Justice (2 page)

Later that evening, Washington headed back to St. Ann’s Fort. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea, but he knew he could learn a lot more about how a military force conducted business by observing them outside of a scheduled tour. Despite his interest in fortifications and structures, he knew that an army’s fortunes owed much to the commitment level of its men. Sometimes such things could be learned only in a practical way. Tonight he would attempt a clandestine breach of the fort’s outer walls.

Most who knew him would have expressed surprise at such a seemingly rash action. Washington, however, had reasoned carefully. Every member of the garrison had seen him during his visit earlier in the day, so he would be familiar to nearly anyone who would challenge him. If they caught him, the British would be reluctant to alienate someone so well-connected among the American colonists whose aid they would soon need. And the biggest reason Washington felt his planned incursion was a worthy risk derived from his initial assessment of the fort and its commander:  he suspected that their sense of superiority underestimated the threat from pirates, natives, and any other potential attackers.

The night was one for which Noah would have found himself well-prepared. Washington had scarcely spurred his mount before the skies opened up. He had seen the thunderheads building and attired himself appropriately, but that proved small consolation as the dampness managed to target every weakness in his layer of oilskin. He mused that the difficult conditions would tell him more about the British than he otherwise could have gleaned. At least the tropical heat ensured no danger from a chill.

Given the conditions, the massive quarter horse could only move at a pace that a slow man might manage on foot, but eventually Washington arrived near the outside gate of the fort. He dismounted, secured the beast, and made his way closer without a lantern. A tree defoliated by the hurricanes which regularly buffeted the island provided a thick enough trunk to conceal him.

The lanterns adorning the area around the gate were visible through the torrent only as fuzzy splotches of light. He spotted a single guard standing in place, holding a lantern even more anemic than the fixed ones. For the next thirty minutes, Washington watched in silence. The only interruption he witnessed was another guard approaching from along the fortified walls, clearly finishing some sort of patrol. The new arrival took up the static position and the initial guard began trudging back in the direction from which the newcomer had come. Washington felt some compassion for the man, who even through the dark and rain gave the impression of hopelessness.

Were he actually planning an incursion into enemy territory, Washington would not have proceeded. He didn’t know if there were more guards. He didn’t have a full idea of what lay on the seaward side of the fort. But he strongly suspected he had seen all he needed to see, so after a moment, he began moving in the same direction as the departing guard. He remained forty yards away from the wall, feeling exposed.

Soon enough, the gate was out of sight. He stopped after another fifty yards, moving quickly toward the wall. One thing the British had done correctly was to keep the area surrounding the walls of the fort clear of significant vegetation aside from scrub no more than eighteen inches tall. Ironically, he would be less exposed right up against the fort itself than at any point approaching it.

He never reached the wall. A cough from behind him stopped him in his tracks after only a few steps. He whirled, taking less than a second to weigh the pros and cons of drawing his pistol. He decided against it.

He saw nothing. He felt exposed, wishing for a lantern but knowing he had made the right decision in proceeding without one. Minutes passed, and he allowed his eyes to adjust fully to the darkness. He thought he could make out a shape in the dark, not right in front of him but close enough for him to pick it up. Then again, it could be his mind playing tricks on him after staring at nothing for so long.

Then he heard the cough again, and he decided to press the issue. “Show yourself.”

Hearing no response, he persisted. “I am no enemy if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

After a heartbeat, a phlegmy explosion pierced the night, as if a cannon were fired several times under water. The shape in the dark appeared again, this time with more substance and moving toward him. He reached for his pistol. The man – for by now it was clear that the shape was human – came closer. Then he collapsed at Washington’s feet.

“Enemy or friend, none of that will be my concern for much longer.”

The voice was a low and raspy whisper, heaving with effort.  A light appeared, and Washington saw a lantern on the ground with a set of gnarled fingers wrapped around the handle. The man must have kept it shielded until this moment. This man could not be part of the garrison, and Washington began to wonder if the light would attract the attention of the guards. He had been prepared for the possibility of being captured inside the fort, so he wouldn’t spend any time worrying about discovery fifty yards away.

