The Plot (22 page)

Cassie spun around and glared at her. “You always leave when things are about to happen, don't you? You were nowhere to be found when my father was killed, too. Was it you who told Penseur when Daddy would be arriving in D.C.? He trusted you, Selena. Mother did, too. And so did I. Tell me, just whose side are you on,
St. Joan?
” She nearly spat out the name.

Selena felt her eyes narrow at the petite young woman silhouetted against the window, who held her arms straight down at her sides with her fists clenching and her eyes flashing. It was the same way Cassie had looked the day her mother was buried. The day she had turned on her father. Just as she is turning on me now, Selena thought, remembering the way Cassie had accused him of being selfish, not caring about her mother or her or anything but his “precious
work
.” Cassie had known better then, and she knew better now.

As the young woman's words melted into the stillness between them, Selena shook her head. “Cassandra, I think you have already reasoned all of this out for yourself and know the answers you pretend to seek from me. If you didn't have faith in me ... If you didn't believe in your heart that I am and always have been on the same side as you, you wouldn't have come today. You know that it is I who led you to your father's note and the Freedom safe for guidance and that I, myself, am in danger. I have shared with you all that I know and have brought you here to give you as many answers as I can. I am sorry ... so sorry for all that you have suffered and for the fear that haunts you. But
Querida
, you have never had anything to fear from me and you never will."

Cassie stared at her for a moment, then looked back out the window. A moment passed, then two, before she spoke. “Why don't they harvest the corn?"

Selena smiled a little to herself. Cassie, like her father, was not one to drag things out. “I don't know,” she lied.

Joshua's measured footsteps approached from the far end of the hall, and the women turned to see him stop at the kitchen door. “Is it safe to come in?"

"Of course,” Selena replied. “I was just going to ask ‘Godiva’ what's happening ‘out there'” She turned to Cassie as Joshua resumed his place at the table. “We've seen the news reports, of course, but we know there's more to the story than they are making public."

"You mean about Daddy?"

"Yes,
Querida
. Please."

Cassie left the window and sat down, hunching forward in her chair with her elbows on the table. Her voice was soft, her words slow as she recounted the details of her father's death, the investigation, and her own research.

Finally, when she had finished her tale, Joshua had a look of consternation on his face. When he spoke, he seemed far away, as if he'd stepped back in time. “You say that a Max Henshaw is investigating the case?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I knew someone by that name. A guard at Firethorne. Tall, lanky fella. Has a scar across the bridge of his nose."

"Yes, that's him. He told me he had worked there during college. Said it was a great place to study. In fact, when he saw the pictures you sent me, he's the one who told me all about Firethorne and J. Harold Otis.” She paused, cocking her head.

"He saw the pictures I sent?"

"Yes."

"Joshua? What's wrong?” Selena couldn't keep the edge from her voice.

"Maybe nothin', maybe everything,” he answered. “As I recall, he was a pretty sharp fella. Picked up on things real fast but didn't make a lot of waves. Just kinda puttin’ in his time. As soon as he finished school, I ‘member he got a job with the Sheriff in Tallahassee, then I kinda lost track of him.” He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. “I guess it's just ... I git a little skittery knowin’ that someone on the Washington D.C. police force knows so much about Firethorne. It's like, how can I put it? Police is loyal to police. They's always tryin’ to ‘catch their man,’ so to speak, and the consequences be damned. Ya know what I mean? He's just too close to
our
situation for comfort. What if he decides to include what Cassie has told him in his report? If he does, I guaran-damn-teeya that we'll all end up on the short end."

Cassie stood and walked over to put her coffee cup in the sink, then turned to face the giant man at the table. “Joshua, I'm not a real trusting person. Selena can vouch for
that
.” She paused and looked at Selena. “But Max is different. He's on
my
side. Has been ever since the burglary and even more since the Feds took over the investigation. At first, I thought it was just his professional pride, but now I know it is much more than that. He's as suspicious of this whole thing as I have been. Believe me when I tell you that he's no threat. In fact, he's about the best thing we've got going for us, because he has an inside track on what the government is up to."

