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hought it best to speak with you directly.”
“No disrespect, sir. But this is not my problem. I’m here only because Rick asked for my help. I came into this blind and allowed it to escalate far past what was prudent. My agency deals with issues of national security. This is now a job for the FBI or the DC Police.”
“Before I arrived, I spoke with the attorney general. He told me the Magellan Billet was at my disposal.”
She resented the end run. “That was quite presumptuous of you.”
“I realize that, and apologize. But it’s necessary.”
She knew what was happening. The new AG cared nothing about the Magellan Billet, originally wanting it eliminated. But on Inauguration Day, Danny had stopped that from happening, forcing President Fox to keep the agency in place. True, it had been reconstituted with the same personnel and funding as under previous administrations, but she harbored no illusions. No longer would it be the White House’s go-to agency. In fact, it would probably do little to nothing. So they were occupying her time. Keeping her busy. Not that this wasn’t important. And not to discount what had just happened with Martin Thomas’ death. But it was as she’d noted. The local police and the FBI were more than capable of handling this.
“I require absolute discretion,” Weston said to her. “Your agency can provide that. And for the moment, I need Martin Thomas’ body secured somewhere for a couple of days, until we sort this out.”
“You realize that’s a crime. He was murdered. We’d be tampering with evidence.”
“Which I’m sure your agency does routinely, while handling issues of national security.”
She caught the mocking. “How are you going to explain Thomas being gone?”
“Let that be my concern.”
With no choice, she found her cell phone and entered a code. The unit was specially made for the Billet, preprogrammed, able to dial straight into a secure line. When it was answered she said, “I have a priority cleanup situation at the National Museum of Natural History.” She listened a moment, then said, “On my authority. You’ll be met at the building entrance on Constitution Avenue with further instructions. Do it now.”
She clicked the phone off.
“That’s impressive,” he said. “I assume in your line of work people die all the time.”
“Not too many civilians drafted into service. We prefer to kill only the trained ones.”
She saw on his face that her sarcasm was noted. “I suppose I deserve that.” He motioned for her to sit, which he did, too.
She decided to switch to diplomacy. “You’ll have to forgive my surliness but, unlike you, I’m operating in the dark. And you’ve yet to tell me why Cotton is involved.”
“I share your frustration. I’ve served as chief justice for over thirty years, and probably have lingered longer than I should. When I retire I really won’t miss being a judge, but I will miss being chancellor of this great institution. I’ve never missed a regents’ meeting. Few of my predecessors can say that.”
“And the point of me knowing that?”
A look of irritation swept over the older man’s face.
“I get it,” she said. “I’m being difficult. Probably not something you’re accustomed to dealing with. But I’m not one of your clerks, or a lawyer standing before you at oral argument. And I haven’t had a good evening.”
“Martin Thomas’ death was not your fault.”
“Then whose fault was it?”
The meaning of the question was clear.
He shook his head. “We had no idea Thomas was coming here tonight with that man. None at all. He placed himself in that danger.”
“But we saw the gun and allowed it to continue. It should have been stopped, and I blame myself for that omission.”
“Please don’t. I take full responsibility. I’m not looking for a scapegoat here. I’m looking for help.”
And she heard the desperation. “All right. I’ll shut up and listen.”
He seemed to appreciate the gesture.
“This all started a long time ago, during the Civil War. The Smithsonian played a dangerous game. Our secretary at the time, Joseph Henry, wanted us to remain neutral as an international science organization supposedly above politics. But that noble gesture angered a lot of people. And it didn’t help that Henry and Jeff Davis were close friends. We barely had enough funds during the war to operate. By its end we were broke, operating on a deficit. That situation led to choices. Martin Thomas managed to learn about some of these, and Diane Sherwood has shown a disproportionate interest in them, too.”
There was that name again. “Did you ever speak to Senator Sherwood about this?”
“I did. About two weeks before he died. I told him that his wife was pressuring one of our employees and misusing her position. I told him that she should resign her position on the libraries’ advisory board. He told me he would speak with her. But apparently that conversation never took place, or she didn’t listen, and now both the senator and Martin Thomas are dead.”
She had to say, “Thomas was not up front with you.” And she told him what she’d heard about lost Confederate treasure, the book Thomas wanted to write, and the cut he’d demanded. “That’s why he told no one he was coming here tonight, and bringing a guest.”
