The Lincoln Myth (Cotton Malone 9)

The woman threw him a look, as she realized her lost opportunity. He nearly smiled. Even in supposed highbrow accommodations with centuries-old traditions, money talked.

He’d stayed at the Goldener Hirsch before and knew that its restaurant was on the ground floor, on the opposite side of the building. He followed a narrow corridor through arches, past the bar, to its entrance. Once a blacksmith’s shop, it was now regarded as Salzburg’s swankiest place to eat, though he imagined there were other establishments that might challenge the assertion. Austrians tended to dine after seven o’clock, so the clothed tables with sparkling china and crystal were empty.

Except for one, near the center.

Where Salazar sat facing toward him and Cassiopeia away.

He stayed short of the doorway, concealing himself, and studied the Spaniard.

Whatever he chose to do next came with risk.

But he’d come this far.

SALAZAR WAS PLEASED.

He and Cassiopeia had flown by private jet from Denmark to Salzburg, then checked into their suites. The auction was set to begin at 7:00 P.M., so they’d decided to have an early dinner. The event was to be held within the Hohensalzburg, a grim hulk of a fortress resting 120 meters above the city on a pine-clad granite mound. The castle was first built in the 11th century, but another six hundred years had been needed for its completion. Today it was a museum and tourist attraction that offered lovely panoramas. He thought a walk along its parapets before the auction would be perfect, especially considering the evening’s clear skies and seasonable air.

Cassiopeia looked lovely. She’d chosen a black silk pantsuit, low heels, moderate jewelry, and a gold belt that wrapped loosely around her trim waist. He had to catch himself from noticing her décolletage, framed by a low-cut blouse. Her dark hair hung in curled layers past her shoulders, her face cast in muted tones from only a touch of color. Some of the auctions he attended were formal affairs. This one tonight not so much, but he was glad that she’d nonetheless dressed for the occasion.

“Would it be inappropriate to say that you look stunning?”

She smiled. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

He’d asked the waiter to give them a few moments before offering anything to drink.

“We have time for a leisurely dinner,” he said. “Then I thought we’d take the funicular up the mountainside to the castle. It’s the easiest way to get there.”

“That sounds perfect. Is the book the only thing you’re after at the auction?”

They’d discussed the sale on the plane. The greatest acquisition any collector of Saints’ artifacts could hope for was an original Book of Mormon. An 1830 American edition had been found among the personal effects of an Austrian who’d recently died. Auctions and private sales had been how most of his collection had been acquired, only a few items gifts or heirlooms. He’d known of this sale for some time, wanting to come, then the appearance of the Americans had added a new purpose.

The first agent in the cell had proven tight-lipped.

The second stole his plane and escaped.

The third was some sort of bookseller, working with his enemy, who killed at least two of his men.

And just now entered the restaurant.

Thank you.

“You’re welcome,” the angel said.

MALONE CAUGHT JOSEPE SALAZAR’S INTENSE SCRUTINY. BUT IF the Spaniard recognized him, nothing in the man’s countenance betrayed the fact. The brown eyes remained expressionless. The Danites had surely reported his involvement, but that did not mean Salazar knew his face.

He approached and Salazar said, “May I help you?”

He slid a wooden chair from the adjacent table and, not waiting for an invitation, sat at their table.

“Name’s Cotton Malone.”

CASSIOPEIA HAD BEEN IN TIGHT SPOTS, A FEW EVEN LIFE threatening, but she could not recall one more uncomfortable than this. Her first thought was wondering how Cotton had managed to be here, in Austria, at the Goldener Hirsch. The second was if Stephanie knew. Surely not. Or she would have warned her of the possibility, especially considering the consequences. The third was guilt. Had she betrayed Cotton? Did he think she had? What did he know?

“Is your name supposed to mean something to me?” Josepe asked.

“It should.”

“I’ve never met anyone with the name Cotton. I’m sure there’s a story there. Am I right?”

“A long one.”

She noticed that Cotton had not offered his hand to shake, and she did not like the hard look in his green eyes.

“And who are you?” he asked her.

“I’m not sure that matters, considering that neither one of us seems to know who you are.”

She kept her voice curt.

Face cold.

“I’M AN AGENT FOR THE U.S. JUSTICE DEPARTMENT,” MALONE said.

He hadn’t said those words in four years, not since he tendered his resignation and moved to Denmark.

“Is that said to frighten me?” Cassiopeia asked.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to excuse us. I’m here to talk with Mr. Salazar.”

“Are you telling me to mind my own business?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It might be better if you waited outside.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Salazar said, a definite edge to his voice.

Keeping her here was fine by him. He’d missed seeing her. Hearing her voice. But, like her, he had to stay in character, so he asked, “Are you the lady’s protector?”

“What is your business with me?” Salazar asked.

He considered the question a moment, shrugged, and said, “Okay. If you want her here, then we’ll do this your way. Things have changed. Our investigation of you is no longer covert. It’s wide open, in your face. And I’m here to get the job done.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“Should I have the hotel call the police?” Cassiopeia asked Salazar.

“No, I can handle this.” Salazar faced him. “Mr. Malone, I have no idea what you are talking about. Are you saying the U. S. Justice Department is investigating me? If so, that is news. But if that is true, I have lawyers who look after my interests. If you’ll leave your card, I’ll have them contact you.”

“I don’t like lawyers or Mormons,” he said. “I especially don’t like hypocritical Mormons.”

“We are accustomed to both ignorance and bigotry.”

He chuckled. “That’s a good one. If the person is stupid, they won’t even get that you insulted them. If smart, they’ll get angry. Either way, you win. They teach you that in cult school?”

This time, no reply.

“Isn’t that where all Mormons go to learn the party line? Out in Temple Land. Salt Lake City. What are you taught? Just smile, be cool, and tell everyone Jesus loves them. Of course, Jesus will love you even more if you become a Mormon. Read the Book of Mormon and all will be right. Otherwise, you might just freeze to death in the outer darkness. Isn’t that what you call it?”

“There must be an exile for those who choose to follow Satan, in defiance of Heavenly Father’s plan,” Salazar said. “A place for tortured souls, like yourself.”

The mocking tone of the speech annoyed him. “How about blood atonement? Is that part of the grand plan?”

“You obviously read about my church’s history, matters that happened long ago, in another time. We no longer practice blood atonements.”

He pointed to Cassiopeia, who looked great. “Is she wife number one? Three? Eight?”

“We no longer practice plural marriage, either.”

He was pushing buttons, searching for the right one, but Salazar was maintaining a calm, self-confident demeanor. So he tried another tack and asked Cassiopeia, “You do realize that you’re having dinner with a murderer?”

Salazar sprang to his feet. “That’s enough.”

Finally. The right stimulus.

“Leave,?

?? Salazar demanded.