MICHAEL WAS CERTAIN THE KIDNAPPERS saw him long before he stopped the powerboat and tossed the anchor over the side. He’d come in with the running lights on expressly so that he would be seen. Sneaking up on Draghici and the gypsies had seemed like a bad idea. Knowing that they were watching him made Michael afraid, but thinking of Molly in their hands terrified him. He tried not to imagine what she might have already suffered in the time the kidnappers had taken her.
He made himself focus on the task at hand. The shoreline under the rocky cliff lay a quarter-mile distant. He hadn’t been able to get any closer because of the rocks hidden by the dark water. That was probably the reason Charles Crowe had chosen the location all those years ago. Moonlight skated along the foaming curlers pounding at the base of the cliff.
The shore existed in name only. There was nowhere else to go but up once he reached land. The cliff towered a hundred and fifty yards or more over the surf, and the nearly vertical climb would be brutal even if he’d been in his right mind and not worried about Molly.
He stripped off his sneakers and dropped them into the float bag he intended to bring with him, then pulled on a pair of swim fins. Undertow would be a problem. If he couldn’t make it to shore, the current would take him out to sea and no one would be left to save Molly.
He blew out a final breath and charged his lungs, then pulled on a snorkel and face mask. After clamping the mouthpiece between his teeth, he sat on the stern of the boat, tied the float bag to one of his ankles before tossing it overboard and flipped over backward into the sea.
The cold water leeched around his body and made him feel stiff at once. For a moment, he thought maybe he’d made a mistake trying to brave the water. Despite his wet suit, the cold alone felt as if it might kill him before he reached the beach. In one of his video games, a player character would probably give a little shiver, then settle into a natural stroke. But a player didn’t actually feel the freezing bite. There was a big difference between the video-game environment and the real world.
Concentrating on Molly, telling himself she was still alive, Michael shut out the pain and uncertainty and swam. He pushed his body as if he was doing laps in a pool, staying with the motion, cutting through the waves. Water splashed continually across his face and streaked the view through the face mask, but he stayed focused on the shoreline every third or fourth stroke.
He was in good shape from rugby and other sports, and the activities he did around Blackpool kept him fit, as well. He took pride in that. But the swim was laborious and draining. His left thigh quivered with a minor cramp and he hoped it didn’t flare up into full-blown agony. That would kill him, too. There were so many variables, all out of his control. His breath rushed out of him and back in when he turned his head, then he chopped through the sea again.
Gradually, taking much longer than he would have believed, Michael reached the abbreviated shore. The sharp edges of the rock cut through the wet suit and into his chest, stomach and legs as he clambered onto land. Chilled, his teeth chattering, he forced himself to a sitting position with his back to the cliff and slipped the fins off. He blew on his hands to warm them but they were still stiff as he unzipped his wet suit. The powerboat sitting at anchor looked impossibly far away. Michael knew he couldn’t swim back.
James Bond and blokes like him made all this hero stuff look easy. Getting knocked about, chased and shot at was everyday business to that lot. Michael didn’t like any of it. He’d rather have been home with a glass of wine, talking to Molly.
Except that Molly wasn’t there.
Get a grip, mate. You’ve got a long way to go tonight if you’re going to get her home safe.
He opened the bag and took out jeans, socks and the sneakers he’d put in there earlier, then pulled on a thermal undershirt, a rugby jersey and a thigh-length rain-resistant jacket. It wasn’t spy gear, but it was warm. Then he started the torturous climb up the cliff face.
LESS THAN FIFTY FEET UP the steep incline, certain that he’d never make it to the top, not to mention the trip back down, Michael froze when a bright beam of a flashlight hit him. It was about bloody time. He’d been beginning to think he’d outfoxed himself.
He tried to follow the glare of the torch to its point of origin, but the brightness hurt his eyes too badly. When he blinked, spots danced in his vision.
“Mr. Graham.”
“Yes.” Michael sighed with relief and pulled himself in close to the rock face to better balance his weight. He didn’t know how much strength he had left.
“To come out here, you’re either a very brave man or a very stupid one.”
“I’m alone, Draghici.” The sharp stone dug into Michael’s cheek and he felt his fingers slowly going numb with the cold.
“We saw your boat.”
“I thought you would. That should also convince you I’m telling the truth about coming by myself.”
“Provided you didn’t inform Inspector Paddington of where you were off to.”
“If I had, do you think he would have let me go through with this foolish idea? And I knew you would kill Molly if I allowed him to follow me.”
Draghici was silent for a moment. “You do make a case for yourself.”
Michael’s fear abated a bit, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “All I want is Molly. I want her safe.”
“If you’d paid the ransom in the morning, you would have had her.”
“I don’t trust you.”
Draghici laughed. “You trust me more while hanging to that wall like a fly?”
“You’ll still get the ransom.” Michael clung to the cliff with flagging strength. “It’s set to be paid in the morning. But Molly and I have to be alive to validate the transaction. And we have to be safe.” His arms and legs quaked with the strain. “If she’s not in one piece, you won’t get a penny.”
“I’ll still have you, Mr. Graham.”
“No one will pay a ransom for me. I made certain of that.” Michael took a breath, his fingers burning as if they’d been set on fire. “If you don’t let me climb to you—or climb down—I’m going to fall. I doubt I’ll survive that.”
“Prolly not. Hang on just a moment longer. Wouldn’t want to miss out on a ransom.”
