Buccaneer (Dane Maddock Adventures) (12 page)

“
You could say that.
”
Williams closed his folder.
“
Give me a few minutes.
”
He pushed himself up from his seat and lumbered to the door.
“
Can I get you anything to drink?
”

“
No thanks.
”
Dane hoped the abrupt ending to the interrogation, if it could be called that, and William
’
s sudden bout of courtesy were good signs.

Williams returned twenty minutes later. He opened the door and leaned inside.
“
How long do you plan on being in town, Mister Maddock?
”

“
Until the job
’
s finished. I don
’
t know how long that will be.
”

“
All right. You
’
re free to go.
”
Williams didn
’
t seem angry or upset. Whatever follow-up he
’
d done seemed to have persuaded him that Dane was not responsible for whatever had happened to Rodney.

“
I
’
ll need a lift back to the island. Are the deputies still here?
”

Williams
’
expression darkened for a moment.
“
It would be better if I drove you. The deputies are...
”
He shrugged.

“
Out for my blood?
”

“
Maybe not your blood, but they want a pound of flesh from somebody, and you
two
were the prime suspects.
”

Dane took note of the past tense and nodded.

Williams guided Dane and Bones out of the station. As they exited through the front doors, they heard shouting and turned around. Sheriff Meade, apoplectic
,
was struggling to escape the clutching arms of the three deputies who held him back.

“
You killed my son!
”
he cried.

“
My partner
’
s going to talk to him,
”
Williams said, ushering Dane and Bones out the door.

“
A horse tranquilizer might help,
”
Bones said.

Williams smirked and shook his head.

“
So, Rodney
’
s dead.
”
Bones made it a statement, not a question.

“
Very.
”
Williams
’
expression grew grave
.
“
Until we find the killer, I suggest you two steer clear of the sheriff. He
’
s a powerful man and he can be a dangerous enemy.
”

“
That
’
s fine,
”
Dane said.
“
So can we.
”

Williams stopped and looked at them each in turn.
“
I believe you.
”

“
They have one, Ma
’
am.
”
Jacob
’
s expression was studiously blank. He never said so, but he disapproved of this exercise.

“
Very well. I
’
ll be down there shortly.
”

Her phone rang as Jacob was closing the door. It was Locke.
“
Yes?
”

“
We found the chest and it was empty.
”

Though Locke had delivered the news exactly as she preferred
—
swiftly and succinctly
,
like a clean cut, she still felt a momentary thrill followed by a sagging disappointment. She
’
d been so certain.

“
So it was another false trail.
”
She hated the hollow sound of her voice.

“
You misunderstand me. The secret compartment was there, but someone must have gotten to it first. I
’
ve secured the chest so our people can examine it, though I doubt they
’
ll find anything. I took a few other items of no
great
value and ransacked an office as well. No need to call attention to the chest.
”

“
Very good.
”
Her head spun and her heart raced.
So Kidd’s story was true.
She
’
d never doubted it, but this was the closest thing to definitive proof they
’
d found.

“
I know it isn
’
t the news you hoped for, but at least we have a path to follow.
”

“
Who took it?
”
An overwhelming rage filled her, and she wanted nothing more in the world than to have the responsible party right there in front of her, where she could put her hands around his neck and choke the answer out of him.

“
I don
’
t know yet.
”
How could Locke remain so calm?
“
But the chest was donated by a man called Hunter Maddock. He told the museum he believed it belonged to Blackbeard.
”

“
A cover story,
”
Morgan spat.

“
Possibly. Or, he truly did not know what he had, and was ignorant of the compartment.
”

“
In which case, whatever was hidden inside could have been removed by someone at the museum.
”
The wheels of Morgan
’
s mind were turning at a rapid clip.

“
Or it was removed before the chest came into Maddock
’
s possession.
”
Locke completed her thought, as he often did.