Selena looked from Cassie to Joshua, waiting.

"I hope yer right, little lady. I reckon you know better ‘n me. It's just that we're playin’ this so close to the edge, it scares the pants off me to know that someone from aroun’
here-
someone in
law
enforcement knows so much. The government is ruthless, and if they get even an inklin’ that we're onto them or that we're organizin’ against them ... Well, I don't s'pose I need to tell
you
what could happen. They killed yer Daddy."

"Joshua, they already know that at least a few people know their secret. And I'd be surprised if they
didn't
suspect organized opposition.” Selena said, somber.

"She's right, Joshua,” Cassie said. “They killed Daddy to stop him from exposing them, but they also have warrants out for Selena's arrest. That can only mean they are quietly trying to locate and crush anyone my father was working with. The only thing they don't know yet-according to what I've learned from Max-is the identities of those besides Selena who are involved and where to find them."

The tinkling of a bell from across the house interrupted them.

"Aggie needs somethin'. I'll go tend to ‘er,” Joshua murmured.

"Selena, you believe me about Max, don't you?” Cassie asked after the big man had left. “I swear he's on our side. At least,
my
side."

The earnestness in Cassie's voice and eyes gave Selena pause. When Alan had been killed, Cassie had sworn never to allow herself to fall in love again, but clearly, there was more to her relationship with this Max than just a shared goal. And if the feeling was mutual, his involvement in this could be even more dangerous. She reached out and laid her hand atop Cassie's. “Yes,
Querida
. I do believe you, but there is so much at stake and a misstep-even if made with the best of intentions...” She paused. “Like, perhaps, him doing something in an effort to protect
you-
could be disastrous."

Cassie brushed her hair away from her face and leaned forward. “Selena, if there are any mistakes made, it won't be Max who makes them. I'd bet my life on it."

I hope you're right, Selena thought, looking down at the newspaper lying open on the table. An article about the Department of Homeland Security creating a special task force to crack down on “dissidents” stared up at her.
Dios mio, I hope you're right.

Hamilton Bates didn't bother to acknowledge the Attorney General's secretary when he strode past her and into the conference room on the left. The four people at the long table turned at the sound of his entrance, and the Attorney General leaned back in her chair, scowling.

"You're late, Hamilton,” she scolded, looking over the wire rims of her glasses as he took his seat at the foot of the table opposite her.

"Couldn't be helped, Georgeanne,” he said flatly, nodding to the others. “I'm here now, so let's just get on with it."

The Director of the FBI, who was seated at the Attorney General's right, shuffled through the papers in front of himself on the table, then cleared his throat. “Like I was about to say, we've got a lead on Selena Cordon's whereabouts. She was cleared through customs in Miami three days ago and bought a bus ticket to Tallahassee."

"Three days ago? What's the rush?” Bates interrupted. “God, it's a good thing we have the best agents in the world, or it would be next
year
before we got any information."

"Thank you for that very helpful comment,” responded the Director.

Bates made a mental note to have the sonuvabitch replaced when the new government became a reality.

"As I was saying, our agents in Tallahassee have been beating the bushes trying to find her, when we suddenly got a break. Yesterday, our agents were investigating a bank robbery and came across the name of Cassandra Hart logged into the bank's safe deposit area. Because we know that she and the Cordon woman have been close associates for years, we think they may have planned to rendezvous. We got a not-so-bad photo of Hart from the bank's surveillance system, and we've got the locals down there keeping an eye out for her-
supposedly
because she might, at the very least, be a material witness to the hold up."

Bates kept his face impassive. Cassandra was supposed to be vacationing in Gatlinburg. He'd arranged for the airline tickets himself. But, no. They had her signature on the log book at the bank. “Do you have a copy of the photo?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

The Director leafed through his papers, pulled one out, and slid it across the table. The picture was grainy, but there was no doubt it was his godchild. Putting it aside, Bates frowned. “Not a very clear likeness,” he said. “I have known Cassandra since she was born, and it would be difficult even for
me
to identify her from this picture."

