The 14th Colony (Cotton Malone 11)

A nod.

Give it to me.

Hedlund quickly handed it over.

He found the switch on the side and activated the silent mode. They made their way to the ground floor and he could hear Petrova and Stephanie talking in the study, noting that Petrova had not found what she came for. When Stephanie mentioned that her husband would be back home shortly, that was the code they’d arranged for the next step, if necessary.

Hedlund had to go in.

He grabbed the older man by the arm and led him to the front door, where he breathed, “You have to find out what this woman wants. I’ll have your back from here. Okay? Stephanie will be with you. Like we talked about earlier, just find out what you can without provoking her.” He motioned with the phone he held. “I’ll keep this so there’ll be no interruptions.”

Hedlund nodded. “Should we not call the police?”

“We are the police.”

He grabbed the doorknob and whispered, “You’re home.”

He opened, then slammed shut the front door, immediately seeking refuge inside a nearby closet, where he settled among heavy coats.

“It’s me,” he heard Hedlund say in a loud voice.

* * *

Stephanie realized what was happening. Luke had determined that she wanted Hedlund involved, so he’d made that happen in an inconspicuous way. Good work. But she would have expected no less. She glanced at Petrova, who motioned for her to alert her husband where she was waiting.

“I’m in the library.”

Hedlund appeared in the doorway.

“We have a guest,” she said to him. “This woman is after something from the society. Some book. She won’t say what it might be. She threatened to hurt me if I didn’t cooperate.”

Petrova had the gun concealed behind her thigh, which she now revealed. Shock came to Hedlund’s face.

“Are you all right?” he asked Stephanie, playing along.

“I’m fine. Really. Fine.”

“Enough,” Petrova said, her voice rising. “I need the Tallmadge journal.”

“How do you know of that?” Hedlund asked.

A bold inquiry.

And not part of the plan.

“Not your concern. I need the journal. Where is it?”

“It doesn’t exist. It’s a myth. I’ve certainly heard of it, but I’ve never seen it. And I wonder again how you would know of it. That is something only a few within the society knew about.”

“A long time ago people talked,” Petrova said. “We listened. We know.”

“Russians?” he asked.

“Soviets. Tell me what you know of journal?”

Stephanie wanted to hear that answer, too.

“It was written by one of our founding members, Benjamin Tallmadge of New York. He was a spymaster from the Revolutionary War, one of the first in this country. Colonel Tallmadge was instrumental in our victory over the British. Afterward, he served in the society until he died in 1835, I believe. He kept the journal, which supposedly was part of the society’s early records. But it disappeared over a century ago.”

“You lie,” Petrova yelled. “Do not lie to me. I know truth. It was there thirty years ago. Soviets saw it. You know truth. Charon knew truth. Where is that journal?”

“I told you—”

Petrova darted across the room and nestled her weapon tight to Stephanie’s temple. “I will shoot your wife dead, if you do not tell truth.”

The gun’s hammer snapped into place.

Signaling more trouble.

* * *

Luke heard what Anya had said along with the distinctive click of a gun being readied to fire. Bad enough that they had Hedlund in play. Now there was no telling what Petrova would do. She was definitely agitated and impatient. Stephanie had told him to use his best judgment as to when to stop the charade, but urged him to give as wide a leash as possible. This seemed their best shot at finding out what was happening, and it had to have a chance to succeed.

But they now knew what Petrova was after.

The Tallmadge journal.

He gripped his weapon.

And heard again Stephanie’s last order from earlier.

“For God’s sake, don’t kill her.”

That might be easier said than done.

* * *

Stephanie kept her composure but realized that Mrs. Peter Hedlund would not be so calm.

“Please,” she said. “Please take that gun away from me.”

But the barrel stayed pressed to her scalp.

“Where is the Tallmadge journal,” Petrova asked again. “It was with Charon years ago. That I know. You are now Keeper of Secrets. Tell me, or I shoot her.”

Stephanie stared straight at Hedlund, who displayed a remarkable calm.

“Do you know what I did before I retired?” he asked Petrova, who said nothing. “Thirty-two years with the FBI.”

Which was news to Stephanie, but it explained the calculating eyes glaring back at her. Petrova seemed to understand what that meant, too, removing the gun from Stephanie’s head and pointing it at Hedlund.

“I resent that you have come into my home and threatened us,” he said. “I told you, the journal does not exist.”

“You lie.”

“And how do you know that?”

Challenging this woman was not necessarily a good idea.

This needed to end.

Then she heard knocks coming from the front door.

* * *

Luke rapped his knuckles on the paneled wood.

Bursting into the confined library with a gun had not seemed like a smart idea. Somebody was likely to get shot. So he’d decided to see if he could draw Petrova his way and give himself room to maneuver. He’d listened to what Hedlund had said and realized that this man was definitely keeping things close.

So he had to do something.

* * *

Stephanie saw Petrova react to the possibility of a visitor.

“Who is that?” the Russian asked.

Hedlund shrugged. “How would I know? Do you want me to answer it?”

She caught the condescending tone, which came across as more of a challenge. Petrova clearly did not appreciate it.

The gun stayed aimed at Hedlund.

“Go see,” came the order. “You, too.”

And Petrova motioned with the gun for Stephanie to follow.

Hedlund disappeared out the library door.

She noticed that Petrova hesitated in the hall, just past the doorway, and suddenly realized what the woman planned to do. The French doors. In the library. They offered a quick way out and this front-door visitor could provide just enough distraction for her to make a hasty escape. Unfortunately, Stephanie was unarmed, her Beretta still inside her coat in the study where they’d first met Hedlund.

“Keep moving,” Petrova ordered.

Hedlund made his way into the entrance hall.

She needed to alert Luke but, before she could, Hedlund stopped and spun around—

With a gun in his hand.

* * *

Luke had assumed the high ground, retreating to the second-floor landing, which offered a clear view of the floor below. His hope was that the prospect of being interrupted would be enough to force Petrova’s hand. Since he knew that there was nothing here to find, he had to end this encounter without gunfire and with Petrova in custody.

But that now seemed like a problem.

Hedlund had armed himself, the weapon surely hidden somewhere in the master bedroom. He’d heard what the man said about being former FBI, but that wasn’t going to do him much good against a pro like Petrova.

Cockiness can get you killed.

He ought to know. His own arrogance had come close to getting him whacked several times. But hell, he was thirty years old and had an excuse. Hedlund was collecting a pension and Social Security, yet acting as he were still in the game.

Options here were limited.