Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) (25 page)

It was early afternoon
by the time they moored in the cove at Garden Cay in the Dry Tortugas. Rowan
was mildly surprised to see that no other ships were there. Then again, the
cove didn’t provide much natural protection, and this storm was one where you
might reasonably look for that. Likely the rest of the
brotherhood
was off the coast of Cuba or on the gulf side of the
Florida straits.

Looks like Sully
has the place all to himself, which suited Rowan fine. He’d already figured
that if he came up empty in Sully’s cabin he’d go over the side and try to find
the bastard’s treasure on the island.

It shouldn’t be
too difficult. Sully was a prissy bastard. He wouldn’t have hidden it under the
mangroves, in the swamps or anywhere near the saltwater crocs. Knowing Sully,
the treasure would be somewhere dry and easily accessed.

Its name not
withstanding, there weren’t too many places like that in the Dry Tortugas.

As Rowan watched
two crewmen lower a dinghy into the water, it was all Rowan could do not to run
to the bolted cabin door, knock poor Kip out of the way, and begin his search.
He rethreaded the cords of a rat line that had shredded and watched as Sully, a
small bag bulging with something bulky thrown over his shoulder and his jacket
pulled up around his ears with his trademark ruby scarf plastered around his
forehead, climbed down the side of the ship into the boat. The captain waved
off the man who would row him to shore and took up the oar himself.

Right behind you, Captain
, Rowan thought as he watched Sully row the short distance
to the beach.

Turning back to Sully’s
cabin, Rowan was intercepted by Ansel, who had run up from below decks and was
panting from the exertion. His face was white. “
Mkubwa
!” he called, “we need ye, man!”

Rowan sidestepped
him but Ansel grabbed his arm. “It’s Scabs,” he said. “He was showing us that
move that Captain Jack Sparrow makes with his dirk? The one where he tosses it
up and catches it behind his back, ye ken?”

With one last
glance at the barred cabin door and poor shivering Kip standing outside it
trying to relieve the weariness in his legs by hopping from one foot to the
other, Rowan sighed and gestured for Ansel to lead the way.

He had time.
Sully would be gone for hours.

***

The mangroves
weren’t as thick once Sully broke through the perimeter of the island’s outer
edges. He kept a careful eye out for snakes or anything else that might be
lurking just below the shallow, murky swamp that was his footpath. A
kayak—if one had been invented yet—might have made a better vehicle,
but even that was likely to become stuck every few feet. Pulling his heavily
booted foot out of the mire, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he
stepped onto firmer ground.

He stopped and
listened. He should be hearing seabirds, but they were likely smart enough to
find a place to roost against the coming storm. The rain was steady now but the
wind seemed to have died a bit. He peered into the rain wondering if the judge
was waiting for him.

Sully was early.
He typically felt, as a general rule, that was his best strategy no matter what
his enterprise.

An image of the
judge’s daughter laying helpless on his cot came unbidden to his mind. He
hadn’t expected her to be so bold, so cool. He hadn’t expected her to be a time
traveler either. Which was unusual given travelers typically needed to insert
themselves in existing lives.
How did
that work when you were pretending to be somebody’s daughter?

But more
importantly, he hadn’t expected to feel precisely nothing when he kissed her.

Had that ever happened?
Had there
ever
been a beautiful woman he’d held defenseless in his arms he
hadn’t
felt ready to pierce with his
staff?

A sound off to
the left shook the thoughts from his head as it heralded the possible arrival
of his mark.

Sully tightened his
grip on the leather sack and took a step back into the swamp. The two men were
approaching from the southern part of the island, which didn’t surprise Sully. If
they’d seen the
Die Hard
moored on
the northern beach, they’d understandably prefer not to moor near.

The two
men—one obviously the judge, his stocky build easily identifiable in the
hazy weather—approached the small clearing that was ringed by the mangroves.
As they got closer, Sully saw the judge was wearing hip-high waders. His
companion’s shoes and jacket were ruined, as he was clearly not dressed for the
outing or the weather. Sully recognized him as the young clerk from the judge’s
office.

He stepped into
the clearing. “Your Honor! Over here, sir.”

The two men
snapped their heads in unison in his direction. He saw the younger man’s hand
go to his vest as if he might have a weapon there, but if so he thought better
of it as he allowed his hand to fall to his side.

Sully pulled his
collar up against the drizzle. It seemed to have diminished somewhat but it was
still a miserable outing—more so for the judge, he thought with a smile.

“Sully,” the judge
growled in greeting.

“Did you bring
the certificate?”

The man only
grunted, but Sully could see affirmative written all over the clerk’s face.
Perhaps the certificate had been what he had been reaching for?

“What have you
dragged me out to this godforsaken place to show me? And before you get any
ideas, I’ve alerted the army that we are here. If we don’t return—”

“Not to worry,
your Honor,” Sully said, hoping his voice was effectively conveying his
sarcasm. “You’ll be home by midday sitting in front of your fire sipping your
tea as if this day had never happened.”

Sully pulled his
bag off his shoulder and was rewarded again by the young man’s starting as if
it were full of adders. Sully laughed.

“Am I to
understand you’ve never been to the Dry Tortugas, sir?” he asked.

The judge made a
face. “A den of cutthroats and thieves? Why would any law-abiding man come to
this hell hole?” He waved a hand to take in the swampy scene before them.

“Indeed,” Sully
said, as he walked past the two to a large outcropping of rocks and overhanging
mangrove, its branches twisted in an ancient contortion of wet wood. “And yet,
like many things not immediately discerned upon initial—or even
prolonged—inspection, this island has much wonder to reveal.”

“Get on with it,
Sully.”

