The Devil's Triangle by Catherine Coulter
Her eyes—he saw his death in her eyes. This was the end. He knew it. He must find a way to warn the others, to warn his assistant, Burnley, but there was no way, and he felt sorrow, deep in his soul.
Cassandra knew he was lying. No, the formula wasn’t in the vault, nor was it his ancient memory. He would keep it close, she knew it.
Jason spread out his arms, knew what was coming, accepted it. “Your mother knew that neither you nor your brother could be trusted, that you were both the product of your father, and she wept for a future that promised nothing but pain and loss and disaster for you.”
“You’re a liar! Mother left us a message with the cherubim’s wing. She loved us, do you hear me? She wants Ajax and me to have the power, the immortality.”
He ignored her question. “I will not give you the combination to the vault. You won’t be able to enter without it.”
“Of course I will. I checked it out, read everything about your precious vault.”
Jason was tired, mortally tired. “If you think you are so clever, if you know so much about my vault, then try to open it, but I must warn you, you will die trying.”
“Oh, I know all about the explosives you fashioned into it as well. It will not be a problem. I have a way to open it, you’ll see.”
There was nothing more to say.
“You miserable old man, give me the formula!”
Jason swiveled around to see Ajax coming toward him.
“No,” he said. “As I told your sister, I fear for humanity were you to have it.”
Ajax was on him. He sent his fist into his grandfather’s head, knocking him out of his chair. Jason lay motionless facedown, unmoving, Ajax standing over him, breathing hard.
“Ajax, is he dead?”
Ajax went down on his haunches, grabbed his grandfather’s arm and pulled him onto his back. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly agape. Ajax could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Blood was running from a cut on his forehead, running into his eyes.
“No,” he said, “I didn’t want to kill him. He still hasn’t told us where he keeps the formula.”
“Ajax, he told me the formula wasn’t in the vault, that he had it memorized. He was lying. The procedures for directionality can’t be all that simple, so wouldn’t he keep it close? Here, by his computers?”
She ran toward and began pulling open drawers. Ajax joined her. They looked in every drawer, they lifted books off the shelves and fanned them. Nothing.
Ajax said, “When he comes to, I’ll get it out of him.”
“Keep looking. I know it’s here, it has to be here.”
He lifted the keyboard from his grandfather’s main computer. “Cassandra, something’s taped to the bottom.”
He carefully pulled a folded piece of paper off, unfolded it. Ajax couldn’t believe it. “No wonder he kept it close, it’s instructions, directions, if you will. It’s long and it’s complicated, just like you thought, no way to remember all of it or memorize it.
“Cassandra, making the storm go in a certain direction is all based on longitude and latitude of the target, and that determines the angle of the lasers—some intersect at certain degrees, others simply align in a specific pattern. I must find the longitude and latitude of Washington.” He flung himself in front of Jason’s computer.
He punched some keys, laughed. “I love Google. Washington is 38 degrees, 89 minutes north longitude, 77 degrees, 3 minutes, west latitude. Now—”
“What have you done? Oh no, Dr. Kohath!” Aaron Burnley fell to his bony knees beside their grandfather, grabbing his hands, rubbing them, pulling out a handkerchief, wiping the blood from his forehead, daubing at his eyes. He stared up at Cassandra. “What have you done? Why did you hurt him? He’s the greatest man who ever lived, he’s your grandfather! Are you insane?”
“I’m not insane!” She kicked Burnley in the face and he fell over their grandfather. She looked toward her brother. “I never liked him. He looks like a ghoul, all skinny and pasty-skinned.”
But Ajax wasn’t paying any attention. “Now that I have longitude and latitude, I need to calculate the position of the lasers to determine directionality. Give me a minute and I’ll get it.”
She saw a glint of something shiny. She leaned down and shoved the unconscious Burnley off her grandfather. His shirt had ripped when he’d fallen, and around his neck she saw a gold chain, and hanging from that gold chain was a double-hasped director’s key. “Ajax, I’d forgotten. It’s impossible to get into the vault without this key, then the combination. It’s a double-safe.”
