Justice (8 page)

“I don’t know.” Maddock listened. “They’re somewhere that way.” He pointed to his left.

“I’m through listening to you, Ryan,” the first voice said.

“Justin, put the gun down!”

The sharp report of a pistol reverberated down the hall.

“I say we go the other direction,” Bones said. He shouldered past Maddock and took off at a trot. They ascended another staircase and found themselves at another locked door. Bones didn’t have to kick this one in. A little fiddling with the doorknob plus a bit of main force was all it took. He stepped through and stopped.

“It’s a play.”

“What?” Maddock moved to his friend’s side and froze.

They stood on a small balcony overlooking a packed theater. To their left, two tiers, one for seating and one for lighting, looked down on the stage. The walls were painted cream and white, the carpet a bright red. Down below, heads turned their way as patrons noticed their presence. Someone pointed up at them and said something Maddock couldn’t quite hear. An angry murmur rippled through the audience.

“This box is fancy,” Bones said. “I wonder why no one’s sitting here. The tickets must be too expensive.”

For the first time, Maddock looked at the box in which they stood. American flags framed the small space, and bunting adorned the rail. His eyes fell on the antique chairs and his stomach lurched.

“Bones, this is Ford’s Theatre.” He swallowed hard. “And we’re standing in the box where Lincoln was shot.” Bones’ eyes went wide. “Holy crap. Let’s get out of here.”

Down below, Maddock saw two uniformed, armed security guards, scurry out of the theater. “I don’t think we have much time.”

Bones opened the door, looked out, and closed it again.

“Sons of the Republic coming up the stairs.”

“That was quick,” Maddock grumbled.

“I guess we’ll jump.”

“The last guy who tried that broke his leg,” Maddock said.

“Was he a SEAL?”

“It was John Wilkes Booth.”

“Three names? Sounds like a wuss to me.” Bones turned and approached the rail. The actors on stage, probably distracted by the noise of the crowd, had stopped the play, and now stared up at Bones and Maddock in shock.

Bones didn’t miss a beat. “You shot my brother!” he shouted at the actor who still clutched his prop pistol. “I’ll kill you for that.” He flashed a grin at Maddock and then vaulted the rail. He hit the stage with a loud thud, but regained his feet in an instant. As he rose to his full height, the actors on stage took one look at the massive Cherokee, turned, and ran.

Grinning, Maddock vaulted the rail, felt the tingling sensation of falling, and hit the stage. He felt the impact all the way up to the top of his skull, but he didn’t think anything was broken. He stood and turned to the audience.

“There will be brief intermission and then our play will resume.”

He and Bones leaped off the stage and sprinted up the aisle toward the exit. More shouts filled the air, this time from the direction of Lincoln’s box. He stole a glance back and saw their pursuers, pistols in hand, turning to face the security guards who had just burst into the box.

“It’ll be cool,” Bones said. “The rent-a-cops will back down when they see those guys mean business.”

“I hope so.”

They dashed out through the tiny lobby and burst onto the sunlit street. Navigating the throng of tourists, they ran aimlessly down the street, taking turns at random, until they finally managed to hail a cab.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Maddock’s thoughts drifted to the book. They’d need to find a way to translate it, but he wanted to get out of DC.

“Take us to the best bookstore in Alexandria, and I’ll pay you double if you get us there in twenty minutes or less.

The cabbie accepted the challenge at once, put the pedal to the floor and screeched out into traffic to the tune of blaring horns.

“What’s our next move?” Bones asked.

“Let’ call Sterling,” Maddock said. “We can’t seem to shake the Sons, so we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Cyrus Jamison couldn’t
help but grind his teeth. He despised failure, and having to deal with Wright made it that much worse. Between her, Maddock, and Bonebrake, he wasn’t sure whether to be more concerned about his enemies or his ally.

The loss of the journal was unfortunate, but that didn’t trouble him. They would have it soon, thanks to Wright. The crafty woman seemed to know their every move before it happened, which was how he’d managed to put men on their tail yesterday.

After Maddock and Bonebrake had escaped, he’d wasted time cleaning up the mess at Ford’s Theatre. Thankfully, his men hadn’t shot anyone, and he had sufficient connections within the DC police to make the whole thing go away.

