The Lincoln Myth (Cotton Malone 9)

“It may require the theft of the watch.”

“Normally I would say no, but we’re reaching a critical juncture and need answers fast. Do whatever is necessary. But proceed with great caution.”

He understood.

“If it turns out to be a dead end,” Rowans said, “we will regroup in Salt Lake and decide what to do next.”

He abridged a report of what had happened the night before, saying only that he’d been able to determine that the Americans were intently focused on precisely what they were after.

“Though I’m still unclear as to how much they know,” he said.

“I believe I can determine that from this end,” Rowan said. “There’s no need for you to deal with them anymore. Can you slip away?”

“I’ll be in the air in the next two hours.”

CASSIOPEIA SAT IN SILENCE. WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN next? How much worse could this get? A gentle rap brought her back to reality. She opened the door to find Josepe and invited him inside.

“We have to leave,” he said.

She caught the we.

“I need to travel to the United States. Iowa.”

She’d never visited that state before. “Why?”

“That project I told you about for Elder Rowan. There is an artifact I must examine.” He hesitated. “It might be necessary to steal the object, just temporarily, so it can be studied.”

“I can manage that.”

He seemed surprised at her complicity.

“Stealing is a sin,” he said.

“You said you were merely borrowing it for a short time. I assume it will be returned?”

He nodded.

“Then that’s not theft.”

“Elder Rowan says it’s necessary. This mission is of tremendous importance. As you’ve seen, the Americans are trying to stop us. So we need to leave quickly and quietly.”

She wondered about Cotton. He would not give up. And Stephanie. No retreat there, either.

“I’ll tell you more during the flight,” he said. “I promise. It’s another Great Trek. Perhaps the Saints’ greatest journey ever. More exciting than you can imagine.”

The first Great Trek had started in 1847. Wagons, handcarts, and, for many, their own two legs were used to make the thousand-plus-mile trip west. The route along the north bank of the Platte River, over the Continental Divide, through the valley of the Sweet-water River, then into the Salt Lake basin became known as the Mormon Trail. Her father had spoken of it many times with reverence. From 1847 to 1869, 70,000 of the faithful made the journey, each one labeled a pioneer.

He gently grasped her hand. “We, too, are pioneers. But in a new and exciting way. I’ll tell you everything on the way.”

He swept her into his arms and they kissed.

She felt his intensity.

“I love you,” he said.

His eyes confirmed his words.

“I have since we were young,” he said. “Our parting—broke my heart. But I respected your decision. I must confess something. I keep a photograph of us in my house in Spain. I found it a few years ago, after my wife died. When my heart was sad and empty, I found that the picture brought me joy.”

Why was it that every man who showed her interest came with his own assortment of problems? It had started with Josepe and his religion, then continued through a litany of suitors, all of them wonderful in one respect, awful in another. Now she seemed to have come full circle. Back to the beginning. Part of her cared for this man, part was repulsed. And she was not sure which side of her should prevail.

But she had to find out.

“This time I will not force a choice,” he said. “You can decide in your own way and in your own time. That lesson I did learn long ago.”

She appreciated that on a multitude of levels. “Thank you.”

“I need your help,” he said.

“It’s significant that you trust me enough to include me. I won’t let you down.”

He smiled.

“You never have.”

FORTY-EIGHT

SALZBURG

MALONE WAS FOUR HUNDRED FEET ABOVE SALZBURG, ATOP the pine-clad escarpment known as Mönchsberg. The air was cold, his exhales rising in white columns. Hohensalzburg’s gray hulk rose to his right, the local museum of modern art, clad in minimalist white marble, to his left. Beyond the museum stood the Mönchstein—a former castle, now a luxury hotel. Rays from the morning sun blazed off its shiny windows in brilliant reds, golds, and yellows. He knew this mound of rock, made of crushed river stone deposited for eons, liked to fall away in avalanches. One in the 17th century killed a couple hundred townspeople as they slept in their beds. Today there were inspectors who made sure the cliff face remained free of danger, and he’d spotted the mountaineers at work on his way up.

He’d risen early and walked from his hotel, approaching the Goldener Hirsch with caution. High above, among the trees on the Mönchsberg plateau, he’d caught sight of a man keeping watch. He’d thought at first it was simply another early riser, but when the tiny figure never moved from his perch he decided that one of the Danites had decided to make use of the high ground.

