Ted Bell - Tsar

“Went ashore where?”

“Nonsuch Island. At the entrance to Castle Harbour. They decided to have a good look round. See what was going on with those damn Rastafarians, whatever they’re called.”

“Disciples of Judah. What happened, Diana?”

“They went ashore, as I said, whilst I remained aboard.”

“Aboard what?”

“ Swagman . You know, my father’s old yawl. That’s where I’m calling you from now. She’s got a sat phone at the nav station, thank the good Lord.”

“They went ashore, and then what happened?”

“I watched them make their way east along the coast. I was desperately worried about Ambrose stumbling around in the dark on his bad leg. He’s only just got it working again, you know, after what that bastard did to him in the Amazon. Toward the southern end of the island, where we’d seen some lights in the interior, I lost track of them. They’d disappeared around the tip of the island, I imagine. There’s a dock over there, and we’d seen a launch headed that way with no navigation lights. Then, about ten minutes after I’d lost sight of them, I heard shooting.”

“Were they armed?”

“Sir David had his handgun. That’s it.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Half an hour ago, maybe forty-five minutes. I can’t stand it any longer, Alex, just sitting here. Should I go ashore and look for them?”

“No, Diana. Do not do that. Have you called the police?”

“Y-yes, of course, I did that first. I didn’t want to bother you with this. I mean, it may very well turn out to be nothing, you know, but still, I-”

“Diana, calm down. It’s going to be all right. Are the police coming?”

“I don’t know. The chap I spoke to sounded…indifferent. They said they’d send the marine unit around to investigate, but they didn’t sound any too urgent about it. It’s been more than twenty minutes, and no sign of them.”

Hawke looked at the digital map displayed on the small monitor beside his seat. It told him his location, air speed, and time to arrival and showed a real-time image of the plane’s eastbound position approaching Bermuda.

“Diana, listen, I’m about half an hour out from Bermuda right now. This time of night, there’s no other traffic, so I could be on the ground in less than twenty-five minutes. I’ll tell the pilot to push it. Can you pick me up at the airport?”

“How would I do that?”

“You’ve got a dinghy, right?”

“Well, they took it ashore. But I could swim over and get it.”

“Good girl. You say Castle Harbour. Can you see the airfield from where you are?”

“Barely. Nonsuch is way out at the harbor mouth. Next to Castle Island.”

Hawke pressed a button and saw a Google Earth image of Bermuda. He quickly located Nonsuch Island.

“Outboard motor?” he asked.

“On the dinghy?”

“Yes.”

“Right, a fifty-horsepower.”

“Perfect. You’ll see me land. My plane is a dark blue Gulfstream IV. I’ll be coming in hot, right over Swagman ’s masthead. I should be on the ground by the time your dinghy reaches the field. Just beach the dinghy wherever you can at the east end of the runway. Have you a flare pistol aboard, dear?”

“Yes.”

“Take it with you. When you beach your dinghy, fire a parachute flare to mark your location. I’ll come right to you. I’ve got someone with me, Diana. Fellow named Harry Brock. He and I can take care of this, all right? So don’t worry. Ambrose and David are going to be fine.”

“Oh, Alex, if anything happened to him, I just don’t know what I would do. With his bad leg, he’s so vulnerable, and…he means everything to-”

She was crying now, sobbing.

“Diana. Please listen to me. Ambrose is my best friend in the world. Sir David is my employer and the chief of the world’s most formidable intelligence service. Believe me, I will not let anything happen to either one of them. I’ll see you on the ground in twenty-five minutes, max.”

“Please hurry, Alex. I’m so sorry to bother you. Good-bye.”

HAWKE QUICKLY GOT up, pausing to rouse Harry Brock on his way forward to the cockpit. He quickly explained the situation to the captain and told him to forgo the performance parameters, firewall the throttles, and get him on the ground as rapidly as humanly possible. He held on to the back of the copilot’s seat for a few seconds as the aircraft shot forward, then moved aft. He collected Brock, and they went to the aftmost part of the second cabin.

There was a head back there, with a full-length mirror on the aft bulkhead. The mirror, to Harry’s surprise, swung open to reveal a tall gun safe with two wide drawers beneath, one for ammunition, the other containing camo clothing and other gear that one might use in an emergency like this one.

Hawke punched in a code, and the heavy safe door swung open.

“Guns,” Harry Brock said with a grin, pulling an M349 light machine gun from the safe. “I like guns.”

“Never leave home without one,” Hawke said, grabbing an identical weapon.

The guns were called SAWs, which stood for squad automatic weapons. Hawke much preferred them in the field, because they could be used either as automatic rifles or machine guns. The gun had a regulator for selecting either normal (750 rounds per minute) or maximum (1,000 rounds per minute) rate of fire. Hawke pulled a few standard M16 magazines from the ammo drawer and inserted one of them into the mag well in the 5.56mm SAW.

Hawke also donned a black Nomex jumpsuit and urged Harry to do the same.

“Nomex,” Harry said, holding one of the suits up. “I like black Nomex, too.”

“Why?” Hawke asked.

“High CDI factor.”

“CDI factor?”

“Chicks dig it.”

“God help me,” Hawke said, strapping on a Velcro thigh holster.

The jumpsuits had lightweight ceramic and Kevlar body armor sewn inside and were designed for jungle warfare. By the time the two men were dressed and fully armed with SAWs, assault knives, and SIG Sauer 9mm sidearms strapped to their thighs, the speeding plane was on final.

“Tea, gentlemen, before we land?” Abby asked as the two men in black returned to the main cabin and took their seats. Both were busy checking and rechecking their weapons.

Hawke caught the irony and smiled. “No, thank you, Abby. I’m afraid it might smear my war paint.” He and Brock were now applying nighttime camo paint to their faces.

“Landing in two minutes,” the captain announced. “Buckle up, please.”

“How do I look?” Hawke asked, smiling up at Abigail. His face was now painted light green, dark green, and black.

Abby smiled. “Like a seriously confused zebra, sir.”

Brock and Hawke laughed, fastening their seatbelts as Abby moved forward to her seat in the galley.

Looking out his window at the harbor spread out below, Hawke saw a pretty white yawl moored inside a small cove on the midsized island near the harbor mouth. A moment later, he saw the phosphorescent wake of Diana’s tiny dinghy nearing the eastern end of the beach stretching along the perimeter of the Bermuda airfield.

A wee bit to the north lay another familiar island, Powder Hill. He could almost make out Half Moon House, standing by a cove at the edge of the banana groves. Was Asia awake? Sitting before her easel in the small hours, smoking a cigarette and drinking gin while she painted his portrait? Was she sleeping on her big bed, the paddle fan revolving lazily overhead?

It was unusual, he knew, thinking like this. But it was the first time in a very long while that he’d been seriously interested in a woman. Since that first storm broke over Half Moon House, there’d been many blissful hours on the chaise and in her great four-poster bed. Her need was deep. As was his desire to fill it. Love? What the hell was that?