The Jefferson Key (34 page)

“Is Cotton Malone conducting your inquiry?”
NSA
asked
.

“Does it matter?”

“No, sir. I was simply curious.”

“Like I said. None of you bother Malone. That’s a direct order. He’s working for me. The people who murdered Dr. Gary Voccio last night also tried to kill Malone and, interestingly, Wyatt, too. That means Wyatt may not be my enemy. I intend to find out who ordered that strike.”

No one spoke
.

“Also, Stephanie Nelle has been missing for several days.”

“Missing where?”
CIA
asked
.

“I don’t know. She’s just gone.”

“Do you plan to release any of this to the public?” someone asked
.

“I’m not going to do anything.” Daniels stood. “Not until you folks do what you’re supposed to do and provide me with some meaningful information.”

Daniels came back into the camera’s view as he marched toward the door
.

The people around the table rose for his exit
.

“Mr. President.”

NSA
director
.

Daniels stopped at the door
.

“Your assessment of our effectiveness is wrong,”
NSA
said. “For my agency, we intercept nearly two billion emails, phone calls, and other international communications each day. Someone must listen to those. It’s how threats directed toward us are communicated. It’s how we became suspicious of Ms. Carbonell and her ties to the Commonwealth. We provide a vital service.”

“And who sorts though those two billion communications you intercept each day?” Daniels asked
.

NSA
started to speak, but Daniels held up a hand. “Don’t bother. I know the answer. No one. You sort a mere fraction. And every once in a while you luck onto something, like with
NIA
, then spout off about your importance. Interesting how, despite all of your money, people, and equipment a group of goat-herding terrorists from the wilds of Afghanistan managed to plow two planes into the World Trade Center and another into the Pentagon. If not for the bravery of some ordinary Americans another plane would have destroyed the White House. You didn’t know a damn thing about any of that coming.”

“With all due respect, sir, I resent your insults.”

“With all due respect, I resent tossing $75 billion dollars a year—that we know of—away on your foolishness. I resent the fact that those planes made it as far as they
did. I resent your arrogance. We deserve an intelligence community that works together as a team in every sense of the word. Hell, if World War II had been run this way we would have lost. I wasn’t planning on doing this but, before I leave office, I’m going to shake this rotting tree down to its roots. So get ready, people. Anybody else having something to say?”

No one spoke.

“Find Stephanie Nelle,” Daniels said
.

“Before the assassins?” one of them asked
.

“Find one and I believe you’ll find the other.”

The president left.

The others lingered a few seconds, then they, too, began to leave.

“Okay,” Davis said. “Our turn.”

BATH
,
NORTH
CAROLINA

KNOX
READIED
HIMSELF
TO BE
SHOT
.
THE
WEAPON
WAS
OF modest caliber, and the bullet would surely pass straight through him.

But it was still going to hurt.

Apparently, the traitor had sold him out.

Hale lowered the gun. “Don’t you give me any more trouble, either. You should not have interfered in that challenge.”

He exhaled. “Killing Captain Bolton was not the answer to the problem.”

Hale laid the gun on the table and grabbed his empty glass, refilling it with whiskey. “The answer to our problem came a little while ago. The director of
NIA
called me.”

He told himself to listen carefully. Carbonell was maneuvering again. But so was Hale.

“
NIA
has solved the cipher. They know where that no-good scoundrel Andrew Jackson hid the two missing pages. She told me the location.”

“And you believe her?”

“Why not?”

“They stopped our assassination attempt and cultivated a spy within this company.”

Hale nodded. “I know. But at the moment, the
NIA
director wants something from me. Something only I can provide.”

“Our guest in the lodge.”

Hale sipped his drink and nodded. “Providing this information is NIA’s way of demonstrating good faith. They hired a contract person who is going after the missing pages. But the man has no intention of turning over what he finds. The director made that clear. She wants him killed. It’s a remote location, which offers a good opportunity to do that. Of course, in return, she says we can have whatever there is to find.”

He listened as Hale explained about Nova Scotia and a man named Jonathan Wyatt. “Carbonell provided me everything she has on Paw Island and Fort Dominion.”

“What’s to stop us from simply going after the two pages and ignoring Wyatt?”

“Nothing, provided Wyatt doesn’t get in your way. From what she said, you’ll have to kill him in order to get him out of the way. He’s not the type to simply step aside.”

Everything about this sounded bad.

Hale pointed toward his desk. “There’s a photo and dossier on Wyatt. He was also the man who stopped the assassination attempt. I’d say you owe him.”

Perhaps he did, but he wasn’t quite sure what.

“Take the file. Use the jet.
NIA
tells me Wyatt is flying commercially out of Boston, but weather is delaying him. Get there before he does and be ready.”

Apparently things had changed one more time and Carbonell had decided to provide the Commonwealth what it wanted.

Or had she?

“This could be a trap.”

“I am willing to take the chance.”

No, he was willing for
someone else
to take the chance. But Knox had no choice. He had to go to Canada. If he could be ready before this Wyatt arrived, it should be an easy kill. One more demonstration of his loyalty to the captains, which should buy him more time.

At least the traitor had not compromised him.

“Look, Clifford,” Hale said, conciliation in his voice. “Why provide us this information if she’s lying?”

“Apparently, so we can do her dirty work. The man she sent can’t be trusted, so she wants us to eliminate him.”

