Pirate (18 page)

C
rack! Crack!

Sam snapped off two more rounds but missed the other killers as he suddenly felt nothing but air beneath his feet.

Unaware, he and Remi had stepped back, causing the muddy ground at the edge of the hill to crumble under their weight. They both lost their balance and toppled over the edge of the steep hill.

Sam crashed into a maze of greens and browns swirling in front of him as he slid at breakneck speed down the hill.

He lost his grip on Remi's arm and she vanished from his sight as he grabbed at tree branches and fern fronds, trying to slow his descent.

Crack!
Crack! Crack!

The volley of return gunfire sent birds screeching from their roosts. Sam spotted a fallen tree coming up on his left. He twisted sideways and tensed as he slammed into what felt like a big pile
of mush that stopped his momentum. Stunned, and covered with slime from a tree trunk that had rotted from years in the damp forest, he wiped the muck off his face. He moved slowly, feeling for injury. It took a minute before pain began to register, but, fortunately, the decayed tree had softened his impact. Nothing was broken.

“You fool!” Ivan's voice carried down. “You let them get away.”

“No way they could survive that fall,” Jak replied. “Or this.”

Each gunshot sent Sam's heart thundering.

Remi
 . . .

The firing finally stopped when Jak ran out of shells.

“You see anything?” Ivan asked.

“Nothing. Climb down. Make sure they're dead.”

“And what?” Ivan growled. “Break my neck? Better we drive down and check the hill from the lower road.”

“What about Lorenzo?” Jak asked. “Just gonna leave him here?”

“Dump him down the hill. Let him rot with the Fargos.”

They rolled the body off the road, and Sam heard it crashing through the underbrush. Finally, the SUV's engine started. The vehicle was heading up hill, not down. They'd have to drive until they found a wider turnout for the large SUV before it could change directions.

“Remi?” he called softly.

“Down here.”

It sounded like she was about fifteen feet below him. He let out a sigh of relief, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath until that moment. “You're okay?”

“Bruised but still in one piece.”

“They're looking for a place to turn around.”

“I can see the road below us. It's pretty close.”

“I'll come to you. Let's see if we can't get across the road before they get here. They'll be searching up, not down.”

He moved away from the thick growth of rotted tree that had stopped him, then looked around for his gun. He saw it about eight feet up the hill, half buried in the mud. The slick ground made the climb up difficult. He had to dig in his heels several times, while using the plants like steps, as he maneuvered upward to retrieve it. The descent was even more treacherous as he made his way to Remi. When he reached her side, he brushed some of the mud from her face. Like him, she was covered in debris from the forest floor.

“Let's not do that again,” she said.

“Not too soon anyway.”

Looking up from where they'd fallen, Sam saw the trails they'd left as they slid down—a clear indicator of where they'd been. “We're going to have to be careful not to leave tracks.”

Her gaze followed his. “Any ideas?”

They had at least twenty feet to get to the road below. “Let me go first. Step where I do.”

He eyed a tree trunk about five feet down. The slope wasn't as steep as above them. He jumped, landed on the roots, then turned. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Remi leaped.

He caught her at her waist, lowering her down. They repeated the process, using trees, ferns, and anything that covered their
tracks. About five feet from the road, Sam stopped. The SUV's engine rumbled above them.

“They're coming,” Remi said.

He and Remi reached the road. Taking her by the hand, they ran across it, then stopped, looking down the mountain, nearly as steep as the slope they'd just come down. They'd have to be cautious and not leave a trail. He found an area about ten feet down where a large growth of ferns offered a hiding place. Hopping from the roots of one tree down to the roots of the next tree, they'd barely reached the copse of ferns when the SUV rumbled past, then stopped just a few feet above them.

They ducked behind the fronds as they heard the vehicle doors opening, then the sound of booted feet on the pavement.

“You see them?” Ivan asked.

“There,” Jak said.

“I don't see anything.”

“At the top of the hillside near the road. You can see where they fell. Like bobsled trails.”

“Yeah. Now I see it. Doesn't go any farther. You think they're hiding up there?”

“Or they're dead. Maybe I managed to hit them after all.”

Sam parted the leaves, just able to make out the two figures on the road about ten feet away. Both men, gripping their handguns, stood with their backs to Sam and Remi, searching the area above them on the mountainside. The SUV was parked, its front doors standing open.

So temptingly close.

The odds were not in their favor. Even if they could climb up
to the edge of the road without making any noise, there was no cover once they got up there. Had the men not been armed, he might have considered it—a thought brought home when Jak raised his weapon, aiming right where Sam and Remi had been hiding only moments before.

He felt Remi stiffen beside him and looked back. A thick boa was slithering across her leg. “Don't . . . move . . .” he whispered, watching as it slithered off.

