Alex followed him up the fire escape and moved in for a closer look. After a cursory inspection, he shook his head dismissively.
“Child’s play. I clip the right wires and the bell won’t ring.” He took out a small penknife and cut the wire, grumbling all the while about the lack of a challenge. “Why do they even bother? People should take pride in their work.”
Stone slid the window open and slipped inside the office, Alex bringing up the rear. Taking out their penlights, they began searching through the drawers of the large desk that dominated the room. They were breaking the law, but, as far as Stone was concerned, all bets were off since it appeared that the goons at Bermuda Cab had messed with Trinity.
The search turned up nothing of interest— only typical business records and correspondence. Finally, he looked in the “Out” basket on the corner of the desk. Inside was a single, thick envelope, addressed to a John Kane in New York City. He picked it up and gave it a long look.
“Should we open it?” Alex asked.
“It won’t be the first crime I’ve committed tonight.” Stone tore open the envelope and removed the folded papers it contained. He immediately recognized the contents.
“This is a complete transcript of my conversation with my attorney.”
“Let me see.” Alex examined the paper and a smile spread across his face. “Watch the door. I have an idea.”
While Stone waited in the doorway, Alex sat down, took out a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write. When he’d finished, he folded the paper, tucked it back into the envelope, sealed it with rubber cement, and replaced it in the “Out” basket.
“I’ve always had a knack for copying handwriting,” he explained. “When John Kane, whoever he is, receives this letter, he’ll have map coordinates guiding to a spectacular treasure your grandfather left you.”
“Where do the coordinates lead?”
Alex shrugged. “Somewhere south of Greenland. I just made them up.” He made a face. “If he checks them on a map, he’ll probably realize they’re useless.”
“Not necessarily,” Stone said. “If this John Kane is searching for the island, he might want to check the location, just to be safe. In any case, it’s a good way of letting him know we’re on to him, and we won’t be intimidated.”
Something caught his attention — a sound somewhere out in the hallway. He raised a finger to his lips and pressed his ear to the door. He’d always had a keen sense of hearing, and the unique training he’d received had taught him to filter out superfluous noises. Concentrating, he heard the gentle tread of someone trying to be stealthy. The footsteps were approaching the door.
He stepped back and waited, his emotions perfectly calm, but every nerve ending alive. He was coiled to strike.
The doorknob slowly turned, and then the door opened a crack. An armed man, probably the night watchman, peered inside.
Stone struck. In a lightning-fast movement, he slapped the man’s gun hand aside and struck the guard with his open palm hard on the temple. His blow was so strong, so precise, that the guard’s eyes rolled back in his head, his legs turned to jelly, and he crumpled to the floor.
While Alex straightened the desk, Stone heaved the guard’s limp form into the hallway. He took a moment to empty the cylinder of the guard’s revolver, pocket the bullets, wipe the weapon clean of prints and replace it in the man’s holster. When he’d finished, they exited the office the way they’d come, wiped down the windowsill and alarm, and climbed down the fire escape.
“What’s next?” Alex asked as they exited the alley and headed for the corner where he’d parked his car.
“I’m going to ask Trinity to see what she can learn about John Kane. We need to find out who he is and what he wants with us. Perhaps she and her newspaper colleagues can dig up something useful. In the meantime, I’m going to locate my grandfather’s island.”
10- The Library
“Nothing there, either.” Stone closed the book and pushed it aside. He stood, stretched, and cracked his knuckles. The popping sound rang out like gunshots in the quiet of the Library of Congress building.
A bespectacled man one table away turned a sour frown in Stone’s direction. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his lips as his eyes took in Stone’s height and bulk. His cheeks reddening, he cleared his throat and turned back to his own book.
“Sorry,” Stone whispered. No need for discourtesy. After all, he was the one making the racket. He sat down again and returned to his pile of books. He’d decided to focus in on the shipwreck that had led to the mysterious time gap in his grandfather’s journal. Instinct told him that it was during this period that his grandfather had found the island. Given that he’d kept the place a secret, it stood to reason that he would not have recorded it in his journal.
The ship in question was the USS Syvarris. He’d learned plenty about its history, but could find no specific details of its sinking, which seemed shrouded in mystery. Everyone agreed upon the date of the event and that there had been no survivors. Stone grinned. Apparently, his grandfather had never bothered to disabuse anyone of that notion. It was just like Samuel, secretly laughing at the foolish or uninformed. Sighing, he opened another book and flipped through the pages at a rapid clip, devouring every word.
He paused, sensing someone approaching. He knew he was probably safe in the library, but years of training had caused him to keep his senses on high alert most of the time. He tensed and then relaxed as the familiar scent of lilac perfume wafted over him.
“Let me guess,” a soft voice whispered in his ear. “You only look at the pictures.” Trinity gave his shoulders a squeeze and sat down next to him. “How’s it coming?” She kept her voice low and the man at the next table didn’t spare them a glance.
Stone grimaced. “It’s not coming at all. I’m afraid this was just a trip for biscuits.”
“Don’t be such a pill,” Trinity rebuked. “You’ll find something.”
“Any luck finding information on John Kane?” Stone asked.
“Not much. He’s a rich eccentric. Very secretive. I’ve asked one of my friends in New York to see what he can dig up, but he didn’t sound hopeful.” She looked at the stack of books. “What’s your status?”
“Can’t find the location of the wreck. No specific details in any of these.”
“Have you tried newspapers?” Trinity’s brow crinkled and the corners of her mouth twitched upward as Stone shook his head. “Your girlfriend is a newspaper reporter and you went for the books first? I’m hurt. Come on.” She rose from her seat and strode across the room.
Stone followed in her wake, his head buzzing, but not from thoughts of the shipwreck. “You’re still my girlfriend?”
She threw him a withering glance over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed. “Whether you like it or not.”
Stone smiled.
Trinity was acquainted with several of the librarians, and her status as a reporter quickly gained them access to the newspaper archives. The way she batted her lashes at the men didn’t hurt either. They nearly fell over themselves providing her the assistance she required.
They focused in on newspapers from cities in the Southeastern United States; the logic being that the Syvarris’ voyage from around the southern tip of Africa would have taken it up the East coast. They chose issues beginning the day of the sinking and up to a week thereafter.
Stone found nothing in the Atlanta Journal, but the Columbia Record offered a tantalizing clue. The Syvarris left San Juan, Puerto Rico the day before the sinking, headed for Charleston, South Carolina.