The Lincoln Myth (40 page)

“I appreciate this ride,” he said into his mouthpiece.

Stephanie was on the radio’s other end. “I thought you’d like that.”

He listened as she told him about what they’d found at Montpelier. The channel was scrambled and secure, the best place for them to talk, the pilot’s headset switched off for the time being.

“Rowan is trying to dissolve the United States,” she said. “And he just might be able to do it.”

She filled his ears with more bad news about what Rowan and Salazar were after. A document signed by the Founding Fathers.

“The White Horse Prophecy,” he said. “Did you check it out?”

“I did, as I’m sure you did, too.”

“The whole thing is regarded as crap by the Mormon Church. It was officially disavowed in 1918. The church today doesn’t even recognize it as credible. Just a fable, nothing more.”

“But Rowan believes it’s real, and what he’s after is also real. Unfortunately, the Mormon Church knows more about this than we do.”

He agreed. That was a problem.

“We’ve done some research on this end,” she said. “We think Salazar may be after something in a traveling Lincoln exhibit that’s currently in Des Moines.”

“Research my ass. You tapped somebody’s phone.”

She chuckled. “Of course we did. Rowan and Salazar spoke about the exhibit a few hours ago. They think a watch owned by Lincoln might hold the key.”

He gave that some thought. “The reference to Romans 13:11 is all about time. And I specifically remember reading a few years ago about a Lincoln watch in the Smithsonian with something etched inside.”

“That memory of yours comes in handy sometimes. The watch in Iowa is a second Lincoln timepiece the Smithsonian owns. It’s never been opened. It’s on exhibit at a place called Salisbury House, until tomorrow.”

He checked his own watch. “We’re going to be on the ground there, with the time difference, around 1:00
P.M
. Salazar’s Learjet won’t make it until around 5:00
P.M
. Iowa time. That gives us a chance to scope things out.”

“Luke’s there by now. I’ll have him meet you.”

“We’re going to land north of Des Moines at a place called Ankeny Regional Airport. Its runway is only 5,500 feet. This fighter
requires 6,000 feet, but we’ll do it. We’re going to need a waiver so we can land there.”

“I’ll handle it. They’ll be no problem. Luke will be waiting.

“We’ve studied the images Luke made of the Rushton journal,” Stephanie said. “Research tells me that it was probably written post-1890. That’s fifty years past when Smith first uttered the White Horse Prophecy. So you’re right. The whole prediction about the Constitution is suspect, most likely written long after everything happened.”

“When you read the prophecy, it’s just too right. The references are nearly dead-on. Like at one point it specifically says that
You will go to the Rocky Mountains and you will be a great and mighty people established there, which I will call the White Horse of peace and safety
. Why say
Rocky Mountains?
Why not
you will go west
. Supposedly, Joseph Smith said that years before anyone thought of migrating. No seer is that good.”

“But finding that journal is significant since, before now, all the Mormon Church had was other accounts of what the prophecy entailed. Now Rushton’s own words give new credibility to things. We can’t ignore this.”

And one other thing. “The Constitution actually is hanging by a thread, and the Mormon Church holds the key.”

“We followed Rowan this morning to a meeting with the Utah congressional delegation and listened in. They’re ready to move on Utah’s secession. They have the votes and the political support. The people themselves may well sanction the move. All they need is that document signed in Philadelphia.”

But that wasn’t the only thing dangling.

“Any word from Cassiopeia?” he asked.

“Nothing. You’re going to have to lasso her in. She could screw all this up.”

“She’s a pro, Stephanie. No matter what, if she realizes the implications, she’ll handle it.”

“That’s just it, Cotton. We have no idea what Salazar has shared with her. It might not be enough for her to know what’s at stake. We need her out of this.”

He knew what that meant. “I’ll take care of that. No need to involve other agents. Let me handle her.”

“Can you?”

“What is it with you and Frat Boy? Both of you seem to think I’m some lovesick puppy. I can deal with Cassiopeia.”

“Okay. You get first crack. If she doesn’t stand down, then it’s my turn.”

L
UKE DROVE HIS RENTAL CAR THROUGH THE STREETS OF
D
ES
Moines. The day was overcast, temperatures in the midsixties. He’d slept nearly the entire flight west on a military transport from Andrews Air Force Base to an Air National Guard facility outside town. His body was seriously jet-lagged, but he was accustomed to that feeling.

Stephanie had already informed him that they thought a place called Salisbury House may be Salazar’s destination, so he was driving there to give the locale a quick once over. She’d told him that Malone was on his way, but she’d yet to say when and where he was to meet the old-timer.

He followed the map app on his phone and entered a quiet neighborhood west of downtown. Salisbury House sat on the crest of a hill among a forest of oaks. The manor looked like something from the English countryside, built of flint, stone, and brick, with gables and a tiled roof. A placard out front detailed how it had once been a private residence, built by a wealthy Des Moines family. Now it was owned by a foundation.

Nobody was around.

But it was just after 10:00
A.M
. He knew the Lincoln exhibit inside did not open until 6:00
P.M.
, this its last day before moving on to its next location.

He wheeled the car past the house. He was hungry and decided some pancakes and sausage would be good.

