by Jan Coffey
The human eye just couldn’t distinguish the fake from the original. And she was no expert. No expert.
She realized that the bidding had started.
Ellie turned to Nate. “Why me? Why did you want to work with me?”
He looked at her. “You were in the museum that day. Your face was captured on the security camera. That was my reason.”
Ray got up and walked to the back of the room, running his hands anxiously through his hair. Ellie turned and watched him. His shoulders were sagging, and he looked much older.
“Another reason,” Nate continued. “Wilcox came up with Sister Helen’s name, and she came up with yours.”
The bidding was already at twenty-five million. Ellie had not raised her hand or nodded once. She tried to stand up, but Nate put a hand on her arm.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to ask Ray if the flag’s authenticity was verified yesterday.”
The bidding was at thirty million.
“Bid on it, Ellie.”
She met Nate’s gaze. “This flag could be a forgery.”
“If it is, then someone has gone to a lot of trouble for us to have it.”
“If it is, we could make no bid, walk out of here and ruin their plans.”
“Or you could win it for us and we’ll see what it’s all about.”
She thought of all those who were dead, hurt and missing.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her heart suddenly in her throat.
“Do it, Ellie.” He nodded confidently.
It all came down to this. Someone had orchestrated her life for the past two weeks, bringing her to this moment. She had a chance to put an end to all of it, or she could play the game. She looked again into Nate’s blue eyes.
“Forty million,” Ellie said, raising her hand.
The regulars were at their places along the causeway, with their buckets of water and bait and fishing poles, when the tide turned around midafternoon. The holiday had even brought out extra men, women and children, as well, who lined the bridge leading to Goat Island and were taking their share of flounder.
The traffic coming into town was heavy. Every hotel, inn and bed-and-breakfast was booked solid for the holiday weekend. Tourists jammed the streets and the shops. Kathleen Rivers’s disappearance was still just a family affair.
Many things had been pulled out of the water from that bridge, but it was a rare catch when a ten-year-old boy hooked a very expensive red handbag. His Vietnamese-born mother had to help him bring it up, and a fisherman next to them used a long-handled net to land the water-filled prize.
Half a dozen people gathered to look over the fancy, fringed bag. None of them had heard of or cared a bit about designer Carlos Falchi. They had no clue that the material was deerskin or that the seams had been whip-stitched by hand. They would have been stunned to know that this waterlogged bag was worth anywhere near the eight hundred dollars Kathleen Rivers had paid for it. The name of the blond-haired woman on the driver’s license meant nothing to them, either. They all recognized the presidents and founding fathers that filled the wallet, though.
Without touching the cash, the boy’s mother waved down a police car crawling across the bridge.
“Look, Graham, you’re too damn smart—probably for your own good. But I should have known you’d be right about this.” President Kent moved the phone to his other ear and picked up a paper from his desk. “I have it right here. The ads started airing a week ago today, and our polls show eighty-two percent rise in the approval rating on the project. That’s pretty much across the board. How the hell did you know?”
There was a pregnant silence at the other end of the line.
“Come on, Graham. I can hear you smirking. I made a mistake and I’m man enough to admit it. The American people want this Water for America project. Obviously, the additions to the program appeal strongly to the East Coast, as well. These numbers tell us the more we spend, the better.” He lowered his voice when there was still no response. “We go back a long way. We’ve been friends for almost our entire careers. We both know there’s no way I’d be here without your help. Let’s forget all the bullshit that went on last week.”
Hunt finally spoke. “Certain things are difficult to forget…or undo.”
“That’s a crock, Graham. What do you want me to do, kiss your ass on national TV?”
“Nothing so dramatic, Mr. President.”
“Good. Then let’s talk some details. I’m flying to Philadelphia tomorrow night. We’re kicking off the Spirit of America celebration at noon on Sunday. I speak at one and answer questions for the press at two. I’ll make the announcement then. We’ll connect your project to the day’s events so that the American people know that as we’re celebrating our past, we’re also planning for our future independence. We’ll even use that line in the kickoff speech. We’ll let America know I’m one hundred percent behind the project. How does that sound?”
“That could work.”
“Not could work. It will work,” Kent said with enthusiasm. “You pushed the initial bill through Congress. That was a fine job. Now, with my signature, we’ll start spending money on this before the summer’s out. Once Congress reconvenes, we’ll hammer those additions through…election or no election. So are we together on this or not?”
Hunt’s voice sounded almost weary. “Yes, Mr. President. We are.”
They finished their conversation, and Kent hung up the phone. He stared thoughtfully at the papers on his desk for a moment before turning to the small group sitting in his office.
“So how did I do, gentlemen?”
Ray sat on the edge of the bed, remote in hand, his eyes riveted to the TV screen. The newscaster read her script from the monitor with a phony earnestness that made him sick.
