Lucan switched off the television set and regarded Aldan and Burke. “Four bridges?”
“We considered shutting down five, my lord, but that would have caused serious traffic delays around the stadium,” Burke said. “The Dolphins are hosting the Redskins tonight.”
“Our friends in the Coast Guard report that they have successfully diverted all private and commercial vessels away from the strike zone, my lord,” Aldan said. “The fleet is fully manned, heavily armed, and awaiting your orders.”
“Excellent.” Lucan went to his wall map of the Florida coast. “We will approach en masse and split into north and south divisions here.” He indicated a spot a half mile from the strike coordinates. “The front line will disable any defensive weaponry first and then assume holding positions until I give the order to attack and board. The second lines are to move in to form a blockade. Nothing leaves Vander’s vessel alive but Samantha, Christian, and the captive mortals.”
“Yes, my lord.” Aldan bowed and left the office.
Before he did the same, Burke took out a sheathed dagger, and offered it to Lucan. “If I may, my lord, I would ask that you take this into battle with you. I know you have no need of conventional weapons, but it belonged to my grandfather, and it always brought him luck.”
Lucan drew out the old steel dagger. “I recall meeting a Burke in Berlin. He led the tresori resistance, and helped us free the Kyn captured by the Brethren among the Gestapo.”
Burke nodded. “He considered you—and I will quote him—‘the deadliest son of a bitch ever to walk the night.’” He smiled a little. “You also saved his life by intercepting a hail of Nazi bullets meant for him.”
“I had forgotten that.” Lucan clipped the sheath to his belt. “Is this why you volunteered to become my tresora, Herbert?”
“Choosing a lord to serve is a complex matter, but I would say that part of my motivation was the fact that my grandfather did not sire my father until after the war. Good hunting, my lord.” The tresora bowed and departed.
Before he left the stronghold, Lucan went to the bar that had been smashed to hell during his brief battle with Jamys, and used Burke’s dagger to pick up the golden medallion from the floor.
Although he was sorely tempted to fling the phony tribute into the sea, he carried it to Christian’s office, where he draped it over one corner of the framed portrait of Darth Vader. He’d always known about her private nickname for him, of course, and had in fact secretly delighted in it.
“Tonight, my sweet girl,” he murmured, “I believe I shall earn it.”
* * *
After helping him with his final preparations, Garcia drove Jamys to the county’s oceanside dock, where he gave him the keys to the newest of the DEA’s speedboats, a sleek arrow of black and silver with four massive engines. “Are you certain you do not wish me to pilot for you, my lord?”
“Burke will have need of you at the stronghold.” Jamys surveyed the horizon. “If I must use the gems, please relay my apologies to Lord Alenfar and his lady.”
Garcia nodded. “And Miss Lang?”
He could think of a thousand things he wanted to tell Christian, but settled for the one he wanted her to remember most. “Tell my wife that I love her.”
Garcia helped him launch, and from the boatyard Jamys headed out to sea. A bitter wind rose, flinging needling spray into his face as he opened up the throttle and pushed the powerful engines to full capacity. The hull sliced across the waves as the boat raced south, a shadow flying through the night.
As the miles passed and Jamys drew closer to the rendezvous point, he allowed himself to relive every moment he had experienced with Christian since returning to Alenfar. He could not regret a moment of it; he had lived more and better in the handful of nights they had spent together than he had in all the centuries since he had risen to walk the night. She had given him the gift of herself and her heart; he knew what it was to love and be loved by the other half of his soul. If he died tonight, and he suspected there was an excellent chance that he would, he would go with but one regret: that he had to leave her behind.
A half mile from the rendezvous point, Jamys switched off the boat’s running lights, changed course, and headed east, guiding the speedboat between the fleet and the shoreline as he raced ahead of Lucan’s front line. As he had hoped, the roar of the hundreds of engines heading toward Vander’s ship masked the sound of his, and he was able to pull ahead of Lucan and the garrison without alerting them to his presence.
He spotted the bizarre silhouette of Vander’s floating stronghold, which appeared to be cobbled together from an old pirate ship, an ultramodern yacht, and clusters of smaller boats tethered to them. No lights shone from any of the decks, but he detected the shapes of a dozen men standing watch on the old ship.