“It’s an ongoing op, old pal.” Wells had waved the question and its sentiment away, clearly either not understanding or not wanting to hear the undertone in it. “Now look,… me and my Mai time refuse to be kept waiting much longer. How’d you like some company?”
“You?” Drake coughed. “Why?”
“Umm, expertise. Moral support. General fatherly brilliance. You know.”
Drake was going to offer the standard Brit reply up yours, but their situation and what he already knew about the two devices gave him pause. “Do it,” he said after a moment. “Contact me when you get to Miami. I’ll let you know where we are.”
“Excellent.” The connection went dead.
Drake stared hard at the mobile, throat suddenly dry. He scrolled down and again clicked ‘return’.
“I take it you are alive then, soldier boy.” The voice was like a feather’s touch on soft skin.
“It’ll take much more than a rag-tag army to kill me.”
“Your… friends?”
He knew she meant well, but also knew the focus of her question revolved around Kennedy. “All good,” he said. “Any news?”
“The Bermuda Triangle op… ” she launched straight into her spiel, “… was carried out by the CIA after an unidentified box was uplifted from the ocean depths. You know all the pirate details, I am sure. This op was sanctioned by the Director and classed as a Special Operation. Six of their best agents were teamed together.”
She didn’t have to say four of whom are now dead.
“The box was examined and classified as a ‘time displacement device’. Origin unknown. It was thought it could cause critical anomalies at random intervals, most likely when triggered by a chain of events.”
“I know all this, Mai-“ Drake said gently.
“The second device,” Mai went on, “and don’t interrupt me, Matt. Only the rude and the ignorant and the uneducated interrupt. The second device is a controller. It is believed it could actually dictate a time when the box could be turned on. The second device looks like a clock. An ornate clock.”
Now Drake took notice. “An expensive-looking clock? It makes sense. Blackbeard might have traded it for a fortune, intending to reacquire it later. Thank you, Mai. Anything else?”
“Nothing that is clear, Drake. I am currently inside the States myself. I will still be able to use my contacts though.”
“One other thing,” Drake said. “One of the surviving agents is a man by the name of Mano Kinimaka. Maybe you could help us understand why the Blood King wants him captured alive.”
“Ah, the Blood King,” Mai breathed as if savouring the name and the myth. “He is next on my list. I will let you know the results of my search, my friend.”
“Ok,” he hesitated. “Mai? I know I don’t need to tell you this, I really do. But, please be careful. The Blood King seems to have more resources than God. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way again. For me.”
“Again?” Mai laughed, the sound high and sweet.
“Again. Never again.” Drake broke the connection and placed his head against the cold metal wall. Times were hard enough without resurrecting what had gone before with Mai.
Things that should never be spoken about again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After the metaphoric dust had settled, Drake and his friends sought out Justin Harrison and told him what they were planning.
“We’re going down to Miami,” Drake said. “This whole thing’s Caribbean-related. We can work from there and see where the research takes us.”
Harrison looked preoccupied. “Yes, yes. Do whatever you must. Just, please-” he met Drake’s eyes. “Do it fast.”
Dry land beckoned and forty minutes later they were ensconced in a big station-wagon courtesy of the U.S. government, taking a last look through darkened windows at the U.S.S. Port Royal and its shattered hull. The authorities still didn’t know how Boudreau and his army had pulled it off, but meticulous planning, advance knowledge, and major inside help were being blamed.
“Jesus,” Hayden said as she ended yet another call. “It wouldn’t surprise me if there were public executions when this thing comes out!”
“We all love a conspiracy,” Kennedy said. The New Yorker was sitting beside Drake in the front, squirming around as she tried to tug the waist of her jeans a bit higher.
“They ain’t gonna fall off,” Drake frowned at her. “At least, not until we find a hotel.”
“Damn things are cut so low I keep showing my damn ass off.”
“Well, if we find ourselves chasing the enemy on bicycles your ass crack will make a nice bike park, love.”
Kennedy swatted him and finally managed to tug the material where she wanted it.
“Now that’s done,” Drake sniffed, “maybe we can get back to that what we do best, eh?”
“Saving the world?” Ben read his mind.
“You got it.”
The station-wagon cut through the encroaching night with Drake following the SatNav directions to Wilmington International airport. The early November cold snap, so apparent back in the U.K., hadn’t made it to this part of the States yet — if it ever did — so Drake drove with the Air Con cranked high. They made one stop to load up on service-station food, Mountain Dew and hot coffee before hitting the road in earnest.
“So,” Drake said after a while, “Mano. What did Boudreau want with you, my friend?”
Kinimaka shifted uncomfortably and Drake actually had to make a correction to the car’s course. “Beats me,” he rumbled. “Far as I know I’m a pretty normal guy.”
Hayden had squashed herself in beside him, with Ben to her right. “Trusting, supportive, effective. Is that normal for a guy, Kennedy?”
The only answer was a chortle.
“People you’ve hurt. Arrested. Places you’ve been. Men you’ve crossed. Any stand out at all?”
“Usually, I’m the second, or third in a team. None of the bad guys even know I’m there,” he paused. “Unless I hit ‘em, I guess. Never had a threatening letter. Lived all my life in Hawaii, north shore Oahu.”
“His name in Hawaiian,” Hayden said with glint in her eye. “Means ‘passionate lover’.”
Now Kennedy did turn around. “You’re kidding?”
Kinimaka shuffled again, looking embarrassed. “Or ‘shark’.”
“Or what? I mean, can’t they decide?”
Kinimaka shrugged. “Never knew.”
“I think we’re getting off track,” Drake said more gruffly than he wanted to. “You say you’re a nobody, a back-up man from hang-loose Hawaii. What the hell would Boudreau want with you?”
“Or more than likely his boss,” Kennedy put in. “Boudreau’s just a mercenary.”
“True.”
“So,” Ben interrupted, “this convo’s getting us nowhere. Are we gonna find this bad-boy controller down in Miami or what?”
“That’s the idea,” Drake grumbled. “Who rattled your cage, anyway?”
“No one. It’ll be fun.”
“Nothing about this is fun,” Hayden snapped. “People have died.”
Ben stared at the floor. “Yeah. Umm, sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”
The uncomfortable silence stretched until Drake broke it. “Either way, we need this controller. We know the bad guys are after it, and that they’re after Mano. Let’s keep it frosty out there.”
In the darkness next to him he felt Kennedy smile, then giggle. Ben whispered ‘frosty?’ with exaggerated surprise. Even Hayden let out a little chuckle.
Drake gave them a grumpy look. “Just stay alert.”