The Lincoln Myth (25 page)

“We have to talk,” she said. “May I come in?”

She stepped inside and he caught her taking in the décor.

“Not what I expected,” she said.

He prided himself on the warm look, most of which came with the unit but some of which he’d selected. Masculine, but not overly so. Wood furniture. Muted fabrics. Lots of greenery, all fake but looking real. Contrary to what people thought, he liked order.

“You were expecting a college dorm room?”

“I’m not sure. But this is lovely.”

“I like it here—the few days a month I get to enjoy it.”

She stood, arms at her sides. “You and Cotton part okay?”

“He nearly killed me. He shot Kirk right over my shoulder.”

“I doubt you were in any danger. Cotton knows how to handle a weapon.”

“Maybe so. But I was glad to be rid of the old-timer. He has a piss-poor attitude.”

“That old-timer was awarded every commendation we have, every one of which he refused.”

“
Was
. That’s the key word. He walked away. His time is done. And let me tell you, he didn’t like watching his girl kiss Salazar one bit. It messed him up, though he tried to hide it. But on that I can’t blame him. I did what you said, though. I aggravated him. Tried to keep him interested. Then I fed him the information about the Founding Fathers and the Constitution. Unfortunately, he didn’t take the bait and hang around.”

“He’s in Salzburg.”

That surprised him. “And you’re thinking that’s a good thing?”

“Cotton’s a pro. He’ll handle things right.”

“If you say so. I say his head isn’t screwed on for this one.”

“I just came from your uncle.”

“And how is dear Danny? I don’t think I’ve heard from him since my dad died.”

“He’s concerned.” She paused. “And I’m about to be fired.”

“Really now? What did you do?”

“Seems I’m a thief. A situation fabricated for the benefit of
Thaddeus Rowan. It’s time for you to know some additional information, so listen up.”

S
TEPHANIE LIKED
L
UKE, THOUGH HE WAS A WILD SPIRIT.
S
HE
envied that freedom. How liberating it must be to have so much life ahead of you. She’d been there once, intent on making the most of every opportunity. Some she maximized, others eluded her. She’d sat at the dining room table in the vice president’s mansion for over an hour and listened as Danny Daniels told her more of what was going on.

Thaddeus Rowan was planning a secession.

He wanted to dissolve the Union and end the United States of America.

Ordinarily, that would be treated as nonsense, but Rowan had a specific plan with specific objectives, all of which—thanks to James Madison, Abraham Lincoln, and Brigham Young—might be achievable. She could not, and would not, reveal all that she knew to Luke, but she told him enough so that he could do his job.

“You’re going to Montpelier and into that ice pit,” she said. “I want to know what, if anything, is there.”

Luke stepped over to his Magellan Billet–issued laptop and she watched as he pecked at the keyboard. His fingertips then maneuvered the cursor and a couple of clicks led to Montpelier.org.

“That pit was dug in the early 1800s,” he said. “Twenty-three feet deep, brick-lined. Madison built the temple over it around 1810. How could there be anything secret down there? It’s surely been picked over for years.”

“Maybe not. I also checked. There’s not a single photograph of what the inside looks like posted anywhere on the Web. Kind of strange, wouldn’t you say? We don’t have a clue what’s down there.”

“How do you suggest I get in?”

“Break and enter.”

“Can’t we just ask to see it?”

She shook her head. “We can’t involve anyone. It’s just you and me. Not even Atlanta knows what we’re doing. Get in, find out if Madison left anything, and get out. But don’t. Get. Caught.”

“I can handle that.”

“I knew you could. I’ll be available by cell. Let me know the minute you’re done.”

“How did you know Malone would go to Salzburg?”

“Because he cares for Cassiopeia. He wasn’t going to allow her to fly blind, now that he knows she’s there and Salazar killed our man. He’s probably even a little jealous, which is good for him. He’ll give Salazar just what the bastard deserves.”

“Salazar needs taking down.”

“I agree. And we’ll get our shot. But not just yet.”

“Does my loving uncle know I’m working this?”

She nodded. “He approves.”

Luke chuckled. “I bet he does. He’d sooner bust my chops than look at me.”

“How about you don’t worry about the president of the United States. And that’s what he is. He’s the commander in chief. Our boss. He’s ordered us to do a job, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

Luke saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

He was impossible, just like Cotton once was.

“And you know I meant no disrespect,” he said. “But you’re not a Daniels, so you don’t know what I know.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.”

