“On that he was smart. He wanted the gallery to grow, to acquire many works of art from varied sources. He thought collectors would be more willing to donate to something recognized as the nation’s as a whole, rather than a single individual’s. And he was right. We’ve acquired an enormous number of objects thanks to the fact that this is the national gallery.”
She asked, “What happened when he died?”
“He was at his daughter’s home on Long Island. The cancer had taken a toll, but he remained focused on getting this building started. Construction had begun in June, but he died August 26, 1937. A few days later, there was a massive funeral in Pittsburgh.”
She could see that Carol Williams was a true fan, and she had to admit, “He left quite a legacy. This is an amazing place. Those children, there, seem to find it fascinating.”
“Tens of thousands come every year.”
“When did Mellon learn he was dying?”
Carol thought about the question for a moment, then said, “November 1936. He was immediately given radium and X-ray treatments, which drained him.”
Which meant that when Mellon met with FDR on New Year’s Eve, he knew he was terminal.
He said he’d be waiting for me.
“Have you ever visited his grave site in Pittsburgh?” she asked.
“That’s not where’s he’s buried.”
That caught her attention. “I just assumed that since the funeral was there—”
“The entire family lies together. Mr. Mellon, his son, daughter, and their mother, Nora, his ex-wife. All four of them in one place. A bit ironic since none of them were particularly close in life. Mr. Mellon and his ex-wife divorced thirty years before he died, and not in an amicable way. Paul and his father barely got along. Brother and sister weren’t much better. But in death, there they are, side by side, forever.”
She smiled at the irony. “And where is this family reunion?”
“Upperville, Virginia. At the Trinity Episcopal Church. It’s a small grassy graveyard surrounded by a stone wall.”
The schoolchildren continued to enjoy the fountain. She had several more questions, but they became unimportant as a man entered the garden court. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie.
The same outfit from Atlanta, if she was not mistaken.
He walked straight toward her.
Chick-fil-A Man.
FORTY-SEVEN
CROATIA
6:10 P.M.
Isabella was ambivalent toward Cotton Malone. He seemed the same arrogant, self-absorbed alpha male that she dealt with day in and day out. To him she was surely unimportant—first, because she was a woman, and second, because she worked for Treasury, as opposed to the CIA, NSA, or some other agency with jurisdiction outside the United States. But she’d been on this trail long before anyone from the Magellan Billet had ever heard of the problem, and she knew more about it than anyone else.
She’d left the American Corner and retreated to the library’s café, now nursing a cup of green tea. Coffee had never interested her, nor had drugs or cigarettes. A glass of wine? Now, that was something she could enjoy, and she did, alone, in her apartment, most nights after coming home from work. She never drank with her superiors or colleagues, preferring to always maintain her wits in their presence. Some of her fellow female agents thought differently, not realizing that no matter how much they tried they’d never be “one of the boys.”
Few people occupied the tables, the library quiet on this rainy afternoon. She sat with her fingers clasped behind her head, lost in her hair, one leg drawn up, knee in the air. Her gaze was locked out beyond the glass walls.
From down one of the corridors Malone appeared.
He entered the café, walked straight to her, and asked, “May I sit down?”
She nodded and appreciated him asking.
“I get it,” he said. “This is your baby. You’ve been on this from the start. And then we come in and take over.”
“The secretary of Treasury himself assigned me. I’ve searched the classified archives. I’ve been to state capitols researching records. You have no idea.”
“Actually, I do. I think I’ve figured this out. That crumpled sheet of paper is going to lead us to proof that the 16th Amendment may have been void from the start. Even worse, it’s fraud since the government knew the amendment may have been improperly ratified, but went ahead with it anyway. Kim is going to use that to bring us and the Chinese down in one shot.”
He actually did understand. And since he knew it all, she felt free to say, “I’ll tell you now, there are problems associated with ratification. It’s serious. I’ve seen those problems firsthand in state records. But I get the program. You guys are the big boys, and I’m just from Treasury—”
“Bullshit. You’re a trained agent. A damn good one I’m told.”
“Who was body-blocked into the water by a federal fugitive.”
