Pirate

  They drove north for about forty minutes, finally stopping in a sparsely populated area in the country at a white, half-timbered inn, where a sign out front named it the Pig & Lantern.

  Sam stopped down the road, pulling to the side, as the three got out of the blue sedan parked in the small lot in front of the inn. Ivan popped the trunk, then dragged Nigel out by the arm. The poor guy looked scared witless.

  “Maybe we should call the police,” Remi said.

  “If we were in the States? I’d say yes, bring on the SWAT team. Way out here? Who knows how long it would take. Besides,” he said, nodding toward the men in the BMW, “you think those two would hesitate before killing an unarmed cop? I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  “We can’t just leave Nigel with them.”

  “We won’t. They want him alive. He can’t translate if he’s dead.”

  “If only we hadn’t let him go back.”

  There was little he or Remi could do about it now, watching as they escorted Nigel through a side door. Once they were inside, Jak walked around back with the dog. A few minutes later, he returned without the animal, then entered through the same door.

  “Sam?”

  “I’m thinking.” He watched another car pull up, this one with the words Just Married spray-painted on the back window. A young couple got out, then pulled two overnight bags from the trunk, before walking inside the front door.

  Which gave him an idea . . .

  He took Remi’s phone from the center console, glad to see that they had a strong signal. “What do you say to a little countryside getaway?”

  “Does it include countryside prisoner extraction?”

  “I’m not sure it’s on the menu,” he said, looking up the name of the inn. “But if we’re lucky, they take special requests.”

  The phone rang a few times before it was picked up by a woman. “Pig and Lantern.”

  “Do you have any rooms available for tonight?”

  “One moment . . .” He heard the tapping of computer keys. “Name?”

  He then glanced over at Remi, saying, “Longstreet, Mr. and Mrs.”

  “Longstreet . . .” More typing, then, “How many nights?”

  “Just one. It’ll be for a late arrival. Sometime after dark.”

  “And which credit card would you like to hold it under?”

  “American Express.” He signaled Remi for the card since she still carried one under her maiden name, then read the number to the woman.

  “Very good, Mr. Longstreet. We have you booked for one night’s stay, checking out tomorrow.”

  He thanked her, then disconnected. “Now we wait.”

  Remi’s phone buzzed. “It’s Selma . . .” She opened the text. “Didn’t see that one coming. That woman with them? Charles Avery’s wife Alexandra.”

  “Seriously? Isn’t she a socialite? Parties, fund-raisers—”

  Remi made a scoffing noise. “Men are so quick to dismiss women as threats.”

  “A trait that’s definitely come in handy when you’ve been dismissed as a threat.”

  “Exactly my point. Remember that if you run into her.”

  “I don’t plan to. Which is why we’re waiting for dark.”

  An hour later, Sam was glad to see that the lighting around the inn was almost nonexistent. That would allow him to get close enough without being seen. “Wait here,” he said to Remi. “I want to have a look at the place.”

  Besides the main entrance at the front, there appeared to be two more exits, one on the north side, the other on the south, where they’d seen Ivan and Jak enter.

  Two windows were lit in the downstairs rooms—all the others were dark—at least one belonged to the bad guys.

  Sam needed to narrow those odds. He edged his way around the corner, moving close to the building, working his way to the first lit window. The curtains were closed, but light seeped out of a narrow slit in the center, allowing him to see in. The room appeared empty. Alexandra’s white parka was tossed over the back of a chair. He moved to the next room. There was a gap in that curtain as well. Just as Sam approached, Ivan walked up and pulled the curtains tight.

  But not before Sam caught a glimpse of Nigel seated in a chair, his back to the window, his hands zip-tied behind him.

  He knew what he was dealing with, he thought as a third window lit up on the other side of Ivan and Jak’s room. The newlyweds. Sam returned to the car. “Ready?”

  “So what grand scheme have you planned?”

  “Right now, only a half-grand scheme, which we’ll be playing by ear.”

  Forty-four

  Slow night?” Sam asked the desk clerk when they were checking in. He hefted his backpack on his shoulder. Remi called it his just-in-case bag since it contained assorted small tools, knives, as well as a very light but sturdy rope. Other than that, neither of them had any luggage. “Only saw two other cars in the parking lot.”

  “For us, that’s busy.”

  “Nice and quiet, then. Just how we like it.” He leaned against the counter. “If you don’t mind my asking, any pets staying in the hotel? My wife is allergic.”

  “Not belonging to any guests. The owner has a dog, though.”

  “That wouldn’t be a big, black dog, would it?”

  “You’ve seen Teddy, ’ave you? A sweetheart, ’e is. The other party staying ’ere? Taking ’im out for walks the last coupla days. Not to worry. I can put you above stairs, if you like.”

  “Not necessary.” Sam smiled at the clerk and slid a twenty-pound note across the counter toward her. “We’d definitely like a ground-level room. On the east side. We like to watch the sunrise.”

  The clerk eyed her computer monitor. “We ’ave one room left on the east side ground floor. Right next to the ’appy couple.”

