I closed my eyes but found it impossible to doze as we sped over the last few miles to Dingle. I tried to open my mind and make contact again, but all I heard was the rhythm of my heart.
Michael must have noticed. He put his hand on my shoulder and nodded. “Don’t you ever doubt we’re going to get her back and deal with these Druids.”
Dingle was a sleepy fishing village. We passed through it at breakneck speed and headed toward a small collection of buildings hidden behind an eight-foot chain-link fence. As we approached, I could see a large sign, black letters on white, telling us to halt.
No One Will be Admitted Without Class I Security Pass,
the sign warned.
When we drew within a few yards of the well-manned guard post, the gate slid open. A British Marine showed himself, saluting smartly as he waved us through. Traveling with Simon and his family was like being a member of royalty. I would have enjoyed it had the stakes not been so high. The Jaguar entered. As I looked behind us, our shadow on the five-hour trip from Shannon turned back. The driver gave us thumbs up.
We drove through a maze of small derricks, mountains of supplies stored in neat rows, and two small oil tanks with all the attendant safety and delivery apparatus. When we emerged into the open, I knew why we were here. Tied up at the quay, a spanking-new patrol boat sat poised like a sleek predator ready to pounce.
“She’s 110 feet of speed and intimidation. Cruising speed is thirty knots, but we’ll push her to the edge to get to Wales.” Simon looked at his watch. “We should be there just after midnight. We’ll take the northern route. She’s equipped with state-of-the-art radar and detection gear, so if the
Sea Witch
is actually chugging along out there, we’ll find her.”
He waved to an imposing man dressed in a captain’s uniform. I assumed it was Nigel. Next to him a tall woman approached as well. Slender, with a tanned face and large, gray eyes, she wore the look of a hunter. She was stunning.
Simon did the introductions. “This is Nigel Thomas, my old comrade. We’ve known each other for longer than I care to remember.” Simon slapped his back. “And this young lady is Gwyneth Montrose. She’s our Druid expert—knows everything there is to know about them. Studied at Oxford, Cambridge, and has done extensive field work. She’s also an empath. Gwyn has the ability to sense things—people, situations, the presence of good and evil, and a very close friend of…” Before he finished she ran to Michael, throwing her arms around his broad shoulders and kissing him. “Need I say more?” Simon added with a smile.
Michael and Gwyneth held each other for a long time, releasing each other when Simon gestured toward the waiting craft. We took our bags and double-timed it to the gangway.
“Well, I had no idea you were a man of such strong emotion and refined taste,” I teased Michael.
“I met Gwynny when I was stationed over here with the Rangers and OSS. I specialized in dealing with the occult.”
I must have looked skeptical.
“Hitler, Himmler, the whole Nazi inner crowd was preoccupied by spirits, spells, and the afterlife. They tried to link Jesus with the Aryans. Claimed that Parsifal—the Wagnerian hero—was a metaphor for Christ.”
Gwyneth nodded. “We learned the craft together, Robbie.” She smiled, her large gray eyes sparkled.
He returned her look with affection. I had never seen my brother display so much emotion. “One day a couple of years ago we suddenly realized that we were, you know.” Michael’s face reddened. “But my work for the family keeps us apart. When the ritual and all this is over, I hope…”
Gwyneth had been walking close, wearing a brilliant smile. She interrupted, “He’s going to steal me away and make an honest woman of me.”
I slapped him on the back as I glanced at Gwyneth. “My God. Are all witches this lovely?” I asked. Despite my growing anguish over Courtney, I was happy Michael had someone he cared for.
“We’ll find her, Robert. My oath as a high priestess.” She flashed another bright smile as she squeezed my hand. “I know it.”
I nodded my thanks and headed up the narrow gangplank. The sleek ship was running, pushing a thin plume of smoke from her rakish funnel. No sooner had we thrown our gear aboard then Nigel nodded to the deck officer. The lines dropped away as the svelte craft maneuvered away from the dock. We followed the narrow channel, heading out of the harbor and turned north, a fresh breeze blowing in our faces.
I whistled. “This is amazing,” I said, looking at Michael. “We’ve commandeered a British naval vessel.”
“It’s quite an operation. Even I’m impressed.”
“Is Nigel one of
us
?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, but Simon’s done a lot for Nigel. Actually fished him and his crew out of the Irish Sea after his ship was torpedoed in 1916.”
