Clive Cussler - Pirate

“So if you have to make a press release, can’t you say that?”

The captain held Sam’s gaze as if contemplating the pros and cons. After a moment, he gave a nod. “Sure. Assuming your story checks out with those other agencies, we could probably work with that.”

“We’d appreciate it,” he said, ignoring Remi’s menacing glance.

Sam looked over at Remi as he drove back to their hotel. Even though he couldn’t see her facial expression in the dawn of the new day, he sensed her tension. “What?”

“You’re actually going to let everyone think we’re dead?”

“It’s a brilliant plan.”

“It’s a horrible plan. After everything that Bree has been through, you honestly believe she could possibly survive more emotional trauma by thinking we’re dead? And thinking it’s her fault?”

“It would only be for a day or so.”

“And what about Selma? And the rest of our staff?”

“We’d tell them, of course.”

“But not Bree?”

“You heard what the captain said. Inside job.”

“It was a suggestion, Sam. It doesn’t mean it was.”

“Everything that has happened to us happened after Bree set it up.”

“She was also a victim.”

He looked at her, then back to the road. “Are you sure?”

“How can you think otherwise?”

“You said her uncle wasn’t even expecting you. And you were robbed at gunpoint. You left a message for her that we were staying at the Ritz-Carlton, and the gunmen appeared there. Then she’s supposedly kidnapped—”

“Supposedly?”

“—and she asks us to bring the book to her cousin’s. The book’s taken, we’re almost shot trying to rescue her. And then she tells us this story about Oak Island, and we’re nearly killed there.”

“I refuse to believe it.”

“Remi… You heard what that officer said.”

“Coincidence. All of it. And bad luck. How many times have you told me that the lure of treasure brings out the worst in people?”

“And you don’t think it can bring out the worst in someone like Bree?”

“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “And I refuse to let you think so. So come up with a different plan.”

“I think we’re making a mistake.”

“Fine,” she said, her voice terse. “It won’t be the first time.”

He checked the rearview mirror for the headlights that had been steadily behind them for several miles, making him suddenly wonder if someone was following them. But when he slowed, the vehicle sped up and passed them.

Maybe he was being paranoid. But he had every right to be, after their close encounter. Right now, they’d have to agree to disagree — even if it meant letting her believe she’d won this argument. When it came to Remi’s safety, he wasn’t about to take any chances. “We’ll come up with Plan B at the hotel.”

Of course his Plan B and her Plan B differed vastly. Remi wanted to call Selma the moment they got back to the hotel to let her know that they were okay — Sam opted for the not-saying-anything approach.

“How is that different from your first plan?”

“Nobody’s contacting her to say we’re dead or that our boat was even found.”

He followed her into the bedroom of their suite. She stopped him in the doorway. “I’m not going to be able to sleep until we settle this.”

“What’s there to settle?”

“That I’m right and you’re wrong.”

The woman was as stubborn as she was beautiful, he thought, taking her into his arms and kissing her. “You know I’m right.”

“Are you? How about a little rock-paper-scissors?”

“That’s how you want to decide this? With a game?”

“It’s worked before.”

He fell into bed, exhausted. “Fine,” he said, closing his eyes. “I just need to rest for a minute…”

After falling into a deep but fitful sleep, he awoke to the phone ringing. Momentarily confused by the surroundings, he sat up, eyed the phone extension on the nightstand, and, without thinking, picked it up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Fargo.” Selma’s voice cut through the fog in his head. “I was worried when I didn’t hear from you.”

“We’re fine,” he said, hearing the bedroom door open and seeing Remi standing there, a vision in her off-white silk robe. “It’s Selma,” he said.

She walked over to the extension at the desk and picked up the receiver there. “Hello, Selma,” she said.

“Mrs. Fargo. Good to hear from you. Just wondering how it went last night?”

Remi eyed Sam through the doorway, saying, “Perhaps you’d like to answer?”

Apparently she wasn’t quite over their disagreement. “We ran into a bit of an issue when our boat blew up.”

“I’ll contact the insurance company.”

“Actually,” he said, “if you could hold off on that.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“The RCMP have agreed to keep our rescue quiet for now. To buy us a little time.”

“Time for what?” Selma asked.

“My question exactly,” Remi added.

“If whoever set us up last night thinks we’re dead, maybe they won’t be in such a hurry to come after us. I’m hoping we can make some progress on the maps and finding that cipher wheel.”

“Except,” Remi said, “we’re checked into our hotel under our real names.”

Good point, Sam thought. “Let’s hope the explosion was convincing enough that they’re not calling the area hotels to find out if we survived. Now, about that cipher wheel,” he said to Selma.

“That’s the reason I wanted to call you,” she said. “Bree told us about your idea of taking the outline of the maps to see if there are any similarities to other islands.”

“My idea?”

“She said you mentioned it on the plane. That the maps were similar in shape to a number of other islands in the Atlantic. Her suggestion was to rule out those that weren’t frequented by pirates and compare the map to the shape of those with rumors of treasure, such as the Oak Island legend.”

“That one didn’t end well.”

Selma cleared her throat. “Anyway, while we were working on the cipher code last night — and not having much luck — Bree took the illustration of the map from the Pyrates book that was thought to be that of Oak Island and started comparing it, shape-wise, to islands in the Atlantic. She found one that we think is a pretty close match off the coast of Brazil. Ilha da Queimada Grande. It fits with the Latin serpens Lazlo found in the text.”

Sam noticed that Remi’s I-told-you-so look faded into one of concern. Though neither had actually been to the island, they were well familiar with the area. They had studied it in the past, due to rumors of Incan treasure being buried there. Ilha da Queimada Grande, aptly nicknamed Snake Island, was home to the golden lancehead, a species of pit viper so venomous that the Brazilian Navy had forbidden all public access. According to the island’s geological history, the rising sea had separated Ilha da Queimada Grande from the mainland more than eleven thousand years ago. The isolation was the reason the vipers on the island had evolved into the most venomous snakes on earth. With only seabirds landing on the island and no other prey, the snakes needed a fast-acting venom that would incapacitate a bird before it could fly away. Snakes aside, there were several documented shipwrecks in the area around the island.

“And what is it we’re searching for?”

“If the map is legit, a shipwreck off the southern tip of the island.”

“Even if we spent years searching, the odds would still be astronomical that we’d find the cipher wheel.”

“If,” Selma said, “we were actually looking for the wheel itself. I’m hoping for the next-best thing. Identify the ship.”