Clive Cussler - Pirate

She pointed them in that direction. Sure enough, there were several volumes on the table. One was sitting well away from the others.

Sam walked over, examined the cover, then the spine. “This looks like the one.”

“Finally.” Remi moved to his side, watching as he turned the pages, not daring to voice her concern as to why this particular book happened to be singled out. But after a few moments, he found the records in question.

“There was an inquest.”

“For what?”

“Claims that the Mirabel was stolen in June 1696.”

“Good. Then that should tell us who the owner was.”

“If we can wade through the testimony.” He slid the book her way.

The flowery script was hard to read. “Makes you appreciate modern type.”

“Look at this,” Sam said, pointing to a paragraph lower on the page. “Testimony from a crew member who claims that he was captured in Madagascar and taken aboard the Fancy by Captain Henry Bridgeman, arriving first in Jamaica, before setting sail for New Providence… On arriving at Nassau, they claimed to be interlopers pursued by the East India Company and were allowed into port.”

“Interlopers?”

“If I remember my history,” Sam said, “that would be unlicensed slavers . It was a way of getting past the slave monopoly held by the East India Company.”

“Bridgeman was a slaver.”

“As well as a pirate.”

“So he’s the owner that we’re looking for?”

“No,” he said, scanning the page. “Bridgeman turned the Fancy over to Governor Trott as part of a bribe for safe harbor. Trott denied all knowledge of the ship and Bridgeman, but this crew member claims that part of its cargo was stolen before Trott could lay claim to it — and the thief fled in the Mirabel just before it sank off Snake Island.” He paused as he read further. “This is interesting…”

“What is?”

“Bridgeman was being pursued by the Royal Navy… Commander…” He turned the page. “Gone,” he said after a moment.

“Commander Gone? Or gone as in not there ?” she asked, leaning in for a closer look. “This is the right book, isn’t it?”

“Several pages are missing.”

He ran his finger down the center. Jagged edges were all that was left where the pages had once been.

Remi looked at Sam, that seed of suspicion growing. “Didn’t she say something about alarms going off last night?”

“Undoubtedly it had nothing to do with the storm.”

“All this time wasted.”

“Let’s take it up front. See if anyone remembers anything about this book or who might have come to look at it.”

When they arrived at the office, the counter clerk looked up from her paperwork. “Something wrong?”

Sam slid the book toward her. “It’s the book, all right. Except the pages we need are missing.”

“Missing?” She eyed the volume. “I don’t understand.”

“Someone tore them out.”

“Why would anyone do that?” she asked. “They can photocopy them.”

“You’re sure no one came in and asked for this particular volume?”

“Not in the recent past,” she said as her phone started ringing. “A historian came looking over the manifests for inclusion in the museum at the King’s Royal Naval Dockyard, but that was years ago. One moment, please.” She answered her phone. “Archives… Of course.” Then to Sam and Remi, “Is there anything else? I have to take this call.”

“No. Thanks again.”

They left, Sam pushing open the front door. He stopped suddenly, and Remi nearly ran into the back of him.

“Company,” he said, nodding toward the parking lot. She looked out, saw the white SUV and, near it, one of the men from the warehouse. He was looking at the screen of his phone as he walked with a noticeable limp toward the driver’s door.

Sam pulled Remi to one side of the lobby, out of sight.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Let’s see if there’s another exit.” There was, at the side of the building. Sam opened the door. “Looks clear.”

They headed the opposite direction of the parking lot, rounded the corner, and came face-to-face with Jak Stanislav, the man who robbed the bookstore. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather coat, a leering smile on his face.

Sam stopped short, positioning himself between Jak and Remi. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Fancy,” Jak said. He pulled a gun from his right pocket and pointed it at Sam. “How about we do an about-face and return to the car, where my friends are waiting.”

“Or not,” Sam said.

“Hands up or I’ll kill you right here.”

Sam slowly raised his hands, then punched his right hand at Jak’s face and his left at the gun, knocking it upward. In a flash, he took the gun, slammed Jak into the building, then shoved the barrel of the gun into Jak’s head.

Remi barely had time to react when she felt the sharp barrel of a weapon against her back. She looked behind her. A towering man glared down at her, saying, “Call your husband off.”

They’d brought in reinforcements.

“Sam…”

Sam turned, saw the man holding a gun on Remi. He lowered the weapon, handing it back to Jak, then put his hands up over his head.

Jak sneered at him. “Thought you might see it my way. And, word to the wise — Ivan’s trigger happy.”

A moment later, the white SUV pulled up, parking at the curb next to them. Jak nodded toward the vehicle. “Get in.”

The odds had risen, but Sam refused to move.

Ivan said, “I have no problem shooting you right here in public. Beginning with your wife.” He aimed his weapon at Remi, stepping in close. “Backseat, Fargo. Now.”

“All the way over,” Jak said, and Sam slid to the far side. He pointed his gun at Remi. “Now you. Middle seat.”

She climbed in. Jak climbed in next to her, shoving the gun into her side. “Buckle up.”

She pulled her seat belt around her, Sam doing the same, saying, “Worried your insurance rates will go up if anything happens to us?”

The new guy climbed into the front passenger seat and looked back at them. “What insurance?”

“Where are you taking us?” Sam asked.

“A little ride.”

Remi slid her hand toward Sam, felt his fingers entwine hers.

The road forked up ahead, and the driver headed left, clearly a less traveled route. Soon the steep road was one switchback turn after another, and the driver slowed to a crawl, navigating the wide SUV up the narrow road.

Jak craned his neck. “Good enough,” he said. “Stop here.”

The silent driver pulled into a narrow turnout at the side of the road. He got out, opened Sam’s door, and motioned with his gun for Sam and Remi to get out.

Remi waited for Sam to exit, then slid over, swinging her feet out. The heat of the jungle enveloped her the moment she stepped her foot on the ground. Lush green foliage dripped with moisture from last night’s rain, the humidity too thick to allow it to evaporate. Instead, it all seemed to drip down, running together, forming a rivulet that ran across the road, then on down the hillside.

Jak pointed with his gun. “On the side of the road, both of you.”

“Look,” Sam said. “If you’re going to kill us, at least let me kiss my wife good-bye.”

“Hurry up.”

Sam stepped in close to Remi, reaching beneath his fishing vest. “Guess that vacation will have to wait.”

She tried to laugh.

Sam pivoted. With a quick, two-handed aim, he shot the driver in the middle of his forehead.

C rack! Crack!

Sam snapped off two more rounds but missed the other killers as he suddenly felt nothing but air beneath his feet.