Dagger Magic

As Adam glanced in that direction, McLeod held up a hand in warning and got to his feet, raising his pistol at the ready beside his head as he moved toward the opening. Magnus' white head emerged from the doorway before McLeod could do more, and the Irish Second held up both hands, his weapon in one of them, and gave them a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, I just realized how that must've sounded. We've got another man below, but he's unconscious - drugged, I think. He may be one of the crew. There's something else you ought to see, though - and maybe have Peregrine take a look, if his talents run the way you've described."

Leaving McLeod to guard their unconscious prisoner, Adam summoned Peregrine to come aboard, then headed down into the cabin. Peregrine had been standing by anxiously at the rail with Aoife, who was scanning the shore with binoculars, but at Adam's summons he moved to the gap in the rail and leaped across to the Rose, stepping cautiously around McLeod's prisoner, to follow. He found Adam kneeling beside a man sprawled in one of the cramped berths below. Magnus was backed into the tiny galley, eyes closed.

"He isn't dead; just sedated," Adam said softly, glancing back at Peregrine. "See what you can pick up in here. I can almost taste the residuals."

Closing the cabin door behind him, Peregrine leaned against it and let his gaze sweep around the cramped room, immediately zeroing in on the scarred table adjoining the ship's galley. A faint, telltale shimmer in the air in this part of the room hinted at the presence of powerful resonances.

He drew a long breath to center and let his deeper sight take over. The shimmer grew more distinct, resolving into the ghostly image of a tall man with fair hair. With it came a palpable aura of restless ambition and consuming malice.

Hardly daring to breathe for fear of losing the impression, Peregrine groped hastily for his pocket sketchbook and began to sketch. As oftentimes before, the very act of drawing served to fix and clarify the image. Temporarily oblivious to everything else in the room, he worked with rapid concentration, only venturing to look down at the page when he judged he was finished.

The face that gazed back at him was that of a lean, fair-haired man with chiselled lips and sharp cheekbones flanking a patrician blade of a nose. It was a likeness Peregrine had seen before in photographs, but never in the flesh. Even so, he was in no doubt as to its owner's identity.

"Francis Raeburn!'' he said aloud.

Instantly Adam came to join him.

"What did you say?"

Instead of repeating himself, Peregrine mutely held out the sketch he had just made. Adam stared at it intently, then handed the sketch pad across to Magnus, who had roused at their words.

"This begins to make more sense," Adam said, gesturing for Peregrine to open the cabin door. ' 'Now I think I understand the Nazi connection, given that Raeburn is the son of David Tudor-Jones. What I do not understand is how Raeburn hooks in with Eastern esoterica - though I expect we're going to find out."

They emerged from the cabin to find Aoife aboard the Rose and pointing out something on the shore to McLeod.

"Right there, in the lee of that outcropping," she said, as McLeod took the glasses and began to scan. "I think I'm seeing the stern of the Rose's dinghy. I couldn't spot anyone moving around, but that probably means they've already gone into the cave - wherever that is."

As Adam joined them, McLeod handed him the glasses.

"Straight ahead at eleven o'clock," he muttered. "You can see just a glint of moonlight on the outboard at the stern."

Adam found it easily, then scanned farther along the beach and upward, searching for an opening.

"That beach looks like it disappears at high tide," he said, "which is not long from now, if I'm not mistaken. Magnus, can we get ashore? I don't see a cave, but it almost has to be in those cliffs off to the right."

"Aye, just let me get chummie below and cuff him to something," Magnus grunted, as Adam headed back to the Lady G.

"First let me have that ring he's wearing," McLeod muttered, tucking his pistol into his waistband.

"What, spoils of the Hunt?'' Magnus asked.

"Hell, no." McLeod gave his Irish counterpart a decidedly feral grin as he pulled the ring off and hefted it. "How deep is it here?"

"Oh, probably thirty feet or so."

"Deep enough, then," McLeod said - and tossed the ring overboard. Magnus chuckled, then lifted their unconscious prisoner under the arms and dragged him below. By the time he re-emerged, Aoife and Peregrine had reeled in the Lady G's dinghy and drawn it alongside, and Adam was watching McLeod climb aboard, handing down a pair of the infrared binoculars.

"I've cuffed both of them, for good measure," Magnus said to Adam, with a jut of his chin back to the Rose's cabin. "They'll not be going anywhere. Shall I come with you and Noel, or do you want to keep your team together?"