“Yes.” Murad took a breath. “Blackwell intends to destroy thePearltonight.”
“What!” Alex cried.
“You heard me. Apparently he originally intended to destroy the ship during the escape—two weeks from now. When he found out that Morris was relieved of his command, he decided to go forward with thePearl’sdestruction immediately. Tonight—at exactly two in the morning.”
Alex was in a state of shock. She managed to shake the cobwebs from her brain. “Ohmygod.” Then excitement began to rush through her veins.
“Of course! How stupid I was not to have guessed! The guards have been bribed and thePearlhas to be destroyed … Murad, this is wonderful!”
“Is it?”
Alex’s smile faded. “ThePearlhasto be destroyed, Murad. According to the history books, it was destroyed by Blackwell long before the ship ever reached Tripoli. I still don’t understand why it wasn’t destroyed at sea the way I read about it, but in any case, when Preble attacks next summer, it could be a completely different battle if the bashaw has a ship like thePearlto use against us.”
Murad stared, his eyes silver in the dark. “I don’t like it when you talk about the history books, Alex. I don’t like it when you talk about the future.”
She touched his bare arm. “Maybe that’s because you are starting to believe me.”
“Maybe,” he finally said.
“What time is it now?” Alex asked abruptly.
“It’s only nine o’clock.”
Alex nodded, the idea of aiding Blackwell already forming in her head. She knew she should leave him to achieve this objective alone. But how could she? This was history in the making. More important, what if Blackwell needed her?
“You are staying in the palace tonight,” Murad said flatly.
“Of course,” Alex mumured, trying to mean it.
“I am serious.”
“I can see that. You are also worried. Why?”
“Because I seem to be the only one thinking of the consequences should Blackwell succeed tonight,” Murad said quietly.
Chills raced up and down Alex’s spine. “I don’t understand.” But she did.
“I don’t think that you do,” Murad said grimly. “The bashaw will be furious. He will not allow this kind of act to go unpunished and unavenged.”
Alex froze. “Oh God. What will he do? What will he do to Blackwell?”
Murad did not answer her.
Alex’s heart seemed to stop. Her thoughts raced, unwelcome and unbidden. So far, the history books had been all wrong. Blackwell was supposed to die in the summer of 1804 for his affair with the bashaw’s daughter-in-law. But what if the script continued to change? What if Blackwell was executed in the summer of 1803 for the destruction of thePearl?What if his fate hung in the balance now?
“Alex,” Murad said tersely. “His fate belongs to him. You cannot change it.”
Alex did not reply.
They were a total of six men. Barefoot and silent, they waited while the guard unlocked a side door that opened onto a narrow city alley. The guard stepped aside without a word while the men, lead by Xavier, filed out. A moment later the door was closed, but it was not relocked.
As usual, the night was full of stars, the moon half-full and glowing. The men did not carry torches or any form of light. Everyone wore daggers, Xavier and Tubbs each carried pistols, and two of the men carried fire bombs made from gunpowder stolen from the quarries, and flint that had been provided by Quixande. They passed the palace walls, ghostlike, and hurried through the sleeping city.
The harbor came into view, numerous naked masts forming long, needlelike shadows that pierced the night sky. At the end of the harbor, Tripoli’s tricolored flag with its crescent symbol flew from the fortress on the mole, and just past the bottleneck entrance there, a warship cruised. One of the men cried out.
“Shh,” Xavier said, but his pulse had quickened too. The men had stopped in their tracks. Everyone stared out at sea.
“My God, it’s an American ship,” Tubbs whispered in excitement.
