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“As well as a pirate.”
“So he’s the owner that we’re looking for?”
“No,” he said, scanning the page. “Bridgeman turned the Fancy over to Governor Trott as part of a bribe for safe harbor. Trott denied all knowledge of the ship and Bridgeman, but this crew member claims that part of its cargo was stolen before Trott could lay claim to it—and the thief fled in the Mirabel just before it sank off Snake Island.” He paused as he read further. “This is interesting . . .”
“What is?”
“Bridgeman was being pursued by the Royal Navy . . . Commander . . .” He turned the page. “Gone,” he said after a moment.
“Commander Gone? Or gone as in not there?” she asked, leaning in for a closer look. “This is the right book, isn’t it?”
“Several pages are missing.”
He ran his finger down the center. Jagged edges were all that was left where the pages had once been.
Remi looked at Sam, that seed of suspicion growing. “Didn’t she say something about alarms going off last night?”
“Undoubtedly it had nothing to do with the storm.”
“All this time wasted.”
“Let’s take it up front. See if anyone remembers anything about this book or who might have come to look at it.”
When they arrived at the office, the counter clerk looked up from her paperwork. “Something wrong?”
Sam slid the book toward her. “It’s the book, all right. Except the pages we need are missing.”
“Missing?” She eyed the volume. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone tore them out.”
“Why would anyone do that?” she asked. “They can photocopy them.”
“You’re sure no one came in and asked for this particular volume?”
“Not in the recent past,” she said as her phone started ringing. “A historian came looking over the manifests for inclusion in the museum at the King’s Royal Naval Dockyard, but that was years ago. One moment, please.” She answered her phone. “Archives . . . Of course.” Then to Sam and Remi, “Is there anything else? I have to take this call.”
“No. Thanks again.”
They left, Sam pushing open the front door. He stopped suddenly, and Remi nearly ran into the back of him.
“Company,” he said, nodding toward the parking lot. She looked out, saw the white SUV and, near it, one of the men from the warehouse. He was looking at the screen of his phone as he walked with a noticeable limp toward the driver’s door.
Sam pulled Remi to one side of the lobby, out of sight.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Let’s see if there’s another exit.” There was, at the side of the building. Sam opened the door. “Looks clear.”
They headed the opposite direction of the parking lot, rounded the corner, and came face-to-face with Jak Stanislav, the man who robbed the bookstore. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather coat, a leering smile on his face.
Sam stopped short, positioning himself between Jak and Remi. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Fancy,” Jak said. He pulled a gun from his right pocket and pointed it at Sam. “How about we do an about-face and return to the car, where my friends are waiting.”
“Or not,” Sam said.
“Hands up or I’ll kill you right here.”