The Admiral's Mark (Short Story) by Steve Berry Read Free Book Online

the group, and they ambled closer to the lime pit. Simon seemed to resent the intrusion and drifted away. He followed, keeping an eye on what surrounded him.
    “Herr Malone,” Simon said. “Do not take me for a fool. Herr Brown made that mistake. I would hope you learned from his error.”
    “I have the page and, you’re right, the mark of the Admiral is there. I recognized it last night when you drew it. I don’t give a damn about that. I just want Dubois and the $600,000 in the Cayman Islands.”
    Simon’s face lit with recognition. “Did Herr Brown cheat you?”
    One of the advantages of an eidetic memory was the ability to recall exact details. Malone had been born with the gift, which had come in handy when he was a lawyer—and came in even handier in his current line of work.
    “Account number 569328-78-9432. Bank of the Cayman Islands. I have a definite interest in that money.”
    He’d thought about it last night and concluded that using what he’d learned from Simon’s own background check might work.
    And it apparently had.
    “I am aware of those funds,” Simon said, “and I have no claim to them. They are yours. I just want that missing page.”
    “Then you’re wasting time.”
    Simon seemed to know what was expected of him and pointed.
    Malone turned to see Dubois standing a hundred feet away, across the courtyard, the man called Rócha beside him. Though he saw no gun, he knew Rócha was armed.
    Okay, nearly all of the players were here.
    He started toward Dubois.
    “First, the page,” Simon called out.
    He turned back. “After I make sure he’s okay.”
    He held his ground, making clear that the point was non-negotiable. Simon hesitated, then nodded his consent.
    He turned and kept walking.
    If he’d read this right, Zachariah Simon was not a man prone to public displays. That was why he had Rócha. Not that Simon wasn’t a danger—it was only that the most direct threat lay in front of him, not behind.
    His hand slipped into his back pocket and found the gun.
    He leveled the weapon and fired at Rócha.
    But his target had leaped to the left.
    Dubois fled to the right. Hopefully, he’d get the hell out of here.
    Malone huddled behind the limestone mound, taking refuge with Henri Christophe.
    He turned back.
    Simon had not moved.
    People were scattering.
    A few screaming.
    A gunshot cracked and a bullet ricocheted off the stone a foot away from his face.
    Rócha retaliating.
    He’d seen no guards when he entered, but he assumed a place like this had to employ security. Gunshots and mayhem would draw attention.
    So he needed to act fast.
    He decided to draw Simon in. The Austrian continued to stand his ground, confident that Malone would not shoot him and that Rócha had the situation under control.
    He whirled the gun, but before he could fire the earth around Simon erupted in explosive puffs. Three. Four. Five. Which finally caused a reaction as Simon realized someone other than Malone had him in their sights.
    The shots came without a retort, which meant a sound-suppressed weapon was on the ramparts above them.
    Simon fled to the safety of a nearby building.
    Malone smiled.
    The Israelis.
    Finally.
    He’d assumed they were watching. No contact had come last night, but that had not meant they were gone. He knew they would not risk exposure, using him to achieve whatever they were after. Since they were here heassumed they knew Simon possessed the book. But they would also know that a page was missing, and they would have to wonder.
    Did the Americans have it?
    His gaze raked the deserted courtyard, but he saw neither Rócha nor Simon. Above him all was quiet, too. He needed to leave. But where was Dubois?
    He dropped the arm with the gun to his side and shielded the weapon with his thigh as he hustled out of the sunlight, back into the fortress. He heard people chattering in different languages, their voices raised and excited, all of them surely headed for the exit.
    He made his way