He chuckled. “If you only knew some of the crap that’s happened to me. And besides, I’m the one who really screwed up here. I let Kim get his hands on those documents.”
That he had, but she appreciated his admission.
“Did the president really order me here?” she asked.
He nodded. “Absolutely. I told him I wanted you to stay with this. We need your help.”
“Luke thinks I’m a pain in the ass.”
“You should hear what he says about me.”
“I have. He actually respects the hell out of you. He won’t say it, but it’s clear.”
“I was told charm was not your specialty.”
“But it apparently is yours.”
And she meant it.
“I didn’t come here to play you,” he said. “I came to ask for your help. That was good thinking in there about the Beale cipher. You may be on target.”
She wondered about all this mea culpa. “How did you figure this out?”
“I’ve talked to Stephanie Nelle. Things are happening in DC. Your boss and mine are now working together. This is a joint operation that’s about to get complicated. The Chinese and North Koreans are both involved. They want what Kim is after, then they want Kim dead. Like I said, I need your help.”
She gestured with her tea. “Want me to keep your coffee cup full? Make sure there are snacks for everyone?”
“Is it that bad?” he asked. “Do you get that much lack of respect? ’Cause I have to tell you, I worked twelve years for the Magellan Billet and the women there were just as good, just as tough, just as smart as any man. Most times, they were better. Never once have I ever treated a female agent different from a male. I’d never even consider doing that.”
She was beginning to think that she may have misjudged this man.
“What I need,” he said, “is for you to play with the team. This isn’t a job for the Lone Ranger anymore. It’s going to take a combined effort and you have a luxury that I don’t enjoy. Kim doesn’t know you exist. Luke, either. That means you both are going to have to take point. Can you handle that?”
Now she knew exactly why he’d come. To judge for himself if she was up to the job. She wanted in, of that she was sure, so much that she was willing to give this man the benefit of the doubt. “I can do it.”
“That’s what I want to hear. And besides, I owe you one.”
She was curious.
“You kept watch over me in Larks’ room while I was out cold. You wanted me to think you hung around just to chew me out, but you were also making sure no one came back for a second look.”
That she had. Agents did that for one another.
“Thanks,” he said. “Now tell me about Kim’s daughter, the one you failed to mention in Larks’ room after I woke up.”
“You understand why I kept that to myself.”
He nodded. “I would have done the same thing. I was a stranger, an unknown. You just wanted me out of the picture.”
“Her name is Hana Sung. She’s North Korean, early twenties, black hai
r, short, pretty. We know little to nothing about her, other than she’s illegitimate, but most of Kim’s children fall into that category. She boarded the cruise ship with him and shadowed Larks most of the time.”
“I never made her.”
“It would have been impossible. She kept her distance and faded into the other Koreans on board. I wouldn’t have made her, either, except that we had some intel that alerted us to be on the lookout for her, including a picture.”
“You knew she killed Larks?”
She shrugged. “Either her or Kim. Who else could it be?”
“The North Koreans are some of the most ruthless agents in the world. You’re going to have to keep your eyes and ears open, ’cause they can come from anywhere. Don’t get yourself killed, okay?”
She could see that his warning was genuine, and she appreciated it. “I’ll watch out. What do you have in mind?”
He stood. “Drink your tea and relax a bit. There’s not going to be much time for rest in the hours ahead.”
She watched as he left the café, her opinion of Harold Earl “Cotton” Malone quite different than a few minutes ago. Silence returned and she allowed the calm to soothe her nerves. Here she was, right in the middle of an international intelligence operation. Chinese? North Koreans? Luke Daniels was right. This was far different from what she was accustomed to handling.
But she liked it.
FORTY-EIGHT
WASHINGTON, DC
Stephanie stood from the bench and faced the man from Treasury. She kept her cool and asked, “Are you following me?”
He did not answer, and she understood why.
She looked down at Carol Williams and said, “Could you excuse us? I appreciate your time. I’ll give you a call if I need more information.”
The young curator left.
“New friend?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“I wish that were true. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. I told you back in Atlanta that you should leave things to us.”