Never would she mention the turmoil that she and Danny Daniels had been through together. That was not this youngster’s business. A part of her understood Luke’s bitterness. The president could be a hard man. She’d seen that firsthand. But he was not made of stone, and she’d seen that, too. Right now, though, she was the one in the crosshairs. She’d told Luke to not get caught, but the same advice applied to her.

She turned to leave. “I’ve emailed you particulars on the security at Montpelier, which isn’t all that much. It’ll be a nearly moonless night, so you should be able to get in and out with no problem.”

“Where will you be?”

She grabbed the front doorknob. “No place good.”

THIRTY-FOUR

S
ALZBURG

M
ALONE KNEW THEY WERE COMING
. H
E
’
D ACTUALLY BE
disappointed if they didn’t. He’d purposefully chosen to descend from the castle with Salazar and Cassiopeia, and immediately spotted the two young men waiting for their boss. Cassiopeia’s little show at the cashier’s desk had—he hoped—been for Salazar’s benefit. Nice touch, actually. Her anger had appeared genuine, her defense of Salazar entirely reasonable under the circumstances.

He walked at a leisurely pace down the inclined cobbled street, into an open square behind the cathedral, risking no surreptitious glances over his shoulder. The night was chilly, the sky cloudy and devoid of celestial glory. The shops were all closed, their fronts tightly shuttered with iron grilles. He picked once more through his many threads of recollection about these narrow streets. Most were pedestrian-only, connected by winding paths built under the close-packed houses that served as shortcuts from one block to another. He spotted one of the passageways ahead and decided to avoid it.

He passed the cathedral and crossed the
domplatz
. He’d once visited the Christmas market held here every year. How long ago was that? Eight years? Nine? No, more like ten. His life had changed immeasurably since then. Never had he dreamed of being divorced, living in Europe, and owning an old-book shop.

And being in love?

He hated even admitting that to himself.

He glanced up at the cathedral, parts of it reminiscent of St. Peter’s in Rome. The archbishop’s former residence, its 17th-century façade tinted green and white and gold, blocked the path ahead. The Residenzplatz, from which he’d called Stephanie earlier, spread out before the building, the lighted fountain still splashing water.

He needed privacy.

And darkness.

A location occurred to him.

He turned left and kept walking.

S
ALAZAR TRIED TO CONCENTRATE ON
C
ASSIOPEIA, BUT HIS
thoughts kept returning to Cotton Malone.

The insolent gentile.

Malone reminded him of other arrogant foes who, in the 1840s, terrorized Saints with unchecked vengeance. And the government? Both state and federal had sat by and allowed the mayhem to happen, eventually joining the fray on the side of the mobocrats.

“What did you mean,” he asked Cassiopeia, “when you told Malone he’d be sorry for what he did?”

“I’m not without abilities, Josepe. I can cause that man many problems.”

“He works for the American government.”

She shrugged. “I have reach there, too.”

“I didn’t realize you had such wrath inside you.”

“Everyone does, when challenged. And that’s what that man has done. He challenged you, which means he’s challenged me.”

“Dissenters,”
the angel said in his head,
“must be trodden underfoot, until their bowels gush out.”

That they must.

“I’m so glad to have you here with me,” he said to Cassiopeia.

They continued to walk beside each other, finding Getreidegasse and turning back toward the Goldener Hirsch, which sat at the far end. He’d come a long way in the eleven years since he and Cassiopeia had last been together. Both personally and professionally. Thankfully he’d met Elder Rowan, who’d encouraged the recreation of the Danites. Rowan had told him that Charles R. Snow himself had sanctioned the move but, as in the beginning, there could be no direct link. His job was to safeguard the church, even at the expense of himself. A difficult task, for sure, but a necessary one.

“It is the will of God that those things be so.”

The angel had just repeated what Joseph Smith had said when he first visited a Danite meeting. Intentionally, the prophet had not been told the extent of the group’s mission, only that they were organized to protect the Saints. From the beginning there were those who spoke with Heavenly Father, as Prophet Charles now did. Those who administered and implemented the revelations, as Elder Rowan and his eleven brethren did. And those who protected and defended all that they held dear, as he and his Danites did.

Cotton Malone threatened that.

This gentile had come for a fight? Okay. That he would receive.

He and Cassiopeia arrived at the hotel.

“I will leave you here,” he said to her. “I have some church business that must be handled before we leave. But I will see you in the morning, at breakfast.”

“All right. Have a good evening.”

He walked away.

“Josepe,” she said to him.

He turned back.

“I meant what I said. Malone now has
two
enemies.”