ordered them to be stowed away in his cellar for when he later returned. Of course, he never did.”

“So the British took the devices-” Drake pulled a face as he chewed the information over in his brain. “Damn the Limeys.”

“And the rusty box ended up on Blackbeard’s ship,” Kinimaka said, moving slightly and making the whole right side of the pub shudder. “At the bottom of the ocean.”

“But that’s because the British killed him and sunk the Queen Anne’s Revenge.”

Lionel Raychim was switching between eating noisily and slurping Bud like his life depended on it. The Jamaican waitress kept close watch from behind the bar. Every time Raychim drained a bottle she came skipping over with another. Maybe she was Rick and she owned the damn place.

“Wait,” Ben said so slowly Drake could almost hear the gears grinding. “Wasn’t Blackbeard offered a pardon by the British?”

“Yeah,” Kennedy drawled. “And he accepted it, according to the Web. Didn’t stay chained to his masters for long though.”

“Exactly,” Ben said. “He accepted the pardon, got himself to wherever they were keeping the box - or device - and promptly escaped with it.”

“Only to be caught and killed by that Maynard guy, his ship sunk on the spot.” Drake ran through what he remembered. “Doesn’t explain why they only found the rusty box though and not the clock, controller-thing.”

“Maybe the British kept it,” Kinimaka suggested.

“I doubt that,” Drake mused. “Not judging by what we know of Blackbeard. If that controller was there, you can bet your bollocks he’d have taken it.”

“And if it wasn’t?” Kinimaka looked confused.

“Then good ole
Calico Jack -
this man’s esteemed ancestor,” Drake clapped Lionel Raychim on the back, spraying Bud and bits of steak everywhere, “did the one thing we would never have expected of anyone. He double-crossed Blackbeard.”

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?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Hayden pulled some strings and their plane was in the air within an hour. A special charter, it did a fair bit of clunking down the runway, making even Drake grip the armrests with more disquiet than usual at take-off.

It would be a short flight. They toyed with the idea of alerting the local authorities, of even sending in the marines, but decided a small incursion would work better, especially since they were betting that no one else had followed the clues this far. Nevertheless, Hayden alerted her boss, Jonathan Gates, who was aware of the security breaches during the last few days.

His words, to her, left them in no doubt as to the seriousness of what was happening behind closed White House doors. “There
is
no trust, Hayden. No one to trust. Contact me and me alone.”

“There is no trust,” Kennedy repeated. “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing to make us lose our focus,” Drake said. “The Blood King already holds one of the devices. Chances are, if he gets the second there’ll be a few changes in
world
government.”

Ben stared at him as if he’d only just realised the severity of the situation. “Are you kidding?”

Hayden turned on him, trying but failing not to vent her frustrations on her younger boyfriend. “This ain’t Call of Duty, Ben. It ain’t even a Michael Bay movie. Not yet. It’s the kind of thing where people
die.
People you love and respect and never get back.” Her words choked. Drake imagined what she had gone through during the last few days, not to mention the loss of her father to ‘the job’.

Drake dropped his eyes as the couple followed their similar routine - regret, makeup, then a few guarded smiles. The
Michael Bay
dig was probably aimed at Drake. Since the ‘Odin thing’ Drake had been the focus of attention for many well-known names and corporations, all trying to buy his friendship, his trust, his endorsement, and his name. One big call had been from Bay’s management company, with a query as to movie rights.

His mind wandered. He just couldn’t get past the feeling of being watched that they had experienced in Jamaica. Even driving to the airport had made the hairs on the nape of his neck crawl and prickle. And now - was it possible to feel as if you were being followed
in an aeroplane?
He laughed aloud.

The others, tired, tetchy and mentally exhausted, all turned to him. “What are you laughing at, crusty?” Ben asked.

“Just concentrate on the research, Blakey. Key West’s an hour away, and we need to be fully prepped.” He glanced at each member of the team. “We have to prepare for every eventuality. This is the way I see it . . .”

*****

Whilst Drake talked, Kennedy drifted. It was only now that she was starting to question her motives throughout the last six weeks. Now - when stark reality and another power-crazed dictator had invaded her life through Matt Drake - she wondered if this really was the right place for her. No question, she wanted to be with Drake. But her life had pretty much been put on hold for him.

This is your life,
a voice told her.
The start.
At some point you had to let the torrent of life take you and lie back in its arms, and drift.  

Her nature rebelled against that thought. Or was it her confident, New York upbringing? Lindsey Buckingham allegedly wrote the famous words
Go Your Own Way
when he split up with Stevie Nicks. But it was the next line of the song that always freaked her out. All her life she had felt a singular loneliness, in school, in the Academy, in the station room, every night of every day.

She didn’t feel that with Drake. The guy was larger-than-life and more than enough to keep her engaged twenty-four hours a day.