He then realized why she was here. “You were going to take back whatever I found. You had no intention of letting the captains have the solution.”
“I need those two missing pages in my possession.”
“You still don’t get it, do you? The Commonwealth is not your enemy. But you’ve gone out of your way to make it one.”
“Your Commonwealth is radioactive. CIA, NSA, the White House, they’re all closing in.”
He did not like the sound of that.
“We have to go back to Paw Island,” she said.
“I’m leaving.”
“There’s nowhere for you to go.”
What did that mean?
“Your precious Commonwealth is being attacked, as we speak.”
“By you?”
She nodded. “I decided Stephanie Nelle needs rescuing. And if Hale or one or two of the captains is killed in the process? That would be good for us all, wouldn’t it?”
Her right arm moved and he caught the silhouette of a weapon in her hand. “Which brings me to the other reason why we’re here.”
He heard a pop, then felt something pierce his chest.
Sharp.
Painful.
A second later, the world vanished.
SEVENTY
NOVA SCOTIA
MALONE RECALLED WHAT THE BOOKSTORE OWNER HAD TOLD him about the symbols. That they could be found at various points inside the fort and on stones and markers around the island, but she’d said nothing about them appearing beneath. Understandable, considering that this was surely off limits.
The passage they were trapped in seemed to span from one end of the fort to the other. Dark yawns dotted the walls at varying heights. None of it was natural, the cut stones all man-made. He examined one of the yawns and noted that the rectangular chute, which extended into blackness, had also been crafted by hand. Positioned at points about three and six feet high, each dripped with remnants of the last high tide. He knew what these were.
Faucets and drains.
“Whoever built this place made sure it would flood completely,” he said to Wyatt. “These openings are the only way out.”
He began to feel what those 74 British soldiers must have felt. Underground spaces were not his favorite. Especially confined ones.
“I didn’t sacrifice those two agents,” Wyatt said to him.
“I never thought you did. I simply thought you were reckless.”
“We had a job to do. I just did it.”
“Why does that matter right now?”
“It just does.”
And then he realized. Wyatt truly regretted those deaths. He hadn’t thought so at the time, but now he saw different. “It bothers you they died.”
“It always did.”
“You should have said that.”
“It’s not my way.”
No, he supposed not.
“What happened up there?” he asked. “The Commonwealth came to kill you?”
“NIA sent the Commonwealth to kill me.”
“Carbonell?”
“An act she will regret.”
They came to a point where two more tunnels opened into the rock, forming a Y-shaped junction. With the flashlight Wyatt examined another of the chutes that opened from the wall, this one about shoulder-high. “I hear water at the other end.”
“Can you see anything?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I’m not staying here and waiting for high tide. These have to lead out to the sea. Now’s the time to find out-before they start filling.”
He agreed.
Wyatt laid down the flashlight and removed his jacket. Malone grabbed the light and shone it around the junction point. As long as they were here they might as well make a full reconnoiter.
Something caught his attention.
Another symbol, chiseled into the stone to the left of where the main passage broke into two.
He recalled it from Jackson’s message. He studied the remaining walls and spotted a second symbol opposite the first. :
Then directly across from those, on the far wall of the first passage, two more, about eight feet apart.
That made four of the five Jackson had included in his message. And something else. They were positioned in relation to one another.
Wyatt noticed his interest. “They’re all here.”
Not quite.
He sloshed through the water to the center of the intersection of the three tunnels. Four markers surrounded him. The fifth? Down? He doubted it. Instead, he glanced up and shone the light at the ceiling.
“Triangle marks the spot,” he said.
Water burst from the lower chutes, surging through the chamber, swamping the floor in a cold wave.
He walked back to Wyatt, switching the flashlight from his right to his left hand.
He whirled his right arm up and smashed a fist across Wyatt’s jaw.
Wyatt staggered back, splashing into the water on the floor.
“Are we done now?” he asked.
But Wyatt said nothing. He simply came to his feet, hopped into the closest chute, and disappeared into the blackness.
CASSIOPEIA SOUGHT COVER IN A STAND OF TREES, WATCHING the house that stood fifty meters away. Wind chimes performed a symphony of high-pitched tones. She glimpsed dark forms scurrying from one side of the house to the other, and more shots were fired. She decided to take a chance and found her phone, dialing Davis’ number.
“What’s happening there?” he immediately asked her.
“This place is under siege.”
“We can hear the gunfire. I’ve already checked with Washington. It’s nobody that I can identify.”
“It’s good cover,” she said. “Just sit tight and stick to the plan.”
She sounded like Cotton. He was rubbing off on her.
“I don’t like it,” Davis said.
“Neither do I. But I’m already here.”
She ended the call.
WYATT WIGGLED DOWN THE TIGHT TUNNEL, NO MORE THAN three feet high and a little more than that wide. Cold water continued to drain from outside toward him with an ever-increasing intensity, the rush from
its source growing more distinct.
He was coming to the end.
In more ways than one.
He’d allowed Malone the violation. He would have done the same, or worse, if the roles were reversed. Malone remained too self-important for his taste, but the cocksure SOB had never lied to him.
And there was something to be said for that.
Andrea Carbonell had sent him to Canada, assuring him repeatedly that the journey was between the two of them. Then she promptly informed the Commonwealth.
He could imagine the deal she’d made.
Kill Jonathan Wyatt and you get to keep whatever there was to find.
And that rattled him more than Cotton Malone.
He’d done okay the past few days, stopping the assassination of the president of the United States and managing to come as close as anyone to solving the puzzle Andrew Jackson had created long ago. He would have saved Gary Voccio’s life, too, if the man had not panicked. His physical confrontation with Malone seemed to quell whatever anger had lingered inside him from eight years ago.
Instead, a new fury raged.
Faint rays of light appeared ahead.
In the absolute darkness, any glow, however minor, was welcome. The chilly water now rose to his elbows. He continued to crawl on all fours. The end of the shaft appeared and he saw a pool inside a rocky cavern. Surf lapped its sides as water rose to the chute. Beyond the cavern entrance he spotted open sea, bright streaks of moonlight glimmering off the restless surface.
He began to understand the engineering. The shafts had been cut into the rock at varying heights, emptying beneath the fort. As the tide rose so would the pool, flooding each of the tunnels in turn, forcing water into the chambers. When the tide receded, so would the water. A simple mechanism utilizing gravity and nature, but he wondered what its purpose had been in the first place.
Who cared?
He was free.
SEVENTY-ONE
KNOX AWOKE.
Cool air rushed across his body. His head hurt and his vision was blurred. He heard the monotonous drone of an engine and felt himself jostled up and down. Then he realized. He was back on Mahone Bay. In a boat. With three people on board.