CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (26 page)

The phone rang as Cotten came through the door of her apartment.
She slung her purse onto the couch and picked up the receiver, shrugging her left arm out of her coat. "Hello."

"Ms. Stone?"

Cotten froze, her coat dangling off the back of one shoulder. "Mr.
Wingate, what a surprise."

ROBERT WINGATE'S CHANGE OF heart piqued Cotten's curiosity.
He'd agreed to the exclusive, so immediately after hanging up with
him, Cotten booked a flight to Miami for the following day.

When she arrived at MIA, she picked up her rental car and
headed to Vanessa's for a late dinner. They stayed up until the wee
hours sipping wine and talking. The morning had come much too
early.

Cotten stood at the kitchen counter still perspiring from a morning jog along the beach. She savored a blueberry muffin and cup of
coffee while watching Vanessa scurry around the kitchen.

"God, I'm going to be late," Vanessa Perez said. She took a bite of
muffin then gulped orange juice from the carton. "Want some?" She
held out the carton.

Cotten declined.

Vanessa sat the juice down and spun around. "Where are my
fucking shoes? I just had them." She whipped around again, knocking
over the carton.

The juice sloshed out and splattered Cotten.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," Vanessa said.

Cotten picked up the sponge from the sink and began dabbing at
her fleece top and sweat pants. "It won't stain," she said. "I'll throw
them in the wash in a minute. Go on and get a move on."

Nessi blurted a sigh. "I'm always a disaster in the mornings."

"You don't think I remember back in college having to drag you
out of bed to make your first class? Maybe if you tried going to sleep
at a decent hour," Cotten said with a straight face.

They both laughed.

"Wish I could lounge around here all day like somebody I know,"
Vanessa said.

"What do you mean, lounge? I've got an exclusive interview at
noon with a presidential candidate who wants to make up for blowing me off. I'll be able to get ready just as soon as you've relinquished
the bathroom."

"You've got such a cushy job," Vanessa said, slipping on her shoes.
"Asking questions all day. How hard can that be?"

Cotten moved into the living room and settled on the sofa. "Oh,
and looking beautiful while someone pampers you-doing your hair
and makeup. That isn't cushy?"

Vanessa appeared to consider the argument. "All right, you win.
My cushy is better."

They laughed again as the model grabbed her keys and tote bag,
and headed for the door. She stopped short, ran over to the couch,
and kissed Cotten on the cheek. "Call your priest friend. He's good
for you." She grinned. "Love you."

Cotten waved her off. "Go! You're already half an hour late."

"Yeah, but they can't start without me," Vanessa said. Seconds
later, she was gone.

It's a good thing Nessi got paid just to look great, Cotten thought.
She'd be hard pressed to make it in the real world.

She leaned back taking a deep breath, deciding to call John later,
maybe after she returned from the interview-she knew he must be
tired of hearing about Thornton and her guilt trip.

She had to see Thornton's notes, had to know what he was on to
and if there had been something she could have done to prevent his
death. Cotten leaned forward and covered her face with her hands.
"Damn it." Why hadn't she just answered his call? Rocking, she
wrapped her arms around her waist as if to hold herself together.
"Christ, I've got to stop this." She shoved her fingers through her hair
like a harrow.

Cotten grabbed her spiral notebook from the end table. First
thing she needed to do was go over her notes for the Wingate interview one more time. Ted Casselman had helped her, suggesting many
of the questions. Had she missed anything? Forgotten anything? How
would she treat Wingate? Cold and aloof or warm and cozy? She had
to get as much as possible out of the candidate without him turning
on her. Warm and cozy, that was it. Kill him with kindness-compliments and sweetness. Always dip it in honey, her mother would say.
It's easier to pull a chain than push it.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Vanessa bolted in. "Goddamn
car won't start, and my cell's dead!" She snatched the cordless phone.
"I'll have to call a cab-probably take them an hour to get here."

"Wait, Nessi." Cotten got up and went to her purse lying on the
dining room table. "Take my rental." She pulled out her keys.

"How will you get to your interview?"

"I think I can call a cab just as good as you. And I'm not the one
who's late."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"That's what friends are for," she sang in her best Dionne Warwick. She held out the keys. "Here-don't argue."

"You're a sweetheart," Vanessa said. "See you tonight." She
grabbed the keys and sprinted to the door. "Good luck with Wingate."

Cotten started to wave, but the door was already closing. She
broke off a chunk of blueberry muffin and shoved it into her mouth
before strolling out on the balcony. In the distance a handful of sailboats captured the early breeze. Being the height of the tourist season, the snowbirds already sprawled themselves on blankets along the
beach, seemingly oblivious to the nippy air. Die-hard tourists, she
thought. A chilly wind swept down AlA from the north causing her
to shiver as the palm fronds rustled beneath the balcony.

A squeal caught Cotten's attention. Part of the parking lot was
directly below, infringing on the scenic view. Vanessa darted across
the asphalt. She glanced up and waved, then unlocked the door to
Cotten's rental and jumped in.

Nessi was the oldest teenager she knew, Cotten thought. She had
many acquaintances, but Nessi was her only real friend. She took a
last glance at the beach before turning to go back inside.

