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“Did you find out his contact first?”

Harris’s shoulders sagged like a flotation device losing air. “I killed him. Me. I did it.”Advertisement

“Without finding out his contact first.”

“See, the way you say it, all negative like that, makes it sound like I messed up.”

“You did mess up.”

“No. I was proactive. The suits love it when you are proactive.”

“The agency loves it when you are effective.”

Harris’s mouth tightened, sphincterlike. “You’re a bummer, Jonesy. I’m gonna shoot some hoops.”

“You do that,” Agent Jones muttered. By the time he finished his darts, he’d made a decision: He wasn’t telling the Boss about the pirates.

The elevator carried him down to the fifth floor. The fifth floor housed the weapons and detention cells.

It was time to get some information out of Tane Ngata.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rum is made from sugarcane and aged in barrels. There are various forms of rum — dark, golden, white, spiced, aged, flavored — but they all share one distinctive quality: They will get you drunk. And if you’ve spent quite a bit of time on a deserted island eating coconut and grubs, rum will get you drunk rather quickly and thoroughly.42

“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest. Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of freaking awesome!” Adina said in a loud voice. She slurred a bit so that awesome came out more like aweshumme. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to be an inveshtigative journalist anymore. I want to be a professional rum drinker.”

“There are people who do that,” Duff said. He’d barely sipped his rum.

“Really? What do you call them?”

“Alcoholics.”

“Good to know. Three little maids from school are we…” sang Adina. “My dads took me to see The Pirates of Penzance last year in New York. That song goes very fast. It’s a pit … a potter … pas …”

“Patter song?”

“That.” Adina took another swig.

“Speaking of fast, you might want to slow down on that grog a bit, matey.”

Duff went for the bottle, but Adina yanked it away, spilling some in the process. “That is an example of a man being paternalishtic with a woman.”

Duff shrugged. “Or it could be an example of a friend who really doesn’t want to clean puke from your hair later.”

“You would clean puke from my hair?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be my preferred activity, but I would.”

“Awww. That … is so romantic. Still. My body, my bottle.”

“Whatever you say, captain.”

The bottle was passed to Shanti, who shook her head. “I’m total straightedge.”

She passed it on to Nicole, who took a whiff and made a face. “Yikes. I’m pretty sure I could clean a wound with that.” She shoved the bottle at Captain Sinjin, who dabbed some behind his ears like aftershave and then threaded a stale block of marshmallow onto a stick for Petra.

The captain had been watching Petra all night, Nicole noticed. “I need to get something from my hut. Shanti, will you come with me?” She flicked a glance in Petra and Sinjin’s direction.

“Sure,” Shanti said, picking up on the inference. “Party’s moving to our hut, everybody.”

“Captain?” Duff asked.

Sinjin glanced furtively at Petra. “Nah. Catch you blokes later.”

Sinjin and Petra were alone.

“So.”

“So.”

“Nice night.” pqdm.com