He was still doing calculations, didn’t look at her. “We don’t need to get into the vault now. Forget it.”
“No, no, he’s hiding something in there, something important, maybe Mother’s notebooks. Who knows? Maybe even the Ark. I’ve got to get it open.”
“Hold on, another minute.” Then he was madly typing in numbers. He spun around in their grandfather’s chair. “I’ve done it! The storm is huge and it’s heading straight for Washington, D.C.
“Three hours, Cassandra, three hours! The winds will slam into the city, flatten it, and the water will rise from the Potomac and drown them all. D.C. will be gone, like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And that Drummond character, he has no idea where we are. We’re safe, at last we’re safe. He’ll go back to the U.S. to nothing at all.”
“Ajax, the vault!”
He was shaking his head at her. “You think the Ark could be in the vault? Mother’s notebooks? That’s crazy, Cassandra. Impossible.”
“Get the thief. Get her now.”
A light began to flash on Jason’s desk. Cassandra reached down and hit the button. “Yes?”
“Madam, this is Amos, on the dock. Rafael is on his way in. Apparently he was able to get your food shipment moved up, and he’s flying it in.”
“Tell Guzman to turn back. Not today.”
“It’s too late, Ms. Kohath. They are on their way.”
Ajax said, “Hang on, Amos. How could Rafael have gotten it to us so quickly? No one knew we were coming.”
Amos said, “Evidently all was ready and so Rafael believed it would please you. He will be here shortly. Captain Snelling will meet the plane and unload the supplies. You need to bring the island into view. Now.”
This, at least, was something Ajax knew how to do, shown to him by their grandfather when he was still a boy. He punched in the code to lower the electromagnetic shield.
Burnley moaned.
“Oh, kill the idiot! I’ll get the thief.”
Ajax pulled his stiletto out of his jacket pocket, leaned down, and slid it into Burnley’s heart.
A strange metallic sound rang out above them. They looked up to see the metal catwalk flex.
Ajax wiped his stiletto off on Burnley’s shirt and rose, still looking up, frowning.
Cassandra jumped. “What is that?”
“I don’t know, but we’d better find out.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Kitsune got to work. Ajax Kohath was stupid, having them thrown into a room, locking the door and leaving, thinking them secure. First the handcuffs. She arched backward like a bow being strung, and brought her hands beneath her butt. She stepped through, her hands now in front of her. She pulled the gag off her mouth, dropped to her knees, and pulled off Grant’s. Then she used the small pointed charm she wore on her ankle bracelet, and opened the handcuffs. She shook her hands, then opened his handcuffs. She gave him a moment to catch his breath, then kissed him.
To her relief, he kissed her back. He was shaking off the remains of the drugs. He opened his beautiful eyes and looked at her. “You’re amazing,” he whispered. “I would have been the biggest ass on the planet if I’d let you go. Give me a minute. And then I’ll help you get us out of here.”
This was one of the benefits of being married to a spec-ops genius—no blaming her, no complaining, just instant acceptance of what was, and work toward getting them free.
She kissed him again, then rose. “Keep getting yourself oriented.” She began walking around the room. “All right, they dragged us down the slope of the volcano, into a vast building, and into a small room off a well-lighted tunnel. The room looks like sterile cement, lots of electrical cables piled in the corner. I have no idea what they use it for, if anything. We’re on an island, so they must have generators to run everything, or they bring in fuel for electricity. Our only light is coming through that single window.”
Grant said, “I doubt they’re bringing in fuel, more like they have solar and thermal power. That’s how many of the Caribbean islands generate electricity. They’ve clearly been here for years—this architecture is Cold War era, probably this was a Soviet base back in the bad old days. What are you doing?”
“Looking for something I can use to make us some light. It’s too dark in here.”
