“Well, well, Mr. Veil,” she laughed. “Don’t look so glum. Did you really think you’d get to waltz out of here with one of the few wonders left in this world?”
“I knew I’d have a problem, but obviously I didn’t think it’d be you.”
“Better luck next time. Oh I’m sorry, there won’t be a next time.” She kissed Robert on the cheek. “What a shame. I thought I’d get another little taste before we killed you.”
“You sick bitch,” said Thorne, her hands raised, her face calm. “I knew it’d be your sorry ass.”
“That’s funny,” said Marilyn, taking Robert’s guns. “If you know so much, then why am I about to kill your sorry ass?” The groundskeepers disarmed Thorne. “That remains to be seen,” she said, smiling.
Marilyn stomped over and backhanded Thorne across the face. His partner’s head snapped backward. When it returned, the smile remained.
“Ok, let’s get it loaded in their truck,” said Marilyn. “I’ll call the others.”
Two of the men quickly rolled the casket outside while the others held them at gunpoint. Marilyn spoke into a small walkie-talkie, and a few minutes later Mr. Welsh, a silencer stuck in his back, walked in, trailed by the weasel they’d run into several times earlier. Welsh, shaking, and sweating profusely, urinated in his pants. Marilyn tossed the weasel Robert’s gun.
“Well, hello Mr. Veil,” said Simon. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Go to hell,” said Robert.
“I’m sure that’s in the cards one day,” said Simon, putting Robert’s gun to the back of Mr. Welsh’s head. “But not today.”
“What about the real groundskeepers?” asked Marilyn.
“They’re in the tool shed,” said Simon. “None of them will talk, I assure you.”
Simon walked over to Robert and Thorne. “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Simon Lynch. I’ll be executing you today.”
Simon turned, pointed Robert’s gun, and shot Mr. Welsh in the head.
“You idiot! You shouldn’t have done that here!”
“He said don’t kill them here,” said Simon. “Now let’s get everyone tied up and in the truck.”
Robert wanted to attack but couldn’t find an opening. He looked over at Thorne. Still calm. A good sign.
Marilyn pulled a large black gun from her coat and pointed it at Thorne.
“He said not here,” barked Simon.
She ignored him, and fired.
A dart hit Thorne in the shoulder. Marilyn turned the gun on Robert.
“When you wake up, Mr. Veil, you’ll be dead.” She fired into his thigh. Thorne crashed to the floor. He watched the room spin, and didn’t fight it.
A fog fell over his mind, and Robert fought for one last thought. He thought of Fiona, Jessica and his mother, praying they were safe, and begged God, for one last chance to make things right.
35
Robert saw everything clearly. He ran down the street behind a black convertible limousine. A crowd lined up along the sidewalk, waved, cheered, and hurled insults. Motorcycles led the procession and several more men in black suits, white shirts and dark ties, ran with him.
In front, riding in the back of the limo, sat a beautiful woman in a pink dress and pillbox hat; waving to the crowd. To her right sat a very handsome man doing the same. Robert heard a popping sound. The man stopped waving and grabbed his throat. Robert struggled to catch up to the car, but couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. He looked up ahead to his right, saw Charlie Ivory’s face at the fence on the grassy knoll, and pumped his arms and legs harder.
A shot, louder than the others, rang out. President Kennedy’s head jerked backwards to the left, exploding in a mess of blood and brain, some splattering Robert’s suit. Jackie Kennedy climbed along the trunk, reaching for a piece of skull. This time his legs worked, and he pushed her back into the car. He threw his body on top of Jackie and looked over at the President. He was gone.
“Robert! Robert!” an echoing voice called. “Robert, wake up!” Robert struggled to fend off the clouds, shaking his head like a wet collie. Slumped over, head hanging down, a pungent odor stampeded his nostrils, but not enough to shake the fog.
The familiar voice grew closer.
“Robert!”
Groggy, he struggled to focus his eyes. “Thorne,” he finally whispered.
“I’m right here, Robert. We’re tied to a pole in somebody’s barn.
Wake up and shake it off.”
“How long have you been awake?” he asked, the pounding in his brain clearing with each breath.
“I’ve floated in and out for a couple of days. I’m really not sure.”
“Days?”
“Yes. We’ve been here for at least a week as far as I can tell, maybe more. When I woke up it was daylight outside. Then that rat faced fuck Simon came in and gave us both shots, and I blacked out. He’s been keeping us under.”
Robert took a deep, cleansing breath. “Have you see anybody else?”
“No, just Simon.”
Each slug of air brought Robert a little closer to lucid. Thirty minutes later, still sore, his head cleared, and he surveyed the barn. A single lantern hung next to the barn’s double-door, giving it a misty, shadowy feel. Shiny black saddles, on hooks next to the stalls, were emblazoned with gold “R’s” which told him the barn belonged to Rothschild.
Moonbeams slid in through the slits in the ceiling, flickering on and off as bats flittered about the roof, disturbing the flow of light. Robert heard Thorne grunt and struggle, trying to break free.
“Damn duct tape. I’ve been trying to weaken it, but the assholes have wrapped it thick.”
Robert strained against his own bonds, to no avail, when his eyes landed on something that made him pause. The casket.
Dusty in the dim light, it appeared to be untouched. Wood with gold trim, it sat in the middle of the barn like a monument. Streams of moonlight touched down on it, reminding him of a scene out of the Dracula movies he enjoyed as a kid. He struggled harder against the tape, but it cut into his wrists.
“We’ll have to make our move when they cut us loose,” said Robert.
“You mean if they cut us loose.”
“All of this expensive riding equipment with the gold R’s means we’re probably on Rothschild’s property. If that’s true, he won’t have us killed here. It’s too risky. He’ll have them take us somewhere else and when they do, we’ll make our move.”
“Got it. And Robert.”
“Yeah.”
“You leave Marilyn London to me.”
Robert smiled for the first time since he’d awakened. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
Sitting there in the dirt, Robert’s thoughts turned toward Fiona and his mother. He wondered if they were safe.
“Thorne, we have to take whatever’s in that casket with us.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” she said. “Let’s just not miss.
And nobody gets to tell this story but us.” Robert hesitated. He wanted to see Edward account for the things he’d done.
“If we can take Rothschild alive, we should. I’d like to see him fry in public.”
“That’s the point, he won’t fry,” she said. “Bastards like him never do. He’ll die of old age before they put him in jail.”
“Not if we take the evidence with us. What Charlie showed us is enough to destroy him, his family, and who
