The Patriot Threat (28 page)

The second remaining inquiry is a corollary of the first. If any of this is true, why would Knox ultimately reveal what he’d done? The answer to that comes from Harding’s snub of Knox. By March 1921 when Harding was inaugurated, Knox, though still a sitting United States Senator from Pennsylvania, had become a bitter man. It seems reasonable that, at some point, he may have told his close friend Andrew Mellon about what happened in 1913. As the incoming Secretary of Treasury, perhaps Knox thought Mellon should know that there may be problems with the income tax? Or perhaps he just thought Mellon a sympathetic ear? Or maybe he was simply expounding on his seeming importance? Regardless, Philander Knox died on October 21, 1921, and with him went any chance of further explanations.

Of course, she knew things that Howell did not. Information that filled in the gaps and turned some of his speculation into fact.

She definitely agreed with Danny.

The Treasury secretary was hiding something.

But what? How bad could it be?

She paged to the end of Howell’s book and read the final paragraph.

My legal case is not atypical. There are thousands of people who have been tried and convicted of either failing to file a tax return, tax evasion, or tax fraud. Many of those people were sentenced to jail, myself included. But what if the speculation is true and the 16th Amendment is somehow tainted? What if that fact was known from the moment Philander Knox declared the amendment “in effect”? It’s no secret that our government keeps secrets. Sometimes it’s in our best interests that things remain hidden. But other times the cloak of secrecy is used for nothing more than political advantage or to hide mistakes. Lyndon Johnson tried that with Vietnam. Nixon with Watergate. Reagan during Iran-Contra. Of course, all of those attempts failed and the truth was ultimately revealed. What will history say of the 16th Amendment? Is all that has been said all that will be said? Or is the final chapter yet to be written? Only time will tell.

Her phone buzzed.

She’d set it on vibrate so as to not draw attention, though the lounge surrounding her had become sparse on people. The LCD display indicated it was Cotton. Finally. She stood, walked to a far corner, and faced the papered wall. “I’ve been waiting.”

“It’s a mess.”

Not what she wanted to hear.

“We have a multitude of problems,” he said, “all of them bad.”

FORTY-ONE

C
ROATIA

Isabella sat in the cell with Luke Daniels. Two hours had passed since they’d been brought inside from the rain. During that time she’d said little. Neither had Daniels, who appeared unconcerned, lying on another steel bench, eyes closed. Rest was the farthest thing from her mind. Getting out of here and back on the trail, that was what mattered.

She’d asked when they first arrived to use her cell phone, but the locals refused. From the abbreviated call in the car, Malone had most likely realized they were in trouble. So hopefully he’d send help. Never had she been in this kind of situation before, so its resolution was not all that clear. Apparently, Daniels harbored no worries.

She stood, walked over, and shook him awake.

“What the—” he said, rousing from his snooze.

“You’re snoring.”

He sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “I don’t do that.”

“If you say so.”

He checked his watch.

“You have to be somewhere?” she asked.

“No, Your Highness. It’s just that things should be happening about now.”

“Care to explain?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Not really.”

“You being Speed Racer got us into this mess.”

“And how do you know about
Speed Racer
? That show was on back in the ’60s. How old are you?”

She did not answer him. Instead she said, “Why not just hire the cab to take us where we wanted to go? Why steal a car? Then drive like an idiot. You could have hurt someone.”

He sat back against the wall. “You need to go home, get your calculator, and chase tax evaders. This line of work is not for you.”

“I get the job done,” she said. “And without causing so much trouble. It’s not necessary.”

He stared at her with eager eyes. “I wish it weren’t. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. We can only hope Kim didn’t get away.”

On that he was right. The documents had to be found. Those were her orders. But to do that she had to find Cotton Malone. Which did not seem like an easy task. And thanks to the wiseass sitting across the cell from her, Malone may be the only lead left.

Metal doors opened beyond the bars and she saw a man in a damp suit enter the holding area. He was middle-aged with a balding head, an untidy mustache, and a bow tie. He walked alone, the doors closing behind him. He approached the cell and introduced himself as a deputy attaché with the American embassy.