“Over here,” Grant said. “Behind me, there’s a large geode in the wall. It looks like this room was built right into the side of the mountain.”
She came back to him and saw the jagged rock edge behind him. Ran her eyes along the wall to the ceiling. “Not just a geode, look up here. An air vent. Of course. They couldn’t shut us in without air. It looks rather tight. Big enough for me, but will you fit?”
“Doubtful. But I can boost you up and you can get into the vent, maybe get to the outside and unlock the door.”
“Boost me up, let me see what the vent’s like.”
He made a bridge with his hand and raised her up.
“Oh, bugger all, Grant, it’s screwed shut.”
He grinned up at her. “You knew it couldn’t be that easy. The screws have to be old. Work them loose.”
She tried, but they held firm.
He eased her back down, then leaped up and smashed his fists into the vent. Nothing. He did it again, hitting harder. The screws sheared but didn’t give way.
“Once more ought to do it.” He leaped up again, and punched, hard. The screws popped out and so did the vent. They ducked as it landed on the concrete floor.
She grabbed his face, kissed him. “Okay, shove me up and in.”
He tossed her up and into the narrow vent tunnel. She called back down to him, “It’s not wide enough for you, tight for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Hurry,” Grant said. “I think I hear footsteps. They’re coming to investigate. I only remember seeing a couple of guards. I’ll take them if they unlock the door to check on us. Go!”
“No, I’m coming back out, we’ll take them together. You’re not at your full strength yet and—”
“No! Go!”
No way would he let her stay. Whoever was coming could come in shooting. “Be careful, you hear me?” And Kitsune crawled forward on her hands and knees. She didn’t hear anything from the room. So they’d looked in and she’d bet they’d see Grant lying on the floor, looking at them out of drugged eyes. Would they wonder where she was?
The vent shaft was long and dark and full of things that brushed her face. She didn’t want to think about what they might be. She finally saw light, knew she was looking at another vent.
She crawled the last bit. As the shaft brightened, she heard voices. She edged to the metal slats, looked down. She could see the twins, and an old man on the floor between them. They were arguing, and the old man looked dead.
Their grandfather, Jason Kohath. And lying beside him was another man, and Ajax was leaning over him.
They’d murdered their own grandfather?
She had to get out of there. She couldn’t keep going forward, they might hear her, see her. She had to go back, find another offshoot. She shifted, edging backward, and her knee hit a soft spot in the metal. The resulting twang rang out loud and clear. She froze and prayed.
But the twins both looked up, right at her, though she knew they couldn’t see her in the vent.
“What was that?” Cassandra said.
Kitsune saw Ajax rise and wipe off a bloody stiletto on the dead man’s shirt. Another one dead.
“I don’t know, but we’d better find out.”
Kitsune inched back. The old metal creaked again, louder this time, flexed and gave way.
Kitsune landed on all fours at their feet. The metal ventilation shaft sheared and gave way, flying down, and hit Cassandra on the head. As she fell, hard, Kitsune scrambled up from the floor and started running.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Off the Coast of Cuba
The Albatross seaplane might be Korean War vintage, but Rafael kept it in excellent shape. The stylized G on its side was freshly painted. It held four passengers with a small area for supplies.
“You guys will stay here,” Mike said to Louisa and Adam, when the arguments started. “You have to keep communications open with Zachery, and guard the plane. No way we want to wreck her on our first outing, or have the Cubans confiscate her.”
Nicholas let them grouse and curse, then added, “Can you guys imagine what Zachery and Savich will say? After they fire the lot of us? So, protect our jobs, guys.”
The Albatross lifted into the sky. It was loud, nothing sleek like their jet. Mike was glad not to have to talk. She’d never admit it on the pain of death to Nicholas, but her throat hurt, her head hurt, her chest hurt.
