The Jefferson Allegiance (41 page)

Except for a black bag.

“Grab it,” Ducharme told Evie.

Evie didn’t hesitate, trusting that he would hold the heavy stone. She reached in and retrieved the bag. Ducharme carefully lowered the slab back into place. Still kneeling, he turned and faced Evie who had the leather bag open. She pulled out five disks. Retrieving the rod and disks from the suitcase, she unscrewed one end. Checking the numbers, she slid the five remaining disks on and replaced the end. She looked up at Ducharme.

“We have the Jefferson Cipher.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lily deployed the six merks among the colonnades of the Memorial Amphitheater, weapons at the ready. She plugged in the headset for her satphone and pressed the earpiece in her right ear—her broken hand precluding text messaging. She hit the speed dial, and the phone was answered immediately.

“Yes?”

“Mister Turnbull, I have Ducharme, Evie and the others in my sights. They’ve retrieved the last disks of the Cipher. We can take them out now.”

“I want the Allegiance,” Turnbull said.

“If we get the Cipher, we can get the Allegiance,” Lily argued. “And we can finish off the next generation.”

“We’re still missing a piece,” Turnbull said. “There’s a Key phrase to set the Cipher. Hold off. We’re close.”

Cursing to herself, she used her bad hand to signal for the six merks to hold in place, enjoying the pain, hating the order. Her good hand twitched on the handle of her sword.

**********

Evie got to her feet, holding the Cipher tight to her chest. With Ducharme at her side, they walked over to the others. Everyone was in the shadow of the Amphitheatre. A solemn tableau in a solemn place.

Evie held up the rod and disks. “The complete Jefferson Cipher.”

“And?” Kincannon asked dryly.

Evie was startled. “It’s an original. Thomas Jefferson made it. It holds the secret to finding the Jefferson Allegiance.”

“It only holds the secret,” Kincannon said, “if we can use it.”

“Well—“ Evie paused, her burst of pride subsiding—“we need the phrase to Key the—“

Ducharme put an arm across her shoulder. “Can I have a smoke?”

Evie swiveled her head and stared at him in surprise. Of all things to be asking right now. “I don’t smoke anymore and—“

“A smoke, please,” Ducharme said. “Please, Evie.”

Evie reached into her pocket and pulled out her cigarette case. “It’s just gum.”

Ducharme smiled at her, his arm still around her shoulder. “Read me the saying on the case once more.”

Evie didn’t have to read it. “’A blood of patriots and tyrants.’”

“A mistake by the engraver, right?” Ducharme didn’t wait for an answer. “Except it isn’t a mistake. How many letters are inscribed?”

Evie swallowed hard as she counted, already knowing the answer. “Twenty-six.”

“That’s your Key,” Ducharme said.

With shaking fingers dialed up the saying.

ABLOODOFPATRIOTSANDTYRANTS

She turned the Cipher in her hands, searching line by line, her stomach twisted in a knot, and then she halted.

UNDERWESTSIDEJEFFERSONSTONE

She handed it to Ducharme, a wave of relief washing through her body as it all came together.

“’Under west side Jefferson stone?’” He looked at her. “What stone? The Jefferson Memorial?”

“No.” She pointed to the east, toward the bright lights of Washington DC. “The center of the country.”

Ducharme’s face tightened. “You go with Kincannon. Get the Allegiance. I have something to do.”

Evie was surprised. “What?”

“We need to make a clean sweep of things. Once and for all.”

She blinked. “Lucius?”

Ducharme nodded. “Lucius. I trust you to get the Allegiance.” He disappeared into the dark.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Huey landed next to the Amphitheatre, and Ducharme climbed into the cargo bay. It took off in a flurry of light snow. He grabbed a headset. “Twelve thousand feet.”

“Roger that,” Pollack replied.

Ducharme unsnapped the kitbag the 3
^rd
Infantry had brought and began to get ready.

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

“Status?” Turnbull asked.

Lily immediately replied. “It looks to me like Tolliver knew the Key phrase. She dialed something up.”

“Get it from her. I’m almost there.”

Lily was going to add that Ducharme had left, but the line was already dead. She heard the chopper power up and then fly away. Ducharme could be dealt with later—Lily put that in the background, a dessert to be savored.

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

“We’ve got company,” Kincannon announced.

Evie looked up from the Cipher. Silhouetted between the colonnades of the Amphitheatre were a half-dozen armed figures. And stepping into the light featuring the Tomb was a short, slender figure carrying a sword.

“Our friend, once more” Kincannon muttered, bringing his MP-5 to the ready as the Old Guard readied their M-14s. “This ain’t gonna be pretty. Some itchy fingers all around. Someone tries to scratch an itch, we’re gonna have a blood bath.”

“Hold your fire,” Evie said.

“No shooting,” the Surgeon yelled over her shoulder, but she kept coming. The merks who had begun moving forward, stopped, keeping a tactical separation. The weapons were trained on the members of the Old Guard. It was a relatively even standoff for the moment. Except for the Surgeon’s insanity.

The Surgeon had her Japanese sword in her right hand. The left dangled uselessly, deformed. As she got closer, Evie could see the deranged look in her eyes.

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

Ducharme passed the last strap between his legs and snapped it into place. Then he squatted, tightening the harness as much as he could. He took a deep breath and glanced out the window in the cargo bay door. Washington DC was twelve thousand feet below and offset several miles, the Washington Monument brightly lit, a clear point of reference. To the east, from this altitude, the first hint of dawn was on the horizon.