“I drove down from Zagreb,” the man said.

Daniels stood. “About time, we’ve got things to do.”

“The charges against you are quite serious. The Croats want to prosecute.”

“And I want to win the lottery, but neither one of those is goin’ to happen.”

“There’s no need to be obstinate,” the man said.

She couldn’t resist. “You should see him when he really gets mad.”

Daniels chuckled. “Real cute. Look, we’re on a mission, dispatched through the Justice Department for me, Treasury for her. Were you advised?”

Their savior nodded. “Oh, yes, I received a briefing from the secretary of state himself. He told me to get you out of here immediately.”

“Then why are we talking through these bars?”

She wanted to know, “What about Cotton Malone? Do you know anything about him?”

The man nodded. “I just spent the last half hour with Mr. Malone.”

Now she was interested. At least she knew Malone was nearby. “Where is he?”

“At the American Corner. It’s within the city library, not far.”

He explained that the corner comprised a collection of books and DVDs about American life, history, and society. There were eight such repositories scattered around Croatia, the first ever opened here in Zadar. The host library provided shelf space, utilities, an Internet connection, and an on-site coordinator. The embassy contributed a television, DVD player, and several computers.

“It’s a way local people can learn about us firsthand, on their own. I helped set the program up.”

“I can see you’re proud,” Daniels said. “But can you get us out of here.”

The man nodded. “Of course. Mr. Malone said I was to bring you straight to him at the library.”

Something was bothering her. “You said the secretary of state called you personally?”

He nodded and produced his cell phone. “Right on this. Quite exciting, actually. The embassy is two hours away in Zagreb, but I was already on the way here to Zadar for the day on other business. The secretary told me to first contact Mr. Malone and take him to the library, then come straight here.”

His tone was curt and precise, straight to the point, which she liked.

But his directness clearly irritated Daniels.

Which she also liked.

“The charges are all being dropped,” the envoy said. “We’ll make restitution to the cabdriver for his vehicle, along with a little extra to compensate for his trouble. Luckily, no one was hurt, which will make this much easier to handle.”

“And my phone?” Daniels asked.

“Oh, I’m glad you reminded me.”

He fished two units from his jacket pocket and handed them through the bars. “For both of you.”

“I need to make a call,” Daniels said.

“They don’t work in here,” the envoy noted. “It’s a police station, you know.”

“Then get us out.”

She agreed. The quicker she rid herself of Luke Daniels the better. Now that she knew where Malone was located, she’d get there herself and talk to him directly. Hopefully, he had the documents, or at least knew where they were located.

“The officers will be right along to open the cell.”

“Thank you,” she said, offering a smile. “Mr. Daniels and I are not meant to be kept so close together. I’m anxious to be on my way.”

“But that’s not possible,” the envoy said.

She saw the comment grabbed Daniels’ attention, too. “What do you mean? Let her be on her way, by all means.”

“I was told to bring Ms. Schaefer along. She was not to go off on her own. Those were my orders.”

She wanted to know, “From who?”

“The secretary of state said those came directly from the president of the United States.”

FORTY-TWO

W
ASHINGTON
, DC

10:30
A
.
M
.

Stephanie examined the cache inside a closed room with the secretary of Treasury, who’d brought out everything Paul Larks had supposedly copied.

“Joe, you have to explain. Why was this stuff classified? It’s a bunch of nothing.”

He shrugged. “That’s a good question. But the decision to classify was made by other people a long time ago. I assume they had their reasons.”

“Is this everything Larks took?”

He nodded. “It’s all there. That’s it.”

She knew he was lying. Cotton had briefed her on what he’d learned at his end, including the presence of a 1913 solicitor general memo and an original crumpled sheet with numbers that Paul Larks had stolen.

Neither was here.

“Joe, I’m going to assume that you’re trying to help. That whatever is going on is so bad you want to protect the president, protect the country.” She paused. “But you have to stop lying to me.”

He seemed to sense something from her tone. “What do you know?”

“My man on the scene has learned a lot.”

“Far more than my eyes and ears.”

She waited.

