The Legacy (8 page)

A young woman? Coles voice was barely audible.

Yeah.

Do you know which apartment it was?

Huh?

In which apartment was the explosion? Cole asked again, his voice shaking.

I dont know, the policeman said impatiently. Look, youre gonna have to step back. The policeman spotted another resident moving toward the front door and moved away to intercept him.

As the policeman moved away, Cole saw two uniformed paramedics rolling a white-sheeted stretcher out through the lobby and broke past the small crowd that had gathered.

Hey, buddy! the policeman yelled. Stop!

But Cole kept running. As he neared the stretcher, his heart sank. Bandages and gauze covered most of a young womans face, but he thought he recognized the ring on her limp hand. He stopped and grabbed his hair with both hands. Jesus, is she all right?

The paramedics shook their heads somberly as they lifted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

Cole!

Cole pivoted toward the voice, and relief flooded through him at the sight of Nicki sprinting toward him. She too had broken through the thin line of policemen.

As Nicki neared the ambulance, she pointed at the hand of the woman on the stretcher with its distinctive ring. Maria! she screamed, lunging for the back of the ambulance.

But Cole caught her as the paramedics closed the door and the emergency vehicle moved away, siren screaming. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as she sobbed into his chest. Its okay, sweetheart, he said comfortingly, the feeling of relief that the victim hadnt been Nicki still pulsing through him.

No, it isnt, she cried.

He nodded. It really wasnt okay, but there was nothing either one of them could do about it. Come on, he urged gently, guiding her away from the apartment building.

Where are we going? she asked through her tears.

Im taking you home.

FOR THE BETTER part of four decades William Seward had been a history professor at the University of Virginia. Now that he was seventy-two years old, Seward taught just one class and that was in the spring semester. It was an upper-level course covering the Civil War, or the War of Northern Aggression, as Seward preferred to call it. The class was his only commitment at this point, at least to Mr. Jeffersons university.

This late in November the leaves had fallen, and as Seward watched from his living room window, he could make out a silver government-issue sedan moving slowly through the bare-branched trees and over the crushed-stone lane leading down into the small valley which his cabin overlooked. The cabin lay secluded in a thick grove of oaks halfway up a small mountain. The site was only a few miles west of the universitys hometown of Charlottesville, but it was remote. The closest house was more than a half mile away. Here Seward could do research in solitudeand direct one of the most clandestine operations ever initiated by the United States government. Operation Snowfall.

Seward moved from the window to the stereo and turned on gentle symphonic music. It helped soothe his nerves. He enjoyed little-known composers others didnt appreciate, but he could listen to whatever he wanted because he lived alone. He wasnt married and had few living relatives.

Seward was tall and angular with thinning hair the color of cotton. His face was kindly, and traces of a slight smile were permanently etched into the corners of his pale lips. With age, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows had become bushy and his lower teeth crookedthe result of refusing to have his wisdom teeth removed because he couldnt risk the potential truth-serum effects of anesthesia. Both of his knees were stiff from arthritis and he needed a cane to walk. He spoke in a soft voice tinged with a pleasant Virginia accent, and lately he seemed to forget a word now and then or address one of his students by the wrong name. In private, some faculty members speculated that he was on the precipice of senility, but they were gravely mistaken. Behind wire-framed glasses, Sewards dark eyes burned brightly, and behind the dark eyes was the mind of a twenty-year-old. His senility was simply an act. People expected a man in his eighth decade to forget a name every once in a while, so he gave them what they expected. He couldnt risk stepping out of character.

The silver sedan pulled up outside the cabin door. Seward heard the driver cut the cars engine as he relaxed into a large leather chair positioned on one side of the stone fireplace. Seconds later there were two sharp raps on the cabins thick wooden door.

Come in, Seward called sternly as he rested his cane against the arm of the chair.

Commander John Magee entered the cabin, nodded formally, closed the door and sat down in the chair opposite Sewards.

Good afternoon, Commander, Seward said.

Good afternoon, Magee responded tersely.

The thirty-nine-year-old Magee was five feet seven inches tall, had dark hair and dark eyes and maintained a wiry, steel-strong build with a constant and rigorous exercise program. Acne scars covered his ruddy face, and through this pocked visage ran a long scar extending from the bridge of his nose all the way down his left cheek to his jaw. He was an ex-Navy SEAL, having attained the rank of full commander at the youthful age of thirty-six, and was now on loan to William Seward from an elite special-forces unit of the CIA. In that unit Magee had been extensively trained in everything from high-tech explosives to germ warfare. He was coldly efficient at whatever task was at hand and possessed an intelligence quotient of 164, an IQ he was not shy about marketing.

How are you, sir? Magee asked.

Seward noticed subtle derision in the way Magee articulated the word sir. Fine, Commander Magee, Seward answered calmly, exhibiting none of the irritation gnawing at him. Seward knew that the young commander considered him long overdue for an appointment with a Florida continuing-care facility. Seward knew this through his extensive Pentagon grapevine, of which Magee was not aware. However, it wasnt the lack of respect that so angered Seward today. It was something far more important.

Through four decades Seward had made it a point not to initiate friendships with any of the six men who had previously held Magees position. Becoming friendly with those men wasnt a good idea, because it made the unfortunate accidents at the end of their tours of duty with him all the more difficult. Still, in most cases Seward hadnt been able to resist developing a sense of companionship with the men.