The Goldener Hirsch was directly below, the entrance to the restaurant visible, as was a busy boulevard with cars winding a path around the pedestrian-only old town. He assumed the other Danite was watching the hotel’s second entrance onto Getreidegasse.

Tall lime and chestnut trees formed an unbroken canopy above him, providing shade. He’d made his way up using the same footpath as last night, rounding the fortress and walking the quarter mile across the top of the escarpment. Below him, cut through the rock, was the Sigmundstor, a four-hundred-foot-long tunnel with elaborate Baroque portals on both ends. Cars whizzed in and out of the entrance on this side of the Mönchsberg, stopping occasionally at a traffic signal directly in front of the Goldener Hirsch.

Surrounding him was a manicured wilderness park of trees, grass, and shrubs. He’d managed to close within fifty yards of the Danite, close enough to the edge that he could also see below. What happened last night surely had spooked Salazar, so he was apparently taking no chances, his men ready for anything. He was still in the dark as to what was going on, but none of that really mattered anymore.

Cassiopeia was the problem.

Her visit had haunted him.

She was not the same.

The last time they were together, three weeks back, had been so different. They’d spent the weekend in Avignon, enjoying the old city, dining at cafés lining its cobbled streets. They’d stayed in a quaint inn, an iron terrace offering stunning views of the former papal palace. Everything had been wonderful. Just like other times they’d spent together, outside some crisis.

Maybe that was it?

Too many crises.

That he could understand. Like him, Cassiopeia seemed to thrive on adventure.

But at what price?

He huddled close to the trunk of a massive chestnut tree, the young Danite’s attention remaining downward. He, too, glanced out at the city, preparing itself for another busy day. Salzburg was a town of walkers, each seemingly with little time for dawdling.

A siren wailed in the distance.

He spotted the footbridge that led from the old to the new city, spanning the river. He knew what adorned its railings. Tiny locks, all shapes and sizes, each clamped tight to metal fencing. On each was scrawled some form of affection signifying a union of two people. Usually initials joined with and surrounded by hearts. Symbols of love, hundreds of them. A local tradition. Like the way folks in the South carved hearts into trees.

He’d never really understood any of that sentiment—until recently.

He felt a strange uneasiness coupled with a touch of anger. He was glad to be alone, since he was not in a talkative mood. Silence enveloped him, which he welcomed. He liked to think that he wasn’t cynical. More pragmatic.

But maybe he was just a fool.

He thrust his han

ds into his jacket pockets.

Below, he spotted Cassiopeia emerge from the hotel.

Then Salazar.

Behind them came two bellmen carrying their bags.

A car eased from the street and parked in one of the empty spaces facing the hotel.

They both climbed inside.

He heard the growl of an engine nearby and spotted a light-colored Audi negotiating the paved lane that bisected the woods. It was possible to drive to the top from the mound’s far side, the one facing Salzburg’s eastern suburbs. He used the tree for cover and watched as the Danite fled his post and broke into a sprint.

The young man climbed inside and the vehicle sped away.

Seemed everyone was leaving.

No surprise.

Which was why his own bag was packed at his hotel.

STEPHANIE WAITED AS DANNY DANIELS DIGESTED WHAT KATIE had read to them. The implications were beyond dispute. The Founding Fathers had expressly fashioned a way for a state to withdraw from the Union, if that state so desired. But they’d been smart and not included the language in the Constitution. Instead, a separate agreement had been executed that could be used, if needed, to ease any apprehension a ratifying state might have on losing its sovereignty.

What had the Supreme Court said in Texas v. White?

Our conclusion therefore is, that Texas continued to be a State, and a State of the Union, notwithstanding the transactions to which we have referred. And this conclusion, in our judgment, is not in conflict with any act or declaration of any department of the National government.

But it was.

It directly conflicted with the founders themselves.

“The whole convention was held in secret,” the president said. “They changed everything behind closed doors, going against the entire intent of why they were there. That’s bad enough, then they go and do this.”

“The Civil War was fought for nothing,” Katie said. “All those men died for nothing.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked.

“It’s real simple,” the president said. “Lincoln decided the Union was forever. You can’t leave it. No discussion, no debate. He made that call himself. Then he fought a war to prove his point. But guess what. You actually can leave. It’s not forever. Which makes sense. I’ve never believed the founders forged a Union that could never be dissolved. They’d just fought off totalitarianism. Why would they then create a whole new version?”