“It’s bad,” he muttered. “Real bad. There could be a problem with the 16th Amendment. What Howell wrote in that book? It’s amazingly close to the truth.”

“Tell me about the original sheet Larks stole. With the numbers on it.”

“It’s the problem.”

“I need more.”

He stood. “Follow me.”

They left the room and walked down a long hall to a set of double doors marked
PRIVATE
. People milled back and forth, as the Tuesday work morning had begun in earnest. After speaking with Cotton she’d left the hotel and come straight here. Any briefing of the president would wait until she knew more. Cotton had been right, a lot of things had gone wrong on his end. And things were rapidly deteriorating on her side, too.

But there might be a way to turn it all around.

Past the double doors were fewer people. She’d never been in this part of the building before. But she could only remember coming to Treasury once. Before this encounter, the department had not figured prominently into Billet business. The Secret Service handled most of its covert needs. The secretary led her to another closed door that he unlocked with a metal key he carried. Inside was a small workroom with a table and chairs. Files were stacked in neat rows, some of the paper lying scattered. A shredder sat next to the table.

“This is where I’ve been working on all this,” he said. “Ever since Larks let the cat out of the bag. This is every piece of paper from our archives that even remotely mentions anything associated with what we’re dealing with. I had my agent Isabella Schaefer, the one who is now in Italy, assemble it.”

She approached the table and waited for him to explain.

He closed and locked the door. “The problem is, we don’t have a copy of that original Larks stole. Once he left for Europe, we seized Larks’ home computer and searched his email accounts. There was nothing in either. We’ve only been listening in on Larks’ calls for the past three weeks. We know there were a lot of communications to Howell prior to that. We only know that crumpled sheet is important thanks to a memo Henry Morgenthau wrote to FDR. That we do have. It was located in a set of classified files Larks did not examine. And thank goodness he didn’t. If he’d taken that, we might not know anything.”

“Has your agent reported in?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She told him about what had happened with the police in Croatia and how she’d had the White House intervene. Edwin Davis had handled things with the Croatian government, and the secretary of state sent a representative to Zadar to secure the release of both agents.

“Ms. Schaefer has been indisposed,” she told him. “I had the White House order her to go with my man. I hope you don’t mind, but it seemed better to keep them all together.”

He nodded. “Of course, I understand. This is your game now.”

“Not entirely. I still don’t know what you know.”

“Are you sure you want to?”

She had no choice. “Tell me.”

He reached down to the table, lifted one of the papers, and handed it to her. She saw that it was a memorandum from Secretary of Treasury Henry Morgenthau to Franklin Roosevelt, dated December 5, 1944. Across the top, in large type were the words
FOR THE PRESIDENT’S EYES ONLY.

I have the answer to the questions you posed last week. I had agents interview several current and former employees of Treasury, people who were there in the 1920s. We learned that in 1925 former secretary Mellon was interested in a possible financial claim that the heirs of Haym Salomon may have against the United States. Congress, at the time, was considering some form of repayment and made a formal inquiry to Treasury as to any documentation that may exist in our archives. There were, in fact, documents. These were removed and given directly to Secretary Mellon. Those documents were never returned and remain unaccounted for. If you would like a personal briefing, I can provide one on the Salomon claim. Because of its sensitive nature, I would prefer not to commit those thoughts to writing.

I remain troubled by what you told me concerning Secretary Mellon’s actions on December 31, 1936. This quest he left for you to decipher is not only insulting, it borders on treason. This country is now at war and we cannot afford to have anything jeopardize the efficient operation of government. It’s vital we maintain a strong and decisive posture. Mellon’s comments that whatever he left could be “the end of you” is disturbing. The dollar bill you showed me and the anagram of letters is particularly troubling. Is that a coincidence? If so, it’s one only Mellon seems to have been cognizant of. But the reference to “tyrannical aristocrat” is not hard to decipher. I am a student of history and those words were once uttered by George Mason, from Virginia, one of several delegates who refused to sign the Constitution in Philadelphia. Which would also explain the significance of the word Mason formed by the six-pointed star. The crumpled page of numbers you showed me is definitely a code. I would suggest having our cryptographers examine it.