“For example, did
you know that it is the end destination for most of North America’s raptors?”
He looked at the two as if expecting an answer. The clerk shook his head.

“Well, it is. In
fact, fall migration—which we are in the midst of right now—brings
a southbound influx of thousands of birds. I know it’s hard to see because of
the rain, but if you look closely, you’ll see they are here with us at this
very moment.”

“What the hell
are you pulling, Sully?”

“Water birds, to
be sure, gulls and terns, but also kestrels and warblers, even the belted
kingfisher. I apologize, Judge, I was under the impression you were interested
in bird hunting. Was I wrong?”

The judge snorted,
but he looked around as if to see the birds to which Sully referred.

“I’m reliably informed that the Sooty Tern finds its only
regular nesting site in the entire United States right here in the Dry Tortugas,”
Sully said. “In fact, just there!”

As the men crested a small incline, a clearing of nearly a
mile square lay before them. The perimeter was lined with assorted bird nests
tucked into the mangrove branches. The clearing itself was filled with easily a
hundred birds perched on scattered pieces of driftwood jutting up from the boggy
grasses.

“Let me ask you, Judge. How many birds do you think you can
bag in, say, a thirty-second time span?”

“Don’t be mad. No one can shoot more than one, perhaps two if
they fly in a pair, in thirty seconds.”

“Really?” In one swift movement, Sully pulled a
semi-automatic pistol from the bag and aimed at the gigantic flock of birds. Out
of the corner of his eye he saw the two men flinch and stagger away at the abrupt
volume of the gun’s repetitive and booming report. The flock of birds erupted
in a nuclear cloud of feathers and smoke as Sully sprayed them with the full sixteen
rounds.

When he finally finished, the sandy clearing was littered
with dozens of feathered bodies.

He turned to the judge. “Impressive, no?”

The judge was staring at the carnage, his mouth open. “How
did you…how…?”

Sully held the gun up in front of the man’s face. “Ingenious
weapon, isn’t it? Can you imagine one in the hands of every pirate within a
hundred mile radius of Thompson Island?” Sully let the words sink in. “I am happy,
however, to turn over to you, or Commodore Porter, every one of the one hundred
semi-automatic pistols I have in my possession…for a simple slip of paper.”

He could see the judge was not taking his eyes off the beach
area where the dead birds lay.

“I’ll give you the certificate when I have taken delivery of
the guns.”

“Sorry, no. You’ll get the guns—as
promised—after I get the certificate.”

“Why wouldn’t I simply go straight to the army when I get
back?”

Sully dropped the gun onto the beach at the judge’s feet and
reached back into his sack. This time, he pulled out the battered but
distinctive brown silk of a lady’s bonnet. He shook the ribbons until they
dangled obscenely from the hat.

“Recognize this?”

The judge gasped. “Where did you get that?”

“I got it from its owner,” Sully said. “And while she has
indulged in a good deal of tears and prayers over her ordeal, your daughter is
as yet
untouched. Whether or not she
remains so depends on
my
continued
good health. So, I’ll ask you again. Do we have a deal?”

Without hesitation, the judge snapped his fingers at his
clerk, who was visibly shaking. The young man opened his jacket and pulled out
a slim leather envelope and handed it to Sully.

Sully opened the packet, careful not to get the letter
inside wet and then sealed it back up. He tucked it into his own jacket and
grinned.

“I can see now why everyone enjoys birding,” he said. “It really
is quite satisfying.”

***

Ella wrapped the
thick duvet from the bed around her shoulders but still she found herself
shaking. She pulled her knees up to her chin as she sat on the bed, her back to
the cabin wall, her eyes on the open journal on Sully’s desk.

Why is the emblem
from her mother’s necklace on the book? While the design of two hearts
intersecting might not be the most original of insignias, Ella knew, when
combined with the dominant intersecting letter V, it becomes less and less
likely to be found anywhere else.

V for
Vogel
, her mother’s original family
name—the one that was forever tainted and so dropped in favor of Klaus,
the family’s shame hidden by the moniker forevermore.

Was it a coincidence?

She shivered as
the rain increased its assault against the single porthole in the cabin. Even
though it was barely noon, she could see the skies darkening in advent of the
coming storm.

She glanced at
the lighter on the nightstand. She’d at least done that much. Now if she could
just survive long enough to give it to Rowan.

Would the judge believe
that Adele was a captive on a pirate’s ship? If not, would Sully’s resulting
fury at being tricked come home to bear on
her
?
Ella had tried the cabin door but it was solidly locked from the outside and the
porthole was way too small to slip through.

Her only hope was
to somehow trick or overcome whoever came to feed her.

How was she going
to do that? Her eyes darted around the room. There was nothing in the cabin that
wasn’t literally nailed down—obviously because everything on a boat moved
and slid away if it wasn’t—except for the thunder jar, and that was
wedged tightly behind the door.

Would someone
come soon? How long had Sully been gone? How long would his meeting take?

Before she could
imagine what horrors the anger-crazed pirate would likely dole out to her when
he discovered she wasn’t Adele Morton, Ella heard the loud scrape outside the
door of the bar being raised. She wrapped the duvet tightly around her.

She wasn’t ready!
She had no clue as to how to use the opportunity—if indeed there was one
in the offing.

The door swung
open and the frame was quickly filled with the form of a man. He wasn’t tall,
and as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him she could see he
held a tray in his hands. He set it down on the desk.

“Well, well,
little ‘un,” he said, turning toward her. He had a headscarf wrapped around his
head like Sully did, but his was black and shiny. As he approached, she saw
that the shine was from the thick layer of grease his long hair appeared to be
coated with. It hung in twisted dreadlocks to his shoulders.