The Lincoln Myth (Cotton Malone 9)

He said, “At the moment it seems we have a standoff. Just you and me. Why don’t we make the most of it?”

CASSIOPEIA STEPPED THROUGH THE GATE AND CAREFULLY SHUT the iron grille. Josepe’s two men waited outside, out of view. Though they were clearly ready to help, this she had to do alone.

The crypt surrounding her was small, only a few graves visible in the darkness. A soft orange glow, which acted as a night-light, illuminated a Baroque crucifix. To its right and left, painted on six wooden panels, she saw a danse macabre of medieval paintings. Above one, where it appeared Death toted a basket of bones, was written huc fessa reponite membra.

She translated.

Here are buried the tired limbs.

Below was another painted inscription, in German, which she also translated.

After a holy life and good works

Just remember,

You will gently rest.

Really? She wasn’t so sure about that.

She tried to live a good life, but it seemed little reward ever came her way. Instead, it was one problem after another. She was actually tired of the battles, longing for some peace and stability. She thought that falling in love might be a step in the right direction. Unfortunately she fell for another wayward soul, Cotton’s spirit seemingly as free as her own.

Which had probably been part of the attraction.

On both sides.

But that was also a liability.

A set of risers cut a path straight up into the rock. Worry was not improving her ill-temper. A cold draft of night air brushed the floor and touched her ankles. A few deep breaths calmed her. The darkness offered courage, but no wisdom.

She carefully began the ascent.

SALAZAR STAYED CALM. NO MATTER HOW MUCH BRAVADO Cotton Malone showed, he doubted he was in physical danger. He was merely one of a thousand secondary officials in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Unlikely the U.S. government was here to assassinate him. But that didn’t mean the situation wasn’t perilous. He’d already noticed that Malone had relieved one of the Danites of his weapon, as he recognized the pistol aimed at him. All of his men carried the same make and model. Guns were a passion. He loved them, and had all of his life. His father taught him about weapons and how to respect them. On his own, though, he’d mastered how to use them for the good of the church.

“It’s interesting,” he said, “that your superiors sent you here to confront me with so little information. Seems you would know the connection among those six American states.”

“You’d be surprised how much I know.”

And he did not like the look of confidence on his captor’s face.

“My guess,” Malone said, “is you’re the one who’s curious. You want to know how and why we’re so interested in you. Get ready. You’re going to find out the answer to that real soon.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I wonder,” Malone said. “Does the current prophet know about your merry little band of Danites? I can’t imagine he would sanction that. The Mormon Church has come a long way since its beginnings. The need for such extremes has long passed.”

“I’m not so sure about that. My church has been the subject of much abuse and persecution. We have suffered through insults, like the ones you delivered earlier, violence, even death. And we’ve survived all of that by not being weak.”

He was stalling, giving his men time to act—which, he hoped, they were doing. “I twice underestimated you, Mr. Malone.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I won’t a third time.”

CASSIOPEIA STEPPED FROM THE SHADOWS, JUST OUTSIDE THE doorway leading into what appeared to be a chapel.

Four steps and she was directly behind Cotton.

She pressed her weapon into his spine and said, “Drop the gun.”

MALONE FROZE.

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” Cassiopeia made clear.

He decided that he had no choice.

The gun clattered on the floor.

Salazar retrieved the weapon, finger on the trigger, and immediately raised it to Malone’s forehead. “I should shoot you here and now. You killed three of my employees. Kidnapped me, demanding answers to your questions. The U.S. government has no right to be doing any of this.”

Rage filled Salazar’s eyes.

“You killed an American agent,” Malone said.

“Liar,” Salazar screamed. “I killed no one.”

The black dot of the gun barrel remained in his face.

But he’d faced one before and did not flinch.

“No, Josepe,” Cassiopeia said, coming around to where Malone could see her. “No violence. I came to end this.”

“He is evil,” Salazar said.

“But killing him would be equally as bad.”

Salazar lowered the weapon, his expression one of disgust. “Of course. You’re correct. I have done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.”

Malone wondered how long Cassiopeia had been outside the chapel. Had she heard Salazar’s tacit confession? Perhaps Salazar was wondering the same thing. Which would explain his show.

Cassiopeia stepped to the altar and retrieved the book. “This belongs to us.”

She handed the box to Salazar, who said, “Tell your superiors, Mr. Malone, that I thank them for the purchase.”

“So stealing is okay?”

Salazar threw him a smile. “Under the circumstances, I would say no. We’ll call it partial compensation for what I owe you.”

He caught the meaning.

They headed for the doorway.

Cassiopeia backed away, her gun aimed on him.

His eyes never wavered from her, either. “You going to shoot me?”

“If you don’t stay here, until we’re gone, I’ll do just that. I haven’t forgotten your insults. To me. To him. To our religion. I believe in restraint. But if pushed, I will shoot you.”

And she left.

MALONE STOOD IN THE SILENCE. HE HAD NO INTENTION OF following. Cassiopeia had ended the confrontation her way.

And that was as far as it could go.

He stepped from the chapel into a small foyer hewn from the rock, and approached a rectangular opening in the outer wall. No glass filled the window. A gray-yellow amorphous quarter moon hid behind scattered cloud cover. Below, he saw the silent forms of Cassiopeia, Salazar, and the two Danites as they retreated from the graveyard, heading back into town. He felt angry, betrayed, disillusioned, bitter, and, more than anything else, foolish. He’d confronted Salazar with no real purpose, other than to pick a fight.

Not his style.

He usually never made a threat he could not back up. But this time had been different. The president of the United States had wanted Salazar hassled. What just happened certainly qualified.

The four shadows disappeared into the night.

One of whom he loved.

Now what?

Hell if he knew.

CASSIOPEIA ENTERED THE GOLDENER HIRSCH, THE GUN BACK in the possession of the younger man. She’d learned that both were staying on the third floor in a room down the hall from Josepe’s. She was one floor below them in a spacious suite. Josepe handed over the book to his associates then excused them, escorting her to her door. She inserted the key. He gently grasped her arm and drew her close.

“I want you to know that I have hurt no one. That allegation was false and malicious.”

“I know, Josepe. That’s not you.”

“Did you mean what you said? About our religion and that he insulted us?”

“Every word.”

Lying was becoming far too easy for her.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I have skills, Josepe, that may be of assistance to you.”

“That I can see.”

“I’ve been involved with several high-profile investigations. I can handle myself in … difficult situations.”

“I saw that, too.”

“The important thing is that you now have the book and he did not win. Whatever else exists between you and Malone and the Americans, I’m here if you want my help.”

He appraised her with careful eyes. She could almost hear his thoughts as he considered the reasons why he should not trust her.