“
Pursue all angles.
”
Morgan
’
s flare of anger was settling into a cold fury.
“
Investigate the museum. Acquire it if you must. Our New York branch could stand to expand its reach.
”

“
Yes, Ma
’
am. The budget for this acquisition?
”

“
At your discretion.
”
She would not have given anyone other than Locke such a free rein.
“
Find this Hunter Maddock and wring the truth out of him. I don
’
t care how you do it. If he doesn
’
t have the clue, find out from whom he obtained the chest.
”

“
He is deceased, with only one living relative. A son, a military type and a bit of an odd bird.
”

“
How so?
”

“
He is a treasure hunter of sorts and his name is associated with some sensational rumors. It also seems that someone at a high level of the American government has worked very hard to hide information about him, though I can find no evidence that he has worked in any official capacity since he left
their
military. I know he is well-trained and keeps company with similar men. He would be difficult to kill or capture.
”
He paused. Two eternal seconds of silence dragged past.

“
What is it?
”
Morgan snapped. Locke knew better than to waste time.

“
I can
’
t be certain, but it appears he is on Herrschaft
’
s list.
”

That was a surprise. What were the odds that an American civilian would have run afoul of the German sect of the Dominion? Morgan frowned, considering this new detail.

“
In that case, perhaps an arrangement can be reached,
”
she mused.
“
The enemy of my enemy, as they say.
”

“
I will consider all angles.
”

“
Is there anything else?
”

“
There is yet another treasure hunting expedition underway on Oak Island. Probably the same
sort of
misguided buffoons as always. Should we investigate?
”

“
Yes. As you say, it is not likely to amount to anything, but if it does, take control in any way you see fit.
”
Morgan ended the call, pocketed her phone, and walked to the window.

Modron was her personal retreat. Built in the style of a medieval castle,
it
stood atop a lonely tor in Bodmin Moor. It was well off the beaten path, surrounded by a dense wood planted
two centuries ago
by her
many-
great
s
grandmother and cultivated by later generations, providing her the solitude she craved and the privacy she required.

She looked down onto the grounds, where a tidy formal garden gave way to acres of forest. The vast grounds were
protected by a variety of
security measures
designed to keep
intruders out... and other things in.

She espied movement among the trees, a brief glimpse of
gold
and green, and then it was gone. She smiled at the sight. She
would have enjoyed a walk in the forest right now, but she
s
h
ould not keep Jacob waiting. The exercise would be a satisfying release after Locke
’
s call.

From her private study, she descended a narrow, winding stone staircase. There was no light here, and each step carried her deeper into the darkness, a fitting twin for her mood.

The stairway emptied into a
square room. To her left, a heavy oaken door barred the way. Suits of armor stood sentinel in each corner and, to her right, arched windows flanked a floor-to-ceiling tapestry depicting a
scene
from the Battle of Ager Sanguinis. She glided behind the tapestry and her hand went aut
omatically to the trigger stone
.

The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a jarringly bright room. Built in an octagonal shape, it was thoroughly modern, from the soft, blue carpet, to the fluorescent lights, to the high-definition television set high on one wall. In
contrast, a medieval-looking rack of weapons
lined the wall to her left: swords, long knives, a mace, a morning star, and staffs of varying lengths and thicknesses.

Jacob stood watch over a handcuffed man in his late twenties, who scowled at her when she entered. Morgan looked him up and down. He was tall and solidly built, and the scarring on his knuckles indicated he
’
d done his share of fighting. Dark stubble dusted his shaved head and cheeks. He wore sagging blue jeans, jack boots, and a West Ham United football jersey.

“
So who is she, then?
”
he growled.
“
Why
’
d you bring me here?
”

“
Why are you here?
”
Morgan echoed.
“
That is an excellent question, for which I shall give you an honest answer.
”
She accepted a black leather portfolio from Jacob, opened it, and flipped through the contents.

“
Richard MacKenzie, originally from Liverpool, late of Falmouth
”
she read.
“
You came to our attention because you beat your girlfriend two weeks ago.
”

“
Them charges didn
’
t stick, now, did they?
”
He grinned, his
crooked, beige
teeth gleaming like
jagged
fangs in the artificial light.
“
If you
’
re one of them bizzies you can just bugger off and let me go on my way.
”

“
You set a car on fire during the riots,
”
she continued,
“
and you have an impressive list of criminal offenses.
”