He debated his next move. Even if Maddock and Bonebrake remained in DC, it was a big city and he and his men couldn’t catch them without Wright’s help. Time was of the essence. The two SEALs were onto something; that much he could tell. After a few minutes of internal debate during which he had to force himself not to grievously injure one of his men who kept asking what they would do next, he accepted that he would have to report back to Wright, and he should do it in person.

The journey back was uneventful. A sense of deja vu hit Jamison as he once again entered Wright’s house at an hour when most normal people were tucked soundly under the covers. He chuckled when he imagined what a nosy neighbor might think of the nocturnal activity. His focus sharpened upon entering the office.

“Sit, Cyrus.”

With minor trepidation, he lowered himself into a padded chair.

Wright fixed him with a cool stare. “I’ve been waiting for your report.”

He stilled himself to calm. “We located Maddock and Bonebrake, and followed them to a very interesting location.”

“Ford’s Theatre.”

Jamison paused. “I won’t even ask how you know that. That’s where we lost them, but it’s not the first place they went.” He went on to explain the details of what had happened, concluding with, “We didn’t actually see it, but we’re certain Maddock found the journal.”

Wright gazed up at the portrait of Joan of Arc that hung from her office wall and nodded thoughtfully. “You are correct.”

He couldn’t hide his surprise. “What?”

“They did, in fact, find the journal. They have translated only a portion of it, but they learned enough that they have already left Washington DC.”

“The journal, does it confirm that Washington had…” He didn’t need to finish the thought.

Wright shrugged. “They haven’t gotten far enough into the translation to know.  We do, however, know whose treasure Washington sought.” She paused. The few pages Jamison had recovered from Mount Vernon referenced a conversation a young Washington had with a dying man, but were maddeningly vague. “I also know where they are headed next.”

A spark of resentment kindled in Jamison’s chest, but it was quickly doused as relief flood through him. So it wasn’t over.

“I’ll give you the location.” Wright’s eyes suddenly locked with his, boring into him. “I must warn you, Cyrus. My patience grows thin.”

“So, when he
was young, George Washington
ran into an old sailor who gave him clues about the location of Blackbeard’s treasure, and this journal is the record of Washington’s search for it? Sweet! Where do we look first?” Bones asked.

“I’m still a little surprised you don’t already know where it is, with all your interest in strange myths.” Maddock had lost count of the number of conspiracies and tall tales Bones accepted as gospel. Or at least claimed to accept; sometimes Maddock thought the big guy was just having fun with the crazy theories.

“Nah, I like things that make more sense, like the aliens at Roswell or the fact that Jimi Hendrix is alive and living in Hawaii with Jim Morrison.”

Maddock had found a few helpful books on ciphers and set to work translating Washington’s journal. Several times he nearly pinched himself, so amazed was he to possess such a treasure of American history. Though the first few pages were missing, he quickly realized that Washington was looking for treasure. As soon as the name Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard, showed up, he had called Sterling and they’d set out for North Carolina.  Sterling rode in the back, continuing the translation while Bones sat in the passenger seat, making everyone miserable.

Bones shook his head. “You know, I can’t believe you brought me back to freaking North Carolina. You know how hard I worked to get out of this place.”

“What’s wrong with North Carolina?” Sterling’s tone indicated that her patience with Bones was nearly exhausted.

“Rednecks. Lots of rednecks.”

“Maybe not here, so much,” Maddock offered. “It’s more touristy here. Not like the part of the state where you’re from.”

They were at the Gull Rock Game Land Preserve near Engelhard, a tiny town on the outer banks of North Carolina. Just off the coast in Pimlico Bay, Blackbeard had gone down for the last time. It seemed a logical place to start.

“I hope not. You know how John Deere hats and NASCAR bumper stickers get on my last nerve. I’d hate to get arrested for battery or destruction of property.” 

“Speaking of last nerves,” Sterling began, “I read a dossier on you, Bonebrake. It was short on personal details, but it did mention arrests; mostly when you’ve been drinking. I don’t know if you really believe all this crap you spout, or if you’re covering up something, but it gets old and it’s distracting. If we’re up against the Sons of the Republic, we’re gonna need to be paying attention to as much as we can, so maybe cut the crap.”

Bones looked surprised but recovered immediately. “The rumors of my drinking have been exaggerated.” A smile crept across his face. “I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”

Sterling couldn’t keep a straight face. “Like a fungus. Okay, gentlemen, where to now?”

