Clive Cussler - Pirate

“Room service,” Sam said. “We opted for low-key after our attempt to dine out at lunch.”

“Oh?”

“Avery’s men are already here. They followed us from the car rental lot. I’m assuming that whatever it is, they haven’t found it yet.”

“What makes you say that?” Selma asked.

“It’s the only explanation that fits why they’d waste time coming after us. They’ve had a full day or more to search before we even got here. If they’d found what they needed, they would have left.”

“Maybe,” Remi said, taking a seat next to Sam, “Avery’s men like to hold a grudge.”

“Undoubtedly.” Sam leaned back, asking Selma, “What, exactly, are we looking for?”

“Ship manifests and court records. While we’ve been trying to decipher the code on the map, Pete and Wendy have been searching for information on that ship that went down off Snake Island. As I mentioned before, some of what we deciphered made us suspect it was part of a larger fleet that left from Jamaica. We have it narrowed down even further. I need you to look through the manifests from between 1694 and 1696. If we find out who owned the fleet, we’re that much closer to discovering where to find the original cipher wheel. And if we’re really lucky, it’s right there in Jamaica.”

“Where is it we’ll find this information?” Sam asked.

“The Jamaica Archives and Records Department in Kingston. I’ll send you all the pertinent information.”

“Thanks, Selma. Give our best to everyone at home.”

He disconnected, then held up his wineglass. “Here’s to a productive search come morning.”

Remi touched the rim of her glass to his. “At least it’s a public building. There’s bound to be all sorts of security.”

Lightning flashed just outside, lighting up the balcony in stark relief. Within seconds, thunder rumbled overhead, as the center of the storm raged above them.

“A warning or an omen?” Remi asked.

Charles Avery’s attorney, Winton Page, sat across from him, sliding documents over for his review, as the man detailed the figures on each. The hour was late, but Charles had been tied up all day and this was the first opportunity they’d had to meet. He wanted this divorce over and done with. “What’s the bottom line?”

“Bottom line,” Winton said. “You’re better off paying your wife what she wants. It’ll be cheaper in the long run.”

“I’ll be damned if I give her a penny of anything she’s asking for. I built this empire from the ground up. All she did was spend the money I made.”

“And she bore two of your children.”

“Who followed in her footsteps. Spoiled, predatory brats.”

“Which is what wills are for. Your wife is the more immediate problem.”

Problem was right. If there was some way he could do away with her and not bring any attention to himself, he would have done it by now. That was certainly an option down the line. For now, her nosing around his banking was the more pressing threat. “What about this forensic accountant she says she hired?”

“It’s one of those ‘It depends’ answers. If your wife somehow gained access to records you weren’t aware of, the possibility exists they might discover some of your hidden assets. In other words, it’s a gamble.”

One he was willing to make. He’d been careful over the years, and while he knew Alexandra was aware he’d been hiding assets, she didn’t know the half of it. In fact, she might not have even been aware of any recent activity had it not been for the Fargos’ untimely arrival in the middle of his search for the map. Their interference had caused him to make several rash decisions that led to a sudden shortage of liquid assets — hence the need to dig into his wife’s accounts.

He glanced at the clock, wondering why it was that Fisk had failed to call with an update on their Jamaica search. The information that was supposed to lead to the cipher wheel. He should have heard something by now, and so as Winton droned on about the legalities of what he was doing, his gaze kept turning to the phone.

Finally, it lit up. He grabbed the receiver, his secretary saying, “Your wife—”

The office door burst open. “—is here,” Alexandra said. “I don’t know why she bothers with the announcements. As if I need permission to walk into a building in which I’m half owner.”

“Half owner, my—”

“Tsk, tsk, dear. You know what the doctor said about your blood pressure.” She opened her purse, pulled out an envelope, then tossed the handbag on the couch. “Winton,” she said, walking up to him. “So good to see you diligently on the job. You did get the subpoena for the accounting records?”

“What subpoena?”

“Oh, silly me. This one.” She waved the envelope at him, then handed it over. “Of course, this is just a copy. I’m sure the process server will turn over the original. I’m just trying to be a good sport by giving you a heads-up.”

He opened it, then slid it across the desk toward Charles, who merely glanced at the document, not wanting to give Alexandra the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper. “Is this becoming a nightly ritual of yours? Coming to my office to goad me? Or is your social calendar suddenly empty?”

“On the contrary, it’s actually fuller than ever, now that news of the divorce is out.” She put both hands on the desk and leaned in toward him, her smile icy. “Had I realized how much you hindered my social standing, I might have filed much earlier.”

“A shame you didn’t.”

She looked down at the papers on his desk, and he immediately turned them over so that she couldn’t read them. Instead, her gaze landed on the yellow scratch pad covered with notes, phone numbers, and figures from various phone calls he’d taken throughout the day. She reached over, turning it her direction. “Fargo?” she said, reading the name circled and underlined on the pad. “A new business acquisition in North Dakota? Something I should let my lawyer know about?”

He pulled the pad away from her and turned it upside down as well. “You’ve served your subpoena, now go.”

“Oh, I wasn’t here to serve that. It’s not legal if I do it. I just wanted to let you know that my lawyer’s asked for the accounts to be frozen. In case you’re wondering why your ATM card suddenly stops working.” This time, her smile positively dripped acid. She patted the notepad he still held, then turned and walked to the couch to retrieve her purse. “Do take care, Charles. Winton, always so good to see you.”

Charles, his teeth clenched, waited until the door shut after her. “Do you see what I’ve had to put up with all these years?”

“She’s only trying to goad you on.”

“Well, it’s working.” He got up, poured himself a drink, finally relaxing enough to think about what she said. “Can she do that? Freeze my money?”

“We’ll find out come morning when the banks open. But assuming her attorney could convince a judge you’ve been hiding assets, then yes she can. If I had to guess, this forensic accountant of hers suggested it. Trying to force your hand to see where your money is moving from.”

Charles carried his glass and the bottle of whiskey to his desk, then sat. “She wants to start a war? I’m willing to dig in for as long as it takes.”

“Or you could pay her what she’s asking and end it.”

“No.” Charles took a swig of his drink. It would be a cold day in hell before he allowed that, he thought.

His phone rang. It was Fisk. Finally.

“I have an update from Jamaica,” Fisk said. “You may not like what you hear, but, I assure you, it’ll work out.”