“We will never be able to escape with your men, and you must know that.”
He nodded. “Perhaps, once I am free, I can ransom them.”
“There have been ransom negotiations, but the bashaw likes to play cat and mouse with both Neilsen and the consuls in Tunis and Algiers. He is very frustrating to deal with, they say.”
Blackwell stared at her.
Alex managed a smile. “Escaping will not be difficult. There is a secret tunnel that leads outside of the palace. I have mentioned it before. We can merely walk out. The only factor which must be arranged is our boarding an outbound Danish ship. Once at sea we can be transferred to an American vessel.”
“Alexandra, if it is so easy to escape, why have you not already done so?”
Alex shrank.
He stared, waiting.
“I couldn’t leave without you,” she finally said. “And that is the truth.”
“That makes no sense. I have been gone almost an entire year. Yet you remained here. Why?” He was standing, towering over her.
Alex also stood. “Xavier, I knew you would return. I was waiting for you!”
He shook his head, uttering a disparaging sound. “Fate brought me back to Tripoli, Alexandra—you could not have known that I would return.”
“You have to believe me.”
He said not a word.
Alex flicked hair out of her face. “Can we at least agree on this plan of escape? And to escape as quickly as possible? Perhaps early next week? You should have most of your strength back by then.”
“Yes. That we can agree on.” His eyes narrowed. “Why is there such a need for haste? Other than the obvious—that I might be recognized by someone here?”
She inhaled. Did she dare tell him what she knew? Yet how could she not? Their lives, their freedom, were at stake. She could not, of course, tell him the crux of her worries, that he was predestined for execution in mid-July. But she could tell him everything else, and warn him in the process.
“Xavier, if you are discovered here, they will execute you; surely you understand that?” A note of desperation had crept into her tone.
“Do you know something that I do not know?” he asked sharply.
“No,” she lied, wetting her lips. “Not other than the facts of this past year. Preble is now in command of the United States squadron, Xavier. You probably don’t know that in October thePhiladelphiaran aground just off the coast, and that her captain surrendered to the bashaw. Three days later the winds changed and the bashaw’s men freed the ship. She was an incredible battleship, Xavier. And the crew numbered over three hundred men. The loss of thePhiladelphiaworsened relations between Tripoli and the United States.”
“I can imagine.” He was staring at her.
“There’s more,” Alex said, his stare making her uneasy. “Preble spent most of the fall trying to achieve a ransom. The bashaw, as he did with the negotiations over your men, merely toyed with Preble. Then, in February, Preble sent a commando team to destroy thePhiladelphia,very much the way we destroyed thePearl.He was successful. The ship was blown to smithereens. The bashaw is more furious than ever with the United States. Not to mention the fact that the United States is still in arrears to Tripoli. The money promised the bashaw years ago has never arrived. And Preble’s blockade has been very successful. No corsair can get out of the harbor, no ships can get in. There is a big shortage of foodstuffs and other supplies. Even here in the palace we are feeling far more than a pinch.”
“You are very well informed.”
Surely he did not mean what he seemed to mean? “These are facts. Everyone in the palace knows what I am telling you.”
“What are you leading up to, Alexandra?”
Alex hesitated. His tone was so sharp. But she had saved his life; surely he trusted her now. She trusted him—completely.
“It has been a stagnant war, with very little action.” Alex’s heart raced and she managed a smile. “In early August, and I am not sure of the exact date, Preble will attack Tripoli with all of his forces. He will even attack the palace itself. That is the real reason we must escape immediately.”
Blackwell stared at her, turning oddly white beneath his sun-darkened skin. “My God! You know our plans of war?” he cried.
Alex backed up, also losing color. She had made a monumental mistake. She realized that now, too late.
He pounced on her, seizing her shoulders, hauling her up close. “And this is my second question. Whom do you work for, dear, sweet Alexandra? Or should I call you Mrs. Thornton? Or Lilli Zohara?”
