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Not always a good thing, but necessary under the circumstances.
“Lead the way.”
* * *
Danny drove to the Knoxville airport, which sat on the far-east side of Blount County, where the state’s jet would be waiting. The governor had offered the ride, which he’d accepted. He was thinking back to the first time he and Stephanie actually had a face-to-face conversation, not in a formal meeting, but private. Just between them.
A few years ago.
At Camp David. During another crisis.
“Contrary to what you might think, I’m not an idiot,” he said.
They were sitting on the front porch of the cabin, each in a high-backed wooden rocker. He worked his with vigor, the floorboards straining from his tall frame.
“I don’t think I ever called you an idiot.”
“My daddy used to tell my mama that he never called her a bitch to her face. Which was also true. I have a problem, Stephanie. A serious one.”
“That makes two of us. According to your deputy national security adviser I’m under arrest. And didn’t you fire me?”
“Both had to be done, so you could be here now.”
He recalled how unimpressed she’d seemed with her predicament. So he’d told her a story.
“One of my uncles used to say, want to kill snakes? Simple. Don’t give ’em a chance to bite you. Make ’em come to you. Just set fire to the underbrush and wait for them to slither out. Then you just whack their heads off. That’s what we’re going to do. Set some fires. I need your help.”
“To do what?”
“Find my traitor.”
And that was exactly what she’d done.
In fine style.
As she always did, she’d yanked his butt out of trouble. The Magellan Billet had been the one agency he could trust to get the job done, headed by a remarkable woman whom he’d hoped to spend the rest of his days with.
Now she was fighting for her life.
He’d originally planned to head to Washington and set some fires, chase out the snakes, then whack their heads off.
But he added one other task to his list.
God help the bastard who shot his girl.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Cassiopeia kept blinking, allowing her eyes to adjust to the sudden burst of harsh blue-white light. Lea was doing the same.
“Who are you?” the man in front asked.
He was lean and drawn, with an almost military bearing about him. Maybe mid-forties, handsome features, the eyes a deep, striking brown beneath a tousled mop of shaggy, grayish hair. She decided to use the truth, which might be their only weapon.
“I’m Cassiopeia Vitt. I work with the U.S. Justice Department.”
“And the young lady?”
“Lea Morse. She lives around here.”
“Are you related to Terry Morse?”
“I’m his granddaughter.”
He seemed impressed. “Do you know of the Witch’s Stone?”
And apparently informed.
“What if we do?” Cassiopeia said, answering for Lea. “And you never mentioned your name.”
“James Proctor.”
His accent was decidedly southern, like Cotton’s, both men using the soft drawl as a measure of control. The fact that he revealed his name brought her no comfort, nor did his tone. Neutral. Businesslike. Unwelcoming.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Same reason you are.” She motioned to the open trunk. “The gold.”
“But it doesn’t belong to you.”
“And it does to you?”
“In a sense. We are its keeper.”
“Is this the vault?”
A slight smile came to his lips. “I see you’re familiar with us.”
“I’m not the only one.”
She hoped he got the message that people back in Washington were aware of things—which, sadly, wasn’t exactly true.
They were on their own.
Proctor stepped close to where she and Lea stood. “This gold has waited here a long time. But no, this is not the vault. Just one of a few remaining repositories we made use of.”
“You can’t be serious. The Knights of the Golden Circle still exist?”
She’d already concluded that these men bore no relation to the three imposters from earlier at the Morse place.
“We are knights,” Proctor said.
He was deadly serious, so she decided not to antagonize him.
“Were all these trunks filled with gold?”
He nodded. “We’ve been removing
it for the past several days. You arrived while we were carting off the next-to-last load. One of my colleagues was standing guard outside in the woods and saw you approach. Now tell me, are you really here for the gold?”
“We know about sentinels,” Lea said. “My grandpa is one.”
“That he is, and an excellent one, too. He held to his duty for a long time. His grandfather, your great-grandfather, was specially chosen to guard the Witch’s Stone.”
This man had access to some precise information.
“Were you being trained to assume the duty?” Proctor asked.
Lea nodded. “I was.”
Smart girl, she knew a lie was better than the truth.
“I assume there are no grandsons?”
“Not a one.”
“Women can’t serve?” Cassiopeia asked.
“It’s not usual. But if you were being trained, why would you violate this place?” Proctor asked Lea. “A sentinel’s job is to protect.”
“Why’d you send those men to hurt my grandpa?”
For the first time Proctor seemed surprised. So it was just as Cassiopeia had thought. There were two different factions at work here.
“I sent no men,” Proctor declared.
She seized the moment. “Which means others are onto you. They also claimed to be knights and knew the handshake and the right words of greeting.”
A look of concern came to Proctor’s face. “That’s disturbing to hear. But I assure you, those men were not with us.”
She needed a diversion. “There’s a lot of gold here.”
He nodded. “Somewhere in the range of $50 million worth, depending on the purity, which is usually quite good.”
She still had her gun, tucked tight to her spine. With the warm night she’d worn no jacket so, if she turned around, its bulge would be exposed. She could reach for it, but the men standing before her were surely armed, too. The ensuing firefight would be no fight at all, and Lea could get killed.
“I pride myself on being a gentleman,” Proctor said. “So it’s most unfortunate that you came. I must apologize for what I have to do.”
He motioned and two of the men surged forward.
She did reach for her gun then, but Proctor’s right hand whipped up, holding a semi-automatic.
