She feared he would surface before she could make her escape but she never saw him again. His bubbles were still under her boat when she raised the anchor and sped off. She couldn't help but smile at her good fortune. She had gotten away from Pendleton and she had the book. Now to get as far away from Tennessee as she could.
She flexed her knees and shoulders, feeling the soreness from all the exertion of the chase and the fight with Pendleton. She had run marathons when she was younger and never felt this sore. Age was simply not just a state of mind. It also took its toll on the body.
She had rented a fast boat and was pleased she'd spent the extra money. The quicker she got back to the dock the better. Her skin began to itch and she realized she still had on her dry suit. No wonder she was so hot. She peeled it off a little at a time while she drove toward the marina. After she removed her polar under suit, she sat in the captain's seat and fatigue hit her. She was exhausted. She grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and some painkillers from her bag, maybe that would help stave off the headache she felt coming on.
It was getting time to change her line of work, or at the very least, her level of active involvement. At 39, this type of contract work was for her younger escorts. She rubbed her arms to stave off a chill then slipped on her tunic. It was time for a change of pace.
The afternoon sun had moved past its apex and westward toward the mountaintops casting tiny shadows along the western shoreline of Watauga Lake. She missed the turn to take her to the marina twice, which just pissed her off. Come on, get it together.
She had Makley's precious book, one he'll never see if her escort did her job. Now, she'll use it as leverage to get herself out of the country and someplace outside the long arms of the United States authorities. Even if they had taken down her complex like Makley indicated, she had enough cash reserves tucked away to live comfortably for several years. Maybe she'd set up shop someplace else. Australia, perhaps…or maybe New Zealand. Contracts might be few and far between, but that could ease her into retirement.
She pulled into the slip at the marina, cut the engine, and tried to stand. Her legs were wobbly like she'd had too much to drink. She caught herself by grabbing the console, shook it off within a few seconds, and gathered her bag and personal belongings. The rest of the stuff could just stay; someone would claim it sooner or later.
She felt an itch and scratched her ear with her slender fingers. Definitely not getting in the water again. In the afternoon sunlight she thought her tanned skin looked strange but dismissed it as fatigue. It had been a long, tiring day.
She looked for her car and spotted it just beyond a white van where an older gentleman was threading a fishing line through a rod. She walked past him and gave him a faint smile.
Two seconds later she was being pulled backward.
She tried to resist.
Francesca dialed Jake's cell phone for the fourteenth time in the past three hours. She'd been waiting in Butler trying to locate Jake so she could assist him with the mission. But the woman's arrival at the marina changed that. Now she was calling him to leave a message to let him know what had just happened. On the third ring Jake answered.
"Jake. Damn you. Where the hell have you been?"
"Last hour or so? Underwater. What's going on?"
"Abigail Love showed up here at the marina."
"Good, go after her. She's got the book and we need to get it back."
"I'm following her now. You all right?"
"I'm fine. Stay on Love. I have everything under control here. Besides, she'll need your help very soon."
"She needs my help now." Francesca memorized the license plate in front of her. "She was just abducted while walking to her car, thrown in the back of a van, and now they're heading out of town. I'm already in pursuit."
"What color van?" Jake said. "White?"
"Yes. How'd you know?"
"Same van was in Charleston yesterday morning then again here in Butler last night. The van was tailing Love."
"Now they have her. Jake, all hell is breaking loose and I'm afraid President Rudd is about to be caught in the middle of a maelstrom as you would say."
"I know. I think I've already figured that out."
"So you know about Evan Makley?"
"Makley? What about Makley?"
"He was shot and killed across the street from the White House. In Lafayette Park. He died on the pavement under the statue of Andrew Jackson's horse."
"You think it was us?" Jake paused. "Or Rudd?"
"Us? What makes you think it might be us?"
"I found out there are a few things Wiley deliberately didn't bother to tell us."
"It's not like Wiley to keep information from us about a mission. If he did, I'll bet President Rudd withheld information from us too." Francesca slowed down as the van pulled off the road. "How did Love get the book from you?"
"I never had the book. She killed Ashley Regan, grabbed the book, and then took off. I chased her for a long time underwater, but…" Jake paused. "She got away."
"What now?"
"Don't let Love out of your sight. She needs medical attention."
"Looks to me like she's in need of a rescue. What kind of medical attention?"
"I'm pretty sure she's going to get the bends."
"The bends?"
"Decompression sickness. Keep following the van. Don’t let her get away. If you get the chance, get the book and then get her to a hospital. And in that order too. I've got a few janitorial duties to take care of here first, then I'll meet you and Wiley in Nashville."
"Nashville? What makes you think this van is going to Nashville?"
"Because that's where Wiley is going."
He hung up on her without another word. It was a bad habit of his. At first it bothered her that he would never acknowledge the end of a call, all the time thinking maybe she said something to upset him. Now she understood Jake's business-like attitude and propensity to forgo pleasantries, like ending a conversation.
The van pulled off the road forcing her to pass it, which made it very difficult to follow someone especially when they were behind you. Just outside of town, she pulled into a gas station and pretended to fill her car with gas. If the person in the van was indeed taking Abigail Love to Nashville, then the entire mission had taken a turn for the worst.
When the van passed by, she returned to her running vehicle and pulled back onto the highway.
A safe distance to follow, she thought, four cars back.
Jake allowed a minimum amount of time to off-gas before plunging back into the cold water. He'd done a field repair on his dry suit using Wiley's special brand of duct tape. The same type of tape he'd once used on a mission to mend a damaged glider in Yemen.
He grabbed the spare tank from the front compartment, rigged his gear, grabbed his dive light, and hoped like hell his patch job worked.
He followed the guide rope down to the grave marker of Norman Albert Reese, Junior. Everything was the same as when he left it an hour and a half ago. All the tools and gold and silver were still where he'd left them, ironically, still guarded by the dead body of treasure hunter Ashley Regan who was still fastened to her umbilical.
He put the gold and silver back in the leather pouches. He wished now he hadn't been so exuberant about displaying the trove of wealth from the casket. He couldn't afford another trip to the bottom of the lake so he had to get everything ready to haul to the surface in one trip. He grabbed three mesh utility bags and stuffed them with leather pouches of gold and silver and with the tools and Regan's scuba gear.