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Malone spotted an unusual concern on Daniels’ face.
“We have to investigate every avenue,” Davis said. “And there’s one possible problem that Cassiopeia must handle. We don’t want the Secret Service or FBI involved there.”
“A possible leak?” Malone asked.
“Yep,” Daniels said. “And it’s a doozy.”
He waited.
“My wife. The First Lady.”
TWENTY-FOUR
NEW YORK CITY
KNOX STILL HELD THE GUN BUT IT WAS OF LITTLE USE SINCE the man on top of him kept a vise grip on his arm. He had to get out of here. The two men from the elevator had surely exited a floor below or above and were making their way back.
He rolled and reversed positions, but the man below him kept a lock on his arm. He pivoted and rammed his knee into the gut. Repeating the blow drew the breath from his opponent and he used that instant to wrench his right arm free, swinging the gun around and firing point-blank into the man’s chest.
An agonized cry rang out.
He pushed away.
The body bucked and squirmed, then went still.
He retrieved the laptop and sprang to his feet.
One of the room doors opened. He planted a shot into the jamb, and the door slammed shut. The last thing he needed was for one of the hotel occupants to become involved.
His mind assessed his situation.
Certainly no one was going to come back up the elevator. Far too risky. So he pushed the button and quickly dragged the wounded agent out of the car’s line of view. The other agent farther down the hall lay still. The stairway was ten feet away, around a corner.
But people with guns could be there.
The elevator arrived.
He stuffed the weapon in his pocket but kept hold of the trigger.
Three people were inside the car. Two women and a man, dressed as if they’d been out for the evening. One of them held shopping bags. He composed himself and stepped on board. The car was headed down and stopped on the second floor, where the three exited.
As did he.
Clearly, Parrott had intended on rocking him to sleep with dinner, then luring him into a trap. He’d avoided that, but this was foolishness, brought on by more nonsense from his bosses. He’d just killed two people for sure, and maybe two more. Never had an operation gyrated so out of control.
He walked the hallway and turned a corner, spotting a maid’s cart parked outside an open door. He spotted a trash bag at one end, a shopping tote from Saks Fifth Avenue protruding from the top. He grabbed the tote and kept walking, dropping the laptop inside.
This was a tight spot.
How many agents could be here? And how much attention were they willing to bring on themselves? With four of their people down, probably a hell of a lot.
He decided there was no choice.
He’d walk out the front door.
And fast.
WYATT ENTERED HIS HOTEL ROOM AND IMMEDIATELY PACKED his bag. He’d brought little in the way of clothes, learning a long time ago the value of traveling light. He switched on the television and watched more of the assassination attempt coverage. The station reported that Danny Daniels was on his way back to Washington, aboard Air Force One.
With a passenger, no doubt.
Cotton Malone.
Which meant that if the White House knew about the cracking of the Jefferson cipher, as Carbonell had made clear, Malone knew, too.
“Two men are dead because of you,” Malone said to him.
The administrative hearing was over, a verdict rendered, and for the first time in a long while he was unemployed.
“And how many owe their graves to you?” he asked.
Malone seemed unfazed. “None because I wanted to save my own ass.”
Wyatt slammed his adversary into the wall, one hand finding the throat. Strangely, there was no defensive reaction. Instead Malone simply stared back, fear or concern nowhere in his eyes. Wyatt’s fingers tightened into a ball. He wanted to jab a fist into Malone’s face. Instead he said, “I was a good agent.”
“That’s the worst part. You were good.”
He squeezed the throat harder but still Malone did not react. This man understood how to handle fear. How to quell, conquer, and never show it.
He’d remember that.
“It’s over,” Malone said. “You’re done.”
No, I’m not, he thought.
Carbonell had reveled in telling him about the Garver Institute, providing him its location and a password to gain entrance. She said a man there was expecting him, and once he had the cipher key he should contact her.
“What are you going to do with that solution?” he asked her.
“I plan to save Stephanie Nelle.”
He doubted that. Not from a woman who’d just sacrificed one of her own agents.
“In return for performing this errand for me,” she said. “I’ll double your fee.”
That was a lot of money for something she could send one of her own to do or, better yet, do herself. Then he understood. “Who else will be there?”
She shrugged. “Hard to say, but they all know. CIA, NSA, and several others who don’t want that cipher solved or those pages found.”
He was still undecided.
Her eyes softened. She was damn attractive and knew it.
“I’ll fly you to Maryland myself,” she said. “I have a helicopter standing by. On the way, I’ll deposit your doubled fee into whatever offshore account you like. Do you want the job?”
She knew his weakness. Why not? Money was money.
“There’s a fringe benefit to this, too,” she noted. “Cotton Malone is aboard Air Force One. Since I gave the White House this information, my guess is he’ll be there, too.” She smiled. “Maybe someone will finish what you started today.”
Maybe so, he thought.
KNOX STEPPED OFF THE ELEVATOR INTO THE HELMSLEY PARK Lane’s lobby. Thankfully, though it was approaching nine thirty PM, the place bustled with activity. His gaze scoured the faces, searching for problems, but he sensed nothing. He calmly walked toward the front door, one hand holding the shopping bag, the other stuffed into his jacket pocket where the gun lay. If necessary, he’d shoot his way out.
He exited onto Central Park South.
The sidewalk was crowded with more excited people and he followed the flow toward Fifth Avenue and the Plaza Hotel. He needed to collect his things and leave New York. Any remaining agents in the Helmsley Park were certainly occupied, discovering by now the extent of the carnage and cleaning up the mess. NIA would want the situation contained. No local police or press involved. Hopefully, that would consume them long enough for him to leave the city.
This had to end, but the nightmare seemed far from over. The captains were safe on their North Carolina estates. He was the point man, taking incoming rounds, trying to stay alive.
Had it all been a ruse? Was there any cipher solution?
He had to know.
He rode the Plaza’s elevator to his floor, and immediately upon entering the room powered up the laptop. Only a moment was needed for him to realize that the machine held nothing. Just a few standard programs that came with any computer.
He clicked on the email program and saw no accounts.
This thing had just been purchased.
As bait.
For him.
Which meant a bad day had just become worse.
TWENTY-FIVE
WHITE HOUSE
10:20 PM
CASSIOPEIA SAT IN THE CAR. THEY’D TRAVELED IN A MOTORCADE straight from Andrews Air Force Base-she, Edwin Davis, and Danny Daniels. Cotton had been provided transportation and directions to the Garver Institute, which lay about forty-five minutes south into Maryland. She hadn’t liked the idea of him going alone, especially with the prospect of trouble, but agreed that it seemed the only course. Stephanie Nelle was her friend, too, and she was worried. They all had to play their part.
/> “I need you to handle this situation carefully,” Daniels said to her as they motored onto the White House grounds.
She wanted to know, “Why me?”
“ ’Cause you’re here, you’re good, and you’re an outsider.”
“And a woman?”
The president nodded. “It could help. Pauline has her moods.”
