The Jefferson Key (Cotton Malone 7)

Which meant Hale had grasped the significance of the White House withholding the information and decided to act.

“I need to know more about you and Hale,” Cassiopeia said. “The Secret Service is going to want every detail.”

“It’s not complicated. Quentin is well known in social circles. He’s an avid yachtsman. He participated twice in the America’s Cup. He’s rich, handsome, charming.”

“Does Pauline know about him?”

Kaiser shook her head. “I kept that relationship to myself. There was no need to tell her.”

The cocky attitude had been shed, the voice growing more penitent as the realization of what had happened pounded its way home.

“He used you.”

She could only imagine the emotions churning inside the older woman.

“Ms. Kaiser-”

“Don’t you think we can be Shirley and Cassiopeia? I have a feeling you and I will be seeing more of each other.”

So did she. “I’m going to have to report everything, but it will stay contained. That’s why I’m here and the Secret Service isn’t. I do have a proposition for you. Would you like an opportunity to repay the favor to Hale?”

She’d already been thinking on how to do just that since they now possessed a way to draw Hale from the shadows. What better route than a source he thought his own?

“I’d like that,” Kaiser said. “Truly, I would.”

But something was still bothering her. What Pauline Daniels had said. A friend I don’t want my husband talking to. Pauline was afraid of what Kaiser knew about her. Something that might not remain secret if questions were asked.

And she suddenly realized what that was.

“The First Lady is having an affair. Isn’t she?”

The question did not catch Kaiser off guard. It was as if she’d been expecting it.

“Not exactly. But close enough.”

MALONE STEPPED FROM THE CAR, NOW STOPPED UNDER THE covered entrance of The Jefferson, Richmond, Virginia’s most impressive hotel. The Beaux-Arts-style building, built at the end of the 19th century, sat downtown a few blocks from the state capitol. Its grand lobby was reminiscent of the Gilded Age, highlighted by a white marble statue of Jefferson himself. Malone had stayed there several times. He liked the place. He also liked the strange look the bellman tossed him when he handed over a five-dollar bill and the keys to the bullet-ridden car.

“Soon-to-be-ex-wife found me.”

The guy seemed to understand.

Though it was pushing three AM the front desk was manned and ready. A room was available but, before he headed up, a twenty-dollar tip bought him entrance to the locked business center. Inside, with the door closed, he rubbed his temples, closed his eyes, and tried to empty his mind. His body was drained with fatigue but, even though he understood the risk he was about to take, he had to do it.

He tapped the keyboard and found the email he’d sent to himself.

HALE STARED AT THE ACCUSED TRAITOR. ONE OF ADVENTURE’S crew, a man who’d been with the company for only eight years. Not one of the generationals, but a trusted associate nonetheless. A trial had been immediately convened-presided over, as specified in the Articles, by the quartermaster. Hale, along with the rest of Adventure’s crew, served as jury.

“My contact in the NIA bragged they had a spy among us,” Knox said. “He knew all about today’s execution aboard Adventure.”

“Exactly what do they know?” Hale asked.

“That your accountant is at the bottom of the Atlantic. The names of the crewmen who tossed him, and all the others on board. All of them, yourself included, being guilty of willful murder.”

He saw how those words sent a shiver through the jury, each one of them now implicated. This was justice at its purest. Men who lived, fought, died, and sat in judgment together.

“What say you?” Knox asked the accused. “Do you deny this?”

The man said nothing. But this was not a court of law. No Fifth Amendment privileges existed. Silence could, and would, be used against him.

Knox explained how the prisoner’s marriage was in trouble and he’d turned to another woman who’d become pregnant. He’d offered her money for an abortion, which she refused, telling him she intended on having the baby. She also threatened to inform the wife if he did not support her.

“The NIA offered cash for information,” Knox said. “And this man took it.”

“How do you know that?” one of the crewmen asked.

Questions were encouraged and could be offered at will.

“Because I killed the man who made the deal.” Knox faced the accused. “Scott Parrott. A NIA agent. He’s dead.”

The accused stood stoic.

“I spoke to Parrott at length,” Knox said. “He was gloating about how he knew exactly what we were doing. That’s how he was ready today to stop the attempt on President Daniels’ life. He knew exactly where and when. He was planning on killing me as well, which is why he was so free with information. Fortunately, he failed.”

Hale stared straight at the accused and wanted to know, “Did you sell us out?”

The man bolted for the door.

Two men cut off his escape and tackled him to the floor, where he struggled to get free.

Knox faced the jurors. “Have you seen and heard enough?”

They each nodded.

“The judgment is guilty,” one of them shouted.

Knox asked, “Does anyone object?”

None did.

The prisoner kept struggling, screaming, “No way. This is wrong.”

Hale knew what the Articles provided. To betray the crew, desert, or abandon a battle is punished as the Quartermaster or Majority shall think fit.

“Bring him,” Hale ordered.

The man was yanked to his feet.

This sorry no-good had placed him in an untenable position with Andrea Carbonell. No wonder she’d been so damn smug. She knew it all. Everything he’d anticipated might now be compromised. This man’s death would be excruciating. An example to everyone.

Knox produced a gun.

“What are you doing?” he asked the quartermaster.

“Meting out punishment.”

A panic came over the accused’s face as he realized his fate. He renewed his struggle against the two men restraining him.

“It’s as the quartermaster, or majority, shall think fit,” Hale said, quoting the Articles. “What say the majority?”

He watched as Adventure’s crew took their cue from him and, to a man, echoed, “Whatever you want, Captain,” each grateful that it wasn’t him about to die. Normally, a captain never questioned the quartermaster in front of the crew or vice versa. But this was wartime, when the captain’s word went unquestioned.

“He’ll die at seven AM, with the entire company present.”

THIRTY-SIX

3:14 AM

CASSIOPEIA DROVE AWAY FROM SHIRLEY KAISER’S NEIGHBORHOOD, found an empty shopping mall parking lot, and called the White House.

“You’re not going to like this,” she said to Edwin Davis.

And she told him everything, holding back only the last thing she and Kaiser had discussed.

“This has potential, though,” she said. “We could draw Hale out, if played right.”

“I see that.”

There was a lot more to say, but she was tired, and it could wait. “I’m going to get some sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

A moment of silence passed before Davis said, “I’ll be here.”

She ended the call.

Before she could restart the motorcycle and find a motel the phone dinged again. She checked the display. Cotton. About time.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Just another fun night. I need the Secret Service to run a license plate. But I think I already know who the car belongs to.”

He gave her information for a Maryland tag.