Circle of Bones (28 page)

“What else is in that box?”

Cole dragged the box closer to him. “My father used to send me letters with some kind of surprise inside. It was sort of like getting the prizes in the cereal boxes. It wasn’t valuable stuff. Just cool. Like this.” He lifted out a St. Christopher’s medal. “Maybe this is telling us to go to the island, St. Kitts? The real name of that island is St. Christopher.”

 “It’s possible.”

“The problem with that theory, though, is that the old man never went to St. Kitts. And he sent me that medal when I was twelve — before he even started his research about the
Surcouf
. See the phrase on the medal —
Saint Christopher Protect Us
? That was the key to a simple alphabet cipher. I wrote the letters of the alphabet above those letters and then deciphered the text to read his letter. He started with simple ones like that and as the years went by, they grew more challenging.”

“What about the coins? How did he use them?”

“Well, the first one was the Kennedy fifty-cent piece. For that one, I had to use a bifid cipher. You know, that’s where you create a five by five matrix of numbers. In that case I used the date, 1964 and for the fifth number, I had to play around with the fact that it was a fifty-cent piece. I eventually tried 19645 and that worked. You write those five numbers down and across and it produces twenty-five squares. Then you fill in the alphabet, and each letter winds up with a pair of coordinates.”

“Okay. And what about the Indian Head nickel?”

“That one? Let’s see. That one was more complex, and he used it twice. The first time, it was a Gronsfeld cipher using the word Indian and a key series of numbers.”

“Wait a minute,” Riley said. “You say he used the Indian coin twice?”

Cole opened his mouth to answer her, but he froze, and then reached for the dividers.

Riley beat him to it. She scooped up the instrument and placed one point on the latitude line that crossed the chart, then she squeezed the legs until the other leg was right on the mark for
15º34’15.00N
. She slid the instrument across the chart and placed one leg on the black latitude line that ran beneath the Indian River. With that leg anchored, she swung the other in an arc as though drawing a circle. When her arc touched the line on the chart that indicated the river, she stabbed the end of the dividers into the chart. “There,” she said. “I don’t know what it is we’re looking for, but I’m willing to bet we’ll find it right there.”

At that moment, she heard Theo’s feet padding down the side deck. He poked his head in the door. “Dinghy’s in the water, Captain.  All’s ashore that’s goin’ ashore.  My cousin Zeke’s waiting with his van. A quick trip through customs and immigration, and we’re off. ”

“Oh shit,” Riley said. She’d known this moment was coming and she’d been dreading it.

“Did I say something wrong?” Theo asked.

Riley wiggled her hand back and forth in the air. “It’s just that I’ve got a teensy, little problem with my passport.”

“Like what?” Theo asked.

Cole sighed. “Like she doesn’t have one.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Aboard Fish n’ Chicks

March 27, 2008

8:25 a.m.

Diggory awoke to the sound of a man’s voice shouting in French. In response to the Frenchman, he heard the whiny shrieking of the brother he had come to think of as the Freak.

He rose and pulled on the khaki pants that he had folded with care and hung up in the cabin’s tiny closet. He grabbed his wallet and slipped it into his back pocket. Shirtless and in bare feet, he climbed the steps, crossed through the main salon and opened the sliding door to the aft deck. Some four feet above the Freak, on the stone quay stood a heavyset man wearing a white uniform with brass buttons and epaulets. His face flushed red as he shouted that because they were docked there, he had to put his ferry boat on the end of the quay. There would be other ferry boats arriving soon, he screamed while shaking his fist at the blotchy-skinned barbarian, and they needed to move their boat now.

Diggory stepped out into the bright morning light and slid the door closed behind him. He introduced himself in his flawless French, then apologized to the ferry captain for creating such a problem. He assured him that as soon as they had taken on fuel, they would be moving the boat. From his wallet, he removed a crisp new hundred euro note and handed it to the man.

“I understand that it is only fair that you should be compensated for your inconvenience,” he said in French.

The captain snatched the note from Diggory’s hand and slid it into his pocket while mumbling about how he guessed he could wait a few more minutes before moving his boat.