The light retreated from Michael’s face, but he was night blind now and still couldn’t see anything. The only thing he could make out was that the light originated from a cave on the cliff face. He’d been close when he’d deduced where Charles Crowe’s slave passageway was. He blinked his eyes but the effort wasn’t helping very much.
“Mr. Graham?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a lad coming out to you with a rope.”
“Thank you.” As soon as he said it, Michael realized how ridiculous it was to thank the man. If not for Draghici, he and Molly wouldn’t be in any danger. At least, they wouldn’t be in any danger from kidnappers. The secrets Michael had revealed were spreading fast. Many people, the Crowe family included, weren’t going to be happy about that.
Breathing shallowly, concentrating on holding fast to the cliff, Michael watched as a slim man in a makeshift safety harness climbed out onto the wall. Draghici, or one of his clan, spotlighted handholds and footholds for him as he descended about ten feet and over a dozen to reach Michael.
“You ask me, you look about done in, mate.” The gypsy crawled to a stop beside Michael.
“I am.”
“My mates back there have got a rifle trained on you. Just so’s that’s plain enough. You do anything untoward, they’re gonna shoot you through the head and we’ll toss your body in the water. We’ll drop the missus in after you.”
“Got it.” Michael’s legs and arms trembled violently. He hated the man, hated the power Draghici had over Molly and him. “I’m not going to be able to hang on long.”
“First thing I’m gonna do is pat you down, make sure you ain’t carrying no gun or nothing.”
“Waste of time. I’m not.”
“My time to waste, isn’t it?”
Desperately, Michael clung to the rock while the gypsy ran hands over his chest, belt, arms and legs. He even pulled up Michael’s pants to clear his sneakers, and almost dislodged Michael in the process. He took Michael’s mobile and his wallet, pocketing both.
The man pulled back a little and raised his voice. “He’s clean. Nothin’ on him.”
“Then bring him back over here.”
“Aye.” The gypsy leaned back to Michael. “Got a rope here I’m gonna fashion you a harness out of. You’ve come this far, don’t want to lose you now.”
“Okay.” Michael braced himself and moved slightly as Draghici’s goon ran the rope around him and expertly tied it in a makeshift climbing rig. The bloody thing was painfully tight over his crotch, but it seemed as if it would hold. Then the man tied another rope to the halter.
“My mates are on the other end of that one. They’re gonna pull slow and easy, take some of the weight off you.”
Michael nodded.
“First thing, don’t try to climb. Go straight across till you’re beneath them. Less chance of you falling that way. Once you’re under them, they can help haul you up.”
“All right.”
“Get on with yourself, then.” The gypsy cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke louder. “He’s coming. Stand steady.”
Fingers numb but aching deep in the joints, Michael carefully made his way across the cliff face. As he neared the cave, more and more of his weight was taken on the rope. Once he was below the cave, he started up. Draghici’s man had all of his weight on the rope and the only thing he had to do was keep his face from getting turned into hamburger against the cliff.
As Michael climbed over the lip of the cave, Draghici stood there, smiling down at him. The gypsy leader held a kerosene lantern in one hand.
“You’re a proper twonk, Mr. Graham.”
Weakly, Michael flopped over onto his back and stared up at Draghici. His legs hurt too much to take his weight, and he honestly thought he might never walk again. The cold, hard ground felt amazingly reassuring. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
“Had a lookout here in the cave mouth because I figured your little wife might have gotten a message to you. Didn’t have no such worries about the Crowe woman. But you and your missus, you’re too clever by half.”
Crowe woman?
“Molly didn’t tell me anything.” No matter what happened, Michael didn’t want Draghici angry at her. “I figured you had to have a place to hide your prisoners. You know a lot about Charles Crowe and his slave trade. It seemed reasonable that you might use this place.”
Draghici knelt down beside Michael. The gypsy leader grinned good-naturedly. “See? Too clever by half. And you’re sure Paddington doesn’t have any idea about this entrance?”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“How did you come to learn of it?” Draghici fisted Michael’s jacket in one hand and hauled him to his feet.
Michael stood on jelly legs. Only part of his infirmity came from the climb and the swim. “Does it matter? I’m here. How did you know about Charles Crowe’s secret enterprise?”
Draghici smiled. “The Romany forget nothing. After he stole my ancestor’s gold, it was the mission of every member of the clan to retrieve our fortune and our honor. Stories passed down through the generations speak of the men of our clan who infiltrated Crowe’s operation to learn of the gold’s location and to bring the traitor down. They were able to leak information to the Royal Navy’s West Africa Squadron, but no trace of the gold was ever found. And so, generation after generation, our search continued, including my grandfather, my father and now me, passing down all the information we had learned.”
He directed the lantern light to the floor at the edge of the cave mouth and a shape carved into the rock emerged from the shadows. It was a square about four inches across.
“Do you know what that is, Mr. Graham?”
“A symbol Charles Crowe had etched into the tunnels to guide his men.” Michael had seen the markings on the map he’d gotten from the puzzle cube and now felt certain they could be nothing else. He just didn’t understand the riddle behind them.
“That’s right. Many of the people involved in the slave trade couldn’t read or write English. Handy for my ancestors, too.”
Draghici moved the lantern from the wall to the dark throat of the tunnel. “These symbols are a simple language that Crowe’s guards could read.” He shone the lamp on the square again. “These squares mark paths to the slave holding pens he carved out of the rocks.” He motioned the light forward. “Let’s go, Mr. Graham. Time’s a-wasting.”