Magee was different. Magees attitude was so overwhelmingly offensive that Seward was actually looking forward to the day Magee would suffer his inevitable accident. The attitude was highlighted by an abrasive aura of invincibility and utter confidence, combined with an all-knowing, all-seeing demeanor. Given the slightest opportunity, Magee would launch into a self-serving oration, trumpeting his unparalleled knowledge of everything from aviation combat tactics and incendiary devices to predicting human behavior. Seward had worried over the last two years that this supreme self-possession might ultimately lead to trouble, but his direct superior, General Avery Zahn, had steadfastly maintained that Magee was the best man for the job.

Now, however, Sewards instincts had proved correct. Magees behavior last night in Manhattan had almost precipitated disaster. He should have listened to his instincts, Seward now realized. General Zahn should have as well.

How was the drive down Route 29? Seward asked hesitantly. He hoped this would be a benign enough question not to spark one of Magees self-promotion speeches.

It took me two hours and twenty-two minutes to get here from downtown Washington, Magee replied. Ive obviously done this trip a number of times, but Ive never actually timed it before, so today before I left Washington I wrote down on a piece of paper how long I thought it would take. I wrote down two hours and twenty-three minutes. I was off by only one minute.

Oh? Seward rolled his eyes. Magee was off and running on another ego trip.

Yes. You see, I have an incredible innate ability to judge time. Christ, it works even if Im asleep. I never have to request wakeup calls when I stay in hotels, or set the alarm at home. I wake up exactly when I need to, always. Its subconscious, my mind working at several different levels simultaneously. I think thats always been a key to my incredible success at such a young age. Knowing things without even having to

Thank you, Commander Magee, Seward interrupted. He could tell from Magees expression that the commander wasnt happy about being cut off, but the hell with him. Lets get started. Do you have the tape? Seward asked impatiently.

Magee opened his briefcase sullenly, withdrew the videocassette case and placed it on the maple coffee table between them. Last night I acquired this tape on Thirty-ninth Street between Fifth and Madison Avenues.

Seward let out a long slow breath as he saw the tape physically in front of him. He tried not to allow his emotion to show, but that was impossible. He had been studying and shadowing Jim Egan for too long. If Magee hadnt acquired this damning piece of evidence last night, thirty-five years of work would have washed down the drain like so much dirty bathwater.

Suddenly Seward could no longer contain his anger. What the hell were you thinking about last night?

Magees posture stiffened. He had never heard this tone in Sewards voice and was unprepared for the rebuke. After all, he had successfully completed the mission. What did you say?

Seward gritted his teeth. I told you to acquire the tape as benignly as possible. Under no circumstances were you to jeopardize Cole Egans life. You completely disobeyed my orders.

I got you the damn tape, Magee snapped. Christ, he was tired of reporting to this doddering old fool. It was time to get back to the CIA. And how would you know I jeopardized Cole Egans life?

A Gilchrist window was shot out last night, and there was an explosion in Mr. Egans Manhattan apartment, killing an unlucky young woman named Maria Cooper. Seward gritted his teeth more tightly. I believe that explosion was meant for Cole Egan. Its quite a trail of violence, too closely timed with your Manhattan visit to be coincidence. Thats how I know you jeopardized his life.

Magee shifted uncomfortably in his chair but said nothing.

You had to use your power, didnt you? Seward asked disdainfully. Magee was one of those psychopathic military zealots Seward had run into before. You had to kill, now that youre insulated. Magee could commit murder and suffer no consequences. The government had bestowed that privilege upon him, and it sickened Seward that Magee would take advantage of this newly acquired carte blanche. You fired on Cole Egan as you chased him out of the Gilchrist Building last night, and you wired his apartment for the explosion, didnt you? Seward demanded.

Still Magee said nothing. But Seward thought he noticed a tiny smile move Magees scar. What about the people under your command? he asked curtly.

Catherine is dead, Magee answered without emotion. Some idiot came running at us immediately after I took the tape from Cole Egan.

What? Seward caught his breath as his heart rate jumped.

Yes. The man shot Catherine. Fortunately, I eluded him.

This was bad news. Did you get a good look at this man? Seward asked quickly, his pulse racing.

All I can tell you for certain is that he had curly yellow hair.

You mean blond hair.

If I had meant blond, I would have said it. Blond is a generic term covering many different shades. This mans hair was yellow.

Is everyone else accounted for? Seward asked, trying to ignore Magees arrogance.

Magee shook his head. Agent Graham is missing. I presume he is dead as well.

Dammit! Seward slammed his fist on the table. You really screwed this up, Magee.

So fire me and let me go back to the CIA, Magee wanted to say. But he held back. Something told him that discretion might be the better part of valor right now.

Do you realize what kind of trouble you might have caused us by harming Cole Egan, Seward raged, if our investigation into the Colombian affair turns up answers we dont anticipate? It was improbable that the investigation would turn up those answers, but then Jim Egan was an improbable man. Seward had learned that a long time ago. Cole Egan must stay alive.

Look, Im sorry. It took the only ounce of humility Magee possessed to say the words. You told me it was absolutely imperative that we acquire that tape. He gestured at the cassette case sitting on the table. Cole Egan turned out to be a resourceful man, so as a precaution, in the event I couldnt catch up with him, I wired the apartment for an explosion. That way, if we couldnt get the tape, nobody else could either. Its too bad about the woman in Cole Egans apartment.

Uh-huh. Seward was seething. He knew Magee didnt give a rats ass about the young woman. Fortunately, using our powers of persuasion, we were able to convince the New York City Fire Department that the explosion was an accident.

Good. Magee was suddenly impressed with Sewards abilities to manipulate. Perhaps he had underestimated the man after all.

What about the fat man on the Gilchrist trading floor? Seward asked. I believe his name is Lewis Gebauer.

What about him?

Is he suspicious of whats going on? Did you screw that up too?