She struggled to return to her work, but her duties as director of the British History Museum suddenly seemed mundane, even trivial, in light of what her people might soon uncover. Rock-hard discipline overrode any distractions, and she made quick work of her list of emails and telephone messages. She then took a half-hour to compose a carefully crafted opinion piece for The Times in which she questioned, but did not criticize, the Prime Minister’s position on a key budget item.
Since being elevated to the leadership of the Sisterhood, she had used her connections to gradually raise her public profile, carefully crafting the image of one who took great pride in her nation’s heritage and fought for its history without being perceived as backward. Though never presenting herself as having any interest in politics, her name was already being bandied about as a candidate for Parliament, even Prime Minister. Her aspirations, of course, were higher.
By the time she’d sent her submission to the editor, she could no longer curb the flow of energy that coursed through her. She buzzed Jacob.
“Close the offfice and meet me in the fitness room.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He almost managed to cover his tone of resignation. The fitness room was never fun for him.
Smiling, she tapped in a code on her telephone keypad and watched as the painting on the far wall, “Le Morte D’Arthur” by James Archer, slid to the side, revealing her private collection of weapons. Morgan’s eyes swept lovingly across the sharp, gleaming blades and angry spikes. She excelled at hand fighting and with firearms, but medieval weaponry was her true love. She selected a long sword and held it out in a two-handed grip, savoring its weight and balance. With a step and a twist, she sliced a whistling arc through the air. Yes, this was the one.
She caught sight of her distorted reflection in the blade. Like this image, the world did not yet see her for what she truly was, but they would. Oh yes, soon they would know.
Chapter 7
Dane drifted in for a closer look at the cross. He shone his light across it and saw a thin circle carved around the image.
Matt ran his fingers across the surface of the carving, his fingers gently probing the recess.
“Careful,” Dane warned. There was something odd about it, but he could not put a finger on it.
“I think I can get a grip on it.” He shoved his fingers into the groove and twisted.
“Matt! No!” But Dane’s warning was too late. The stone circle rotated a quarter turn and, with a whooshing sound like a drain opening, the stone vanished, pulling Matt’s arm into the wall.
Matt shouted and struggled against the force of the water that was being sucked into hole. Dane grabbed hold of Matt’s arm but, before he could pull him free, he heard a hollow thud and Matt’s cry of pain burst through the transmitter.
“My arm!” Matt yelled.
Dane directed his light into the hole and saw, to his horror, that a section of wall had come down, crushing Matt’s arm and trapping him. The smooth, regular edge of the stone told him in a single glance that it was not a natural rockfall.
“A booby trap,” Dane said. “Hold on.” He called into the transmitter. “Bones, Willis, Corey, you guys copy?”
Nothing.
He made a second attempt and again got no reply.
“We’re too deep under the rock.” Matt’s voice was thick with pain. “You’ve got to get closer to open water if they’re going to hear you.”
“I don’t want to leave you here.” Dane knew Matt was right, but he hated to leave an injured man behind.
“What? You think I’m scared of the dark? I’m a Ranger, not some girly SEAL.”
Dane grimaced. “All right. How much air do you have?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just go.” There was just enough light that Dane could see Matt glaring at him through his mask. “I’ll watch my air supply. If you aren’t back when it gets to ten minutes, I’ll cut my arm off and swim the hell out of here. Now go.” Matt closed his eyes and leaned his head against the rock wall.
Dane swam with desperate fury, all the while calling for his team members. He squeezed over the pile of rubble and, with powerful kicks, zipped back up the passageway toward open water. He had just caught a glimpse of light when one of his calls finally got a response.
“Yo, Maddock, what’s keeping you? We’re done.” Bones said.
“I need you guys here quick. The tunnel was booby-trapped. Matt’s stuck and he’s hurt. Bring pry bars.
“Roger.” Bones and Willis spoke on top of each other as each acknowledged Dane’s message.
“Corey, you call for help.”
“Already on it,” came the reply.
Dane gave Bones and Willis a quick description of the underwater tunnel, then turned and headed back down the passage. When he reached Matt, he feared the worse. His friend sagged limply against the wall, his trapped arm supporting his weight.
“Matt, you still with me?”
“Yep,” came the weak reply. “I’m hanging in there. Get it?”
The next few minutes seemed to stretch into hours as Dane watched and waited for help to come. He worked at the stone that pinned Matt’s arm down, first with his bare hands, then with his knife, but could not budge it. He knew it was futile, but Matt needed hope to strengthen his resolve. All the while, Dane kept up a steady stream of encouragement until Matt told him to shut the hell up and go look for the others. Just then, a glimmer of light appeared, and two dark shapes swam into view.
“His arm is trapped under a stone block. You guys pry it up.” Dane instructed. “I don’t know if he has the strength to pull himself free.”
“That’s what you think,” Matt growled, rising up and placing his free hand against the wall. “You guys just get me loose.”
Bones and Willis worked their pry bars into the open space beneath the rock and heaved. The rock moved, but no more than a centimeter. The two men tried again, groaning from the strain, and it budged a little more. Matt pulled back, roaring in anger and pain, but his arm scarcely budged.
“Again!” Dane barked.
They continued to work at the stone. Dane took Bones’ knife in one hand, his own in the other, and used both to help lever the rock upward. The effort was tiring them rapidly and none of them had much air left.
“Cut it off.” Matt gasped.
“No way.” Willis said. He and Matt were tight, and he seemed be taking this accident as a personal affront.
“It’s not going to work.” Matt’s voice was barely discernible. “We’re all going to run out of air soon. Just do it.”
“We’ll give it one more try,” Dane said. “When we lift, you pull with all you’ve got.”
“That’s not much, but okay.”
Dane counted down from three and they all lifted one last time. Dane’s muscles burned and the strained grunts and groans of his team rang in his ears.
“Now, Matt!” he shouted.
Matt threw himself into the attempt and his arm gradually slid free of the trap.
And then he collapsed, folding onto himself like an accordion.
Dane dropped the knives and grabbed hold of his friend, yanking him free of the trap just as the stone crashed back into place. Together, they hauled their semi-conscious comrade up the tunnel and out to their waiting boat.
Dane bandaged Matt’s crushed arm while Corey piloted them to shore, the sound of approaching sirens telling them help was on the way. By the time they got him to shore and into the waiting ambulance, Matt was alert, though in tremendous pain.
“You guys don’t worry about me,” he said. “And don’t let those asshole pirates beat us. Finish the job.”
“We’ll talk about it at the hospital,” Dane said as the ambulance doors closed. He turned to his crew. “We’re done for the day. Does Charlie know what happened?”