Diggory turned to the Freak. “Where is your brother?”

“He took off at first light to go scout out the chick’s boat. Make sure she’s still there. He reckoned you’d want to know if the doc spent the night there.”

Dig sent the man off to find the dock master so they could start fueling. Soon, a young efficient Frenchman came down the pier dragging the fuel hose. He jumped aboard and began the process himself when it became apparent the Freak had no clue what to do. The half-breed was worse than useless, Diggory thought. He was an abomination, a crime against nature. When would the human race wise up and realize that not every child should be saved? This piece of excrement was a waste of resources. Diggory removed his wallet again and took out another bill. Handing it to the Freak, he sent him to a village café for coffee and croissants. Perhaps he could be made to have some use.

If the one called Spyder did not return in the next few minutes, Dig realized he would be forced to try to drive the boat out into the bay and anchor it himself. He climbed up the ladder to the bridge and sat in the helmsman’s seat as he had the night before. Before him was an array of buttons and switches, levers and screens. He understood none of it. 

The French boy manning the hoses called up to Dig asking if he should fuel the port tank also. Dig looked around again for Spyder. Though there were a few locals riding bicycles down the village main street, there was no sign of either brother.

“Yes,” he called down. “Top it off.” If it turned out the tank was empty and the boy said something about his ignorance, Dig would just take it out of his tip.

He leaned back in the comfortable helmsman’s seat, rubbed his fingers across his day’s growth of beard and contemplated the sailboats anchored out in the bay. What the devil was Riley doing mucking about on a sailboat in the Caribbean? For a moment, a picture of her nude body lying on his bed flashed through his mind. He thought about what she had said when they met in Pointe-à-Pitre. He’d often wondered what she remembered about Lima. She’d answered that question last night. There was no longer any doubt that she had become a dangerous liability. Now that he had taken care of Caliban, he had to move, he thought. With the girl right here within his grasp, the next step was his for the taking.

“
Monsieur
,” the boy called from the lower deck. “The port tank, it is full. I will go make your receipt.”

Dig stood and walked to the ladder. Just before he turned around to descend, he saw the two brothers up at the head of the pier. They appeared to be arguing. The Freak was cringing as Spyder flailed his arms, pointed at the powerboat and shouted words that Dig could not understand at this distance. Then Spyder turned to look in the direction he was pointing, and he saw Diggory staring at him. 

When the brothers returned, Spyder’s manner was so obsequious, it turned Dig’s stomach. Spyder said he had taken a long, hot hike over the hill, but he was pleased to report that her boat remained anchored in the other bay. “No sign of the doc, though,” he reported. Then, he asked if there was anything else he could do. 

Dig ignored him and, after settling the bill, gave orders to get off the dock and anchor out in the bay. Meanwhile, he went below to shower and enjoy his morning coffee away from the sight of that human rubbish.  When he emerged from his stateroom forty-five minutes later, he had a plan.

Dig could feel the Freak’s eyes on him as he crossed the salon. The man didn’t even bother to remove the bulky headphones that made him appear like a giant insect from one of those old Japanese horror films Dig’s mother used to watch when he was a child. 

It was Spyder, though, who spoke first.

“Too bad that machine of yours don’t work.”

“And what machine would that be?”

“You know, that satellite tracker thing over there.” He flung his arm in the direction of Dig’s GPS tracking unit.

“When we got up this morning,” the Freak said, “the fix was all wrong. That’s why Spyder went to check on her boat. Just to make sure.”

In spite of the air conditioning and his recent shower, Dig felt a flush of heat. He strode across the cabin and tilted up the screen of the small black unit. With one finger, he tapped the key to wake the machine, and he realized at once that his plans would have to change.

“How long has this machine been
malfunctioning
?”

“I dunno,” Spyder said. “It was like that when I first got up this morning.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to tell me about this?”

“I thought it’d be better to go check on her boat right away. I done that.”

“You’re a moron.” He turned to the Freak. “You both are.”

Spyder swung around from the galley counter where he had been slathering jam on a croissant. “Mister,” he said, his voice tight. He clutched the wood-handled knife in his right fist, his knuckles white from the strain. “That ain’t right. There’s no need to call us stupid.”

