The Jefferson Allegiance (19 page)

Chapter Ten

Lily walked through the long-term parking at Baltimore-Washington International, the only sound the click of her boot heels on the pavement. This time of the morning, there wasn’t even the roar of aircraft taking off or landing. A dead zone.

She smiled and pulled back the hood on her cloak, revealing her golden hair to the sputtering arc lights illuminating the lot. She had a metal briefcase in her left hand. She paused when she heard whistling coming from somewhere ahead.

“Hello?” she called out in what she hoped was a frightened voice. It was a stretch for her.

The whistling was circling to her right. She took a step back and clutched the briefcase to her chest. “Hello? Mister Turnbull sent me.”

There was silence. Then a voice with an Irish brogue spoke from behind her: “Evening, lass.”

Lily turned, stumbling on her heels as she did so. “You startled me!” She held the briefcase out. “Here. This is yours.”

The man walked closer. He was short and wiry, barely taller than her.

“Now why would our Mister Turnbull send such a pretty thing to make delivery on such an ugly thing?”

“I just do what he tells me,” Lily said. He was about five meters away, his right hand in the pocket of his jacket, a lit cigarette in his left. He took a few steps closer, then paused, taking a drag.

“You do everything he tells you, lass?”

Lily considered the question, torn between telling the truth and lying to complete the mission. There had been an honor code at the Academy. Admiral Groves was still on her mind. She chose neither. “I have your payment.” She put the briefcase on the ground and took two steps back from it.

“Payment for what?” the man asked, taking two steps forward.

“I have no idea, nor do I wish to know,” Lily said. “Good evening, sir.” She turned around and began walking away.

“Now hold on there, lass.”

Lily paused. She smiled, then wiped it away as she turned. The man was next to the case, but had yet to pick it up.

“No need for you to rush away, is there?”

“I just do what I’m told,” Lily said.

The man laughed. “Do you now? Do you indeed?”

Lily heard movement to her right, where a large black van was parked. “You’ve been paid.”

“But why are they paying us when we didn’t complete the job?” the man asked.

“Perhaps your services were no longer needed.”

The man laughed. “Now, lass. I’m not stupid. I’ve been in this business a long time. I’d be willing to bet the pot at the end of the rainbow that what is supposedly in this briefcase is not gold, but either explosives or a tracking transmitter.”

Lily shrugged, feeling the weight of the armor cloak on her shoulders. “I have no idea. I just do what I’m told.”

“You keep saying that.” The man took something out of his pocket, put it next to the briefcase and began backing up. “So why don’t you do what I tell you and come over here and open the case. Then, if you’re still able, run that detector over it.”

Lily walked forward, knelt next to the case, flipped the latches and opened it. Bundles of money were packed tightly inside. She took the detector, turned it on, and ran it over the money. The bright light remained green. She placed it on top of the money and stood.

“Satisfied?”

The man came walking forward, smiling. “Somewhat.”

She heard a van door slide open behind her and footsteps approaching. “I’ll be on my way.”

“No so fast,” a voice from behind said.

Lily slowly turned. A man in Army greens was approaching, a gun held in his hands. Lily recognized a Glock 10mm, semi-automatic. A good gun, but not Army issue. He had gold oak leaves on his shoulders, the same rank Lily had held before her ouster. He stopped four feet from her. Proper training. Out of arms reach, maintaining the advantage the gun gave him.

Lily heard the slight squeak as the briefcase was closed. The major’s eyes shifted ever so slightly, looking behind her to his partner, and she sprang into action. As there was the click of the briefcase closing, she had the wakizashi out and slicing. The major’s eyes shifted back to her just as the blade slashed through the extra foot of buffer he’d thought he had, and severed gun hand from arm.

She followed the momentum, spinning. The other man was scrambling for the gun in his pocket and she slammed the blade into his upper arm, slicing through so hard, it buried itself inches deep in the side of his chest.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” the man exclaimed in shock.

The Surgeon spun about, cutting the opposite way, taking off his left arm at the same point.

Blood was spurting from both severed limbs.

She didn’t pause to admire the view, swirling back to the major. He was on his knees, trying to pry the gun from his dead hand. She ended his efforts by taking his head off with one clean blow.

Lily stepped back, finally appreciating her work as arterial blood spurted from the neck for several moments before the body toppled over. She faced the armless Irishman and imitated his brogue. “Kind of sucks, don’t it, lad?” She laughed, feeling the freedom of the kill. She stretched her arms over her head, blood dripping from the blade.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck me,” he muttered, staggering, blood pouring.

Lily knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She wanted to try something.

She spun into a 360, going down to her knees, putting her shoulders and arms and body into the blade. It went through the first ankle cleanly. She could feel the tug as the steel cut the second, but it was through.

He was down, more blood pouring out of both severed ankles. She stood over him and showed him the blade. “Top quality steel. Not that cheap shit your people put on the
Titanic
that ripped apart when it hit the iceberg. Top of the evening to you, lad.”

His face was a mixture of shock and confusion. Lily laughed. She sheathed the sword, picked up the Glock and briefcase, and walked away.

She began whistling.

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

Ducharme glanced over at Evie. “Why did Burns kowtow to you? I doubt because you’re the Curator of Monticello. Was it because you were in the CIA?”

Her face tightened. “It’s because of my ex-husband.”

“Who is?” Ducharme pressed.

“He’s still in the Agency and has some clout.”

“Was he your Rick?” Kincannon asked.

“Yes.”

“What happened? Why’d you split? Leave the Agency?”

