CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (16 page)

Replacing the dark glasses over her eyes, Cotten turned back
toward the ocean. They didn't speak for a while as they stood in the
sand gazing out over the water.

Finally, Vanessa said, "I've got to tell you that's the creepiest thing
I've ever heard." She tossed the angel wing into the water.

"What can it possibly mean?" Cotten watched a few minnows in
their endless search for food circle the spot where the shell splashed.

"Are you absolutely sure they were the same words the guy said in
the tomb?"

"There's no mistake. Geh el crip. It means, you are the only one.
That's what Archer said. First he said I had to stop the sun or the
dawn, or something like that. Then he said, `Geh el crip: You are the
only one. Last night, the priestess said `Geh el crip ds adgt quasb.' You are the only one who can stop it. No, stronger than stop. More like
destroy."

"Destroy?"

"First she whispered in English. It was hard to hear her, but it was
what Archer said. I'm the only one to stop the sun and something
else. I didn't hear the end clearly. Her voice trailed off. But then she
spoke in twin talk. She said, `You are the only one who can destroy
it."

"Cotten, you've got to admit, that whole talking to your dead sister thing is pretty creepy."

Cotten glared at her.

"Sorry." Vanessa put her arm around Cotten's shoulder as they
turned and started walking. "Okay, let's think this through. Two different people on separate occasions tell you that you're the only one
who can stop something-stop the sun from coming up or stop the
dawn. And they also both happen to speak some made-up language
you used to communicate with your deceased twin sister when you
were just a little girl. Let's forget the weirdness of it all for a moment."
Vanessa nodded toward the horizon. "There's the sun, and it's dawn.
How could you possibly stop that from happening? It makes no sense
in any language."

"I need to talk to someone."

"Your priest friend?"

"I tried to call him again, but all I got was his machine. He may
not even be back from Rome. I don't know what else to do."

Vanessa dropped her arm. "Cotten, don't bite my head off, but
what if you just think that's what you heard? You said her voice was
really frail and you had to strain to understand her."

Cotten's expression softened, and she sighed. "I guess I did have a
lot to drink." Still, she hadn't told Vanessa or anyone the whole story about her twin-why Motnees didn't come to her anymore-why
they no longer spoke.

Cotten walked along the surf line, Vanessa beside her. A few sandpipers darted across their path picking at the beach for hidden
morsels.

"I'm flying to Nassau in the morning for a series of shoots,"
Vanessa said. "So the place is yours for a couple of days. Just kick
back, relax, and forget about what happened. Chill. Read a trashy
novel, soak up some sun, flirt with the guys on the beach-some are
actually straight. Hell, get laid."

Cotten chuckled. Thornton was the only one she'd had sex with in
the last year. She had never been able to get into the casual sex scene.
She looked back at the sunrise. "The whole thing is nonsensical. The
sun ... the frigging dawn." Cotten scuffed the shallow water. "Screw it."

"That-a-girl." Vanessa took Cotten by the hand. "Let's get some
breakfast."

Cotten stood on the balcony watching Vanessa cross the parking lot
to her car. The model turned and waved before getting into her M3
convertible and pulling out onto AlA. Cotten glanced toward the
beach that was quickly filling with sun worshipers before she went
back into the apartment. She remembered the first day of college
when she'd met her roommate, the strikingly beautiful Latin girl
from Miami-Cotten a journalism major, Vanessa, drama.

Three things Cotten discovered about Vanessa that first year were
her sense of loyalty to friends, her generous heart, and her wonderful
ability to laugh when things were the bleakest. After all the years, those
were still what she loved most about her. When Vanessa confessed her sexual preference, it hadn't mattered to Cotten. They vowed that it
never would get in the way of their friendship. They were closer than
sisters throughout college-trusting, confiding, and counseling each
other through broken loves, paralyzing finals, and countless bouts of
self-doubt.

Cotten fell back on the bed. Good God, how did the girl keep up
the pace? It was Sunday morning after a Saturday night all-nighter.
Cotten was exhausted and hung over, and Nessi was off to work
looking like a zillion bucks. And Vanessa would be all put together
tomorrow, too, when she hopped on a plane to the Bahamas. She
was non-stop.

Cotten groaned, hugged a pillow to her chest, and yawned. She lay
there another ten minutes, images of Iraq, the children's eyes, Thornton's eyes, John's eyes, the candles and their reflection in the old
woman's eyes, circling in her head. "Get over it," she said, turning on
her side. She tried to sleep, but couldn't. Finally she got up.

Pulling her planner from her carryall, she flipped to the address
tabs before picking up the phone and dialing. Three rings later, there
was an answer.

"Ruby Investigations."

"Hi, Uncle Gus."

"Well, well," Gus Ruby said. "I'm surprised my favorite niece still
speaks to us lowly peons after hobnobbing with the pope and all."

"First of all, Uncle Gus, I didn't hobnob with the pope-he was
busy doing pope stuff. And second, I would never consider you a
lowly peon. You're one of the highest ranking peons I know."

