Stark grunted. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you, Sam? The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Hendrik de Geer lit a cigar and rested back in the fishing boat. It bobbed silently in the cold, dark water, hidden among some cypress knees. He’d stolen it from one of the public camping areas along the Dead Lakes and had cautiously made his way here, careful not to get lost among the many channels and coves that had misled even the most experienced fishermen.

Dominated by the lodge and surrounded by several smaller buildings, essentially shacks, the Ryder camp was perhaps a hundred yards from Hendrik’s vantage point. A guard posted at the dock observed the lake through binoculars. Hendrik wished himself fortunate to have a pair He wasn’t worried about being discovered. He was well hidden among the cypress, and he’d stolen the fisherman’s cap and vest, thus disguising himself to some extent, although the cigar would probably give him away to anyone who knew his habits. But it was an excellent cigar, and he needed to think.

Sergeant Bloch was preparing to abandon his camp. Hendrik could see that from the activity around the lodge, and it was something he would expect Bloch to do. He would wait until the last moment, but he would cut his losses when he knew he’d run out of options. Even if he could continue to control Senator Ryder, others-the American reporter, even Juliana-could find out where he was and bring the authorities down on top of him. The sergeant had broken innumerable laws, not the least among them murder. Now, obviously, he wanted to be ready to move. It only made sense. In his position, Hendrik would have done the same.

The Dutchman put out his cigar and looked again toward the fishing camp. Did Bloch know Wilhelmina and Catharina would never lead him to the Minstrel? Would he kill them before he abandoned camp-or wait and try one last time for the stone by using them as bait with Juliana? She had the Minstrel’s Rough, of course. Hendrik was annoyed with himself for not having seen that sooner, from the beginning even. He’d been so sure Johannes had the stone.

He should never have gone to Antwerp. He should have gone back to Florida, killed Bloch, then, if necessary, killed Ryder. He should never have talked himself into believing that he could accomplish everything. Keep the Peperkamps free from harm. Keep the Minstrel out of Bloch’s hands. Keep himself alive, too.

Always the optimist, he thought bitterly.

He watched the guards change in front of the shack where he guessed they held Catharina and Wilhelmina. It was where he would have put them, in Bloch’s place.

He’s waiting for the daughter and maybe still hal-fbelieves they can lead him to the Minstrel’s Rough…that’s why he doesn’t kill them.

But he would. There was never any question of that. And he could wait. Who was there to stop him?

The Dutchman sighed heavily. Well, he thought, perhaps with a little cleverness on his part, he could upset the sergeant’s carefully laid plans.

Bloch will kill you as well.

Yes, he thought, that was a possibility. Even a likelihood. Much simpler, of course, just to row silently away and disappear. He was alone, an old man facing an armed camp. What could he do?

He smiled to himself. “What, Hendrik,” he muttered, “are you being a pessimist after all these years?”

Bloch nodded with satisfaction as his number-two man left the lodge office. Things were going his way. When he gave the order, they could be out of camp within half an hour. A cargo plane was waiting, gassed up and ready to go, at the small private airstrip in Calhoun County, about twenty miles north, near Blounstown. His new base in the islands was all set. Even had flush toilets, showers, and fresh coconuts and grapefruits there for the picking. A-plus. He wasn’t in this business to operate out of a goddamn hellhole. No need.

Had to pay for the place, that was all. The boys he was dealing with had taken his last dime and said not to worry about the rest just yet, they’d get it before he moved in, if they didn’t, they’d come for that little ol’ arsenal he’d gotten together during his army years. Guns and ammunition were always good collateral, they said.

Bloch wasn’t going to give up his weapons. Twenty years he’d been getting them together, and without them, he’d be sitting with nothing, just a crummy Army pension. He’d have to go work for the postal service or something.

Well, hell, he thought with the Minstrel he could buy and sell those dudes. No more stepping and fetching. He’d be right in there with the big boys.

“I want that stone,” he said aloud, rising from the desk.

His man on Ryder had reported in. Juliana Fall had gone to see the senator at his office, and Matthew Stark had grabbed him outside his townhouse, they’d left in a cab, but the guy had lost them. That was okay that he’d lost Stark and Ryder. Wasn’t any real mystery where they were going.

“They’re coming right here,” Bloch said, laughing hoarsely. “Ain’t that just loverly? We can take care of unfinished business, and then I can sit and wait for pretty Juliana Fall to come see me with the Minstrel in hand.”

Because he was betting-hell, he knew-that Ryder had told her where to find her mamma and her fat-ass aunt. She’d be along, too, in good time.

Funny how things sometimes just worked themselves out.

“The guard thinks we’re two old women,” Catharina said. She continued to speak easily in Dutch, surprised at how good it felt. “He’s very confident, perhaps too confident. If we can surprise him, perhaps we can escape. Bloch is preparing to abandon camp, and I don’t think he plans to take us with him. If he does, it only means he thinks he can get Juliana, too, and the Minstrel. But if we can escape, we can lose ourselves out there in the forest and find help.”

Wilhelmina grunted. “We can also get eaten alive by snakes and crocodiles.”

“Alligators,” Catharina corrected. “Better than shot here like mad dogs.”

Her older sister was surprised and impressed by Catharina’s display of nerve. “Or used to lure Juliana?”

“Yes, but as you’ve been trying to tell me, Willie, I think she’ll know how to handle herself.”

“You should tell her that.”

“And many other things, too. I hope I’ll have the chance.”

Wilhelmina nodded, understanding. “Well, we might as well try to get out of here. Another meal like this-” she glanced distastefully at the remains of something the guard had called tofu burgers “-and I’ll be looking for the snakes myself. They say many are good eating. What’s your plan for getting past the guard?”

Catharina beamed; Willie was asking her opinion, expecting she had a plan. “Paring knives,” she said victoriously.

“Paring knives?”

“Yes, you didn’t notice?” She went over to the small kitchen area and with her good hand pulled open a creaking wooden drawer, pointing to the array of utensils, among them two paring knives. “It’s not the best-equipped kitchen, and the knives are hardly Sabatiers, but I believe they’ll suit our purposes. I think I can manage despite my arm.”

Wilhelmina had risen and was behind her younger sister, peering at the cache of ready weapons. “Obviously these are not the kind of men who think about what might be in kitchen drawers.”

“And with a baker and a former fighter for the Dutch Underground Resistance in their midst! Shame on them!”

Catharina laughed, looking as beautiful as Wilhelmina had ever seen her, and the older Dutchwoman thought, if I die today in this strange, swampy place, then at least we’ll have had this moment, far too long in coming.