“Nothing up there,” Jak said as he turned, then looked downhill. Suddenly, he fired again and again. Bullets whistled overhead. The rush of adrenaline sent Sam's pulse into overdrive. “Something down there. I saw it.”

A few seconds of silence, then Sam heard the sound of the two men walking, their feet crunching on the loose gravel as they scoured the edge of the roadway.

“What's that?” Ivan said. “I heard something.”

Sam heard it, too. A tap-tapping noise. At first it was behind him, then all over. The rain, he realized. The drops came down harder, splatting against them as they lay hidden.

“I don't see anything,” Jak said after a moment. “Let's get out of here.”

“What about the Fargos?”

“If they're not dead, it'll take them days to get back. No one takes this road.”

The men retreated to their SUV. Sam kept his arm over Remi, holding her long after Avery's men got in, then drove off, the sound of their engine fading in the distance.

Remi shifted beside him. “Did I mention I hate snakes?”

“At least it wasn't hungry.” He got up on his elbow, looking
down the mountain, the drop to the road below steeper than the one they'd just climbed down. He waited until he caught a glimpse of the SUV, wanting to make sure it continued on without stopping.

He sank back, staring up at the tops of the trees, reveling in the feel of the rain as it splashed his face. “Wasn't sure we were going to make it this time.”

Remi leaned back against the hillside, her shoulder next to his. “Of course we were. I never doubted it.”

“Except when the snake showed?”

She sat up, looked around as if worried another one might appear. “Not funny.”

Remi started shivering—probably more from the adrenaline leaving her body than the cool rain. He knew it would be best to keep moving. “We should go,” he said, helping her to her feet.

Together, they climbed up to the pavement. At the top, Sam pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen. “Too much to hope we'd have a signal up here?”

“Imagine if someone had called us when we were hiding.”

“Good point.”

Remi linked her arm through his, and they began walking. “How long do you think it'll take to get back?”

“Not sure,” he said. “But at least it's downhill.”

“That's what I like about you, Fargo. Always seeing the bright side.” She sighed. “We were so close . . . A long way to come for nothing.”

“But the company's good.”

She smiled, then leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked.

After about an hour, the rain had lightened to a sprinkle. Too late, because they were soaked through, their wet clothing chafing against the skin. Even though they'd covered about three or four miles, they hadn't descended all that far down the steep, winding road.

When they finally reached the fork that merged into the main road, Sam stopped, worried that Avery's men might be parked farther up, lying in wait.

“Wait here,” he said while he took a quick look. Not seeing anything, he waved to her and she joined him. “Let's stay close to the side in case they're parked there, watching.”

After a few minutes, Sam checked his phone again. Still no signal. Frustrated, he shoved it in his pocket, then stopped when he heard a faint but growing sound coming from somewhere up the hill. “Listen,” he said. The sound of tires rolling across wet pavement. “Someone's got their car in neutral.”

There were two reasons he could think of that a car might be heading downhill in neutral. Someone was having car troubles or they didn't want the vehicle's engine to be heard.

The latter worried him.

He grabbed Remi's hand and pulled her into the bushes.

S
am hoped they hadn't been seen. As much as he'd been glad when the rain stopped, he found himself hoping for a sudden deluge, the better to limit visibility.

But the only water was that dripping off the trees and foliage. Within seconds, the car was upon them. He looked through the leaves just as a 1970s era, mud-covered yellow Jeep CJ5 came rumbling down the hill, still in neutral. Sam wasn't about to move until he knew who was at the wheel—he wouldn't put it past Avery's men to hijack another car. As the Jeep neared them, the engine sputtered to life and the vehicle jerked forward.

Not one of Avery's men.

Sam scrambled to his feet, slipping in the mud as he raced into the road waving his hands. “Help!” he shouted. “Over here!”

Remi raced to his side, waving and shouting herself, but the Jeep reached the bend in the road, brake lights coming on as it entered the turn. Too late, Sam thought, wondering if the driver
had even heard or seen them. But then it stopped. And backed up the hill.

The driver, a tall, white-haired man with a goatee, his green eyes alight with curiosity, rolled down the window. “Need a ride?”

“We do,” Sam said.

Remi added, “If you don't mind the mud?”

The man laughed. “Hardly a classic I'm driving here. A little dirt won't hurt it any. But you might want to hurry. Rain's coming back in.”

They walked around to the other side of the car, Remi opting to sit in the back. Sam opened the door for her, then climbed into the front seat. “Thanks. We really appreciate this.”

“No worries. My engine stalled when I had to slam on the brakes. Darn boa in the middle of the road. Good thing I was headed downhill.” He looked over at Sam, then back to the street. “Don't see a lot of tourists way out here.”

