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But what?
The lights for 2F still burned.
He waited, and a few moments later the Justice Department woman appeared, carrying a stack of folders. Materials he’d surely need. Rick Stamm he knew—he’d worked the same job his father had once held. They’d never met, but he’d routinely consulted Stamm’s book The Castle, an excellent guide to the building’s history and geography. What was he doing here with this woman?
A mild panic overcame him, like when he was a kid and his mother caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
He hated that helpless feeling.
There was still the question of whether he was openly linked with Diane, who was linked to Martin Thomas. That remained to be seen, but something told him Thomas had kept their relationship private—and that shakedown back at the museum was real. Perhaps the people at the Smithsonian had secretly targeted Thomas?
The woman followed one of the concrete walks that led toward the car that had brought her. He was parked deeper in the maze of buildings in one of the spaces provided for residents. No way they knew he was there.
He reached beneath his jacket and found his gun.
As with Thomas.
This had to be handled.
Now.
* * *
Stephanie heard a car start. Odd considering the late hour. The engine revved and she whirled to see a small sedan emerge from one of the parking spaces. The car came straight for her and she noticed that the passenger-side window was down. Only one silhouette could be seen, the driver, and she caught the dark outline of his right arm coming up, holding a gun.
Fifty feet away.
She dropped the folders and reached for her own weapon.
Twenty feet.
Her right hand gripped the gun.
Ten feet.
She withdrew the Beretta, but never got the chance to fire. The car overtook her. Two rounds spit out the open window and slammed into her chest. The car kept going, wheeling to the exit. She tried to read the license plate but her eyes refused to focus.
Her world began to blur.
Blood poured from two wounds.
Her left hand reached down to stem the flow. She tipped stiffly to one side, every muscle involuntarily relaxing.
She collapsed.
Red brake lights of the car glared angrily in the distance, then disappeared around a corner.
Sounds of the gunning engine receded.
She fought to stay alert.
But a terrible darkness blinded her eyes.
Then swallowed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WESTERN ARKANSAS
WEDNESDAY, MAY 26
2:06 A.M.
Cotton lay in bed and listened to Terry Morse’s snoring. He and Cassiopeia were back at the lodge, having brought both the old man and Lea with them. They’d secured a second room, their original for Lea and Cassiopeia, the new one for him and Morse. Thankfully, this one came with two queen beds. Everyone was tired, particularly Morse, who’d drifted right off. What to do with these two posed a problem, but Morse had told him that they could head upstate to family in the morning where they’d be more than safe. And he doubted the men from tonight would return anyway. He’d sensed that a picture of the stone would be enough for their needs. If not, then they would have made a greater effort to fight the bees and take it with them. The stone itself rested safely beneath his bed, wrapped in towels.
He’d enjoyed a long shower, welcomed after yesterday. Some food would have been good, too, but it was entirely too late for room service. Though stylish, the lodge wasn’t the Four Seasons. The cool sheets felt good, but sleep was proving elusive, thanks to the sound of the freight train in the bed next to him.
All that happened had brought back a lot of childhood memories.
As an adult he’d finally learned the truth about the Knights of the Golden Circle. Contrary to any romantic notions, both before, during, and after the Civil War it had been a subversive organization that openly supported slavery and engaged in murder, sabotage, and terror. Enough accounts had been written by men who’d been part of various local castles to know that violence had been an integral part of its modus operandi. And not only against outsiders, but against its own members, too. Today, with no hesitation, it would be labeled a dangerous terrorist organization.
It was what happened after 1865 that remained murky. From his reading he recalled that the Order lingered for about a decade, taking on new names. Eventually, more militant branches became the Ku Klux Klan, but the main line seemed to have disappeared from history.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
If Morse was to be believed, starting in the 1870s the Order’s wealth had been systematically collected and taken to a place known as the vault. But that wealth could also have been accumulated simply to line the pockets of a precious few, men in the know who played off other men’s loyalty to get rich. That would not have been a hard thing to accomplish back then. Little government, weak law enforcement, no oversight. The Gilded Age. A time when immense fortunes were amassed off greed and ruthlessness. No one would have noticed another few multimillionaires rising from nothing.
He lay in bed with his clothes on, trying to let sleep steal up on him. Unfortunately, he’d passed that point and his body had clicked into overdrive with no off switch. During his time at the Magellan Billet he’d lived for weeks off less than three hours of sleep a night.
That part of the job he did not miss.
His cell phone vibrated.
He’d switched off the
ringer once Morse had fallen asleep. His thoughts dissolved into a haze as he groped for the phone.
The display indicated an unfamiliar number.
He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, answering with a feeling of terrible anticipation.
“It’s Rick Stamm. I have some bad news.”
* * *
Cassiopeia woke.
Somebody was knocking on the door.
She rolled off the bed and gripped the gun from the nightstand. Lea was sound asleep. One glance out the peephole and she saw Cotton in the hall. She found the key card, left the gun, then stepped outside. The look on his face told her something had happened.
“Stephanie’s been shot.”
Shock swept through her. “How bad?”
“Not good. She’s in surgery. Two slugs in the chest. Rick Stamm just called.”
She gently touched his shoulder. “Any idea if she’s going to be okay?”
“He said she was ambushed. She was barely alive when the ambulance got there. Martin Thomas is dead, too.”
She’d had her differences with Stephanie, both of them strong-willed women with equally strong opinions. Never, though, would she wish any harm on her.
“I’m going back tonight,” he said. “I want you to stay here and see where this leads. We need to know more about that stone.”
“I’ve been trying to gain Lea’s confidence. I think she could use a friend.”
“Work on that. I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I know something.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was hurting, that was obvious, but he’d never admit it. He and Stephanie went back a long way. They were more than employer and employee. They were close friends, and Cotton had precious few of those.
Like her, he was a loner.
“I took a few bullets during my time,” he said. “But that was part of the job. Not her. She’s front office.”
“An office she never stays in.”
“I know. She’s been taking more and more chances of late. But you can only cheat fate for so long.”
She kissed him in a long, lingering embrace.
Which he seemed to like.