Just like with Scott Parrott.

“If that makes her happy, so what? If she’s lying, we still have Stephanie Nelle to do with as we please.”

He caught the message.
What do we have to lose?
So he knew the right response. “I’ll head north immediately.”

“Before you leave, there is another matter. Bolton was right about one thing. The equipment that we have secreted at Shirley Kaiser’s residence. It’s time to remove it before someone notices. It’s not needed any longer. Do you have men who can accomplish that?”

He nodded. “Two I’ve been training. They assist me often. They can handle it.”

“I spoke with Kaiser a day or so ago and she told me she would be out this evening at a fund-raiser in Richmond. That should give you an opportunity.”

Hale sipped more whiskey.

“Clifford, the others know nothing of my association with
NIA
, beyond the little bit I told them earlier. And I don’t want to share any more until we have success. I’m asking you to keep this between us, for now. Contrary to what they think, I will not abandon them, though God knows I should. They are an ungrateful, stupid lot. But I take my oath to the Articles seriously. If we succeed, we succeed for all.”

He could not care less, but feigned interest. “I’m curious about one thing. How did you know which glass to pick?”

“What makes you think I knew?”

“You’re a bold man, but not a foolish one. For you to issue that challenge you must have known you could win.”

“My father taught me a trick,” Hale said. “If you jiggle the glass ever so slightly, the poison comes out of suspension and blurs the alcohol. It’s just for an instant but, if you pay close attention, you can see it. I swirled each glass before I drank. Granted, it’s not foolproof, but it’s better than blind luck.”

“That took guts,” he said.

Hale smiled at himself. “Indeed. It certainly did.”

WYATT
STEPPED
ONTO
AN
AIR
CANADA
FLIGHT
IN
BOSTON’S
Logan International Airport. He’d flown from Richmond, Virginia, and had now been laid over for nearly two hours. A bad storm was delaying every flight, and he wondered if this one would make it out anytime soon. Flight time to Halifax, Nova Scotia, was another two hours, which should place him on the ground by midafternoon—provided there were no more delays. With any luck he’d be on Paw Island by five PM. He’d checked the weather, and the temperature should be around seventy degrees. The area had lately been experiencing a September heat wave combined with a dry spell. If necessary, he’d sleep on the island and finish his business tomorrow. One way or the other he would leave there with those missing pages.

He’d come to New York fully prepared with flash bombs, guns, and ammunition, but his passport would be of little use. Airline manifests could be checked by law enforcement with nothing more than a click of a mouse.

Another identity was required.

So he’d been forced to deal with Carbonell.

The half of his triple fee had been deposited in his Liechtenstein account, as promised. A lot of cash, tax-free. But a lot of risk, too. The greatest of which was dealing with Carbonell. She’d rubbed him wrong. Riled-up feelings within him he’d thought long suppressed. He was an American intelligence operative. Always had been, always would be.

That meant something to him.

Contrary to what Carbonell seemed to think.

He resented her callous, selfish attitude. She had no business heading any intelligence agency. Operatives in the field had to know that their superiors were watching their backs. Things were dangerous enough without having to worry whether your boss was unnecessarily placing your life in jeopardy.

She had to be stopped.

And that was why he’d stayed in this fight.

Malone? The trail for Captain America ended at Monticello. He wasn’t a factor any longer. That would have to wait for another time.

This would be his victory, and his alone.

He’d opted to fly commercial to draw less attention. He’d rent a car once on the ground and drive the fifty miles south to Mahone Bay. He’d bought appropriate outdoor clothing. Anything else needed he could buy once on the ground. The Nova Scotia peninsula was a mecca for outdoor enthusiasts, catering to cyclists, golfers, hikers, kayakers, boaters, and bird-watchers. It being Sunday might offer a few challenges with store hours, but he’d make do. Unfortunately, he was unarmed. No way to import a weapon. He’d read the intel Carbonell had provided, especially the information explaining the last word in the cipher’s message
—Dominion—
which referred to Fort Dominion, located on the south side of Paw Island.

A ruin not only today, but in Andrew Jackson’s time.

The site possessed a checkered history.

During the American Revolution, after the fort was seized by the Continental army, seventy-four British prisoners died there while in colonial hands. They’d been temporarily incarcerated beneath the fort, in a dungeon-like complex carved into its rocky foundation, and drowned when the level flooded. Three colonial officers were court-martialed over the incident, the charge being that they were told by others that the chamber would flood yet ignored the warning. They were acquitted, as the testimony regarding their knowledge of the danger was conflicted, at best.

He sympathized with those officers.

They’d simply been doing their duty, in a time of war, a long way from any command authority. Of course they hadn’t had the luxury of instant communication. Instead, they had to make local decisions. Then, months later, someone came along and second-guessed them. Unlike him, those men escaped punishment, but he imagined that any military career those officers might have envisioned ended with their trial.

Just like his.

What happened at Fort Dominion remained a sore spot for American and British relations up to the War of 1812, when the two nations finally resolved their differences. He wondered if there was any connection between that tragic incident and what Andrew Jackson had done sixty years later.

Dominion had been specifically chosen by Jackson.

Why?

He’d also reviewed again Jackson’s letter to the Commonwealth and his message hidden behind Jefferson’s cipher. The five symbols remained unexplained.

Carbonell had found nothing on them. Her advice? Deal with them once he was on the ground in Canada.