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“I got the number from the phone’s memory. It’s a 703 area code.”
Virginia. Near DC.
“His contacts list it for a Larry Begyn.”
“I’m assuming you’ve checked on who that is?” she asked.
“Lawrence Paul Begyn is the current president general of the Society of the Cincinnati.”
“I wonder what they’re hiding,” she muttered out loud.
“Enough that ex-G-man Hedlund got his gun for a fight.”
She stared at Luke and nodded.
“We now know there’s nothing at Hedlund’s house,” he said. “But there’s obviously something to find. That Tallmadge journal. Petrova knew exactly what to ask for.”
“It’s time we bring in the big guns.”
She saw Luke understood what that meant.
“I assume Uncle Danny already knows the details up to now.”
She nodded. “We’ll head back to DC, right after we do one more thing.”
He clearly knew what that meant, too.
“Lead the way. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.”
They found Peter Hedlund awake, sitting up in his bed, his wife, introduced as Leah, at his side.
“You do realize,” Stephanie said to him, “that what you did was foolishness.”
“I’ve been in worse situations.”
“With me in the middle?”
“You know how to handle yourself.”
She handed his cell phone back. “Tell me what it is Larry Begyn knows. And I don’t have the time for any more lies.”
Comprehension registered in Hedlund’s eyes, a look that seemed to signal cooperation.
“Can this wait?” his wife asked. “He’s been shot.”
“I wish it could, but it can’t. And if your husband had been honest with me to start with, we wouldn’t be here. But, after all, he is the Keeper of Secrets.” She was in no mood for more nonsense. “The woman who shot you is dead. But she knew about that Tallmadge journal. I need you to tell me what it is.”
“How did she die?”
“Acting like an idiot,” Luke said.
Hedlund got the message and held up a conciliatory hand. “All right. You made your point. I’ll tell you.”
* * *
Zorin gathered up the parachutes, then stepped out of his jumpsuit. Beneath he wore a coat, black trousers, and a black turtleneck shirt. He needed to hide the bundle so it would not be found anytime soon and decided somewhere in the woods would be best. So he plunged into the trees and found a spot beneath a fallen trunk. He also left the helmet and night-vision goggles, as neither would be necessary any longer. Everything he needed he carried in his pockets or in the knapsack. If something else was required, he’d find it along the way. At the moment transportation was tops on his list. On the drop in he’d spotted a series of cabins not far away, all dark to the night, which could mean they were empty. But he decided to check them out anyway and headed off in their direction.
Night movement came with an assortment of challenges. He’d been taught to feel the ground with his toes before planting his heel, not disturbing anything along the way. Steps should be short, the feet tilted slightly, one hand out ahead. He’d not gripped his gun but, if necessary, he’d keep the weapon tight to his chest, finger on the trigger. The idea was to be aware and stay alert, head turning like a machine—oiled, regular, and thorough—ready for anything.
He found the road that ran adjacent to the shore and followed it east for a couple of kilometers until he came to the cluster of cabins in a clearing among the trees. A sharp tang of salt air filled his nostrils. His greatest fear was that a dog or two might alert anybody nearby to his presence, but the cold air remained silent, disturbed only by the muffled booms of waves that crashed in the distance against an unseen beach. By Siberian standards the cold here was more springlike.
He counted eight cabins, each rectangular, wood-sided with a gabled roof. All were dark. Three had vehicles parked to the side, one in particular drawing his attention. An older pickup truck. He’d been largely out of touch for twenty-five years. A lot had changed with cars since the day when he could hot-wire one in less than a minute. Electronic ignitions, computers, security chips—none of those existed in his day. But that old pickup might be just what he was looking for.
He hustled over and saw that the driver’s door was unlocked. He carefully opened it and reached beneath the steering column, exposing the key cylinder. In the darkness he could see little, but he did not need to. Touch worked just fine and he found the customary three sets of wires. He yanked the pairs free, keeping them apart. Each represented a different position for the key. One for lights only, another for radio, the final pair triggering ignition. Which was which? That was trial and error. He found the utility knife he’d brought and stripped the ends of all six wires.
The first pair he matched together momentarily lit the headlights, which he quickly extinguished by breaking the connection. The next pair sparked when touched, then fired the starter, which coughed the engine to life. He knew that holding the exposed wires together risked a shock, one that could be nasty, so he carefully separated the wires and stretched them as far apart as possible. No time to shield them. He’d just have to be careful.
So far so good.
He leaped inside the truck and sped away.
A quick glance at his watch narrowed the countdown.
38 hours left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The American Revolution officially ended in 1783, but hostilities with England continued for many more decades. The British covertly supported Indian aggression along America’s borders, trying to prevent any further western expansion. They forbade some exports to their West Indies colonies. When England and France went to war, the United States proclaimed its neutrality, even though France continued to hold a special place in American hearts thanks to its support during the Revolution. But when Britain ultimately blockaded French ports, the Embargo Act of 1807 halted trade with England. In response, the Royal Navy started boarding American ships and impressing sailors into its service.
That’s when Canada again became important.
During the Revolution the Continental army had invaded, the idea being to convince the French-speaking Canadians to join in the fight against the British. But the Americans were soundly defeated in 1775 during the Battle of Quebec. At the 1783 Paris peace talks negotiators tried in vain to have all of Quebec province ceded over as war spoils, but that effort failed. America’s desire for Canada was so strong that in the Articles of Confederation, adopted in 1781, one provision provided that British-held Canada, if it so desired, could join the new Union automatically, without a vote from the other states.
Tensions finally reached a boiling point in 1812 when the United States declared war on England. President James Madison and his war hawks in Congress urged that the time had come to defend the country’s recently won independence. But the vote to go to war only narrowly passed. Critics condemned “Mr. Madison’s War” as a foolhardy adventure, motivated less by patriotism and more by expansionism.
And the offensive began with an invasion of Canada.