“We didn't start off that way. Forced by a couple of gunmen in Kingston.”

“Robbed you, did they? What part of Kingston were you in?”

“The Records Department. That's where our car is.”

The man looked over at Sam. “Tourists aren't usually kidnapped from public buildings.”

“It doesn't matter now. They got what they wanted. And—well, we got away. That's what counts.”

Remi reached over, putting her hand on Sam's shoulder. “Exactly.”

“So,” Sam asked when the silence took over, “you live in Jamaica? Or just visiting.”

“Visiting. My friend owns a coffee plantation. I keep this old Jeep just to drive up to his place. Muddy roads get pretty deep during the rainy season.”

For the remainder of the trip, they discussed the complexities of coffee growing, and, from there, the best places to fish around the island.

When he pulled into the parking lot next to their rental car, Sam checked for Avery's men, relaxing when it was clear they were nowhere in the vicinity. He and Remi thanked him again, asking if they could pay for his gas or trouble.

“No need. Coming down here anyway to get a new alternator. I am curious, though. What sort of information were they after?”

“Ship manifests,” Sam said. “From the seventeenth century. The one we were looking for was missing.”

“Well, good luck.” He put it in gear and started to drive off, then stopped suddenly, leaning out the window. “Not sure if it'll help. But it just occurred to me. You might check at the Fort Charles Maritime Museum in Port Royal. Quite a collection of artifacts.”

“Appreciate the tip,” Sam said. They thanked him again, only realizing after he left that they hadn't gotten his name.

Any trip to Port Royal would have to wait until morning. Right now, they needed a long shower, some warm food, and a good night's rest. And even though Sam took enough evasive maneuvers to ensure they weren't followed, he didn't relax until they were safely in their room.

Good thing the hotel minibar had a nice bottle of Argentinian
Merlot. Sam poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Remi as she sat. He held his up. “Here's to narrow escapes and Good Samaritans.”

Remi touched her glass to his. “And to finding what we need tomorrow in Port Royal.”

Port Royal, a quiet fishing village once known as the wickedest city on earth, was originally colonized by the Spanish. Captured by the English in 1655, the heavily fortified town became one of the wealthiest trade centers in the world due to its notorious association with pirates and buccaneers. And it might have remained so had it not been obliterated by a massive earthquake in 1692, which sank more than half the town into the sea, its remains now underwater and buried by three centuries of silt and sand.

One of the few structures that remained standing was Fort Charles, which now housed the maritime museum. Sam and Remi paid their fee, then entered the brick fortress, the salt-tinged offshore wind whipping at them. Dozens of cast-iron cannons lined the arched battlements, at one time used to protect the city. The grounds were nearly deserted, and their footsteps echoed across the vast courtyard as they walked toward the old naval hospital that housed the museum.

Inside were display cases of pewter and dishes, showing items from everyday life, as well as fine jade carvings from China, giving evidence to the wealth that had graced Port Royal.

“Look at this, Sam.” Remi pointed to a photograph of a pocket watch, the time showing eleven forty-three, recovered
from the water and supposedly stopped the moment the earthquake struck.

“Amazing find. Imagine what else is still down there.”

“If only we can get the Jamaican government to grant us permission to dive.”

“One thing at a time, Remi. Starting with finding someone who can help us.”

Help found them. Two women walked into the room from a side door, the taller stopping to greet them. “Good morning. Welcome to the Maritime Museum.”

“Good morning,” Remi said. “We were hoping you might help us with some research.”

The woman smiled.

“We were told you might have copies of old ship manifests. Particularly one from 1694 to 1696.”

“No. So sorry. Have you tried the Archives in Kingston?”

“Unfortunately, the book was damaged. Someone mentioned that you might have copies.”

“I don't know of any. Again, I am so sorry.”

They thanked her as she left.

“Good try,” Sam said. “Maybe Selma's dug up something by now.”

Empty words. They both knew it. Selma would've called if she'd found anything.

“Silver lining,” Sam said.

“Is there?”

“We can take that vacation now.”

She gave a sigh, then smiled, disappointment evident in her eyes. “Let's go home.”

As they started out, the second woman walked up to them, her voice low but pleasant. “I couldn't help overhearing that you were looking for old ship manifests?”

“We are,” Sam replied.

“The Archives Department in Kingston was going to make them all digital, but the budget ran out. Lucky for us, we actually scanned a few before the money disappeared. One of the directors hoped to make some reproductions for the museum. Unfortunately, it's only the copies right after the big quake.”

Remi looked hopeful. “
After
the quake? What years?”

“Sixteen ninety-three to sixteen ninety-six.”

“Please,” Remi said. “We'd love to have a look.”