But first he had to make a call.

He eased the car onto the street’s grassy shoulder, trees casting the pavement in deep shadows. He found his phone and dialed his mother. When she answered he said, “I need to know something. Were Dad and Danny okay when Dad died?”

“I’ve wondered when we would have this talk.”

“Seems everyone was in the know but me and my brothers.”

He told her about the envelope.

“I made sure your father and his brother made their peace.”

“Why?”

“Because I did not want him to go to his grave with that unresolved. And neither did he, by the way. He was glad it was done.”

“Why didn’t he tell us himself?”

“There was too much happening. My God, Luke, he died so quickly. We decided to leave that till later.”

“It’s been thirteen years.”

“It was for your uncle to decide the time. We all agreed on that.”

“Why were Dad and Danny never close?” He truly wanted to know.

“Since childhood, they never were like brothers. Just not close. No one thing kept them apart. Over time, the distance between them grew and they both became accustomed to it. Then Mary died. Your father and your aunt blamed Danny.”

“But not you.”

“That would have been wrong. Danny worshiped Mary. She was everything to him. He didn’t kill her. It was a terrible accident. And Danny dealt with his pain by ignoring it. That’s not healthy, but it’s Danny’s way. I know, though, how much he’s suffered.”

He recalled what his uncle had said. “Danny said you dumped him.”

She laughed. “That I did. He and I dated a few times. But once I met your father that was it for me. Another man never entered my thoughts. I always understood Danny, though. I may be one of the few who do. Your cousin’s death sucked the life from him. Then he watched as his brother raised four strapping boys in a happy family.
That had to be tough. Jealousy is not Danny’s style, but every time he looked at us he had to think of what might have been—if he’d just smoked outside.”

He could only imagine that guilt.

“Danny chose to deal with his loss by looking the other way. That’s why he never went to the grave. He simply couldn’t. Your father came to understand that. God bless him. He was such a good man. I was there when he wrote the note. There when he and Danny said their goodbyes. That happened just before we told you boys that your father was dying.”

His contact with his uncle had always been minimal, little to nothing in fact, the talk earlier their first since he was a boy.

“Luke, Danny is not a bad man. He’s looked after us, made sure everyone got what they wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s helped out with your brothers, when needed, though they have no idea. You wanted to be an intelligence agent. He’s the one who had you steered to where you are. He and I spoke. He told me the Justice Department was the best place for you and he’d take care of it.”

“Sonovabitch,” he whispered. He never knew that.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. He didn’t order anybody to hire you. That was earned, by you. And he and I both agreed that if you couldn’t cut it then out you went. No favors. No special privileges. Nothing. Yes, he got you in the door, but you kept yourself there.”

“Does that mean I owe him
or
you?”

“You only owe yourself, Luke. Do your job. Make us all proud.”

She’d always known exactly what to say to him.

“I’m glad you called,” she told him.

“So am I.”

FIFTY-THREE

D
ES
M
OINES
, I
OWA

6:40
P.M
.

C
ASSIOPEIA SETTLED INTO THE DRIVER
’
S SEAT WHILE
J
OSEPE
climbed into the passenger side. His two associates occupied the rear seat. Josepe had arranged for a rental car to be waiting for them at a private terminal adjacent to the main airport. Before landing, she’d changed into a dark pantsuit with comfortable shoes, ready for what might lie ahead. The Learjet had been equipped with sophisticated communications equipment, so she was able to learn all about Salisbury House.

It was built by Carl and Edith Weeks in the 1920s, after an overseas trip ignited their passion to re-create an English manor house. They bought fourteen acres of timberland and built 28,000 square feet of house, 42 rooms, for them and their four boys. Inside they decorated with 10,000 pieces of art, statuary, tapestries, relics, and rare books, collected from their many travels. There were Tudor fireplaces, 15th-century oak paneling, and ceiling beams from a demolished British inn. Title to the house had been lost during the Depression, then passed through a succession of owners, until a foundation finally took control. Now it was a cultural center, museum, and rental space, a local landmark that was
currently hosting a traveling Smithsonian exhibit that dealt with Abraham Lincoln.

She was able to download a PDF brochure on the house, which included a map of the two floors open to visitors. The exhibit was spread out between the Great Hall and the Common Room, both on the ground floor and near each other. She’d reserved a ticket online for the exhibition, then studied Google Maps to learn the local geography. Salisbury House was situated in a quiet residential neighborhood, surrounded by winding streets and older houses. Trees and gardens enclosed it on all sides. The plan was to drop Josepe and his men off at a hotel, then head for the exhibit, arriving after sunset, giving her the opportunity to reconnoiter the site and decide how best to accomplish her task.

“I can’t imagine the security is anything elaborate,” she said to him. “From all I read about the exhibit, nothing contained within it is particularly precious or valuable. Just a few historic artifacts. My guess is there will be some private security guards, maybe an off-duty policemen, but that’s about it.”

“You speak as if you’ve done things like this before.”

“I told you that I have some specialized skills.”

“May I ask why you developed these?”

She could not tell him the truth, so she said, “Mainly to protect my business interests. Then it was to protect my reconstruction project. We’ve had theft and vandalism. I learned that to handle things myself was best.”