Footsteps.
Coming his way.
RAMSEY LEFT HIS CAR AND HUSTLED THROUGH THE COLD, ENTERING naval intelligence's main administrative building. He was not required to pass through any security checkpoint. Instead a lieutenant from his staff waited at the door. On the walk to his office, he received his usual morning briefing.
Hovey was waiting in his office. "Wilkerson's body has been found."
"Tell me."
"In Munich, near Olympic Park. Shot in the head."
"You should be pleased."
"Good riddance."
But Ramsey wasn't as thrilled. The conversation with Isabel Oberhauser still weighed on his mind.
"Do you want me to authorize payment to the contract help who handled the job?"
"Not yet." He'd already called overseas. "I have them doing something else, in France, at the moment."
CHARLIE SMITH SAT INSIDE SHONEY'S AND FINISHED HIS BOWL OF grits. He loved them, especially with salt and three pats of butter. He hadn't slept much. Last night was a problem. Those two had come for him.
He'd fled the house and parked a few miles down the highway. He'd spotted an ambulance rushing to the scene and followed it to a hospital on the outskirts of Charlotte. He'd wanted to go inside, but decided against the move. Instead he'd returned to his hotel and tried to sleep.
He would have to call Ramsey shortly. The only acceptable report was that all three targets had been eliminated. Any hint of a problem and Smith would find himself a target. He taunted Ramsey, took advantage of their long-standing relationship, exploited his successes, all because he knew Ramsey needed him.
But that would change in an instant if he failed.
He checked his watch.
6:15 AM.
He had to risk it.
He'd noticed a phone outside, so he paid his bill and made the call. When the hospital's menu was recited in his ear, he selected the option for patient information. Since he did not know the room number, he waited until an operator came on the line.
"I need to find out about Herbert Rowland. He's my uncle and was brought in last night."
He was told to hold a moment, then the woman came back. "We're sorry to say that Mr. Rowland died shortly after arriving."
He feigned shock. "That's horrible."
The woman offered her condolences. He thanked her, hung up, and exhaled a sigh of relief.
That was close.
He grabbed his composure, found his cell phone, and dialed a familiar number. When Ramsey answered he cheerfully said, "Three for three. Batting a thousand, as usual."
"I'm so glad you take pride in your work."
"We aim to please."
"Then please me once more. The fourth one. You have the okay. Do it."
MALONE LISTENED. SOMEBODY WAS BOTH BEHIND AND AHEAD OF him. He kept low and darted into one of the rooms that opened off the gallery, this one, he saw, with walls and a ceiling. He pressed his spine taut against the inner wall, adjacent to the doorway. Darkness exaggerated the room's shadowy corners. He was twenty feet from the church entrance.
More footsteps.
From back down the gallery, away from the church.
He gripped the gun and waited.
Whoever was there kept approaching. Had they seen him slip inside? Apparently not, as they made no effort to mask their steps through the brittle snow. He readied himself and cocked his head, using peripheral vision to watch the doorway. The footsteps were now on the opposite side of the wall against which he was pressed.
A form appeared, walking toward the church.
He pivoted and grabbed for a shoulder, swinging the gun around and whirling whoever it was into the outer wall, the gun jammed into ribs.
Shock stared back.
A man.
FIFTY-FIVE
CHARLOTTE, 6:27 AM
STEPHANIE MADE A CALL TO MAGELLAN BILLET HEADQUARTERS and requested some information on Dr. Douglas Scofield. She and Davis were alone. Half an hour ago two Secret Service agents had arrived and brought with them a secure laptop, which Davis commandeered. The agents were ordered to take custody of Herbert Rowland, who was being moved into a new room under another name. Davis had spoken with the hospital administrator and obtained her cooperation in announcing that Rowland had died. Surely somebody was going to check. Sure enough, the patient information operator had already reported a call twenty minutes ago-from a male who identified himself as a nephew-inquiring into Rowland's condition.
"That should make him happy," Davis said. "I doubt our killer will risk a trip inside. To make sure, there'll be an obituary in the paper. I've told the agents to explain it all to the Rowlands and get their cooperation."
"A bit rough on friends and family," she said.
"It'll be rougher if the guy realizes his mistake and comes back to finish what he started."
The laptop signaled an incoming e-mail. Stephanie clicked open the message from her office:
Douglas Scofield is a professor of anthropology at East Tennessee State University. He was associated with the navy from 1968 to 1972 on a contract basis, his activities classified. Access is possible but will leave a trail, so it wasn't done as you indicated silence on these inquiries. His published works are numerous. Besides the usual anthropological journals, he writes for New Age and occult magazines. A quick Internet check revealed subject matters that include Atlantis, UFOs, ancient astronauts, and paranormal events. He's the author of Maps of Ancient Explorers (1986), a popular account of how cartography may have been influenced by lost cultures. He is currently attending a conference in Asheville, North Carolina, titled Ancient Mysteries Revealed. Being held at the Inn on Biltmore Estate. About 150 registered. He's one of the organizers and a featured speaker. Seems an annual event, as this is billed as the fourteenth conference.
"He's the only one left," Davis said. He'd been reading over her shoulder. "Asheville's not far from here."
She knew what he was thinking. "You're not serious."
"I'm going. You can come if you want. He needs to be approached."
"Then send the Secret Service."
"Stephanie, the last thing we need is a show of force. Let's just go and see where it leads."
"Our friend from last night may be there, too."
"We can only hope."
Another ding singled an answer to her second inquiry, so she opened the reply and read:
The navy leases warehouse space at Fort Lee, Virginia. They have since World War II. Presently, they control three buildings. Only one is high security and contains a refrigerated compartment installed in 1972. Access is restricted by numeric code and fingerprint verification through Office of Naval Intelligence. I managed to view its visitor log stored on the navy's database. Interestingly, it's not classified. Only one non-Fort Lee personnel entered during the last 180 days. Admiral Langford Ramsey, yesterday.
"Still want to argue with me?" Davis asked. "You know I'm right."
"All the more reason for us to get help."
Davis shook his head. "The president won't let us."
"Wrong. You won't let us."
Davis' face conveyed challenge and submission. "I have to do this. Maybe you have to do it now, too. Remember, Malone's father was on that boat."
"Which Cotton should know."
"Let's get him some answers first."
"Edwin, you could have been killed last night."
"But I wasn't."
"Revenge is the quickest way to get yourself killed. Why don't you let me handle this? I have agents."
They remained alone in a small conference room the hospital administrator had provided.
"That's not going to happen," he said.
She could see arguing was pointless. Forrest Malone had been on that sub-and Davis was right, that was enough incentive for her.
She shut down the laptop and stood.
"I'd say we have about a three-hour ride to Asheville."
"WHO ARE YOU?" MALONE ASKED THE MAN.
/> "You scared me to death."
"Answer my question."
"Werner Lindauer."
He made the connection. "Dorothea's husband?"
The man nodded. "My passport's in my pocket."
No time for that. He withdrew the gun and yanked his captive back into the side room, out of the gallery. "What are you doing here?"
"Dorothea walked here three hours ago. I came to see about her."
"How did she find this place?"
"You apparently don't know Dorothea that well. She doesn't explain herself. Christl is here, too."
That, he had expected. He'd waited in the hotel, believing she either knew of this place or would locate it the same way he'd managed.
"She came up here before Dorothea."
He turned his attention back into the cloister. Time to see what was inside the church. He motioned with the gun. "You first. To the right and into that doorway at the end."