  She handed him the key. “The rooms are around the corner, past the potted palm. One-oh-one is next to the north staircase. Enjoy your stay.”

  He and Remi thanked her, then walked toward the palm. Sam peered down the hall, realizing the one big flaw in his plan was getting to their room unobserved if the unthinkable happened and Ivan or Jak walked out their door. At least they knew the dog wasn’t as deadly as it seemed.

  One less thing to worry about, he thought as they walked past Ivan and Jak’s room. Sam paused a moment. Someone was talking. The next door belonged to the newlyweds, then theirs at the end of the hall. The open-beamed room was small, with a double bed, a nightstand, a small dresser with a TV on it and an ice bucket and two glasses. He walked over to the window, pulling the curtains closed. “Wish I had some way to listen in to that room,” Sam said. “Any chance we have an app that turns my phone into a listening device?”

  “It’s called a phone call. Sort of ruins the whole element of surprise, though.” Remi picked up a glass, putting the bottom of it to her ear. “Of course, there’s also the old-fashioned way.”

  “Lot of good that does. There’s a whole room between us and them.”

  “We could ask the newlyweds to trade rooms with us.”

  “I thought of that. But, frankly, I’d feel better if they weren’t even in the hotel. What if something goes wrong?”

  She looked at the clock on the nightstand by the bed. Just after six. “How far a drive from here to London, do you think?”

  “Under three hours.”

  “We have the room at the Savoy. Paid for and sitting empty.”

  “That, Remi, is brilliant. As usual.”

  She smiled. “Let’s hope they accept.”

  “One way to find out. Shall we?”

  He knocked softly on their door.

  A young man opened it about two inches.

  “Next-door neighbors,” Sam said. “Heard congratulations are in order.”

  The man’s wife appeared behind him, her young f
ace a mixture of curiosity and excitement. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “The people next door.”

  She reached around him and pulled the door open. “Hi.”

  Sam didn’t give the couple an opportunity to turn them away. He and Remi walked in, Sam closing the door behind them.

  “Congratulations,” Remi said. “We heard you were just married?”

  The woman beamed. “A few days ago.”

  “On your honeymoon, then?” Sam asked.

  The man shrugged. “Taking a few days.”

  “Ever stayed at the Savoy?”

  The man gave a cynical laugh. “You think we’d be here if we could afford that?”

  “Tell you what,” Sam said. “If you don’t mind the drive, there’s a free room waiting for you.”

  The woman’s eyes widened.

  Her husband, however, crossed his arms, suspicion clouding his features. He took a threatening step toward Sam. “I think you should leave.”

  “If you’ll just hear me out,” Sam said, slipping his wallet from his pocket, “I happen to need this particular room. And the suite I have at the Savoy, bought and paid for, is sitting empty.” He pulled several hundred pounds from his wallet along with the key card to the room at the Savoy and laid it all onto the bed. “This should cover a few meals, your gas, and the price of this room. Even if you choose not to stay at the Savoy, that should more than cover another room somewhere else.”

  “What sort of scam are you running?”

  Remi took her cell phone, found the link Selma had sent for their reservation when they’d first arrived in London, and opened it. “No scam. I’ll add you to the reservation. All you need to do is show up. Or take the money and run.” When the mobile Internet site came up, she held out her phone and showed them. “Type in your name and email. You should get a confirmation.”

  He hesitated. His wife, however, grabbed the phone and looked at it. “Looks real.”

  “It is,” Remi said.

  The woman typed the info in.

  “Are you crazy?” her husband asked, trying to take the phone away from her.

  She held it away from him, then turned so he couldn’t take it from her. “It’s just our name and email. Not like we’re giving them our credit card! I’d like to go to the Savoy for our honeymoon.” She hit send, returned the phone to Remi, then told her husband, “Check your email.”

  “But they’re bringing us a bottle of champagne!”

  “Yeah?” she said. “It came with the room that cost us less than sixty pounds. How good can it be? Check. Your. Email.”

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, looking surprised when he opened his email. “This is real?”

  Remi nodded.

  “But why?”

  “Not important,” Sam said. “Just know you’re doing us a huge favor.”

  The man looked around the room as though trying to decide if it was worth it. “Fine. Guess it’s enough money to go wherever we want if it’s not there.” They gathered the few things they’d taken out of their suitcases.

  “Congratulations again,” Remi said as she walked them to the door.

  “One thing,” Sam said. “Might want to be quiet. They’re sleeping.” He pointed toward Ivan and Jak’s room.

  The man nodded, both waved, and then they left.

  Remi closed and locked the door after them. Less than thirty seconds later, they heard a soft knock at the neighboring door, followed by Fisk’s voice demanding that someone let him in.

  Interesting. Fisk didn’t seem the type to dirty his hands with anything but the most important matters. So what exactly did Nigel know? Remi picked up two empty glasses on a tray next to the ice bucket, then motioned Sam over, whispering, “Time to see what’s going on next door.”

  Forty-five

  Fisk walked into the room. Alexandra sat in the chair next to Nigel while Jak and Ivan were sprawled on the bed. “Mr. Ridgewell. Sorry for the inconvenience. I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable on your ride over. I understand it was a bit cramped.”