He glanced once more at the computer screen, committing the target to memory.

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

The Surgeon was heading straight toward Evie, arm rising, the lights shining toward the Tomb making her seem to grow in stature as her shadow lengthened.

“Our killer,” Burns said, stepping next to Evie. Kincannon also stepped forward.

“Get back,” the Surgeon snarled, her focus on Evie and the device in her hand.

“Ma’am,” Burns said, tipping his Fedora with his left hand. “You’re under arrest for murder. You have the right—“

The Surgeon halted, pointing her sword toward him. “Shut up or die.”

“Let’s add in resisting arrest,” Burns said, as Evie heard a distinct click. Burns’s right hand snapped forward in an underhand throw. Evie dropped the Cipher Wheel and began charging forward as soon as Burns’s arm moved. The Surgeon swung the sword, and there was the clink of metal on metal as her blade hit the switchblade he’d thrown, knocking it aside. Evie was on top of the Surgeon a split second later, grabbing the arm holding the sword and applying pressure to the nerve.

The sword fell to the ground as the Surgeon shoved Evie away. The Surgeon took a quick glance at the sword on the ground, and then shifted into a defensive position, arms up, mangled hand dangling.

“Come on,” the Surgeon said, a look of anticipation on her face.

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

“All right,” Ducharme said into the intercom. “I’m out of here.”

“Good luck,” Pollack said.

Ducharme took off the headset. He slid open the cargo bay door. Freezing air swirled in and he felt the bite of the cold.

He stepped out into the darkness.

***********

“You’re mine,” Evie said, getting up on the balls of her feet and approaching the Surgeon. Everyone around them was frozen, waiting for this to play out.

The Surgeon charged, snapping a kick at Evie’s jaw. She deflected it with a middle block and, anticipating, blocked the punch from the Surgeon’s good hand. Evie kept the momentum from the second block, swinging a backfist toward the Surgeon, connecting on the side of her head and following it with a turn kick into the woman’s side.

The Surgeon staggered back, gasping in pain and even more so in surprise.

**********

Ducharme free fell, arms and legs akimbo for a thousand feet, and then pulled the ripcord. The chute deployed, snapping him upright. He grabbed the toggles and quickly oriented himself to the grid of downtown Washington. He found the convergence of roads on Dupont Circle. He pulled on a toggle, turning in that direction.

The building was easy to spot. Large and H-shaped. Ducharme squinted as he silently passed through one thousand feet. He couldn’t see his landing point. He was losing air. He turned, searching, time running out.

Then he spotted the small rectangle on the roof. He dumped air, heading straight for it. At the last moment, he pulled on both toggles, abruptly slowing his descent, pulling his feet and knees tightly together, rotating his elbows in front of his face to protect it.

He smashed through the skylight, feeling a piece of glass cutting into the side of his right leg, then slammed into a hard floor. He jumped to his feet, hitting the quick releases on the parachute harness, and then bringing the MP-5 up at the ready.

Just in time as a pair of guards came running into the room.

Ducharme fired rounds as fast as he could pull the trigger, just as he’d been trained and done in combat. Right into the men’s foreheads.

***********

The Surgeon charged again, and Evie retreated. Not fast enough as the Surgeon spun, and side-kicked, hitting Evie hard in the stomach.

Just what Evie wanted.

She tumbled to the ground as if badly hurt, rolling as the Surgeon brought her boot down to stomp. Evie dodged the boot and thrust upward with all the strength in her legs, hands leading right for the Surgeon’s throat.

The Surgeon came to an abrupt halt. The handle of Burns’s switchblade stuck out, exactly in the small space where the collar of the Liquid Armor Cloak allowed an inch of clearance at her throat.

The Surgeon blinked in shock. Her good hand reached up to her throat, fingers curling around the handle. She pulled it out, staring at the red on the blade in momentary confusion as arterial blood pumped out of her neck. Evie backed up.

The Surgeon dropped to her knees. The look had changed. There was something dark and salacious in them as she watched her own blood spurt out.

“Everyone stay calm!” Kincannon yelled, moving forward. “No shooting.”

The Surgeon’s mouth was moving, trying to say something, but no words came. She collapsed forward and was still.

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

An alarm bell was ringing as Ducharme ran down a hallway lined with portraits. Nearing the heavy looking door at the far end, he fired at the lock. The rounds ricocheted off, the lock not so easily defeated.

Reaching into his vest, Ducharme pulled out a small charge and slapped it on the door over the lock, arming it. He ran back ten feet, and then pressed the remote detonator. There was a sharp crack and the door blew inward.

Ducharme staggered forward as a bullet hit him right in the middle of his back, slapping his body armor. He rolled and twisted, firing a sustained burst and taking down the cluster of guards crowding into the narrow hallway. Then he was on his feet running toward the open door, dropping the magazine from the sub and slamming a new one in just as he entered the room beyond.

An old man sat behind a large desk, calmly staring at Ducharme, holding a chess piece in one hand. “Colonel Ducharme?”

“Lucius.” Ducharme strode forward, MP-5 tight to his shoulder, muzzle centered on the old man’s forehead.

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

“No firing,” commanded a new voice that easily carried through the sudden, tense silence. Turnbull walked to the front of the mercenaries and halted, not deigning to look down at the body of the Surgeon at his feet.

“
Agent
Turnbull,” Burns said as he reached down and retrieved his knife, wiping the blood off on the Surgeon’s cloak. The sound of sirens approaching filled the air. The mercenaries disappeared into the darkness, running away among the cemetery markers.