The chief justice sighed.
They sat in silence for a few moments.
Finally, he said, “I need to tell you some things. In confidence.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Grant slowed his pace to a brisk walk. He’d made it out of the Castle, utilizing a fire escape door that he’d many times gone in and out of as a kid. It opened to the building’s south side and the gardens, paved walks leading from there to the streets beyond. He knew there were precious few exterior cameras on Smithsonian buildings, its security all concentrated on what was stored inside. So once he crossed Independence Avenue and disappeared into the maze of government buildings beyond, he should be fine. The fact that no one was following made him feel better. The sirens he’d heard had gone toward the Castle but, as he suspected, the woman chasing him had come alone. He’d caught a quick glimpse of her face and wondered if she really was with the Justice Department.
Killing Martin Thomas had been the only option. If Thomas had done his job, accepted their generous payment without becoming greedy, he would have let him be.
But that had not been the case.
And writing a book?
That was the last thing he could allow to happen.
He wondered if his subterranean route into the Castle had been discovered. Could the Justice Department woman have come that way? Or was she waiting in the Castle? But how would she have known to be there? From Thomas? No way. During a call earlier arranging the visit no mention had been made of where he planned to go, only that he needed access into the buildings. He hadn’t told Thomas where they were headed until they left the Cullman. So there was no way anyone, including Thomas, could have known that he planned to use the old tunnel. No. They’d been followed across the Mall through the tunnel, which meant the corpse had been found.
Diane would not be pleased with what he’d done. She’d been the one who’d greased his path into the Smithsonian, connecting him with Thomas. Questions would surely come her way, but that was assuming they knew of any links among the three of them. He had to hope that they did not. If so, then this would all be over soon with his arrest. Connecting the dots would not take long. But something told him that the other side was working blind.
Unfortunately, he’d needed to make two stops tonight. One in the Castle, the other back in the natural history museum. He’d retrieved Thomas’ Smithsonian badge and swipe card, intent on using them for access back into the natural history museum once he’d obtained the ceremonial key. But that second errand had not been possible.
Which raised issues.
He slowed his pace and his breathing.
The whole thing had been close.
Too close.
He kept walking, following a procession of streetlamps, his shirt clammy with sweat. Finally, he found 14th Street, where he crossed, hailed a cab near the Holocaust Museum, then rode to Dupont Circle. Traffic and the sidewalks were light with people and cars. He walked a few blocks, avoiding Embassy Row where there’d be more cameras, keeping to the quiet residential neighborhoods. Only an occasional car jolted past. Eventually he crossed the river into Georgetown. He’d ignored his phone during all the excitement, the unit set on silent, but now he checked its display.
An email had come from Arkansas.
Found the stone with Morse and took pictures, which are attached. Unable to get the stone as two federal agents showed up. We tried to find out why they were here, but learned nothing. They don’t know who we are. We got away from them, but we’re done. Goodbye.
Now they tell him.
That information would have been welcomed a few hours ago—or maybe not. He might have lost his nerve. But a Justice Department agent here? More federal agents in Arkansas?
He viewed the photo that had been sent.
The Witch’s Stone.
And stopped walking.
Damn. Terry Morse really had been its keeper. Thankfully, the scant few records he and Diane had managed to find among their fathers’ papers had proved correct and the right sentinel had been found. So if one stone was real, the other four might be, too.
Diane would be thrilled.
Perhaps thrilled enough to overlook the unfortunate death of Martin Thomas.
Short of Diane, nothing linked him to Thomas, as all calls to the librarian had been made from the few remaining pay phones around town. Their face-to-face meetings had taken place at Thomas’ apartment, with no witnesses. And he’d been careful with the cameras inside the buildings tonight. Unless Thomas himself had ratted him out, which he doubted, nothing should lead back to him.
The gold coins clinked in his pocket.
Face value $10.
Worth a few thousand dollars each today. Three had done the trick tonight, which he’d retrieved from Thomas’ corpse. No sense leaving that evidence to be found. He’d unearthed those himself from a cache hidden in western Kentucky. One of the paycheck holes was meant as payment for a sentinel. Records his father had kept for decades had led the way, and Diane had deciphered the clues, pinpointing the location of a decayed iron pail full of gold. That money had helped finance everything to this point, but those funds were dwindling. Unfortunately, the remaining records they had did not provide good leads on other caches.
