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Her mind jolted back to the present, still sitting in Alex’s apartment. She recalled walking back to the house that day, letting herself in through the garage, standing in the quiet for nearly an hour, hands trembling, swallowing the fear, wondering if anyone had seen her. She could still see Alex’s arms flailing in the water, the mouth open, desperate for air. Her greatest fear had not been what she’d done, but rather that she would be caught. When the sheriff came hours later to inform her that the body had been found, she’d had to fight hard not to show relief. Nothing pointed to foul play and no one suspected her in any way.
No witnesses had come forth. To the world she was a woman who’d lost her husband in a tragic accident. The fact that he was a longtime member of the U.S. Senate had only added to the level of grief.
Which she’d milked at the funeral.
She took a few deep breaths and gathered herself, savoring again the great wave of relief that had swept over her the day Alex died. That was all in the past. The future was now hers for the taking.
Her cell phone rang, its chime like an alarm.
The display indicated it was Lucius Vance.
She answered.
“We need to talk, right now,” he said to her. “In private.”
She heard the urgency, which was troubling. “I’m in town, at Alex’s apartment. This is as good a place as any.”
“Tell me where. I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Grant waited until the visitor left. He’d heard it all. His father had offered some sort of code, which the guy from the Smithsonian, whom his father had been calling Captain Adams, had broken.
And fast, too.
The answer supposedly led to the Heart Stone.
The man had not stayed long after that, his father lapsing into more and more nonsense about the past. Finally the front screen door opened then banged closed. He waited in the kitchen until he heard a car engine rev, followed by his father’s footsteps back to the den. He hadn’t brought the uniform in with him and should probably go and get it. But what for? What he needed to know had just been told to a total stranger. He could simply beat the same information out of the old man.
He was beyond pissed. He’d had to put up with nonsense for two years, obtaining information in bits and pieces, never getting the whole story. Now to know that his father was lucid enough to craft a code, and pass on the location of the Heart Stone, only swelled the anger rising inside him. Further fueling him was the piece of new information he’d heard. Some sort of journal that seemed important.
He stormed from the kitchen and entered the den.
“Where’d you come from?” his father asked.
He wondered if his face had penetrated the fog. “Do you know who I am?”
“I do not, sir. Are you with the captain? He just left.”
“No, old man. I’m your friggin’ son. Could you for once remember?”
The eyes that stared back were blank and listless. His gazed searched the room, looking for the pad of paper that had been passed back and forth.
Which was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is the pad you were writing on?”
“That was between the captain and me. No strangers allowed.”
Interesting how short-term memory seemed to be functioning today. So he tried, “Tell me about the code.”
“Were you listening to us? Tell me, boy. Were you spying?”
“I’m not going to ask again. Where is the pad?”
No reply.
He grabbed his father by the shoulders, gripping each arm hard, and shook. “Do you want a fist in the gut? Is that what you want? Those bones of yours can take only so much. A trip to the hospital could be the end for you. Tell me what I want to know. Now.”
His father’s body went limp, the head tilted to one side, which made it hard to hold him up, so he released his grip and dumped the old man into a chair.
Then he saw the pad.
In a back pocket.
He slid it free, but there was no writing on any of the pages.
“Where is it?” he screamed. “Where is what you wrote?”
“The captain … took it … with him.”
Dammit.
But if the old man remembered once, he could again. Especially with proper motivation. Which Grant intended on supplying.
He tossed the pad down to his father.
“Write what you wrote to him.”
“You know how to solve the code?”
He nodded. “Yes. Yes. I know the code. Write it down.”
He’d take whatever he could get. If he could not figure it out, Diane certainly could. At least they’d have the information.
“Did the captain teach you?”
He had to play along. “Of course. I work with him.”
His father righted himself in the chair, found the pen, and wrote. When the pad was handed over, the top sheet seemed an unintelligible jumble.
FATAHW UOYLOO NOSERA
“This is nonsense,” he roared. “Do you want me to beat the hell out of you? Is that what you want?”
His father shook his head, and he saw a familiar fear. Good. Finally. He might be getting through.
“Tell you what,” the old man said. “I’ll unlock it. Will that help?”
“Damn right. Do it.”
His father did as instructed and he yanked the pad away, reading the single line of deciphered letters.
Whatafoolyouareson
“Break the line into words. Can you read it?”
He could.
WHAT A FOOL YOU ARE SON.
His father stood from the chair, holding a gun, aimed straight at him. “My little charade is over. You’ll not lay a hand on me again.”
The words came clear, concise, and with a familiar harshness. In a firm voice he hadn’t heard in years.
Then he realized. “You’re as sane as the rest of us.”
A smile came to the thin lips. “More so than you can say. Elder abuse seems not to bother you.”
He was too shocked to speak. Finally, he managed, “Why would you pretend like that? And let me beat you?”
“Because I needed you to do things I could not do on my own. All war is deception, but I doubt you would appreciate such a truism. But savor what a French poet once said. It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.”
His father moved a few feet away, toward the front windows, and motioned with the gun that he should retreat a few steps, too.
“That gold has an amazing pull, doesn’t it?” his father asked.
“Damn right.”
The old man shook his head. “Without that Layne woman, or Sherwood as she calls herself now, you would have made no progress. Her father taught her well.”
“You tricked her, too? When she came to see you?”
“Of course, but I also determined how much she knew. Then I watched as the two of you became acquainted. And when you kept coming back, wanting more information, I learned that you were together. So I led you both where I wanted you to go.”
Then he realized. “You want the stones. You can’t get them on your own, so you had us do it for you.”
“See, you’re not always so stupid. Sadly for you, though, your usefulness is waning.”
He began to acquire a more healthy respect for the gun aimed at him.
“Why does this matter?” he asked his father.
“I am a knight of the Golden Circle. I have been most of my adult life. I may, in fact, be the most important knight in the Order’s history.”
“Because you control the vault.”
“There it is again. Those flashes of brilliance that peek through the idiocy you so easily display. What does that Layne woman see in you?”
“You know about our relationship?”
“I know a great deal, son. More than you may ever realize.”
“You’re also a sentinel?”
“I am the sentinel. Of the vault. I have protected it a lon
g time. But I’m old, and there are tasks I must do before I die. The stones had to be acquired, and you offered the fastest route to accomplishing that goal.”
His father pressed an empty hand to the front window.
“I could be a sentinel,” he said.
“You have neither the brains nor the character for the job. You remind me of Davis Layne. All he wanted was the gold for himself. Greed does not become a knight of the Golden Circle.”
A thought suddenly occurred to him.
“Kenneth. Diane’s brother. He’s a knight?”