  “When you went to check on her boat this morning, did you happen to notice if her dinghy was there?”

“No, I ain’t seen it.  I wasn’t particularly lookin’ for it, neither.”

“And if her dinghy’s not there, the oars aren’t there either.”

“Shit,” the Freak said. He had pulled one of the earphones off his ear and it now dangled around his neck. “Last night when I walked over there, I seen another anchor light way out in the bay. What’s this about oars?”

“Your brother helped me place the GPS transmitter inside her oars. That’s why I had you return them to her boat. Which means there is nothing wrong with this GPS tracker, you moron. The other boat was likely Dr. Thatcher’s boat. Because of your stupidity, they are now,” he said, pointing to the screen, “somewhere down off the island of Dominica. If you two don’t get this boat moving in the next five minutes, I’ll be forced to shoot one of you, and I’d be hard-pressed to choose which one.”

Spyder glanced at his brother, and Dig saw the question pass between them. The Freak moved his head in a sideways twitch, but the tendons in the bigger man’s forearms relaxed. Spyder set down the knife, picked up the croissant and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. He walked past Dig without acknowledging him and stepped out onto the deck.

Interesting, Dig thought. He now knew which of the brothers was really in charge.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Portsmouth, Dominica

March 27, 2008

9:35 a.m.

Theo pointed to the rungs of a rusty ladder clinging to the side of a crumbling stone pier, and he shouted to be heard over the noise of the outboard engine. “The dinghy will be safe over there.” 

“Yeah,” Cole said. “But will we?”

“Long as your tetanus shot is up to date,” Theo said as he lowered a small stern anchor to keep the inflatable dinghy from rubbing against the sharp, rusty steel.

The Portsmouth customs and immigration offices were located in a waterfront warehouse just beyond the stone pier. The facility serviced the small cargo freighters that transported Dominica’s banana crop and the few remaining sailing cargo boats that traded between the islands. Open on one side and littered with the old lumber from abandoned cargo pallets, the place reeked with the sickly sweet smell of rotted fruit. Riley tried hard not to wrinkle her nose in disgust as they stepped into the shade.

Sitting on a couple of wooden cable spools that looked like the kind found in her mother’s sewing box — but on steroids — two bulky men in green, military issue uniforms stared at the game of dominoes on the table between them. One man wore a side arm at his waist, while the other had some sort of semi-automatic rifle resting in the shadows across his knees.

“Do you know these guys?” Cole asked Theo under his breath.

The men had not yet noticed the three newcomers. Theo lifted his arm to stop his companions. “Afraid not. Wait here a bit.”

When he was within about thirty feet of the two officials, Theo spoke in his proper, clipped baritone. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

The two men jumped to their feet. Riley hadn’t been aware just how tall the man wearing the pistol was until he stood up. She guessed his height at somewhere close to six foot eight, and with the bulk on his frame, he would have felt at home in any NFL locker room. The “smaller” of the two at a mere six feet tall, now held his rifle at an angle aimed at Theo’s feet.

“I am Theophilus Spencer,” he said. Then with a little half turn, he pointed at Cole and Riley and said, “And this is Captain Thatcher and his girlfriend. We came in on that trawler out there from Guadaloupe.”

Riley turned to Cole and raised her eyebrows at the term “girlfriend.”

Cole lifted his shoulders and cocked his head to one side as if to say, “whatever works.”

The giant walked up to Theo and motioned for him to remove his backpack. Theo extracted his passport and handed it over to the man who examined it for several minutes as they conversed in the local patois. 

“Which do you think is worse,” Riley whispered, “the jails in Guadeloupe or in Dominica?”

“Definitely Dominica,” Cole said.

“Thanks a lot,” she said.

The big man extracted a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He stepped away and turned his back to Theo as he spoke into the phone. When he finished his conversation, he pointed to a crude bench nailed together out of old palette wood. “Wait over there,” he said. Then he and the other official returned to their game. Soon the warehouse was echoing with the sound of dominoes slapping against the table.