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They fired one more time, then seemed to realize that they had Knuckles trapped and by sitting outside taking potshots, they were giving him time to get away. I heard them shout at each other in what I assumed was Romanian; then they took off running, right in front of me. I let them get five feet away and followed suit. They weren’t in a perfect line, but in more of a lopsided V, with the right leg longer than the left. I took the man on the right, hoping the one on the left stayed focused on the run to the tower. I closed the distance and my target finally heard me. He glanced over his shoulder and I brought the brick down, hitting him squarely over the bridge of his nose.

He crumpled to the ground, tumbling with the forward momentum he had generated, his weapon flung sideways into the dirt. His partner to the left heard him fall and turned to assist, his eyes going wide at the sight of me.

I was preparing to continue my assault when I saw him shout and bring up his gun. I knew I couldn’t reach him fast enough. I jerked left, scooped up the dropped weapon, and slammed into the brick of the tower, hearing rounds pocking the cement around me.

I brought my own weapon up and saw I had the manufacturer right, but not the model. It was an H&K MP7 personal defense weapon, and I immediately began using it for its intended purpose. I fired a double-tap at the second man, getting him to dive to the ground, then circled the tower trying to interdict the third man, who had ignored my fight and continued after Knuckles.

I wasn’t quick enough. By the time I reached the door, he was inside. Now I had a choice. Go after the second man I’d just fired at, or go after the man inside.

The man outside was the logical choice, since entering the building would put an enemy to my front and to my rear, but Knuckles had no weapon. No way to defend himself, and he was in critical danger. I kicked in the door and heard a round smack into the brick next to my head.

Chapter 7

The man outside had moved more quickly than I’d given him credit for, showing a little skill. They weren’t just some thug pipe swingers, and now I would have to deal with him before I could help Knuckles. He was on his own for the time being.

The tower itself was just that: a tower. Outside of a small anteroom, all I saw was a circular stairwell leading up through the gloom. I flicked on the light attached to the rail on my PDW and aimed it up, seeing nothing. I returned to the front door, waiting on the man to make a move, feeling the time ticking by, my conscious mind screaming at me to get up the stairs. To get to Knuckles.

When another two seconds went by without the man outside committing, I turned to the stairs and began to climb, the barrel leading the way. I went one turn and heard a three-round burst above me, then a man scream. I started sprinting and something large flashed by me in a window. I leaned out and saw a body crumpled on the ground. A Romanian body.

I reached the top and shouted, “Knuckles, Knuckles, coming in,” then popped onto the lighting platform. Knuckles was on a knee, holding the heel of his hand up against his nose, a trickle of blood running down his face. In his other hand he held an MP7.

“Great fucking plan.”

I smiled and said, “I know, right? Worked out beautifully. There’s still one more outside. You ready to go?”

He nodded, and we descended the circular staircase much slower than I’d gone up it, our barrels leading the way. We reached the anteroom and had no contact. Knuckles took a knee, his weapon focused on the single entrance door, far enough into the gloom that he couldn’t be seen from outside. “Why don’t you take off running back to the residence. When he stands up, I’ll clock him.”

I said nothing, thinking through our options. We were in a little bit of a pickle because there was only one way out of the tower, and he’d have that covered for sure. He hadn’t come in before, so it wasn’t likely he was going to come in now. He had the edge. All he needed was patience.

I needed to get him to move. Or I need to find out where he is — and I’m in the perfect sniper’s nest.

I said, “I have a better idea. Why don’t you go back up top and see if you can spot him. Put some suppressive fire on his position; then I’ll flank him. He’s going to have a view of this door, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

Knuckles grinned and took off again, climbing the stairs. I took up a position on the near side of the door and peeked out. Five minutes later, I heard the first shot, a single round. Then another. And another.

Then I heard return fire, about fifty meters away on the right side. I slid out the door going left, circling around the tower while he was still focused on Knuckles. By the time I reached the far side, he had taken a knee and was trying to suppress Knuckles, a losing proposition considering he was out in the open and Knuckles was behind the bricks in the tower.