“The journal mentions Teach’s Light. Supposedly on most nights you can see a weird light dancing over the bay out there.” Maddock nodded toward the southeast, the direction from which a light breeze carried the smell of salt water. Darkness had already descended.

“Teach’s Light?” Bones asked.

“The locals say that it’s Blackbeard’s ghost dancing. He went down out there in a battle with two British sloops. To make sure he was dead, the British commander, Lieutenant Maynard, cut off his head and hung it from the bowsprit. The legend says that the hanging head yelled ‘
Come on, Edward’
and then the beheaded corpse swum thrice around the boat before sinking.”

Bones chuckled. “Now that’s a bad dude. Either that or he’s part chicken. Anyway, I’m always down for a ghost hunt.”

Sterling said, “Let’s not tell anyone we’re out here looking for ghosts. Might draw the wrong kind of attention.”

Maddock corrected her. “We’re not looking for ghosts. We’re just following clues. Washington underlined the words three times. He clearly thought it was significant, perhaps a signpost on the trail to the treasure. I figure it’s worth checking out, unless we find something more in the journal.”

“Not so far,” Sterling said. “Notes from conversations he had with storytellers, mostly. He was trying hard to find this so-called light.”

“If anyone can find it,” Bones said, “Maddock and I can.”

As evening fell,
they set out, hiking various trails in the area where, legend had it, the light had been seen. Despite no sign of other human beings, the night was far from silent. Early on, they heard the occasional quack from the massive local duck population, and a constant the whole time was the buzzing and chirping of various insects.  A few times they heard larger creatures moving through the swampy underbrush.

Checking a compass periodically, they tried to keep themselves close to the bay. They obtained many views of it via flashlight, but not once did they see anything which they could characterize as unusual lights, let alone actual ghosts. During a break around two in the morning, Maddock noticed Bones’ unusual silence.

“Something on your mind, Bones?”

Bones didn’t quite smile. “Nothing I can put my finger on, but I get the feeling we’re not out here alone.”

Bones expressing this kind of concern was rare enough that Maddock decided to give it a lot of weight. The man generally had good instincts.

“Any suggestions beyond just being extra vigilant?”

“Nah, not much we can do besides that. We’re more likely to be attacked by boredom. What’re we gonna do if Eddie Teach’s ghost doesn’t show himself by morning?”

“I have one idea, but it’s a long shot and involves a lot of work. Let’s just see out the night first.”

“Okay, but I’m getting a little sick of this sleeping all day and staying up all night crap. Night time is party time.”

Sterling and Maddock both laughed. They started moving again, and a minute later another one of the larger creature sounds erupted close to them. Maddock shined the flashlight in the direction of the sound, and for a few seconds he saw nothing.

A sudden sound, a rustling in the underbrush and the thrum of feet broke the silence, and a herd of wild pigs burst from the bushes coming straight at them. The largest ones reached over three feet in height and a few of them had sharp tusks which reflected off their flashlight beams.

Almost as if they had communicated telepathically, Maddock, Bones, and Sterling turned and ran back the way they had come.

“That’s a lot of bacon!” Bones shouted.

The stampeding pigs were now less than ten feet behind Maddock, who was bringing up the rear.

Maddock doubted they could outrun the animals, but he saw no other options. The tangled undergrowth on either side of the trail would slow them down too much. Even if he drew his Recon knife and turned to fight, what was the best he could hope for? Could he even kill one before he was run down by the herd?

Shots rang out from the darkness up ahead, interrupting his thoughts. He had only a moment to realize the herd had turned aside before something ensnared his ankles and he fell hard on his face. Before he could regain his feet, a huge weight fell on his back. Then he felt something grab and bind his hands. He reacted with a violent ripple through his body, beginning at his core and culminating with his legs chopping in search of a target while his face remained planted. The weight flew off his torso, but unfortunately his attack found only air. As soon as his legs struck the ground, someone grabbed and bound them.

He stopped resisting and rolled to his side. His flashlight lay a few feet away and in its beam he could make out Sterling similarly bound. He caught a glimpse of Bones thrashing on the ground, and called out.

“Come on, Bones, keep fighting.”

A foot impacted his face and stars flashed across his vision. He sensed a shadow moving through the light beam toward where Bones lay, but he had to close his eyes and shake his head several times before he could see clearly again. When he could, he saw two men standing over a securely bound Bones. One of the men looked familiar, even in the minimal light.

Cyrus Jamison.