Chapter 21
XAVIER STOOD SLOWLY. His body no longer hurt as badly as it had the first week he had labored in the quarries.
Somehow his muscles had adjusted to the grueling labor he had to perform and the minimal rations the slaves received and were expected to subsist upon.
And every evening he was given extra food, arranged, he knew now, by Alexandra, but Xavier refused to partake of it in spite of Pierre Quixande’s advice and warning.
He had Tubbs distribute it to the most needy.
Xavier had been resting with the scribe just outside of the scribe’s cubbyhole room. Both men had seen Kadar enter the courtyard on the far side with a European man. Xavier tensed. “Do you know who that is?” he asked the Frenchman.
The blond European was overdressed in a frock coat, waistcoat, breeches and stockings, and a tricorn hat because it was still very hot out in spite of the twilight hour. He was starting to make his way through the sleeping slaves.
“That is the Danish consul,” Quixande returned. “Sven Neilsen.”
Xavier’s heart leapt. He was disbelieving. How had Neilsen managed to gain admission to see him? In the past week, Xavier had lost hope.
Xavier smiled as Neilsen extended his hand. The two men shook. “Thank you for coming.”
“I would have come sooner if I could have,” the Dane said seriously, “but I was denied permission to visit you and your men repeatedly. You have Mrs. Thornton to thank for bribing the guards so thoroughly that I was allowed admittance here. However, this is dangerous and I cannot linger.”
Mrs. Thornton had bribed the guards so Neilsen could get in.
Briefly Xavier was frozen. He agreed with Quixande, she was a spy, planted here in Tripoli, but by whom?
His stomach curdled whenever he thought of her, which was often.
She had to be damnably brave and damnably clever, to marry Jebal and carry out her mission from behind enemy lines. It was almost incredible.
But there was no other explanation for the fact that she did not have a husband who had died on Gibraltar, and that no one had ever discovered which ship had brought her to Tripoli.
It made further sense when he thought of how she had secretly come to him the moment he had arrived in Tripoli.
But whom was she working for? Only one thing was clear: She was not working for the Americans.
Unfortunately, his conviction of her treacherous nature did little to abate the disturbing dreams that visited him each and every night.
In his dreams they were racing together on foot through Tripoli, which was ablaze.
Xavier was determined to protect them both, determined that they would reach freedom.
But janissaries were on their heels. They were not going to make it.
And then the dream would change. Suddenly she lay beneath him restlessly, her lush body naked and hot. Her green eyes, holding his, smoldered. And he would start to move over her, to take her … and then she began to drift away. Fading before his very eyes. Slipping, physically, from his grasp.
He would wake up sweating, shouting her name. Only to realize it was the damnable dream again.
She was a beautiful, dangerous spy. He must not forget it for an instant.
Xavier lowered his eyes. Surely Neilsen guessed the truth? He looked up. “I have a small room. It it hot and airless, but what we must discuss requires absolute privacy.”
Neilsen nodded. The two men began to tum. And then Xavier saw two bedouins crossing the compound. Kadar stood at the arched entrance, where he had just allowed them to pass within, staring at them all.
Xavier could not believe his eyes.
“What is it?” Neilsen asked.
“I do believe it is Mrs. Thornton,” Xavier said tersely.
Neilsen started. “Surely you are wrong! She would not dare! My God, Jebal would kill her in the blink of an eye if he ever found her in here!”
Alexandra raced up to them, Murad on her heels. Her face was flushed beneath the kaffiyeh, but her eyes were bright. There was a challenge in her gaze.
Despite his knowledge of who and what she was, seeing her again was very much like receiving an unexpected blow in the abdomen.
It was a moment before he could speak. “I cannot fathom you,” Xavier finally said softly.
He was glad she was dressed as a man. It reduced, just slightly, her sensuality, which he could not seem to remain oblivious to.
“That is obvious.” She stared at Xavier while gesturing at the consul. “I did it. I brought you Neilsen. Have I proved myself? Am I redeemed?”
“Hardly.”
She was taken aback. “I have thought about this misunderstanding. We have to talk.”
“I do not want you here. I do not want to ‘talk.’ I told you before, and I am telling you again.”
“But I arranged for Neilsen to come! I have put myself at great risk in order to help you. The least you can do is to hear me out.”
“I owe you nothing but thanks, perhaps not even that. Now leave us, as we have grave matters to discuss.” Xavier turned his back on her, quite certain she was not through.