“The body of missing Philadelphia socialite Kathleen Rivers was found by divers earlier this evening in the waters of Newport’s Point Section. Rivers, well known to the art world for her charitable contributions to numerous museums, had been missing since last night. Newport police are now treating the death as a homicide, and a spokesman for the Rivers family told Eyewitness News that her third husband, Ivan Fenwick, a noted artist, is offering a reward for any information about the tragic death of his wi—”
Ray clicked off the television and sat in stunned silence, staring at the empty screen.
After all their years of marriage, Martha was accustomed to calls in the middle of the night. She stopped minding the ones that were work-related years ago. It was the FBI life.
She saw Sanford swing his legs off the bed and sit up. She couldn’t make anything of what he was saying, but she knew it wasn’t that whore trying to milk her husband out of more money. The way his head hung down, she knew it had to be work.
Martha had her connections. She knew about Cheri. She knew about the ones that had preceded her. Cheri. The best part of it was that she also knew he’d dumped her. She glanced at the clock on her side of the bed. It was only eleven-thirty.
They’d already had an hour of sleep. If he didn’t have to drive back into Washington or to Quantico tonight, she’d seduce him again before they went back to sleep.
Martha felt her body begin to tingle just thinking about it. How many years had it been since their love life had been so good? This past week had been about the best she could remember of all the years they’d been together. And she really thought this wasn’t her imagination. He thought it, too. It was amazing how exciting he could be when he was focused only on her.
She propped herself up on one elbow and rubbed his back gently while he continued to listen to someone on the phone. She could feel the tension in his muscles. She knew a good way to help him release some of it.
She pushed off the covers, unbuttoned her satin pajama top and turned on the light. She wanted him to see her every time they made love now. She wanted him to know who he was with.
Interest flashed in his eyes when he finally hung up the phone
and turned around to find her waiting.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sliding her hand along his thigh.
“Nothing, babe,” he said, rolling toward her. “Just a slight change of plans.”
Twenty-Eight
Saturday, July 3
“Ellie, come here. Hurry or you’ll miss it!”
At Vic’s urgent call, Ellie hastily excused herself from the customer she was talking to and ran to the back of the store. Vic stood in front of the TV with a heaping spoonful of coffee grounds suspended in midair. On the screen, the reporter had just wrapped up her report. Behind her was a composite picture of a Betsy Ross flag and the Spirit of America logo.
“What’s going on?”
“You missed it. What a mess-up!” He pointed to the TV, which was going to a commercial. “They said the Smithsonian announced that they’re undecided about what flag will be used for the celebration kickoff tomorrow.”
“Why?” She came closer and turned down the volume.
“They said they just discovered that the flag in their possession is a fake.”
Ellie tried to keep her mind clear. “Did they say that they don’t have the Schuyler flag?”
“He didn’t say. All they’re saying is that they have a forgery, and they can’t comment on any of the details because the FBI is investigating.”
Her nagging fears about the flag were all coming true. But why hadn’t they used it, anyway? Their original plan of saying this Robert Morris flag—whether it was authentic or not—had turned up would have worked out fine for the celebration. Other than Wilcox, who would have gotten close enough even to guess? Why raise a ruckus now, the day before the event?
“And you said they haven’t got a flag?”
“Undecided about what to use,” Vic repeated. “The White House says the last-minute discovery doesn’t change anything for tomorrow, and the President is coming into Philadelphia today as planned. And a decision will be made about the flag by the end of the day.”
The phone rang and Ellie reached for the wall unit.
“I deserted a customer,” she said, gesturing toward the front of the shop. Vic gave her a reassuring nod and left the room.
Ray was on the line.
“Are you watching the news?” she asked accusingly.
“I just got home.” His voice sounded weak. Ellie switched off the television set.
“Please tell me that you’re not calling to gloat.” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “You had that appraisal done the day before, didn’t you, Ray? You knew it was a fake. That was just an act about your client disappearing, wasn’t it? What did she do, pack her bags and head back to Philadelphia?”
“Ellie—”
“No honor among thieves, is there? What I don’t understand is how you could go to that auction and watch me pay so much for a worthless rag. How could you do that to me, Ray?”
“Kathleen didn’t show up because she was already dead.”
Ray’s words knocked the wind out of her sails for a minute. Ellie leaned against the wall. “What did you say?”
“Kathleen Rivers is dead. Somebody whacked her on the head and threw her body off the bridge going out to Goat Island.”
Ellie took an unsteady breath. “How do you know this?”
“They found her body late last night. I was still in Newport. It was on the late night news there. Didn’t it make the news here today?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I’m really sorry, Ray.”
“Forget about her. I’m worried about you, baby.”
