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His eye caught a red-and-black-plaid shirt, inside a glass case, hanging from the wall. He stepped around the young woman’s desk and approached the display. A card at the bottom right explained.
IN HIS FIRST CAMPAIGN FOR THE SENATE, ALEX SHERWOOD WALKED ACROSS THE STATE OF TENNESSEE. EVERY DAY OF HIS 1,000-MILE TREK HE WORE A TRADITIONAL RED-AND-BLACK-PLAID LEVI’S SHIRT. THEY WERE MANUFACTURED IN TENNESSEE AND PURCHASED FROM FRIEDMAN’S DEPARTMENT STORE ON HILLSBORO ROAD IN NASHVILLE.
He recalled when he and Alex first conceived that idea as the perfect way to connect with voters.
And it worked.
Alex won with a huge vote.
He heard people approaching from behind him and turned to see more of the staff.
“Mr. President,” one of them said. “I’m sorry, I mean, Senator Daniels.”
He smiled and started the process of winning these folks over.
“I know what you mean. It’s confusing as hell to me, too. But we’ll both adjust.”
* * *
Grant flung himself off the bed and scooped up his trousers. Diane had already risen and was out in the other room. She’d wanted a full report, but he’d wanted other things, which a part of her had seemed to want, too. So they’d both been distracted for a little while. Now it was time to get down to business. He hoped their passionate interlude would cushion the bad news. He walked out of the bedroom, pulling on his pants but leaving his shirt off.
“You don’t find it weird, you and me, here?” he asked her. “I mean it doesn’t matter to me, but it should to you.”
“Why? It’s not a shrine. And I assure you, nothing ever happened here between me and my husband. So I’m not filled with any touching memories. Now tell me, what happened last night?”
“When I went to get the key, Thomas tried blackmail. He figured out what we’re after and wanted a cut. If not, he was planning on writing a book. I decided his dying was better.”
“Excuse me?”
“I shot him.” Might as well give it to her straight.
“Inside the Smithsonian?”
“Technically, it was under it. But not to worry, nobody saw me.”
He omitted the confrontation in the Castle, the Justice Department lady, and the fact that he’d shot her, too. No sense begging for trouble. And besides, he was reasonably sure nothing could be traced back to him.
“You do realize that I was connected to Thomas,” she said. “What happens if someone starts asking questions?”
Which was a possibility. One he’d deal with, if and when it arose. As much as he liked Diane, both in and out of the sack, he liked the prospects of billions of dollars in lost gold more. “Your connection to him was innocent, right?”
“Of course, and he may not have told a soul about it.”
But he knew that was not the case. The Justice Department lady had been right there, all over him, and afterward had gone straight to Thomas’ apartment. That meant she was informed. But hopefully she was now dead. And if Richard Stamm, or anyone else, could connect Diane, Thomas, and himself, why had they not already tried to contact Diane? She certainly would be easy to find. Which made him think that he’d been right all along. Thomas had kept the details of that relationship to himself.
He decided to move on to another subject. “The Trail Stone was exactly where it was supposed to be inside the natural history museum. My father’s memory was right on that one.” He reached into his pants pocket and found the ceremonial key. “And we have this, too. Combined with the Witch’s Stone from Arkansas my men found, we’re nearly there. I have photos of all the stones we’ve found so far. You need to work on deciphering them.”
Her value came from being able to understand the Order’s cryptic language. To find the gold, he would need that expertise.
“Things are about to happen in Congress,” she told him. “Vance is moving ahead.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t concern us. But I’m sure your brother’s panties are all in a wad with excitement. He wants to change the country. You and I? We just want to be rich.”
Greed was truly one of the simplest of motives. And it wasn’t like he was taking something that belonged to other living people. This treasure had been hidden for a long time. The people who stole it were all dead, their cause long forgotten. Sure, Kenneth Layne and the Speaker of the House planned to resurrect some of the old ideas, but who cared.
“It’s happening,” she whispered.
That it was. They’d definitely made progress.
He stepped over to a wall mirror.
Though no one may have seen his face, his curly hair could be a problem. And the port wine stain. He’d never given it much thought, there since birth, not all that noticeable to him.
But to others?
“I’ll email you photos of the stones,” he said, studying himself in the mirror. “You work on them. I have to go out.”
He headed for the bedroom to find his shirt.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I need a haircut.”
* * *
Danny met each of the fourteen people who worked out of Alex’s main office, including its chief of staff. Every senator had a DC headquarters, then satellite offices scattered throughout their respective states, usually one in each congressional district. All total, across ten separate offices, Alex employed 34 people, which was about average. But if you multiply those costs by 100, it added up to a serious line item in the federal budget. Something else Everett Dirksen once said came to mind. A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you’re talking about real money.
He stood in Alex’s inner sanctum, a bright, warm space decorated with more Tennessee memorabilia, the walls filled with dozens of framed photos, a visual reminder of a storied political career. There were presidents, senators, kings, queens, movie stars, singers. You name it, Alex had shaken their hand. Danny understood the importance of displaying those connections. The images sent a subtle, but clear, message that the man who occupied this office could get things done. So trust him. Vote for him. Once, long ago, when he’d been the senior senator from Tennessee, another suite of offices, on another floor in another building, had been littered with images of him. Interesting how presidents had no need for such pandering. It was so different in the White House. Your stock rose and fell by the hour and no amount of braggadocio photographs helped. Of course, everything here would have to eventually go to Diane. But something about that really bothered him. She’d had Alex’s apartment searched. Then she’d met privately with Lucius Vance and some other man, smooching on Vance afterward. Giving these precious memories to her seemed wrong. So for now, everything would stay right where it was.
“Nobody loses their job,” he said to the chief of staff, standing beside him.
She was a competent Capitol Hill veteran. Alex had never had anything but good words to say about her.
“If anyone feels they can’t work for me, they’re welcome to leave with a good recommendation and my blessing. But I don’t want any of ’em to go. It’s their call. This is hard enough without making things harder.”
“I speak for everyone,” she said, “when I say we’re here for you, ready to go to work.”
He already liked this woman.
It seemed his lot to be surrounded by strong women. His longtime White House secretary had been a bulldog, Pauline no slouch. One-third of his cabinet had been female. And there was Stephanie, the toughest of them all, fighting for her life.
“Good to hear. I need you to do something for me, right now.”
He saw he had her attention.
“Nice and quiet, find Lucius Vance.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Cotton waited for more answers from the chief justice, deciding to let Weston set the tone. This man was on a mission. After something. What? He wasn’t sure. The one thing that rang clear, though, was that he was not hearing everything. Experience had taught him that the ears were always more attentive tha
n the mouth, so he kept quiet and listened.
“We had quite a civil war going on at this institution, back in 1973,” Weston told him. “Davis Layne was interested in finding the Order’s lost gold. Frank Breckinridge thought it best that the Smithsonian stay out of it. He argued that we made enough mistakes during, and after, the Civil War, so we should just leave it alone. That gold wasn’t ours. His position is the one that ultimately prevailed.”
“And Diane Sherwood?”
“She surely knows about what happened with her father back then. That’s probably how she was able to steer Martin Thomas to the restricted archives, which are mainly her father’s papers. And it’s safe to assume that she would be sympathetic to him. She’s apparently trying to finish what her father started and find the gold.”
“Which Martin Thomas complicated by trying to make his own deal with our curly-haired killer.”
“I told him about Thomas’ duplicity,” Stamm said.