“Who are you?” Washington heard his own voice as a hard challenge, but this unaccustomed situation had removed some of the filter he generally applied to his direct nature.

Another series of coughs preceded the answer, this one more distressed than the prior. “I shouldn’t tell you. It is supposed to be a secret. It’s been a secret for over three decades. But I am an old man, and I may not make it through the night. My name is Israel Hands.”

Washington waited.

“I see that name means nothing to you. That is no surprise, as my name has meant nothing to anyone since before you were born. But perhaps you have heard of the ship I commanded. It was called the
Adventure
.”

A bubble of recognition bounced in Washington’s brain, but it didn’t settle anywhere. “I am sorry, sir, but I’m not familiar with that vessel,”

Hands held up the lantern and squinted. “Ah yes, you are indeed a young man. No doubt you’ve heard of the sister ship of the
Adventure
. That was originally called
La Concorde
, but you would know it as the
Queen Anne’s Revenge
.”

Washington did know the ship, and his hand went to his pistol again. The next sound that came from Hands’ mouth was either a cough or a laugh. “Put away your pistol. I am no threat to anyone, least of all a man from Virginia.”

Washington’s eyes went wide, and his hand stayed put. “You know of me?”

This time, the laugh was more pronounced. “I do not. But I have an ear for accents, and I spent much time in Virginia. I was nearly hanged there.”

“From what you’ve said so far, that is not surprising.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge, young sir. When you hear the full story, you will…” Hands began coughing again, expelling red gobs large enough to be seen even by dull lantern light in the rain. He collapsed onto his side and drew his knees to his chest, his chest heaving with every cough.

Washington knew some people found him cold, but he was not without compassion. He dropped to his knees and put a hand on the man’s forehead. The heat radiated even before their flesh touched. Washington kept his hand there until the coughing subsided.

Hands didn’t move from a near-fetal position, but he spoke again. “I have come so close, but I have failed. Listen if you will about one of the greatest treasures known to God and man. I was pardoned over three decades ago when I was but a step from the gallows. Since then I have dedicated myself to finding the treasure. I’m sure you heard rumors about it and dismissed them as the fantasies of the weak-minded. I spent many years without a single clue, but I finally retraced our steps to this island. To be honest, I held out little hope.”

“The island has given me two things. The first is the location of the journal. Yesterday I tracked down Cyrus Vane, a sailor on the
Revenge,
one hell of a fighter and a scoundrel. With a tongue loosened by rum, he told me of the journal.”

Washington felt his pulse quicken. Hands had referenced the very thing which had piqued his own interest. Washington believed in God in the same way many rational men of his standing did: as a distant entity whose existence was certain but whose role in day to day life was largely irrelevant. For the first time in his life, he wondered if he had received a sign from God.

“What was the other thing the island gave you?”

Hands still had not moved, but his voice was clear enough. “The other thing the island gave me was smallpox. Sometimes I wonder if our Lord has a sense of humor.”

Another coughing fit began, and Washington stood quickly. Smallpox was not common in Virginia, and he had never been exposed. But he’d heard enough of its horrors to experience fear at seeing an infected man lying before him. In fact, it took most of his willpower not to back away.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“The secret can’t die with me. The treasure, it is so much more than I believed…”

What is in the journal? And what is the treasure?”

Hands raised a single finger and spoke in wracked breaths. “Cayman Brac… beneath the eagle…”

Another cough, wet and weak, and Hands breathed no more.

Dane Maddock had
always wondered whether a single finger could support one hundred and ninety pounds of Navy SEAL. Clinging to the edge of a rock face fifty feet above the ground, he suspected he was about to find out.

His left hand was extended as far as possible with a solid hold. His left foot and right foot each rested in the slightest of indentations, providing mostly friction instead of actually carrying his weight. As climbing positions went, it was almost comfortable, and Maddock could have remained there almost indefinitely. The problem was where to go next.

He ran his right hand along the rock at the furthest extent of his reach, confirming what he already knew. Smooth as a baby’s bottom except for one protrusion. A protrusion which provided room for a single finger.

