“You’re insane,” Bolton said.
He gestured for his men to train their weapons on the captains. “If any of them makes a move, shoot him.”
Guns were leveled.
He motioned, and the doctor nestled the shears to the base of Kaiser’s middle finger. Kaiser’s eyes went wide.
He turned to Vitt.
“Your last chance to make the call. If not, I’ll start snipping off fingers until you do.”
SEVENTY-NINE
WYATT WATCHED AS ANDREA CARBONELL STEPPED FROM THE shadows and into the moonlight. He’d just checked his watch and noted that time was running short. He caught her shapely silhouette and saw the outline of a weapon in her left hand, the barrel pointing toward the ground.
He, too, stepped out, a gun in his right hand, pointing down.
“It shouldn’t have to come to this,” she said. “You should have just died.”
“Why even involve me?” he asked.
“Because you’re good. Because I knew you’d be tough when others weren’t. Because nobody would give a damn if you disappeared.”
He smiled.
She was still buying time for her men to act.
“Do you care about anything beyond yourself?” he asked.
“Oh, my. Jonathan Wyatt going soft? Do you actually care about anything other than yourself?”
Actually, he did. There wasn’t a day that went by he didn’t think about those two dead agents. He was alive thanks to them. They’d done their job, drawn fire, and the mission had been a success because of their sacrifice. Even the admin board had voiced that finding.
But he’d never sacrificed them to save himself.
Not like this woman.
The only human life that meant anything to her was her own. That was the worst part. You were a good agent. Malone’s comment to him after the board’s verdict, when they confronted each other, his hand at Malone’s throat.
Yes, he was.
He wanted to know, “Did you send those men into the Garver Institute?”
“Of course. Who else would have done it? I thought it a good opportunity to eliminate you, Malone, and the man who broke the cipher. But you were lucky there. So was Malone. Come now, Jonathan, you knew all along I was using you. But you wanted the money.”
Maybe so. And he’d also made it this far, covertly shifted his position from defense to offense.
A fact Carbonell did not, as yet, understand.
“The spring gun yours, too?” he asked.
She nodded. “I thought it a good way to divert attention from me. If your foot had not stopped the door, I would have flung it open and stepped out of the way, barely escaping harm.”
“Sorry to interrupt your plan.”
She shrugged. “As it is, things have turned out even better. Lots of possibilities here. Where are the two pages?”
That was the one thing holding her back. She could not make a move on him until that question was answered. Her orders to her minions had certainly included a proviso that their location was vital before they acted.
“I can show you,” he said. “I haven’t had an opportunity to retrieve them.”
“Please do.”
He knew she could not resist, so he gestured toward his right and, together, they reentered the great hall where he and Malone had fought. He found the hole with the rotted timbers and pointed. “Down there.”
“And how do we get there?”
He’d already thought about that. The upper wall walk was lined on its inner edge with a rope barrier that stretched through iron holders. Not much protection, but enough for someone to be aware of the danger. After eliminating Carbonell’s two men, he’d removed the nylon hemp and coiled about fifty feet into his backpack.
He slid the pack off his shoulders and said, “I came prepared.”
CASSIOPEIA CONSIDERED HALE’S QUESTION. HE’D CHOSEN THE right victim. If either she or Stephanie had been strapped to that chair, neither would have spoken, since the only bargaining power they possessed was holding out.
But Shirley Kaiser would not understand that.
The woman’s eyes were bright with fear as she stared at the steel shears centered on her middle finger. Shirley shook her head, signaling No, please no. But she could do little to resist.
“You know you can’t call,” Stephanie whispered.
“I have no choice.”
“Yes,” Hale said, noticing but not hearing their conversation. “Talk it through. Make the right choice. Shirley is counting on it.”
The three other captains stood and watched.
Guns remained aimed at them.
Cassiopeia could not allow this to happen, so she said, “Give me the damn phone.”
MALONE TIGHTENED HIS SEAT BELT AND PREPARED FOR LANDING. The descent from thirty thousand feet had been rough. The pilot had informed him that the storm was moving north and that they were skirting its trailing southern edge. Edwin Davis had called twice to say that nothing had been heard from Cassiopeia, but no further gunfire had been heard, either.
Which did not comfort him.
He’d already reloaded his weapon and stuffed two spare magazines into his jacket pockets.
He was ready to move.
Just get me on the ground.
KNOX STOOD ABOVE THE DECAYED HALL AND STARED DOWN from the wall walk at Wyatt and Carbonell. He’d heard Wyatt when he told her that the lost pages waited below, in the dark chasm through the floor. He watched as Wyatt secured a rope to one of the pillars that had once supported the roof. Wyatt had descended first, then Carbonell. A light had switched on below, then faded. Should he follow, or just wait for them to return? What if there was another way in or out?
He thought of his father, the legendary quartermaster.
A wave of shame swept over him. He’d sold out. Done the one thing his father never would have done.
His father had, in fact, accomplished the impossible.
He’d killed a president.
John Kennedy acquired the White House thanks to a coalition that his own father, Joe, secretly forged. It involved political bosses, labor unions, and organized crime. Quentin Hale’s father had been close with Joe and made a deal with the Kennedys. Agree to honor the letters of marque once you’re in the White House, and the Commonwealth will deliver money and votes.
Which it did.
But all of that camaraderie was forgotten after the election.
The Kennedys turned on everyone, including the Commonwealth. Labor and the mob were at a loss as to what to do.
Not so the captains.