"Maybe you have a better one we could use,” Georgeanne suggested, a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

"I might. I'll check into it. But, please, Director Logan, go on with your report."

The Director paused a moment, looking from the Attorney General to Hamilton Bates and back to the Attorney General, who nodded for him to continue. “Uh, yes. As I was saying...” He looked down at the typed report. “At this time, we have traced Miss Hart from the airport to a motel, but so far we've had no luck actually locating her. Apparently, she left the motel without notice, even though she had indicated a longer stay. Except for an as yet unconfirmed sighting in a small town about thirty miles from Tallahassee, we've hit a dead-end."

"Did Selena Cordon register at the motel as well?” CIA Director Clark interrupted. He had been appointed to his job through the influence of Hamilton Bates and seemed eager to impress his benefactor.

"No. Just the Hart woman.” Logan pulled another sheet of paper from the stack. “Let's see. We have records of the calls made to her room, thanks to a very cooperative female college student who works the afternoon shift at the registration desk. There was one from D.C. and one from an ‘unknown’ location, presumably a digital cell phone."

"Who in D.C. did she talk to?” Again, it was Clark of the CIA.

"That cop, Henshaw, who we bumped from the Madison Hart case. But, that's not surprising."

"No? Why not? I thought you just said he was bumped...” Clark was on a roll.

"Simple. We found out that he has been working a drug case involving Philip Sinclair, the handyman's son, who confessed to killing Madison Hart. We expect to have someone talk to him, but we're certain he was just trying to get information from her for his own investigation. Seems he'd struck up a, uh,
useful
friendship with Cassandra Hart. No doubt, he's just plumbing the depths as far as they will take him."

Simmons, Director of the Secret Service, who had been studying the photo of Cassandra, smirked. “I wouldn't mind plumbing
those
depths myself."

Bates winced at the man's crudeness. He'd never liked the fat slob; had urged Georgeanne to appoint someone else to the job, but nothing could change her mind. Simmons had always been her most loyal henchman. Like Logan and the AG, Simmons was high on his list of those who would be eliminated. “So, where do we stand?” he asked, eager for the meeting to end. He needed some fresh air-and had a strong urge to wash his hands.

"Well, we've got the ‘confession’ from Sinclair, which gets the press off our backs in the Madison Hart case,” Logan replied. “You wouldn't
believe
how diligent some of those reporters have been. Guess they take it sort of personally when one of their own gets hit. Made ‘em sort of nervous."

"We
want
them to be nervous,” interjected Clark. “Until we can get those bills passed-especially the one that gives Justice the power to, uh,
oversee
the media, we need them to feel a little unsure of themselves. Keeps them out of people's ‘closets,’ if you get my meaning."

Hamilton Bates couldn't help nodding along with the rest of them. He had little doubt that the weak-kneed Congress, which had buckled under the barrage of anti-gun sentiment, was sure to buckle again under the anti-media pressure from the National Organization for Responsible Media and the “Million Moms,” who had joined their ranks. With the First Amendment curtailed, there'd be nothing left to stand in the way.

God. It had seemed so impossible. And, yet, it had all been so easy. So very, very easy. Thank heaven for human nature and the herding instinct. The memory of Madison Hart's book interrupted his gloating. If Cassandra had somehow found Selena Cordon, she would also have found out about the book. Maybe even found the book itself. He frowned at the thought of Madison reaching back from the grave to jeopardize everything.

"With Sinclair's arrest and ‘confession',” Logan continued, “we can now put the rumors surrounding Hart's death to rest. And with Selena Cordon back in the United States and Cassandra Hart as the bait, it won't be long before we can put a stop to any further threat of exposure."

"What makes you think there aren't others out there? The Internet is full of conspiracy theorists who...” asked Clark, knitting his brow.

"Because I know ... knew ... Madison Hart,” Bates interrupted. “He trusted no one except Selena Cordon. And his daughter. And
that
will prove to be the undoing of his efforts to derail us."