“Sucks being such a little guy, huh, Maddock?”

Maddock scowled. Bones was six and a half feet of muscled Native American, with a wingspan that would make a condor feel inadequate. Maddock could claim six feet only if he let his hair grow for a few months and used a lot of gel.

They had gone through SEAL training together, and at first, Maddock had despised the big man. Bones was forever making light of serious situations and bucking authority. They’d even come to blows in one memorable incident. But they’d shared a number of harrowing adventures recently, and Maddock now appreciated the skill and courage which accompanied the levity. There was no better man to have at your side when things got hairy.

After discovering a mutual interest in climbing, they’d planned this trip to Virginia to explore some of the challenging routes in the area. This was actually the first time they’d climbed together, and the trash talking before the climb had escalated to playground basketball levels. Maddock was ten feet above Bones; if he could just get six feet to his right, he would have a pretty clear path for the final twenty feet. Bones was clearly trying to slow him down.

“Seems to me that this little guy is already out of your reach.”

“It just looks that way, dude. There’s only one direction you can go, and it ain’t toward the sky.”

Maddock gritted his teeth. He could grab the tiny hold with a finger, release his other limbs and swing...and he’d still only be halfway there. He had an anchor planted fifteen feet down, but falling thirty feet before it caught and bounced him off the cliff was not high on his bucket list. The thing was, any other option except trying this move would mean Bones overtaking him.

Maddock was not going to let that happen. He flexed his right index finger, took a deep breath, and curled the finger around the minuscule hold.

As he unweighted his left side, the grip felt solid. His full weight was not on the finger yet, and before that could happen he whipped his left hand across. Then he made the second-hardest move of the sequence, removing his right finger so he was floating free for a fraction of a second before his left finger took its place. That’s where he made his first mistake.

Instead of his left index finger supporting him, his left middle finger was doing the job. A small wave of panic shot through him, but the part of him which had survived SEAL training took over and smashed the panic into submission. With hardly any sense of actually holding onto the face, he thrust his right hand and foot toward solid holds he had spied before beginning the move.

Both hand and foot successfully found their targets, but his left finger slipped before his right side was fully secure. His left side swung out into the air, like a door opening on its hinges. As he struggled to strengthen his remaining holds, Maddock began to brace himself for the inevitable fall.

The fall never came. Somehow he stabilized himself and wound up hugging the face again. His breathing took the better part of a minute to return to normal, whether from the panic or the exertion he couldn’t be sure. He glanced down at Bones.

“No smartass remarks this time?”

Bones’ grin was easily visible below him. “Maddock, that was one of the dumbest moves I have ever seen. I told you hanging around with me was going to rub off on you.”

“I won’t be hanging around much longer. I’ll see you at the top.”

Five minutes later he gained the ledge at the summit, the route relatively easy compared to what had come before. He sat taking in the beauty of the forested Blue Ridge Mountains. When Bones made his way onto the ledge, Maddock looked at his watch.

“What kept you?”

“I took my time. Didn’t want to make you feel bad about your climbing skills after what I just saw. But seriously, Dude, whose ass did you pull that move out of? Admit it, you only did it because it allowed you to give me the finger when I couldn’t pound you for it.”

Maddock shook his head, and the two friends exchanged an intense stare.

Bones said, “I’ll deny I ever said this, but...nice move, man.”

“Deny you ever said what?”

“Not as dumb as you look.”

A shrill ring cut through the heavy summer air. Maddock flinched before remembering that his cell phone was tucked in the tiny pack strapped close to his back. Maddock had resisted getting a cell phone for a long time, but once or twice Bones’ device had come in very handy. His friend Jimmy Letson said that within a decade phones would be more powerful than the current personal computers.  Maddock only cared that he could make and receive a call, which apparently was possible in the middle of nowhere.

“If that’s Maxie, don’t answer it. The good old commander lives to screw up our time off. Remember that time he sent us on a week of hell for a super-secret mission that was only supposed to take two days?”

“Which time?”

Bones smirked. “You see my point.”