"Now, I feel better."

"Hey, why are you answering your home phone with Ruby Investigations?"

"I gave up on the shitty answering service so I switched my call
forwarding on the weekends to this line. I get a lot of business on Saturdays and Sundays, thanks to Friday and Saturday nights. Tell me, so
how is it being renowned throughout the land?"

"When I see my picture on The National Enquirer cover next to
the "Blind Baby Raised By Worms" story, I'll know I've really made
it.

Gus Ruby's deep barrel laugh rocked the phone line. "You've got a
great sense of humor, little girl."

There was a lengthy pause before Cotten said, "I know you're real
busy these days, but I need a favor if you can swing it."

"What's up?"

"Robert Wingate. Ever heard of him?"

"A blurb on 60 Minutes and some other news magazine. New candidate, right?"

"You'll hear more about him soon, I'm sure. No one knows much
about Wingate other than he's a wealthy businessman who's decided
to give politics a whirl. He sort of sprang up one day. Like everybody
else, we're going to do a feature on him. But I need that little extra
twist you always seem to uncover. Can you do an in-depth background check-finance, business, social, the works? Maybe even follow him around for a while and see what gets him off? You got anyone to spare? The network will cover fees and expenses like always."

"Where's he going to be?"

"Right now he's in Miami-his hometown. I'm down here, too."

"Miami? It's snowing like a mother here. Shit, I'll come down and
do it myself-anything to get out of this meat locker. How long you
gonna be there?"

"The rest of the week."

"Are you staying at your roommate's place again?"

"Yeah, Vanessa's."

"My God, that woman's as hot as a Saturday Night Special that's
been fired six times."

"Uncle Gus, did I ever tell you Vanessa is gay?"

"When I was your age, little girl, I was a sexual Tyrannosaurus. I
could turn her around in one night."

"Should I remind you of what happened to the dinosaurs?"

The phone line quaked again with Gus Ruby's roaring laughter.
"Well, you tell her I'm on my way, and she better be ready."

"I'll warn her."

When the laughter finally stopped, Gus said, "Okay, I'll start digging on this Wingate thing. Let's plan on meeting later in the week. I
should have some preliminary material by then. I'll call."

"That sounds perfect. I love you, and I'll see you-oh, wait, there's
one more thing." Cotten reached for her small sequined handbag and
pulled out the business card.

The chirping sound came from her beach bag. Cotten lay on a large
towel, the South Florida sun warming her bikini-clad body. She put
down her paperback then retrieved her cell phone.

"Hello."

"Hey. I'm in Washington." Thornton's voice was low as if he
weren't alone and didn't want anyone to hear. "When are you coming
back?"

"Never.'

"Cotten, we need to talk.'

"We are talking."

"I could take a flight to Miami and be there tonight."

"No."

"Why not?"

"For the same reasons I gave you the last hundred times. Thornton, unless you've got some other business to discuss, I have to go."

"What's so urgent that you have to hang up?"

"I'm trying to figure out how to stop the sun from rising."

"What?"

"It's a long story." She took a deep breath. "Really, I've got to go.
Give Cheryl my love."

"Don't hang up. Not yet. Okay, official business from now on."

Cotten lifted her finger from the end button on the phone. "Go
ahead," she finally said. She was a professional-she could do thisjust business. And she did want to run the Wingate thing past Thornton, anyway. He had a sixth sense for news.

"Ted told me you covered the Wingate dinner. How'd it go?"

"Interesting. The guy is slick and very rich. He rented one of the
most expensive party venues in Miami and had it catered first class."

"What did he have to say?"

"The speech was all about family values, protecting children, high
moral fiber-the usual blah, blah, blah."

"That's it?"

"I requested an interview but haven't followed up on it yet."

"Sounds like a wasted trip."

"I'm not down here just for Wingate, Thornton. I'm on vacation."
She switched ears. "There is one thing. Just before he gave his speech,
he left for a secret meeting with some guy who wasn't a guest at the
dinner. I think the guy was just a courier delivering a message. He
talked to Wingate and handed him a card. The perfect candidate lost
his temper. He got really angry, jabbed his finger in the guy's face, and
hurled the card back at him."

"Do you know who he was?"

"No, but I managed to get the card after they left. Nothing on it
but a name and a scribbled message that says call immediately."

"What's the name?"

"Ben Gearhart."

THE DISTINCTIVE RAP BEAT of Eminem pounded through the palms
and sea grapes from a boom box as two teenage boys sat on a concrete picnic table sipping canned drinks. Their heads bobbed to the
Miami radio station.

Gus Ruby shifted his gaze to them and lifted the binoculars. Too
young to be drinking beer, he thought. Skipping school, no doubt. He
watched through the windshield of his rented Grand Marquis behind
a stand of coconut palms. There were a dozen other cars in the lot at
Crandon Park on Key Biscayne, four miles across the Rickenbacker
Causeway from Miami. A constant breeze blew from the ocean a few
hundred yards away carrying the sound of the surf mixed with the
music.