  Nigel glared at him. “What is it you want?”

  “Your translation skills. I understand your specialty is Old English? We’re willing to pay.”

  “And that’s why you had me attacked last night, stole my notebook, then kidnapped me?”

  “A simple misunderstanding.”

  Nigel scoffed. “Like being dumped in the trunk or tied to a chair with the circulation cut off in my hands?”

  Fisk nodded at Ivan, who got up, then took a knife and cut the zip tie binding Nigel to the chair. Nigel rubbed at his wrists, watching as Ivan returned to the bed.

  “The notebook,” Fisk said to Alexandra.

  “Ivan has it.”

  He held out his hand, and Ivan tossed it to him. “If you can see it in yourself to forgive my associates for their rough handling, then maybe we can come to some sort of agreement.”

  “About what?”

  “As I said, a simple translation. There’s a phrase in your notebook you haven’t translated. The person my associates showed it to this afternoon also had difficulty with it. Funny thing, he recommended you as the person to contact.”

  “That’s what you were talking to William about at Castle Rising?”

  “You know him. A small world in tourism and academia, I see.” He held the notebook out for Nigel, pointing to the words on the last page. Nigel leaned toward it. “Can’t tell.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe there are letters missing. Or it’s completely misspelled. But those aren’t words that I can make out. Except the one. Hole.”

  Only then did Fisk realize there were, in fact, letters missing. He’d assumed the list they’d stolen from Nigel was the same as his. Deciphered words taken straight from the map. Then again, he hadn’t looked that close at what was written in Nigel’s notebook. He’d assumed that the Fargos had somehow managed to get a copy of the cipher wheel—and the words were the same as what he had. How else to explain how the Fargos had made their way this far?

  Interesting. The Fargos were working from a flawed copy. He, however, was not, and he took out his phone and found the text from the expert that Charles Avery was using to decipher the map.

  There was clearly a letter missing from the words, and he showed the corrected text to Nigel. “What about this?”

  “You realize I’m not the only Old English expert in this country?”

  “At the moment, you happen to be the most convenient. And the most expendable. So look closely before I decide to find your replacement.”

  The man studied the text, then gave an exasperated sigh. “I’d say someone mistook an f for an s. It’s not wulshol. It’s wulfhol. As in wolf’s hole.”

  “And the other?” he said, pointing to the word listed beneath it: wulsesheasod

  “It should read wulfeshéafod, as in wolf’s head.”

  “And what do you think they mean?”

  “The den and head of a wolf, if I had to guess.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m not sure. You’d have to ask the person who wrote it.”

  “That person’s dead. Which is what you’ll be if you—”

  Alexandra stood. “You have what you need. We, however, haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  How was it he’d thought bringing her along was going to help him? “Tie him up. We don’t want him running off.”

  “Wait,” Nigel said, trying to stand. Ivan and Jak were off the bed in an instant, pushing him back into the chair. Nigel struggled in vain as Jak held him, and Ivan tightened a new zip tie around his wrists. “You can’t keep me here.”

  “As long as you cooperate, you stay alive. Which means you’re still needed.” He looked at Ivan. “Do not leave him unattended if you go out. There’s a per
fectly good pub across the street. Bring something back.”

  “And where are you going?” Alexandra asked.

  “Picking up two more men to help. The Fargos are more of a problem than we’d anticipated. After that, back to my hotel. Your husband’s waiting for an update on the translation. I expect it’ll lead us to our next location, where our tour guide will be of use. Of course, you could call Charles.”

  “I’d prefer he didn’t know I was here,” Alexandra icily replied.

  “That’s what I thought.” He started for the door, then looked back at Nigel. “If he makes a sound, kill him. I’m sure we can always find another translator.”

  “We are not killing anyone right now,” Alexandra said. “You realize there are guests right next to us?”

  “Then kill them, too. Just don’t get caught.”

  Forty-six

  Alexandra followed Fisk from the room. “We need to talk,” she said, quickening her pace to keep up with him as he strode down the hallway.

  He glanced back at her but didn’t stop. “Later. I’m in a hurry.”

  A maid came around the corner, her attention on the ice bucket with champagne bottle that she was carrying. Fisk barreled into her, knocking the bucket and bottle from her grasp and sending the coat flying from his. He landed against a potted palm, nearly toppling it.

  The poor girl’s eyes widened as he swore at her. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Apparently,” he said as he bent down and swooped up his coat, then stormed off.

  Alexandra followed through the lobby, but he stopped her at the door, turning toward her, his voice lowered so that only she could hear. “What part of ‘I’m in a hurry’ did you not get?”

  “You’re not going to kill anybody,” she whispered. “Not here. The room’s in my name.”

  “You wanted to be part of this. That means you play by my rules. If and when I find it necessary to eliminate someone, I make that decision. Not you, not Jak or Ivan. Me. Do I make myself clear?”

  Shaken by his anger, she nodded, then walked back through the lobby and down the hallway, where the maid was down on the floor, picking up ice cubes from the carpet and dumping them into the bucket.