The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(15)

He propped himself against the outer rail and folded his bony arms across his chest. “That was my intention, after the storm cleared. But when we saw your boat, we moved faster. Senor Malone, we have a serious problem. I do not have my files or the coin.”

Another new tidbit.

Not documents as Coleen had described.

Files.

“How do you know my name?”

He reached into his back pocket and removed my wallet. He opened the wet leather and found my military ID. “Lieutenant Commander Harold Earl Malone, currently at Naval Station Mayport. Judge Advocate General’s corps. I’m familiar with that base. I visited there many years ago.”

I decided to go with the obvious. “Before the boat exploded, a seaplane arrived. Your files went off in it. Your coin is still on Loggerhead with Coleen Perry. Unfortunately, I’m not in the loop on either of those.”

“Except that you forcibly retrieved my files from the wreck. But for you, I would have them.”

There was that. “Where are we going?”

“South. Where it’s much safer.”

That meant Cuba.

“When I agreed to this exchange,” he said, “I made the mistake of thinking time had changed things. But I should have known better.”

The dots started to connect.

The files were to be traded to Coleen by Valdez for the coin, and all was good until the seaplane arrived. Might as well give this guy more bad news. “I think a guy named Jim Jansen has your files. And there must have been quite a few. That case was heavy.”

He shook his head. “A precaution I took, adding lead weights to the inside. If there were problems I did not want that waterproof case being taken by anyone. Better to let it sink to the bottom. But you’re right about Jansen. He’s been wanting my files for a long time. Now I seem to have provided him the perfect opportunity. With your assistance, of course.”

I didn’t like how he kept drawing me into something I knew zero about. So I pointed out, “I think Jansen wanted me dead.”

That seemed to get his attention. “Go on.”

“There were remote-controlled explosives on the boat. That seaplane came back to set them off, with me on board.”

“Do you have any idea what you are involved with?”

“Not a clue.”

He laughed.

And I didn’t appreciate it.

“I believe you, amigo,” he said. “I truly do. How would you like to redeem yourself?”

I actually would, but I didn’t think that opportunity should come from this man. “You tried to kill me, too.”

“That’s correct, especially once I realized Jansen was on that boat.”

“You were there?”

“Of course. He and I had words through the rain. When I decided to shoot him, he decided to leave.”

None of which Jansen had reported to me.

He rummaged through my wallet and found my driver’s license. Thankfully, it was from Georgia. Active-duty military personnel were not required to change their driver’s license every time they relocated. Mine did not expire for another two years. The address on it led nowhere. Nothing else in my wallet was personal. Stephanie Nelle had told me to remove anything that qualified. So Pam’s photo, which I always kept, was gone. Only my military ID, driver’s license, State Bar of Georgia membership card, a Visa card, and some cash remained.

“Are you married?” he asked.

Like I was going to admit that. “Never had the pleasure.”

“Women can be such trouble,” he said. “I’ve had three wives, and divorce can be bothersome. That’s why I killed mine.” The declaration came in a matter-of-fact voice. “So much easier.”

I tried to read his brittle eyes, but registered not a clue. He found my bar membership card. I carried it because a lot of the civilian jails required proof I was a lawyer. Many times my clients would initially be held by the locals, my first task being to secure their release back to military custody.

“I’m assuming you’re some kind of Navy attorney. But if you were working for a private firm, what do you think would be your hourly rate?”

“Four hundred fifty.”

Wishful thinking, but it sounded good.

And for some reason I wanted to impress this man.

“I can have someone killed for much less than one hour of your hypothetical time.”

Valdez’s eyes, tiny pinpricks of white surrounded by the darkest irises I’d ever seen—like black currants—told me that he was not given to exaggeration.

“Jim Jansen is a liar and a thief,” he said. “He stole from me and, as you say, tried to kill you.”

“So go find him.”

“Oh, I shall. But I cannot worry about him at the moment. What I want is the coin I was promised.”

“Coleen Perry has it.”

“And the park rangers have her. She was arrested once they came to the explosion site. She is being held at the fort, as is my coin.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Steal it back.”

“Not interested.”

He shrugged.

“Then I’ll simply dump you over the side and be done with this.”





Chapter Ten