Hawke

“Exquisite, aren’t they?”

“Quite,” Hawke answered. “Indigenous? Or paid by the hour?”

“You know, Commander, I’m begi

“Service?”

“Yes. You locked up my troublesome brother Carlitos, and so saved me the trouble of killing him myself. Now, tell me why you came here to my island before I kill you.”

“I came here to get someone you took away from me. I succeeded.”

“According to Major Diaz, you killed at least seventy of my men and wounded many more. Your timing was good. Many hostages were to be executed at first light. Including your whore.”

Hawke smiled, letting nothing show.

“Without giving me a chance to meet your demands? Apparently you haven’t read many books on business etiquette, have you, General?”

“Ha! This is a good one! Now tell me, Hawke. You are a businessman. Wealthy, powerful, with many, many powerful co

“Work together? Don’t be ridiculous. Victoria Sweet is not the only person you took from me, General,” Hawke said, laughing at the man’s insipid notion.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t follow you, Mr. Hawke.”

“Then let me be perfectly clear, General de Herreras. Thirty years ago, you and your two brothers boarded an unarmed British yacht moored in a small cove near Staniel Cay in the Exumas. She was named the Seahawke. Do you remember that?”

“Seahawke?”

“Yes. That was her name. There were people aboard. A husband and his young wife.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, seсor.”

“You murdered them. And you laughed while you did it. You and your brothers.”

“Ah, he’s right, my brother!” Juanito said. “I remember this night! I think we were—”

“Shut up, you idiot! This man is insane. Coming into my house making wild accusations. I won’t stand for it. Guards!”

The guards advanced, racking the slides on their machine guns.

“You were looking for something that night, Manso. Do you remember?” Alex stood and walked over to the glass wall, staring out, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I think you’re mad. Loco, that’s all.”

“I was there, General,” Alex said, whirling around, his eyes blazing. “They were my parents! I was seven years old! I saw it all, what you did to them, you filthy bloody murdering bastard!”

“What are you saying?”

“I was hidden. My father hid me in a small locker. His name was Commander Alexander Hawke. He died saving my life!”

“What is this? I don’t need to listen to this!”

“Yes, you do, General, because at the end of the story comes the map. His name was Alex. Her name was Catherine. He called her Kitty. She was a great actress. They loved each other very much. They only had one child. A small boy who had just turned seven. I was in the very room where you and your brothers tortured and murdered them. I saw everything you did. Everything.”

“It was long ago,” the general said. “Maybe it happened, maybe not. What does it matter? Things are mixed up in your mind.”

“You have no idea how perfectly clear things are in my mind. Now. Send your guards out of the room, General,” Alex said. He was struggling to get his rage under control, taking huge deep breaths, and he became very quiet.

“You are joking, sн?” the general finally said.

“No. We have private business to discuss.”

“Business? Whatever business?”

“The map, General. The one you murdered my parents for. You see, you killed the wrong members of what once was the Hawke family. My parents didn’t have the map that night. I did. I still do.”

“The map! You have the map?”

“I do.”

“I don’t believe you for a second.”

Alex bent and ripped open the Velcro seal of a deep pocket on the right thigh of his tigerstripes. He withdrew a small blue envelope and held it aloft.

“Here. This map was drawn nearly three hundred years ago at Newgate Prison in London. The author pe

“Open it. Pull it, the map, out. Hold it up. Show me.”

Alex did. Since it was a copy, it was far less fragile than the original. The general bent forward, peering at the document in complete amazement. It certainly looked to be authentic.

“This is not a trick?” Manso asked.

“You believe I would come here and chance my life on a trick?”

Alex pulled a lighter from his fatigues, flicked it lit, and held the flame near to one corner of the document. “Now or never, General. Send the guards out of the room.”

“Juanito!” the general said, sitting straight up on the bed. “Send the guards away. Now! Tell them to wait outside. This is a private matter.”

The man did as he was told, herding the guards outside, shaking his head and muttering. His brother Manso was crazy, but what could he do?

When the guards had retreated from the room, Alex returned the envelope to his pocket and resealed the Velcro fastener. Then he gave Stoke a look and started pacing around the vast oval desk.

“In an odd way,” he began, speaking as he moved about, “the rightful owners of this treasure would seem to be your family, General, not mine.”

“Of course! Why do you think I have spent years in search of the de Herreras treasure!”

“They won’t find it, I’m afraid,” Hawke said. “Scribbled at the bottom of the map is a letter from a notorious pirate. Blackhawke. Heard of him?”

“Of course! One of the most brilliant and ruthless pirates in the Caribbean! He’s the one who stole my family fortune!”

“We all have a skeleton in the closet. He is mine. I am his direct descendant. His map has been in my family for generations. Just before his capture and execution in 1705, Blackhawke realized his final and greatest triumph. He took the largest single prize ever captured.”

“Tell me!” Manso shouted, his eyes glittering.

“Blackhawke engaged a Spanish galleon under command of Admiral Manso de Herreras somewhere off Hispaniola.”

“Yes!” the general shouted. “My noble ancestor! He sailed for England with his billions in stolen silver and gold. To deposit his fortune in the Bank of England. But he never arrived.”

“Yes, General. Your history is good. According to Blackhawke’s letter, de Herreras never reached England because Blackhawke intercepted him and sent him to the bottom. But first, he relieved his burden of all that gold and silver.”

“And then?”

“And then he buried it, of course. Fairly standard practice in those days.”

“So! It’s true! You see, Juanito, all these years, I was right! This Hawke family has a map of our treasure’s location! We will find it!” Manso was flushed with excitement. “We will share! Surely there is more than enough to—”

“No,” Alex said, turning to face him. “I have a far better idea.”

“What could be better than—”

“The map is yours. I want you to have this blood-soaked map, Manso de Herreras. You and you alone.”

“You do?”

“I do indeed,” Hawke said. “But there is one very important condition.”

“I am waiting, seсor.”

“Tonight, we’re going to put an end to the nightmare you started thirty years ago, General de Herreras.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Simple, really. If you want the map, you’re going to have to kill me for it.”