And she wasn’t. She gripped his bare arm from behind. “No! You cannot exclude me. You are wrong about me. I am a captive just like you, and I, too, wish to escape. Please!”
He whirled, shaking her off. He did not want her touching him, not even in such a simple manner. Her touch disturbed him. And she was so damnably convincing. “Have you studied on the stage?”
She flinched. “You have made up your mind against me, condemned me as guilty without a trial—that is not the American way.”
He did not answer. He found himself looking at her mouth. He was thinking about kissing her.
“I insist you take me with you when you leave,” she hissed. “At least promise me that.” She was bitter. “Or are you only a gentleman when it suits you?”
She was angry, and he was confused by her bitterness, but he wondered if she was also panicky. “When we are ready to leave, you will be alerted and told precisely what to do,” Xavier said. He had thought about it. It would be a test. “Until then, you need not know anything.”
She stared, her expression dismayed. “I can help. I am inside the palace, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
Her nostrils flared, their gazes remained locked. “Damn you!”
He shrugged. If, when he came for her and it was time for them to leave, she refused to come, then he would know that he had been right—that she was a spy.
“I cannot escape without my crew,” Xavier said quietly.
Neilsen’s eyes widened. “It is one thing to arrange the escape of two people—another to plan a mass exodus! The latter is impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible, Neilsen, but you are right, it will not be easy.”
Neilsen was fanning himself with his tricorn hat. “I assume you already have some ideas?”
“I do.” Xavier sat with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up. “It seems that bribery is a way of life here?”
Neilsen nodded.
“Can we bribe a few guards to look the other way as we slip out of the bagnio?”
“I think so. But it will take an incredible amount of gold.”
“I have an incredible amount of gold, although not here,” Xavier said. “I am the heir to Blackwell Shipping.” He forced Robert’s image aside. “If you can arrange to pay the bribe now, I will have the entire sum sent to you from Boston, including a bonus.”
“I don’t need a bonus,” Neilsen said. “I am aiding you because it is my duty, to both of our countries, and to myself, as a man.”
“Surely you will not refuse a gift, then?” Xavier asked, relaxing somewhat. He had already judged the Dane to be a man of conviction.
“Perhaps.” Neilsen shrugged.
“We must also contact Commodore Morris,” Xavier said.
“A rendezvous shall be prearranged. After slipping from the bagnio, we can go to the beach outside of Tripoli, where U.S. gunboats can be waiting for us. If just one of the U.S. brigs is there, she can cover us with her guns in case we are followed by janissaries or corsairs and they attempt to stop us.”
“A good plan, Captain,” Neilsen said, “although not without flaws.”
“Every plan has flaws. Are the city gates guarded?”
“Yes. You will need weapons in order to fight your way out.”
“Can you attain weapons? Perhaps two or three pistols, and enough daggers for each of my thirty-four men?”
“I will need help,” Neilsen said. “What is our time frame?”
“That will depend on Morris. But I would like to tentatively say one month from now.”
Neilsen stared. “This is a tall order.”
“My men are being abused. Some will die before we even try to escape. The sooner the better,” Xavier said sharply.
Neilsen nodded, but he was grim.
“There is one other thing,” Xavier said. “We cannot leave Tripoli as long as the Pearl remains intact.” He pictured his beautiful ship as she cut through the swells of the ocean, as swift as the wind. “The Pearl must be destroyed.”
“Before the escape?” Neilsen shook his head. “You will ruin your chance of success if you manage to destroy the Pearl. The bashaw will be furious. You will be severely punished, Captain, as will your men.”
“I guessed as much.”
“Forget the Pearl. Although it is terrible that the bashaw will have such a ship in his navy, you have no other choice.”
“No,” Xavier said flatly. “The Pearl will be destroyed the night of our escape.”
Neilsen blinked. “What?”
His eyes gleamed. “She will provide us with the ultimate diversion.”
“Well.” Neilsen took a deep breath. “And you still think to arrange all of this within four weeks!”
Xavier nodded.
Neilsen became pensive. Xavier allowed him to think. The Dane finally looked up. “I think Mrs. Thornton could be a useful ally. She has already proven herself unusually resourceful and clever. Although I hate involving a woman in danger—”
“No.”
“Why do you distrust her so?”
“There was no British diplomat on Gibraltar named Thornton. She is lying about who she is.”
Neilsen gaped.
“Now, why would a woman lie?” Xavier asked.