Once they were strapped in, headphones on, they skimmed the slate-gray Caribbean water, and lifted into the sky. Rafael Guzman was whistling, no longer afraid they would shoot out his kneecaps, and knowing he’d made the deal of a lifetime. He said into their headphones, “It’s the same thing every time—load up, fly out, unload, fly back. I’m on-call twenty-four/seven. Even on Christmas and my wife’s birthday. But now this job is going to be over because they’re criminals.” Slight pause. “You think I can fly in Florida?”
“Why not?” Nicholas said, then sighed. “All right, Rafael, I’ll make some calls.”
“That won’t fly, try again,” Mike whispered, watching the whitecaps under them, followed the shadow of the plane skimming over the water.
“What was that?” Nicholas asked. “What won’t fly?”
She leaned in. “I’m trying to figure out a nonviolent plotline to tell Big Mike and my mom, the Gorgeous Rebecca. They know we were in Venice, in that shoot-out, no way around that since the media gave out names, but this? This they do not need to know.”
“You think I’m going to fill in my parents? My grandfather would send a squadron of special ops to bring me back to England. Now, when we land—”
“—we go in hard. Kitsune and Grant, they’re both warriors. If they’re able, they’ll be right beside us.” If they’re still alive, but she wasn’t about to say it out loud.
“Yes. We’ll be fine.” He leaned over and kissed her. “And I’ve got my own warrior to protect me.”
“Don’t you forget it and go cowboy on me, okay?”
He smiled, but, she realized, he didn’t answer her.
“Look down, Mike. There’s the boat.” He fell silent, and both of them stared. Unbelievably, a beautiful, large island suddenly appeared out of nothingness. It was astounding, hard to accept.
Rafael shouted over the headphone, “This is strange, usually the island doesn’t appear until I’m offloaded and ready to leave. I wonder why it’s early. But there it is. Magic, that’s what it is. And there’s the boat. We’re going to land.”
“I didn’t really want to believe it,” she said, staring at the island. “But it’s true. Still, it’s hard to believe what I’m seeing.”
He squeezed her hand. “True and amazing. You ready for a grand adventure?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The Bermuda Triangle
Rafael set them down smoothly and glided to a stop. An old cargo ship appeared, motoring quickly toward them. The waves were not gentle, and Mike suddenly tasted black, bitter lake water in her mouth.
And Nicholas knew. He grabbed her hand. “It will be okay.”
“I’m fine, really.” Sh
He closed his eyes a moment, feeling the fear, the panic, not knowing if she’d live.
Rafael said, “The boat will be here in a minute. There are two men, Captain Snelling and Aldo, his first mate. From what Captain Snelling tells me, carrying supplies is their main responsibility, otherwise, he says, they watch movies. He calls it a sabbatical from life.
“The way this works is that if Captain Snelling thinks something’s not right, their orders are to leave immediately. It’s good I have some supplies here. Here, help me with a couple of these boxes, so that’s all they’ll see.”
Nicholas and Rafael pushed two large boxes labeled RICE and COCONUT MILK in full view and he and Mike crouched down behind them.
Mike heard the boat’s engines, loud now and nearly to them. She risked a glance out the plane window. The boat was a cabin cruiser retrofitted to be a short-haul cargo ship.
The two men on the boat waved, and pulled up alongside the plane. The waves were making it hard to balance, and both she and Nicholas had to hang on or be thrown against the plane’s hull.
They anchored the boat, tied themselves to the float, and immediately Rafael started passing over boxes.
Nicholas said, “Now,” and they stood up, weapons drawn.
The two men on the boat had boxes in their hands. They froze.
“That’s right, don’t move, mates,” he called. “Keep holding the boxes.” Nicholas thought about announcing they were FBI, decided against it, at least for now.
Mike edged onto the float, careful to hold on to the edge of the door.
Rafael called out, “Relax, guys. They need to go to the island. They’re after their friends. They’re not going to hurt you. They’re FBI agents. That’s Captain Snelling and his first mate, Aldo.”