In the next instant there was a blinding burst of light and thunderous boom, and she was slammed face down on the floor, her ears
filled with a high-pitched ringing. What felt like a sledgehammer had
hit her from behind, driving the air from her lungs.

All went black.

Slowly, Cotten opened her eyes but saw only blurred images. Faint
pricks of light swirled in a gray haze. The back of her neck, legs, and
arms tingled as if they were sunburned.

As Cotten focused, she raised her head and looked around the
room. Broken glass from the windows and sliding door littered the
floor like chipped ice.

And there was the sound of crackling and popping. Fire.

She heard a chorus of car alarms along with distant shouts as she
managed to get to her hands and knees. Heat radiated from the direction of the balcony. Cotten struggled to her feet. A ligature of fear
knotted her throat as she looked out at the parking lot. She stood
there, numbed by the sight, no longer feeling any chill in the air.

Flames and black smoke billowed from what had been her rental.
It wasn't a car anymore-the roof, doors, and hood were gone, metal
peeled back. Several nearby cars were also on fire.

"Nessi!" she screamed, hanging over the rail.

Everywhere she looked there was debris-detached car door, mangled hood, swatches of fabric and seat cushion stuffing, an open brief
case, bits of paper, prisms of window glass ... Vanessa's shoe.

"Oh, Jesus. Oh, God;" she whispered.

Cotten steadied herself, holding on to the railing as her thoughts
came together. This was much more than a gas tank igniting. It had to
have been a powerful explosion to do such damage-there were at
least five other cars ablaze. And the shockwave had knocked her
down, blown pictures from the walls. The windows and sliding glass
doors were shattered-balcony furniture overturned.

A bomb.

The realization hit her harder than the actual blast. The bomb was
meant for her, not for Vanessa.

Screaming sirens came from the distance.

Blue lights flashed; red lights strobed.

Vanessa was dead. Oh, God, her friend ... her friend.

She had to get away. Someone wanted her dead.

Cotten grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

At the end of the hall she punched the elevator button. "Come on,
come on." She pushed again, watching the floor indicator change
numbers in slow motion.

Finally, the bell dinged. The doors slid open and Cotten pressed
herself against the metal wall inside. She pushed the lobby button five
times, poking it so hard the end of her finger hurt.

"Oh, God. Oh, God."

Her breathing became giant bellows in her ears. She felt blood
pumping in her neck, her scalp, even her wrists.

The doors parted, and she was in the lobby. A crowd already gathered, trying to get a better look at the fire. Her eyes jumped from person to person-profiles, faces, backs of heads. Was he here-the person who planted the bomb? Was the man who wanted her dead
looking at her right now?

She pushed through the crowd toward the door leading to the
patio and pool. Cotten kept her face down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

She fought the urge to run, though panic had her heart thudding
heavily and wildly, her lungs sputtering out every shallow and rapid
breath.

The door! Get out the goddamn door!

Throwing the door open, she crossed the patio surrounding the
apartment pool, rounded the building and burst onto the South
Beach sidewalk.

Sirens and emergency horns blasted from all directions.

Cotten fled across Ocean Drive and turned south, racing through
the flow of onlookers making their way toward the scene. "Sorry!
Sorry!" she shouted, pushing through. She chanced a quick glimpse
over her shoulder. Black smoke-red trucks-madness.

She darted down an alley, across Collins Avenue, through parking lots and between buildings, turning south again on Washington
Avenue. Past Joe's Stone Crabs she saw a park ahead on her left.

She hurried toward the small concrete block building inside the
park-public restrooms. Looking back, she made sure no one followed.

Cotten slipped in the women's restroom and locked herself in a
stall. Crouched on top of the toilet she folded her arms across her
middle and rocked. "Oh, Nessi, Nessi." She could hear the harmony of
Dionne Warwick, Gladys Knight, Stevie Wonder, and Elton John deep
in her head.

Knowin' you can always count on me, oh, for sure ...

That's what friends are for.

Cotten sobbed until completely out of breath and exhausted. Her
chest and throat burned.

As she looked down, a drop of blood splattered onto the floor. She
raised her hand and felt her face first, then the back of her head-a
patch of hair was wet and sticky. She looked at the blood on her fingers. Carefully probing, she found a sliver of glass embedded. She
parted her hair as best as she could, pinched the tiny shard and pulled
it out. Where else was she cut?

Unwinding a length of toilet paper, she wadded it and pressed it
firmly against the scalp wound. She thought of Vanessa again and
prayed that there had been no pain, that her death had been instant.

"Oh, God, Nessi. I'm so sorry."

The minutes passed as Cotten waited. The distant sounds of
sirens finally faded into the mix of light traffic, seagulls screeching,
and kids playing somewhere in the park.

Finally feeling it was safe, she eased out of the stall and cleaned
herself at the sink. There were only a couple of bloodstains around
her collar. She spot washed it until they were only dull rusty
splotches.

She finally had enough courage to walk out of the restroom. A
city bus stopped a few hundred feet away-the sharp hiss of its air
brakes scattering a flock of pigeons. She hadn't thought to grab her
cell phone when she ran from Vanessa's apartment. It had been right
there on the nightstand charging. There was no going back for it now.

Across a flat expanse of grass near a water fountain she saw three
pay phones. She walked to the phones with her head down. After a
few quick looks over her shoulder, she lifted the receiver and dialed a
zero.