The Jefferson Allegiance (16 page)

Ducharme rushed forward. He kicked the pick out of her hand and knelt on her chest, pushing her hard onto the bricks. She squirmed underneath him, unbelievably still alive. He shoved her hood back, expecting to see blood and brains. He blinked as he stared into her eyes, which were glaring back at him. “Who are you?” he demanded.

He noted a medallion on her cloak and he ripped it free, feeling the heaviness of the bulletproof fabric it was pinned to. He lined up the MP-5 right between those pits of darkness and his finger was sliding onto the trigger when he got slammed hard in the back, twice in succession, knocking his aim off.

The body armor took the impact as he dove forward. He continued with the momentum, rolling behind the Poe Monument, coming up to one knee, weapon at the ready, as more rounds hit the marker, sending stone splinters flying and causing him to duck for a moment. Ducharme fired center of mass at Two, hitting him in the body armor and knocking him to the ground, a gasp of pain echoing over the radio. He turned his eyes back to the monument and cursed when he saw the killer was gone, scurrying away into the darkness of the cemetery.

“Report?” The voice was calm, but Ducharme knew whoever was in charge of the containment team had lost track of what was going on. It was a window of opportunity, one that would shut quickly.

He staggered to his feet, every breath hurting, and ran back the way he had come, his mind swirling. Why hadn’t the contractors moved on the killer in the front of the cemetery right away—they had to have seen her arrive? He climbed over the fence and saw an armed man dressed in black—Seven—standing in the street about twenty feet away, weapon at the ready. Ducharme pointed at his ear and then slashed his hand across his throat, indicating his radio was out of order.

Seven lowered his gun just as Kincannon, from his overlook position, fired twice into the man’s body armor, taking the guard down.

It worked.

For the moment.

As Ducharme passed the guard, the man did a leg sweep from his prone position, knocking Ducharme to the ground. Ducharme rolled and sprang to his feet, just as the guard did. Instinct took over. Ducharme feinted a butt strike with the sub-machinegun, and as the guard reacted, lashed out with a sidekick to the front of the guard’s right knee. The joint snapped back with an audible crunch, and the man screamed, collapsing to the ground in agony.

Ducharme sprinted away toward the rendezvous point.

************

“Report?” Turnbull had the radio handset in his hand.

“Doesn’t sound too good,” Burns calmly said, popping a piece of apple into his mouth, as a second voice cried out in pain over the radio.
Clusterfuck
, he thought. Sometimes it was nice not to be the boss.

“This is Five. Two and Seven have been hit. Three still missing. No sign of the intruder.”

“Interesting,” Turnbull said, not keying the radio.

“’Interesting’?” Burns looked over. “You’ve got two agents wounded and you lost the killer. You had her and you let her break your perimeter.”

“The killer didn’t shoot my men,” Turnbull said. “If she did, they’d be dead.”

“How do you know that?” Burns demanded. “Who did?”

Turnbull started the engine. “I told you Ducharme was a dangerous man. And resourceful. But he follows rules. That’s his flaw.”

************

Headlights led the way around the corner, and Ducharme ripped off the night vision goggles and removed the balaclava as the Blazer pulled up. He opened the passenger door and jumped inside as Kincannon piled in the back seat.

“Drive,” Ducharme ordered.

“Which way?” Evie asked.

“Get back on I-ninety-five and head north.” Ducharme pulled open the Velcro straps on the body armor and gingerly removed it. He tossed it onto the back seat and hunched his shoulders, feeling the bruises.

“What’s wrong?” Evie asked.

“I got shot.”

“
What?”
Evie was startled. Finally.

“I got shot in the back. Don’t worry, the bullets didn’t penetrate. Just going to be sore for a couple of days.”

“Speaking from experience.”

“Yes. And you were correct about the killer going to the wrong grave. She was at the Monument.”

“What happened?” Evie asked.

“I hit her twice, head shots, but it didn’t seem to have much effect,” Ducharme said. “She was wearing a cloak with a hood. Had to be made from L.A.—Liquid Armor.”

Kincannon whistled, finally impressed by something.

Evie looked confused. “Never heard of it.”

“Something you don’t know,” Ducharme said. “They take a shear thickening fluid and soak thin layers of Kevlar with it, then stitch them together to make a thicker garment. It stays flexible until there’s an impact, where it instantly becomes rigid. Cutting-edge technology. So cutting-edge, even the FBI and the Army—except Delta Force—don’t have it yet. That, combined with my rounds being subsonic, saved her life.”

“Lucky her,” Evie said.

“She won’t stay lucky,” Ducharme said.

“Should have double-tapped her right between the eyes,” Evie said.

“I was about to when I got shot,” Ducharme said. “Sorry to let you down.”

“Now, kids,” Kincannon said from the back seat. “Play nice.”

There was a short silence before Evie spoke. “Sorry.”

“About?” Ducharme was stretching his back. “My bullets?”

“That you didn’t get her. And that you were shot.”

“I’ll get her. We’ll meet again.”

Evie accelerated, glancing at the GPS display. “What did you find?”

“First thing is those guys weren’t FBI.” He pulled out the patch. “TriOps—an elite security contracting company.”

“Fucking merks,” Kincannon took the patch and crumpled it.

“And I’m not sure whether they were there to stop the killer or help her,” Ducharme added. “They never made a move on her, even though they had the place surrounded.”

“This is not good,” Kincannon said. “Wheels within wheels.”

“What about disks?” Evie asked.

Ducharme reached back to the vest and pulled out the packet. He cut open the plastic wrapping. “Six disks. Numbered two through seven.”