“Both for the same reason,” Evie said. “My father—“ she paused, and then continued. “My father was Army. Old school. Went to Vietnam when he was eighteen as a private and never looked back. Got a battlefield commission on his second tour there. Rose through the ranks. Retired thirty-three years later as a three star general, after commanding V-I-I Corps in Germany just before Desert Storm. Actually, he was forced to retire after disagreeing with the plan to invade Iraq.”

“Damn,” Kincannon said. “That’s where I recognized the name. Served under your father a long time ago.”

Evie continued. “While he was in, he was gone most of the time. My mother died when I was twelve. Drank herself to death. My father put me in boarding schools near wherever he was stationed.” She fell silent after that brief, grim summary.

Ducharme winced as Kincannon pushed. At times the Sergeant Major was a blunt instrument where something more delicate was called for. “And? I don’t get the connection with your father and your divorce and leaving the Agency.”

“I didn’t leave the Agency,” Evie said. “They gave me the boot. And when they did, so did Donald.” She looked over her shoulder at Kincannon. “My father said the worst moment of his life—and this was a man wounded four times in combat—was the day after he retired and flew back to the States. He got off the plane and there was no one there. Not a soul. You know how the Army fawns over generals. Especially three stars, a Corps Commander in charge of a hundred thousand troops. He got off that plane and he was suddenly a nobody.”

She shifted her gaze to Ducharme. “Can you imagine how devastating it was? To be out of something you’d given thirty years to, bled for? And now to realize it all meant nothing in the end. Without the uniform, he didn’t exist.”

“Happens to everyone,” Kincannon observed. Sympathy wasn’t his long suit, but Kincannon wasn’t one who dwelled on future possibilities, even though he faced the same fate.

“My father lost it. Completely. He turned against everything he’d been committed to. He made speeches against the war—and you have to remember that first one was kind of popular. It just got worse. He ranted. He went crazy. He gave himself a heart attack. He died. Synopsis version,” she added, with a glance at Ducharme.

“So what the fuck?” Kincannon said. “What’s that have to do with the Agency?”

“My father had enemies—people he’d pissed off—and even with him dead, they went after him. They pulled my top secret Q-clearance. No clearance, I was done at the Agency. I was done at the Agency; Donald was done with me. I was an embarrassment.

“So I went back to college. Got my PhD. Got the job at Monticello, a nice out of the way place for me to work, still a Federal employee, got my health insurance, got a retirement down the line. And that’s my story. Satisfied?”

“Not really,” Ducharme said.

“Now, now,” Kincannon said in his gentlest voice. “And McBride?”

Evie shrugged, but it was a weak attempt to hide her emotions, Ducharme could see. “My mentor. My friend.”

“
Do
you know where the thumb drive is that decrypts McBride’s computer?” Kincannon asked.

“No,” Evie said. “There are a lot of loose ends. I don’t quite understand the time delay on that message from LaGrange. You mentioned that it was a quote from Custer’s last order.”

“Custer’s last written order,” Ducharme said. “Who knows what the hell he was ordering when they got over-run. Probably
‘retreat’
when he crashed on the harsh rocks of reality. He was a lousy officer. Did you know he
twice
shot his own horse in the head while hunting mounted? I mean, what the hell? And while he executed some of his own Seventh Cavalry soldiers for going AWOL, he himself went AWOL when he wanted to see his wife.”

“The order,” Evie prompted.

So she was the only one who got to go off task and play ‘did you know.’ “It was an order given by someone who was going to die. I think my uncle knew there was a good chance he was doomed. I’m not sure his will to live was very strong after his son’s death.” Ducharme took a deep breath, collecting himself. “And he didn’t want me there when he was killed. Perhaps he feared for my safety. But he wanted me to know what happened. Or if he hadn’t been killed, to meet with me after he rendezvoused with your Mister McBride.”

“And now where are we headed?” Evie asked. “Something to do with that order?”

Ducharme nodded. “West Point. To another grave. Of a man who gave an order, not yet knowing he was about to die.”

4 March 1905

President Theodore Roosevelt listened to the sounds of revelry from the ballroom with deep satisfaction. He had the people’s mandate now. Even though he’d been President for three years, ever since McKinley was struck-down by an assassin in Buffalo in 1901, he’d felt a degree of lame-duck status. He’d held power because of a single bullet, not the will of the people. At least that’s what some had whispered. Not swearing his oath of office on a Bible after McKinley expired had also caused great controversy, an oversight he had not repeated earlier today.

“Father.”

Roosevelt’s shoulders slumped as he heard the familiar voice. He didn’t bother to turn. “Yes, Baby Lee?”

“I come bearing greetings,” Alice Roosevelt said.

Roosevelt finally turned and faced his daughter. She was his first born, but he had spent little time with her over her twenty years of life. He supposed that had contributed to her independent spirit, to the point where many considered her out of control. Sometimes he regretted abandoning her to relatives after her mother, his wife Alice, died two days after her birth. But on the same day, his own mother had died, and the dual blows had been too much to take. He’d headed west, losing himself on the frontier for several years with his grief.

“From whom?” Roosevelt asked. Sometimes he missed those days, riding with Sheriff Bullock of Deadwood, hunting, ranching and just being out in nature. Almost as much as he missed his first wife. He never used her name and thus he never used his daughter’s given name, something he knew irritated her, but he could not bear the pain.

Alice was draped in a silk dress, risqué to say the least. Roosevelt knew better than to say anything to her about it. He’d been asked once by a visitor, after Alice interrupted a meeting in the Oval Office for the third time, whether he could control her. He’d answered truthfully: ‘I can either run the country or I can attend to Alice, but I cannot possibly do both.’