Page 54 of Unlikely Heroes
They sailed south from Cádiz until that midway point between the seaport and Tarifa, approaching the Gut of Gibraltar. When they were precisely at the drop-off spot, Able cleared his throat. “Two flashes, pause, two more quick, Tots, if you please.”
Tots did as commanded, and they watched. Nothing. After two minutes, Able gave the same command, his fingers crossed, worried. They all squinted toward the shore. There it was this time: Three long flashes. They all let out their breath at the same time, which made Whitticombe giggle.
Smitty climbed into the small craft and started for shore. To Able’s consternation, he came rowing back. “Sir, sir,” he said in an urgent whisper. “I see three men on the beach.”
Able moved fast. After he stripped off his uniform, he turned to the Rats. “Can one of you shoot?”
“Aye, sir,” Davey said. “I’m a good shot.”
“I’m surprised,” Able said, and he was. Quiet Davey?
“Get the two pistols by my berth. They are loaded. You are not to fire unless I give a command. Bring my dagger, too.”
Davey ran below deck, returning quickly. He steadied himself against the railing, a pistol poised. “Ready?” Able asked Smitty. “I’m going to hang onto the side of the boat. Pull for the shore as you did last time, then hold off. I’ll go in first.”
“I should be with you, sir,” Smitty said in his quiet but unmistakable way that frightened everyone in the lower classes except Avon March. It was a statement, no suggestion.
“Hold off long enough for me to see what is going on,” Able said. “That is an order.”
Angry, his lips tight together, Smitty rowed for the shore. Able hung onto the gunnel out of reach of the oars. When his feet touched sand he told Smitty to stop.
Dagger in front of him, Able walked through the surf. He sighed with relief to see Angus and Jean, and they appeared in no trouble. He stood there, indecisive, a rare experience. “Angus,” he said, in a quiet voice that he hoped carried far enough. “All is well?”
Ogilvie came to the water’s edge, wearing a broad smile. “You look like a naked pirate, Able,” he said in that half-joking, half-cutting way of his. “All you lack is a vulgar tattoo. I found Jean Hubert on schedule – take a bow, Jean – and someone else you should meet.”
“This better be good.”
“Meet your father.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Silent, more uncertain than ever in his entire life, Able motioned Smitty to beach the craft, and walked toward a tall man impeccably dressed in uniform and cape. As he came closer, the man removed his hat to reveal curly hair, mostly gray.I will look like this some day, Able thought, amazed.
To Able’s continuing astonishment, the man dropped to his knees, bowed his head and exclaimed over and over in Spanish, “Forgive me, my son!”
Able stared, mouth open, as memories pinged around in his head, from the first two hearts beating at his conception to the final whipping that drove him, frightened and hungry, from the Dumfries workhouse into cold rain, more hunger, and the Royal Navy.And my salvation, Able thought grimly as he stared at the kneeling man.No thanks to you, cabrón.
He stepped back, unwilling to move toward this distraught man. Anger, cold anger, surged over him until he shuddered from it. “If you knew me then, why did you not help me?” He couldn’t help that his voice was rising. He had never known such fury.
Angus Ogilvie broke the spell. “Shut up, Able,” he snapped in a fierce whisper. “There are French soldiers all along this Spanish coast and not a partisan in sight. Silence!”
He obeyed. “Angus, get him in the boat, if he is of a mind to explain himself later, or leave him here. I’ll swim back because the boat won’t take more weight. Jean, strip and join me. Toss your clothes in the boat.” He did manage a grin. “I know you can swim.”
In moments, Smitty pulled for theMercuryand Able and Jean swam in its wake. “How in the world…” Able started.
“We found him on theArgonauta, just as you said, and abducted him,” Jean said, as calmly as if this were something that happened every other day or so. “I, uh, had acquired a French naval officer’s uniform. Got most of the blood off it.”
“And you just marched on board theArgonautaand snatched him,” Able said.
“Practically.” Jean floated on his back for a moment and Able slowed down. “I can look amazingly official in uniform. Angus pulled out a parchment written in Latin and flashed it at the captain, while I said el Conde was required elsewhere. In rapid French, of course. Off we went.”
“Astounding.”
“He resisted eventually, until we told him of a remarkable genius who looked just like him. He couldn’t escape fast enough, after that.” He chuckled. “The Count of Quintanar even gave us the money for the conveyance so we could spirit him to this inlet faster!” He sobered quickly. “Able, when you hear his story....” Jean being Jean, he could not help himself. “I am going to savor this moment. It is the only time I know more than you do.”
He swam ahead, mercifully leaving Able to himself, his brain entirely silent. Then he heard Euclid, of course Euclid, but he sounded more tender than usual, that old scoundrel. “High time, Able, high time. We never knew how to tell you.” And that was it. His mentors and tormenters had known more than he did all along. His great anger turned to anguish at the misery of his early years. Could all that have been prevented? What was missing in this story?
He might have stayed in the water longer, but he saw horsemen on the beach, dismounting, shouting in French, and taking aim.Oh no, he thought, before he took a great breath and dove deep.I have a score to settle with my father, or possibly a story to hear.I can die later.