Evie nodded. “That means McBride had seven all together. LaGrange probably had seven. That leaves twelve of the original twenty-six. Probably broken in half. Six each to two more people. Where would General LaGrange have put his other six?”

“How did you figure all that?” Ducharme asked.

“It’s logical.”

“It’s an assumption.”

“While you were running around, I’ve been thinking. If it were just McBride and LaGrange, there would have been twelve disks at Poe’s grave. There were six. Project it. With a little bit of logic. Don’t hurt yourself while doing so.”

Ducharme considered it, trying to ignore the light sarcasm. “Then there’re probably two more bodies somewhere and two more idiots like us running around blind with a single disk.”

“They might not be dead yet,” Evie argued, which earned a snort from Kincannon.

“If not, they will be soon,” Ducharme said.

“Unless we save them,” Evie argued.

“How?” Ducharme asked. “We don’t know who they are. I think that’s the reason the killer tortured McBride and LaGrange—besides trying to find out where the disks were. I also got this off the killer.” Ducharme showed her the medallion. He saw a flash of recognition in her eyes, but she said nothing. It poked the beast inside of him, but he brought it under control. With difficulty.

They drove in silence for a while.

Evie turned onto the ramp for I-95. “Where are we going?”

“You figured out where McBride’s disks were,” Ducharme said. “I’ve got an idea where LaGrange’s are.”

“Where?”

“How many points?” Ducharme asked Kincannon.

“Depends if you’re right or not,” Kincannon warned. “If you are, it pretty much evens out the Poe grave thing.”

“Smart asses,” Evie said. “What about the owners of the other disks?”

“If you can figure out who they are,” Ducharme said, “we’ll give them a call and warn them. Otherwise, we go after what we can. The killer came after the disks first, so maybe they have a chance.”
Not much of one,
Ducharme thought as he stretched his sore back out.

“So where are we going?” Evie asked.

“Another grave.”

13 April 1865

Abraham Lincoln was tired to his core, and had told his secretary he would not be seeing any more visitors today. He sat in his office, eyes closed, hoping the headache that had troubled him all day would go away. He should be rejoicing, partaking in the fruits of a bitterly won victory.

Just ten days previously, Richmond had fallen. Then four days ago, Lee had surrendered his Army of Northern Virginia. The whereabouts of Jeff Davis and the remnants of the Confederate government were unknown, but there was no doubt they were in full flight.

The Civil War was over.

At a cost Lincoln could hardly bear to contemplate. Ever since the rebels had fired on Fort Sumter, four years and one day ago, the telegraph wires had brought the grim numbers. Over a quarter million Union soldiers dead. No one knew how many Southerners, but given Grant and Sherman’s ruthlessness the past year, Lincoln had no doubt the Confederate losses were about the same.

What scared him, kept him awake at nights and caused his current headache, was realizing that a larger job loomed—mending a broken country. One could win a war of arms, but it was the hearts and minds that concerned Lincoln. There was much bitterness and anger on both sides, and he knew he would have to walk a narrow and treacherous path to bring the country together.

He’d laid the groundwork years ago when he assembled his first cabinet: what some had dubbed ‘the cabinet of rivals.’ He’d tapped three men, opponents for the Republican nomination, and bitter enemies: William Seward, Salmon Chase and Edward Bates to fill positions in his administration as Secretary of State, Secretary of the Treasury and Attorney General, respectively. The move had shocked everyone in Washington, including the three men. They’d demurred initially, and Lincoln recognized in them the same disdain others in the Capitol had for his rustic background and lack of political experience, especially since he’d been sent packing from Washington after only one term in Congress. Lincoln knew, though, that bringing the country together after four years of war was going to take much more than bringing respect and cooperation from three such strong egos. He also knew a few of the men were Cincinnatians, a price he had been willing to pay to keep the country together.

Lincoln heard the private door to the Oval Office open. There were only five people who were allowed to come through that door. He hoped it was Mary, but the heavy clump of boots informed him the hope was in vain. More problems.

He opened his eyes and relaxed slightly. The mighty Ulysses. Still glowing from the surrender at Appomattox. As always, Grant held out a cigar as he settled into the seat across the desk from Lincoln.

“No, thank you, General,” Lincoln said, as always.

“The city is alive, President,” Grant said. “You should go out and pick up some of the energy. Bask in the glow of victory.”

Lincoln grimaced. “Basking is not my forte.” Grant had two modes: in battle and energized, or morose and drunk. The drinking had been a large issue, but Lincoln took results wherever he could find them. However, it was hard to tell which mode the General was in this evening. Lincoln could smell the alcohol, but Grant appeared strangely animated. Victory could do that, Lincoln supposed.

Grant fiddled with his cigar, seemingly uncertain, something Lincoln had never seen in the man. His decisiveness had been his greatest attribute. “Is there something amiss?” Lincoln asked.

“Sir—“ Grant began, but halted.

“Go on,” Lincoln said, feeling his heart sink, knowing this was to be another burden of some sort.

“There was a meeting earlier today,” Grant said. “I met with the Chair and the Philosophers.”

Lincoln stiffened. “And?”

“They are very concerned.” Grant had his eyes downcast. “The war is over. Of that there is no doubt.” Grant lifted his dark gaze, meeting Lincoln’s eyes. “I told them to wait. To let things settle down. But they wanted me to talk to you.”

Lincoln knew what Grant was talking about, but he still felt a surge of anger. So soon. He had not expected this so soon. “I did not seek power for glory or riches. You know that better than most. I took the steps I did for the Union. And I didn’t hide them.”