He got Knuckles to duck, then stood up and began running toward the front door, and I took aim. I squeezed off a double-tap and he tumbled. I raced out from cover and kicked his weapon away, seeing him straining to draw a breath, his lungs punctured like a whitetail deer’s. He tried to sit up, his eyes wide, his left arm clawing the dirt.

I did nothing but watch, knowing he was slipping into another place. There was nothing I could do, even if I wanted to. He raked his nails through the earth one more time, then relaxed. I saw his eyes roll, and I knew he was done. Not for the first time, I wondered when someone would stand over me, waiting on my life to drain into the dirt.

It won’t be today.

The entire engagement had taken less than ten minutes. By the time Knuckles was back down the stairs, I was stripping the guy of his boots. Knuckles began doing the same to the man he’d chucked out the window when we heard movement. We both whipped our weapons up and saw a crusty-looking old man with almond skin coming out of the brush.

Knuckles said, “Doesn’t look like he’s from Romania.”

I stood up and waved, saying, “Nope. Looks more like a ride off of this rock. I think he’s a fisherman.”

The man waved back, then sat on a hunk of limestone, content to watch. Like he’d seen a shoot-out on this island every other week. I waited for him to engage us, and when he didn’t I went back to work. We continued searching the team’s belongings, trying to find some clue as to what was going on, and two more Haitians emerged from the brush. They talked among themselves, looking at us like we would do something else to provide entertainment, but did nothing to interfere.

We finished searching the bodies, finding precious little to explain what was going on. Little to enlighten how a simple contract to find a pirate treasure had evolved into a hunting team armed with the latest killing weapons available.

Knuckles waved a fixed-blade stiletto he’d pulled out of a sheath from the man he’d chucked out the window. He flicked it into the dirt, the blade spinning once before stabbing into the ground, and said, “What the hell is going on here?”

I unzipped the window jumper’s backpack, finding a walkie-talkie that was of little use and a notebook in Romanian. I said, “I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure. It’s got nothing to do with Blackbeard.”

Knuckles said, “Actually, I think this whole thing had a lot more to do with Edward Teach than we know.”

“What? You still believe there’s some treasure out here that caused all of this?”

He stood up and waved the old man forward, saying, “Did you put your wallet in that waterproof bag with the phone?”

“Yeah. Unlike you, I didn’t trust a bunch of foreigners with my personal stuff. Answer the question. What do you think is going on?”

He shook the man’s ancient hand and said, “I think these fuckers are modern-day pirates, and Jennifer and Brett are walking into a shit storm.”

Chapter 8

Jennifer felt the boat begin to gently roll and knew they’d cleared Port Royal. They were now out in the open ocean. She glanced at Brett and saw that he recognized it as well. They’d been locked up in the galley of the diving boat Pike had rented for close to twenty hours, their only movement allowed having been bathroom breaks. Even then, the zip ties stayed on their wrists and the door to the head had remained open, the Romanian thugs leering at her as she went. She had no idea what had happened to Pike and Knuckles, but after last night, she knew it wasn’t good news.

She and Brett had reported to Dylan’s room to provide their initial take on the research they’d conducted during the day, both on the various legends of the location of pirate treasure as well as a rundown on past antiquities rulings in the country of Jamaica. No sooner had they closed the door than the Romanian known as Costin had pulled a pistol, taking them prisoner.

They’d remained in the room until well past ten o’clock, then had been taken to the fifty-four-foot Bertram boat at the Royal Jamaican Yacht Club. Sailing out into the bay, they’d gotten within about two hundred meters of the port of Kingston, just outside the security zone, then stopped. A black mesh container about five feet square was thrown on the deck. Inside were dozens of waterproofed bundles. On the corners were large rare earth magnets.

Costin pointed at Brett and said, “Stand up. Look over toward the port. Do you see the second ship in the line?”

Brett did as he asked, then said, “Yes.”

“You will swim this bundle to that ship and affix the magnets to the hull beneath the water line.”

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