“It could be Melissa.” Not many people had Maddock’s number, but his girlfriend, Melissa Moore, did. They had first met in Boston the previous year, and after some long distance correspondence and several visits to determine if they really wanted to pursue a relationship, they both acknowledged that they had fallen hard.

Bones sighed. “How someone with your skills can be so thoroughly whipped is beyond me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. How about you pretend to lose the connection if it’s Maxie.”

Maddock extracted the phone from his pack. Why have the thing if he wasn’t going to answer it. It
could
be their commanding officer, but he doubted it.

“Hello?”

The familiar voice came on the phone, but it contained tension he had never heard before. “Dane, Thank God you’re there. I need you.”

Rarely had words triggered such a rush of adrenaline. Melissa was in trouble. Maddock had always been the type who would help anyone in trouble, even help the occasional little old lady across the street. So when the woman he cared about most in the world called for help, an army couldn’t have prevented him from rushing to her side.

His mind also registered one of the many things he appreciated about Melissa – her focus and lack of drama. Eight words were all she needed.

“Where are you?”

“Work.”

He looked at his watch. “I can be there in an hour. Are you hurt? Are you in immediate danger? Do you need me to call someone?”

“No, no, I’m fine. The police will be here any minute. But Sarah was attacked and… well, it was really weird and I don’t think the cops are up to this sort of thing.”

Maddock felt a tingling sensation in his neck, one he had by now learned never to ignore. It happened when something important was imminent. Usually something involving bad guys trying to put one over on good guys. He hated that. “Hold on.”

Melissa worked at Mt. Vernon during the summer, not exactly a terrorist target or even any kind of sensitive location. Sarah Abrams was her boss, a curator/administrator in charge of the interns. Maddock looked at Bones and relayed her words.

Bones whistled. “Mysterious goings on with something related to George Washington? Are you getting that same feeling deep in your bowels that I am?”

“That’s more detail than I ever need about your digestive tract, Bones, but yeah we’re on the same page.”

Melissa’s voice came over the phone which was still attached to Maddock’s ear. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, honey, I’m still here. One hour, maybe less.”

“Aren’t you eighty miles away?”

“Yep, on a ledge seventy-five feet off the ground. I’m gonna let Bones drive.”

“Bones driving? So either you’ll be here in forty-five minutes or you’ll die in a fiery crash. Lovely.”

“I heard that,” Bones called.

Melissa managed a laugh. “I’m glad you’re bringing him along. My spidey senses are on high alert.”

“That makes three of us. Be there as soon as we can.” He hung up before she could begin their normal sappy goodbye. She’d understand.

Bones raised his eyebrows. “You’re gonna
let
me drive? I think you have it backward, kemosabe. I’m the one who sometimes lets you drive.”

“So the fact that the rental car company refused to rent to you after what happened last time has no bearing on the topic?”

“None whatsoever. I’m the victim of a smear campaign.”

“Bones, you’re driving. Let’s get an anchor in up here and take the express elevator down.”

Within three minutes, they’d anchored the hundred foot rope on the ledge and slid down it without pause. Maddock hated to lose a good rope, but with Melissa possibly at risk he didn’t give it a second thought. They reached the rented Crown Victoria a minute later, and Bones was pulling out even before Maddock had the door closed.

Once on the highway, Bones pushed the pedal to the floor. “We have reached our cruising speed of one hundred and five miles an hour. You are now free to watch carefully for the fuzz.”

“At this speed, we’ll be by them before we even see them.”

Bones shrugged. “Hey, maybe they won’t see us.”

“Bones, we’re speeding, we’re not invisible.”

“Speak for yourself. My people invented stealth.”

“Right, the proud Cherokee tradition of pushing an eight-cylinder engine to its limits. Look if we see cops, we’re not stopping.”

Bones took his eyes off the road for just a moment to glance at Maddock. “Wow, first that crazy move on the rock and now this. What’s going on?”

“I have no idea, Bones.”

Maddock turned his gaze to the windshield, as if looking toward their destination could make it appear more quickly.  Almost to himself, he mumbled a few words.

“Whatever it is, I just hope we’re not too late.”