“You people have an amazing network.”
“That’s right. With a lot more sex appeal,” he said grinning as he hugged Gwyneth. “And it’s ‘we.’ You’re one of us.” Michael nodded.
We cleared the breakwater and made our turn. The small warship picked up speed like a racehorse spurred by a hungry jockey. We slid over the four-foot swells like a speedboat cruising across a lake. Despite the gravity of our mission, I found myself exhilarated as we cruised, paralleling the Irish coast.
“Let’s head to the wardroom. We have plans to discuss,” Simon ordered. I nodded and followed everyone through the hatch, down a spotless companionway, and into the officers’ mess. We sat down at the oak table in the room’s center. Nigel followed, carrying an armful of charts.
“There’s no way they could make it,” he said with a scowl. Simon spread a massive map of the North Atlantic before us. Nigel had penned the distances between the assumed starting point and Ireland. He circled possible destinations. He had done the same with locations on the west coast of Wales and England. “That fishing vessel can’t manage more than fifteen knots, a little more if she’s picked up a tailwind. That hasn’t happened. I’ve checked with the boys at Naval Meteorology. She’s been sailing into a stiff headwind for two days—if she’s even out there.” He shook his head.
“Alternatives?” Simon asked.
“You think they’re heading for Wales, the Island of Anglesey?” Gwyneth asked, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sure, Simon?”
Simon nodded. “It makes sense. They have ties to that area—very strong ties. Their history dates to antiquity. I grant you it’s a guess, but an educated one that their sanctuary and sacred altar would be there.” His eyes searched the charts as he bit his lip. “Remember, this isn’t a lark they chose on a whim. We have to assume they’ve been planning this for some time. They’ll have a gathering of elders and others and they can’t do what”—he looked away, his face hard and tight—“they intend to without resources, preparation, and solitude.”
Gwyneth reached over and patted my hand. We looked at each other. His assessment made sense.
“I think they’ve pulled a fast one.” Simon continued. “They can’t control or override Courtney’s telepathic abilities so they’ve used them, let her to send us tidbits. Pieces of information to tease us—give us brief images leading us to believe they’re trying to get to Wales by boat. Desperate for any information, we let ourselves be taken in.”
“What do you think they’ve done?” Michael asked, looking back and forth between Simon and Nigel.
“Left Portland and traveled by boat long enough so Courtney could send an image. I’m guessing they drugged her, put into a small harbor along the Canadian coast, and took a long-range aircraft to Wales. That’s the only way to get there in time,” Simon said, looking at Nigel.
His comrade nodded. “Makes sense.”
“I don’t feel them anywhere near, and I can smell these bastards,” Gwyneth added.
Simon stood and paced. “I blame myself for this. I wanted to find Courtney so badly I believed their tricks.” He looked at each of us in turn, offering a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
“But if we can get there—this place you think she’ll be—we still have thirty-six hours to find them, don’t we?” I asked.
He shrugged. His chiseled features looked vulnerable and tired. “Yes, Robert. Assuming they don’t fool us again. I can see why they’re successful. I underestimated them. I never imagined they’d be a match for us. I was wrong.” He turned and left the wardroom.
I followed him with my eyes. I respected Simon, but hoped that his overconfidence had not cost Courtney’s life.
****
Dusk approached. I stood on the windward side of the patrol boat, trying to let the stiff breeze and sea spray occupy my mind. It was a losing battle. Images of Courtney and her pain consumed me. I promised myself to punish those who kidnapped and tortured her. I would end their miserable existence. I looked forward to it.
I took a drag on my cigarette as I heard the sound of the hatch shut. I turned to see Michael. “What are you thinking?” he yelled over the sound of the wind and the twin, high-powered diesels.
“So many things,” I responded, adding “I can’t wait to get my hands on these creatures.”
“I understand how you feel. But this will be tough. Don’t let your emotions get in the way.”
“I won’t,” I said in a voice tinged with anger and arrogance. “I can deal with them. They better pray that Courtney’s all right.”
Michael patted me on the back. “These people are dangerous.” He looked out at the gray and pink of the darkening sky. “They’ve out-thought Simon and kept Gwynny from detecting them. Those two are as shrewd and powerful as they come.”
“Give me a shot,” I yelled as a sudden wave pushed our sleek vessel to starboard.
