White House this information, my guess is he’ll be there, too.” She smiled. “Maybe someone will finish what you started today.”
Maybe so, he thought.
KNOX STEPPED OFF THE ELEVATOR INTO THE HELMSLEY PARK Lane’s lobby. Thankfully, though it was approaching nine thirty PM, the place bustled with activity. His gaze scoured the faces, searching for problems, but he sensed nothing. He calmly walked toward the front door, one hand holding the shopping bag, the other stuffed into his jacket pocket where the gun lay. If necessary, he’d shoot his way out.
He exited onto Central Park South.
The sidewalk was crowded with more excited people and he followed the flow toward Fifth Avenue and the Plaza Hotel. He needed to collect his things and leave New York. Any remaining agents in the Helmsley Park were certainly occupied, discovering by now the extent of the carnage and cleaning up the mess. NIA would want the situation contained. No local police or press involved. Hopefully, that would consume them long enough for him to leave the city.
This had to end, but the nightmare seemed far from over. The captains were safe on their North Carolina estates. He was the point man, taking incoming rounds, trying to stay alive.
Had it all been a ruse? Was there any cipher solution?
He had to know.
He rode the Plaza’s elevator to his floor, and immediately upon entering the room powered up the laptop. Only a moment was needed for him to realize that the machine held nothing. Just a few standard programs that came with any computer.
He clicked on the email program and saw no accounts.
This thing had just been purchased.
As bait.
For him.
Which meant a bad day had just become worse.
TWENTY-FIVE
10:20 PM
CASSIOPEIA SAT IN THE CAR. THEY’D TRAVELED IN A MOTORCADE straight from Andrews Air Force Base-she, Edwin Davis, and Danny Daniels. Cotton had been provided transportation and directions to the Garver Institute, which lay about forty-five minutes south into Maryland. She hadn’t liked the idea of him going alone, especially with the prospect of trouble, but agreed that it seemed the only course. Stephanie Nelle was her friend, too, and she was worried. They all had to play their part.
“I need you to handle this situation carefully,” Daniels said to her as they motored onto the White House grounds.
She wanted to know, “Why me?”
“ ’Cause you’re here, you’re good, and you’re an outsider.”
“And a woman?”
The president nodded. “It could help. Pauline has her moods.”
She tried to recall what she could about the First Lady, but knew next to nothing. American politics was not her specialty, since her business concerns lay largely outside of North America. Her first foray into the Daniels administration had been with Stephanie a couple of years ago-the first time she’d visited the White House-which had been an eye opener in more ways than one.
“What makes you suspect your wife of leaking information?”
“Did I say I suspect her?”
“You might as well have.”
“She’s the only one,” Davis said, “besides myself, the president, and a few staffers, who knew from the start.”
“That’s a big leap, accusing her.”
“It ain’t as far a jump as you think,” Daniels muttered.
They were both holding back, which irritated her.
The motorcade came to a stop beneath a portico. She spotted a cadre of people waiting at the lighted entrance. Daniels emerged to a round of applause and cheers.
“At least someone loves me,” she heard him mutter.
Daniels acknowledged the well-wishers with handshakes and smiles.
“He’s actually a joy to work for,” Davis said as they watched from the car. “When I took over as chief of staff I quickly learned this is a happy White House.”
She had to admit, the welcoming committee seemed genuine.
“It’s not every day someone tries to kill a president,” Davis said.
She stared across at the chief of staff. Davis was cold and calculating, with a mind that never seemed to stop working. The perfect person, she concluded, to watch your back.
“Notice anything?” he quietly asked her.
Yes, she had.
Of the forty or so who’d waited in the dark to greet Danny Daniels, no where was the First Lady to be seen.
HALE PACED IN HIS STUDY. THE OTHER THREE CAPTAINS HAD left an hour ago. Hopefully, by morning the Jefferson cipher would be solved and they could regain their constitutional immunity. Then those federal prosecutors, with their tax evasion charges, could go to hell.
He stared out at the blackened Pamlico River. Solitude was one of the things he cherished most about his family’s refuge. He checked his watch. Nearly 10:30 PM. Knox should have reported in by now.
He resented being called a pirate. By his accountant. By Stephanie Nelle. By anyone and everyone who did not understand his heritage. True, the Commonwealth drew heavily from pirate society, implementing policies and practices pioneered during the 17th and early 18th centuries. But those men had not been fools, and they taught one lasting lesson Hale never forgot.
Embrace the money.
Politics, morality, ethics-none of that mattered. Everything was about profit. What had his father taught him? It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from a regard to their own interest. Greed was what compelled every business to serve its customers. It’s what guaranteed the best product at the best price.
The same was true with privateering. Take away the lure of riches and you removed all motivation. Everyone wanted to get ahead.
What was wrong with that?
Apparently, everything.
The crazy part was that none of this was revolutionary. Letters of marque had existed for 700 years. The word marque had been chosen from the French, meaning “seizure of goods.” Privateers had first come from well- educated merchant families, some even noblemen. They were described with respect as “gentlemen sailors.” Their credo? Never come back empty-handed. Their spoils increased royal treasuries, which allowed kings to lower taxes at home. They provided protection from national enemies and aided governments during times of war. As an institution piracy itself ended in the 1720s, though privateering continued for another hundred and fifty years. Now it seemed the United States had decided to erase its last vestiges.
Was he a pirate?
