The Lost Order (Cotton Malone 12)

“Okay, Danny,” his friend whispered.

And he listened to what Lucius Vance was planning.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Diane sat in the great room and considered her options. Alex had just left on his afternoon walk, their confrontation finished. Her brother had definitely placed them all in a difficult place. Alex could end everything they’d worked for. How could Kenneth have possibly thought he could be an ally? He’d known Alex as long as she had, and should have known his brother-in-law’s failings. Three years of work was about to be erased. There’d be no radical change in Congress, no lost gold found. But Alex would remain a senator. A respected gentleman of Tennessee. His political life would go on. He’d keep complaining about Washington, sympathize with others who voiced similar objections, then change nothing.

And that galled her.

She rose from the chair and headed out the glass doors. Down off the deck she pushed through the trees, finding the trail that led up into the foothills, its worn path bearing evidence of Alex’s many trips. Only occasionally had she ever made the journey. She negotiated the incline, her mind finally certain and unhesitating, careful with her steps on the loose rock. Dense trees rose all around, forming a canopy that allowed only shards of sunlight to pierce the foliage. A bitter, spicy scent of leaves filled her nostrils, the woods alive with noisy birds. Spring was coming to the mountains, the air finally ridding itself of winter’s chill. She liked this time of year, summer even more. Winter depressed her. A lot like her life, which seemed to be moving from cold to warm.

She rounded a corner and caught sight of Alex.

He saw her coming, gently rapping his pipe against the bark of a tree. “More, Diane? Did we not say enough back at the house?”

She wondered how a man competent in matters of state seemed so ill informed about how to deal with his wife. “A poll a few weeks ago showed that 75 percent of the American public is dissatisfied with how the country is being run. And I don’t mean the people running it. The poll tested the institution of government itself. That’s an overwhelming negative majority not happy with the way things are. What we plan will offer those dissatisfied people an alternative.”

“What you plan is a revolution. One that will elevate one man, the Speaker of the House, to lord emperor of this country. That’s something entirely different.”

“Maybe it’s time to see if another way might work better?”

“Vance tried to be president and his own party rejected him. He never made it past the Iowa caucuses. His district has, maybe, 200,000 people in it. This country has over three hundred million people. It was never intended that one congressman, from one district, should hold the kind of power you want to give him.”

“Senators do. They wield it every day. Jealous?”

He chuckled. “Hardly. I’m concerned. Yes, we have the filibuster and our precious procedural rules, which are misused all the time. But there’s a check on that. Sixty senators can shut it down with a cloture vote. The leadership can also refuse to give the floor to that senator. There are ways to stop him or her. What you propose comes with almost no checks and balances. It is unrestrained and will cause more problems than it solves.”

The pressures of the coming tasks had been mounting on her for some time. She’d already let go of the past. The future was all that mattered anymore. Part of that was a realization that their long marriage had battered itself to a bruising standstill. They did little more than share space, the once cursory use of the other’s body fading to nothing. A lack of intimacy had led to a lack of respect. There was something to be said for lust. It had advantages. But it also made it easier to make poor choices.

Bleak thoughts chased one another through her mind.

One in particular lingered like a stranger, at the edges of her thoughts, doubtful of its welcome, but nonetheless there.

They stood side by side on the rocky bluff.

Alex took a moment and primed his pipe with tobacco, then lit it. When it drew to his satisfaction, he waved the match to extinction, then tossed it over the side to the river fifty yards below.

“Warren Weston came to see me,” he said through puffs.

That was news.

“He told me you’ve been abusing your position on the Smithsonian Libraries Advisory Board. You’ve had one of the employees researching in some restricted archives, violating policies. Is that true?”

She resented being questioned like a schoolgirl by the principal. “Every word.”

“He wants you to resign.”

“Too bad most of us never get what we want.”

“He told me that if you don’t resign, he’ll act to remove you.”

“And you agree with him?”

He shook his head with an odd mixture of pleasure and reluctance, then seemed to avoid any complicity or embarrassment by moving away from her, still sucking at the pipe. He smoked only in private and always outside, usually on the deck. Since she had no intention of vacating her seat on the advisory board, she asked what she really wanted to know. “Who is she, Alex?”

He turned to face her. “As long as we’re being honest?” He paused. “She’s a woman I met quite by chance, who turned out to be a wondrous thing.”

“Do you love her?”

“I do.”

“Do you plan to divorce me?”

“Not now. But when my time in Washington is over. Yes, our marriage should end.”

Over the past two hours her cozy, ordered world had been upended by some ugly realities. First Kenneth’s notebook and Alex’s objections. Now another woman. The weight of those defeats settled onto her shoulders like a heavy cloak. Not to mention the personal rejection. Her thoughts and aspirations had been cast aside, as if his were somehow superior.

And that galled her.

That thought on the periphery took a step forward. She now hovered at the edge of a dark chasm, trying to decide whether to leap or stay.

A familiar place of late.

As when Kenneth had come and asked for her help. Or when two men offered themselves to her and she’d accepted both. Or when she’d maneuvered Alex to have her appointed to the advisory board. Each time she’d leaped.

But this time was different.

Everything was at stake.

And she would swallow her indignation at his pretense no more. The solution here called for something far more radical than she was accustomed to delivering. Thankfully, on the walk up she’d wiped fear and doubt from her mind, ready to face him with a clear resolve. But first she wanted to know, “I assume I would have had no say in that divorce decision?”

“I imagine you will welcome the move. Especially considering your admission of sleeping with two men.”

“Whom you have not asked about at all.”

He puffed on the pipe. “Because I simply don’t care anymore.”

“I agree,” she said. “Our marriage is over. So why not leave me in peace, and don’t interfere with what we are doing.”

“Because

that’s not possible. And you know it.”

The hand holding the pipe stabbed the air for emphasis.

Every opportunity had been offered, so she eased closer to the edge and glanced down at the white-flecked rush of water, the river full from spring rains. Rocks peeked out along its course, smoothed and tamed by the constant flow. She thought of her father and all his lost opportunities. And of her life the past decade, empty and unfulfilled. She’d learned to make do, stay silent, and settle, to be the dutiful political wife. But for the past three years she’d worked her own agenda. She thought of failure and what that would mean, which allowed her to do the one thing she hadn’t done in a long time.

Cry.

The last time was at her father’s funeral.

So she added thoughts of his loss and began to sob, head down, a hand to her forehead.

Alex moved toward her, wrapping an arm and drawing her close. She allowed the gesture, sinking her head onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Diane. I really am. I wish I could stay silent here. But I can’t.”

“I’ve messed everything up,” she managed through her tears.

His free hand gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, trying to offer comfort, but the patronizing gesture only enraged her. She slowly pulled back and embraced the rash thought that had now moved front and center.

She lunged forward, slamming her shoulder into his chest, propelling his feet out from under him. His head snapped back and he staggered, trying to regain his balance. She stared into his eyes, the pupils darting like warning signals, the lips moving without words. He still held the pipe in one hand.

Surprise filled his face.

She’d shoved him over the cliff.

The body dropped for several seconds, not a sound coming from his mouth. Her eyes scanned all around. She saw and heard no one. The land for miles in every direction was owned by Alex. He hit the water hard, the current lifting, then dumping him, dunk after dunk. The river seemed malevolent, like her, increasing in strength, dragging and lunging. Bones had to have broken in the fall and the water quickly claimed him, his body rushing away, helpless in the current, the roar constant with undiminished violence.