Michael checked his watch. I did the same. Eight-twenty. I noticed his utilitarian timepiece was gone. He wore his Ranger chronometer. “Simon wants to meet at 2100 hours to go over the latest info and plan our landing.” He started to turn and walk back inside. He put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re gonna get Courtney back. I promise.”
“Damn straight,” I called to him. I had never been so determined. When the moon rose on Friday evening, she would be with me, or I would have died trying.
Chapter Forty
Courtney studied the tall stranger who met them when they deplaned in Gloucester. She needed to determine who he was and what he wanted. He had a familiar look. But reading his thoughts was impossible. Surprising. She had discovered that these people were Druids and to her knowledge, telepathy was not one of their skills.
“From this point on, Courtney, they’ll be no more questions.” He nodded to one of his associates and a tight leather gag was strapped in place. Her hands were pulled behind her and tied. Her ankles were also bound and she was placed into the large boot of a Jaguar limousine.
Courtney struggled despite her restraints, fighting her captors furiously. Too furiously.
“Enough of this foolishness,” the large man with the strangely familiar voice whispered. “I want her in one piece for the ritual.” It was the last thing she heard. A long needle pierced the cloth of her dirty hacking jacket and entered her arm. In a matter of seconds, blackness overtook her.
****
We sat around the oak table in the wardroom. Simon stood arrow-straight at the head, studying the papers arrayed in his hands. The look of quiet self-assurance had returned.
He cleared his throat. “Our friends on Anglesey tell us they’ve discovered a hidden sanctuary a few miles from Beaumaris Castle and the strait.” He picked up a piece of paper, studying it. “I believe this is the site where they intend to perform the”—the words seemed to stick in his throat—“the ritual. They tell us there’s been activity there recently.”
I scanned the room. Everyone stared at Simon.
“We have several choices. We can anchor a few miles off the coast and take a launch into the harbor, or…”
Suddenly everyone turned toward me. I reached out, grasping blindly. I sensed Courtney. Felt myself mouthing my name, followed by a weak plea. “
No, Wendy…Help Mrs. Mac
.” There was a weak cry, then silence. The words
Home
and
Romeo
ran through my mind. Just as quickly she was gone.
“Robbie,” Michael cried out as they gathered round me.
I looked up at their faces, their eyes searching mine. The message was brief, dreamlike, and disoriented. More than anything the tone was one of sadness and betrayal.
Betrayal.
That was the only way to describe the sense Courtney communicated.
“Robert, how did she seem?” Simon grasped my shoulders.
I shook my head. “Not good. She’s weak, very weak. Everything was blurred, fuzzy, like I was hearing it underwater. Just random thoughts, but there was something. It’s difficult to explain. She was sad and frightened. And there was a feeling of hurt and terrible disappointment, as if someone had betrayed or deceived her.” I related the disjointed words from her message.
“Was she coherent, awake?” It was Gwyneth.
“No, she was definitely drugged or unconscious. Maybe that’s how she was able to get through. If they’d drugged her or knocked her out, they might have been asleep at the switch,” I suggested.
“She said, ‘Wendy,’ then ‘help Mrs. Mac’?” Simon asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Very clearly. The word ‘no’ and then the names.” I was as mystified as they were. “She and Wendy were close, but not as close as she was to Mrs. Mac. And I don’t know about her nanny. She may have been calling out for help or trying to tell us who took her.”
“It’s possible. But all along she’s been calling out to you. Betrayal, Robert?” Simon looked confused. “You spoke of Mrs. Mac. Do you suppose she’s part of this? That might explain what you felt. And what about her reference to ‘home’ and ‘Romeo’?”
“I have no idea. All I know is what I told you two days ago. Courtney felt a strange sensation, something that frightened her badly and the only one close by was Mrs. Mac.” Suddenly I stopped, realizing that was not entirely true. Gretchen had been there that night, and the morning she was taken, but the thought teasing me was too bizarre, too strange to contemplate.
“Go on, Rob.” Michael said with a look of frustration.
“It’s nothing.” I tried to ignore what I was thinking. “She’s weak, frightened, but still alive. As far as ‘home’ and ‘Romeo,’ if she was drugged or knocked out, they may be random images in her mind. Maybe that’s why she called out to Wendy.” I shook my head. “Let’s get back to our plans.”