The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(18)

And they could be my salvation.





Chapter Eleven


I led the way as we rushed across the parade to the far side of the fort, the gun tucked at my waistband beneath my Jaguars T-shirt. Hearing that the FBI was on the way added a new dimension. Sure, Jansen was suspect but that didn’t mean everybody was crooked. I could make contact with those agents, explain the situation, and they could talk with Stephanie Nelle. If they moved fast, the Coast Guard could even detain Valdez before he left American waters. But I could see that Coleen Perry was not happy at the prospect of having more federal agents around.

“I assume you don’t want the feds to know what you’re doing,” I said. “Considering that it’s illegal to have that Double Eagle.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Right now I’m the idiot risking my hide to save yours.”

“I saw you leap off that boat before it blew, and when those men knocked you silly. The plane that flew by, right before the explosion, was the same one from before. I noticed the ID numbers.”

We kept moving across the short grass, following a defined sandy path that bisected the parade.

“What was your name again?” she asked.

“Cotton Malone. Here from the Justice Department.”

“Are you new at all this?”

That one hurt. “Does it show?”

“Only that you’re young, and I’m guessing you don’t have a clue what you’re into.”

“You’re not exactly Ms. Experience,” I pointed out. “We’re probably about the same age.”

“Except I’m not some hotshot Justice Department guy. Let me give you a piece of advice, Mr. Cotton Malone. The FBI is not your friend.”

At least one retired agent fit that bill, but I wasn’t ready to lump everyone into that category. “Care to explain?”

“Not at the moment.”

The young ranger had pointed us toward some freestanding buildings on the parade’s far side. Behind them, arches in the tall brick had been filled in with wooden walls and windows, creating enclosed staff quarters where there had once been only open casements. A few visitors loitered about on the coarse grass taking photos. More people ambled through the casements above, revealed in the arches that surrounded us on all sides.

We made it to a set of wooden stairs, which we climbed fast, finding the door we wanted at the top marked residence area do not enter. We ignored the warning and passed through into a long corridor that bordered the exterior wall. A welcome breeze slipped though the open casements. A series of doors stretched down an interior wooden wall to our left. I found the correct door and lightly knocked. No answer. One more time. Same result. I gripped the knob and turned. Probably little reason to lock anything around here. How much crime could they have?

I eased open the door.

The small space beyond was lightly furnished with a cotlike bed draped with a knitted spread, dirty clothes piled on the floor, a cluttered desk, and a small bureau. A screened window facing the interior parade hung open.

And then there was the falcon.

Standing on a perch, wings ruffling from our unwanted intrusion.

“You don’t see that every day,” Coleen said.

No, you didn’t.

Neither of us moved.

“The coin is on the desk,” I said, noticing the plastic sleeve.

The peregrine continued to ruffle its wings, like a warning that screamed, Stay away. Its sinister-looking eyes remained locked on me.

“Falcons don’t attack people, do they?” she asked.

Like I was a bird expert.

I decided to go for the coin. But the bird seemed to read my mind and pounced, springing from its perch, feathers ruffled, talons extended. No shrieks or calls, just a steady beating of wings as it flew toward us. We shielded our faces with our arms and I hoped the damn thing would head out the door.

But it stayed.

Thankfully, it did not touch either one of us and landed back on the desk, near the coin. A silent, ominous pall fell over the room. If I didn’t know better I would have assumed it knew what we were after. A small closet opened to my left, near the bed. We didn’t have time to duel with this creature, but I also had to respect its abilities. Truth be told, birds made me nervous. I wasn’t a fan. And I’d never actually faced one down before, eye-to-eye.

“I’m going to deal with it,” I said. “When I do, you get the coin.”

Carefully, I eased closer to the bed and grabbed the quilted comforter, noticing that it was thick. The peregrine’s cold eyes followed my every move. I told myself that its beak and those talons could do some damage.

So be careful.

“Okay, let’s see what you got,” I said, keeping my gaze locked on the bird.

I jerked the comforter upward.

The bird flew from the desk and swept toward me, this time emitting a sharp shriek. I grabbed the other side of the spread and brought it up and over the falcon, smothering it inside the folds. There’d only be a few seconds where I’d have the advantage, so I used those wisely, tossing the quilt and the bird into the closet and shutting the door.

“Aren’t you the clever one,” she said. “Like a matador with a bull.”

I heard the falcon freeing itself with more shrieks, its beak pecking at the door.