The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(80)

Jansen was not backing off.

He kept coming.

Another boat emerged into the hall.

Looking back I’m not sure what happened, but something snapped inside me. Up to that moment in my life I had never intentionally harmed anyone with, as the law says, malice aforethought. But up to that point I had only been a lieutenant in the United States Navy and a lawyer for the Judge Advocate General’s corps. For less than two days I had been a special operative to the Justice Department. People had been continuously trying to hurt me, for one reason or another.

Enough was enough.

I pounced on Jansen and grabbed him by the throat. His arms came up in an attempt to shove me away. I brought my knee into his gut, the water cushioning the blow, but enough force remained to get his attention. He resisted, which sent us careening through the water.

I faced toward where the next boat was coming and could see it approaching, the people inside fixated on our brawl. The robotic captain in the galleon continued to yell orders for the cannons to fire at will.

And they did.

More thunder and fire erupted from the hull. Explosions from beneath the water shot up a few feet away, most likely pneumatic from compressed air. Jansen was not letting up. I could feel the metal track with my right foot. The boat kept coming toward us at a steady pace. I decided to use it to my advantage.

Ten feet away and closing.

Jansen’s eyes were filled with rage.

He’d come to kill me. No question.

Five feet.

I still had his throat in tight lock, which allowed me to swing him to the left just as the boat arrived, the mass and speed of the hull pounding into the back of Jansen’s head with a sickening thud.

The people glancing down were shocked.

One woman screamed.

I yanked Jansen back and let go.

He floated still in the water.





Chapter Forty-nine


The boat passed.

People sitting at its stern stared back in astonishment. I left Jansen in the water. He was not my problem anymore. More boats appeared as I sloshed my way toward the far side. I hopped up to dry ground and found myself in a town square where a hapless soul had been captured and was being repeatedly dunked in a well as animatronic pirates kept asking him the location of the town’s treasure. I sought refuge behind the well and noticed that though it appeared solid, it was only foam board painted to seem like stone. At least I was out of sight from the boats.

My breathing was quick, short, and hard.

I willed myself to calm down.

The first wave of people who saw me and Jansen fall from the galleon would surely report a problem when they came to the end of the ride. Security would then come to investigate. But that wouldn’t be for a few more minutes and I really didn’t need the hassle of being arrested. I decided not to hang around and darted to my right into the buildings that backdropped the scene, hoping to find an exit door behind the fake town. The music continued to play and the lyrics were beginning to get on my nerves.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.

I hustled through an open archway and found a metal door leading out, similar to on the galleon. My breathing had calmed. My clothes dripped with water. I left the Caribbean and reentered another of the bland hallways, this one stretching left and right in a straight line. A stairway began its ascent a few feet to my right. I was deciding on which way to go when I heard movement from the left.

Someone turned the corner.

Oliver.

He saw me and reached beneath his jacket. I knew what was coming. To turn away and head down the corridor would be foolish. He’d have a clear shot. Instead, I leaped for the stairway and headed up, two steps at a time. I came to a platform where the risers right-angled. I kept climbing and found myself above the main ceiling, in a spacious area lined along its perimeter with metal catwalks. Electrical cables ran in all directions along with ductwork. Everything was open, the two sides of the building connected by a single, mechanized catwalk on a track that moved left and right. I was out of sight to anyone below. The music continued to blare, dulled only by the thin acoustical ceiling that separated this service area from the attraction beneath. Low-level amber lighting lit the entire space. I could use the crosswalk and find the other side of the hall, but if Oliver came up he was going to have a clean shot. Since I was making this up as I went, I decided there was no choice.

I raced ahead.

Adrenaline surged, carrying with it fear and vigilance. But also a whisk of excitement, that sensual chill of danger that I would at first find enticing, but eventually come to resent.

Halfway across I heard, “Malone.”

I stopped and turned back.

“You’re proving really difficult,” Oliver said, his gun aimed at me.

“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.”

“You think this a joke?” He stepped onto the catwalk. “You saw what Valdez is capable of. He shot that young man with no remorse.”

“I noticed you didn’t bother to take him down or arrest him.”

“Where’s Jansen?” he asked.

“Probably dead.”

“You’ve had quite the first mission, haven’t you?”

He stopped about twenty feet away. I’d halted about three-quarters of the way across the catwalk at a panel attached to the platform. From a quick glance at the buttons it appeared to control the platform’s movement back and forth.