Ellie jammed her fingers into her hair. She’d been railing at him about something he knew nothing about. He didn’t know the original Schuyler flag had been destroyed. He didn’t know that Nate worked for the government. He didn’t have any idea that Nate and the Spirit of America celebration were even connected.
“You should worry about me,” she replied, her frustration evident in her voice. “You must think I’ve lost my mind.”
“No, babycakes,” Ray said gently. “I don’t.”
“There’s an explanation for all of this,” she started. “There’s a lot that you don’t know. And I don’t know if I can explain any of it yet.”
“There’s more that you don’t know. And I think it’s time I explained all of it to you.”
A few seconds went by before Ray’s words penetrated. And then panic seized her. Nate had suspected Ray’s involvement. And where was Nate now?
“I’m coming over,” she said.
“No, don’t. It might not be safe.”
“What’s going on, Ray?” she asked worriedly.
“The way these people are doing things, I might get knocked off before you even get here.”
Ellie saw the shadow of a customer browsing toward the back of the store. She closed the door and leaned against it. “What people? What do you mean?”
“The people who paid me to set you up.”
Her mind went blank for a second. She was not sure if she’d heard the words correctly. “Run that by me again?”
“You were set up from the beginning, Ellie. The whole thing was orchestrated. I was paid. I sent you to that museum in Ticonderoga on that specific afternoon. I suggested to them that they connect with you through Sister Helen. Then, when the word of the auction was released, I had to arrange it so everything looked believable enough to you—and that included finding and bringing along credible competition with a name and face you might recognize. Even claiming that I’d take care of the appraisal. My job was to make sure your client bought that flag and paid lots of money for it.”
“The other people at the auction?”
“Their people. You weren’t going to lose.”
“Who paid you?” she asked brokenly.
“I don’t know. There never was a face. Everything was done over the phone. I got a portion of my money delivered in cash beforehand.”
“You used me.” With her back still against the door, Ellie slid down until she was sitting on the floor.
“I’m sorry, baby. It was just business.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she said bitterly. “Why are you telling me all of this now?”
“Because this has gone beyond business. These people are killers. When I first agreed to do this, I never thought people would die. Kathleen…she…” He cleared his throat. “She was interested in the flag, but I knew she couldn’t afford to go as high up as your client could go. That was why I brought her along. But the fool changed her mind as soon as she saw the flag. I…I told that to my contact when he called on Thursday. I told him things might get a little complicated, but that I still had control over everything. But then they killed her. They just eliminated her. That simple. Gone. Dead.”
“So you knew Nate was undercover?”
“Of course. But I don’t know how involved he is. As far as I know, he could be the one who set this whole thing up. I told you…there were no faces. That’s why I’m worried about you.”
Sanford Hawes glanced down at the new information that an agent handed to him.
“No, Ellie. I’m glad you called me directly. There’s no reason for Sister Helen to get in the middle of this mess right now.”
“I’ve left at least five messages on Nate’s cell phone,” she said. “But he hasn’t returned any of them. I’m getting worried.”
“Frankly, I am, too.” Hawes motioned to the agent to wait. “Do you have the address where they held the auction in Newport?”
He scribbled down the information. “Hold on, Ellie.” He handed the paper to the agent. “Run this address. Give me everything we have on it and on the owners.”
He swung around in his chair and looked out at the Justice Department building across the street. “I’m worried about Nate, too.”
“Do you have any idea where he is?” she asked. “Has anyone seen him since yesterday?”
“Nate met with our agents and the Department of the Interior personnel at the arra
nged location in Newport. He gave them the flag and left. No one has seen him since.”
“But isn’t it strange that he’d just disappear? Maybe something happened to him.”
Hawes tipped back his chair. He rubbed his fingers into the ache in his neck. “I don’t know if you’ve been listening to any news reports this morning or not, but we think Nate may have gotten himself mixed up in some funny business.”
Her voice turned low. “You’re talking about the Morris flag being a forgery.”
“I can’t talk to you about it, but I’ll just say you’re in the right ballpark.”
“Are you accusing him of defrauding the government out of that forty million?”
“There’s an investigation going on, Ellie, and I can’t say anything right now. But you could really help us out by staying close to home and giving us a call if you hear anything from him.”
“Mr. Hawes, you were the one who gave this assignment to Nate. There’s no way he could have—”
“Actually, he volunteered.” Hawes swung around to his desk. “He’s been stuck behind a desk for a year, and he’s been miserable. There was no one out there more qualified for this assignment than him, and Nate knew it. Ellie, I know what you’re going through. I’ve known him for eleven years. He’s been like a son to me. I’m having a difficult time dealing with evidence that keeps popping up and pointing his way.” He took his glasses off and threw them on his desk. “I’m flying to Philadelphia in an hour. You have my cell phone number. Call me immediately if you hear anything. He needs to know that I’m on his side. Running away won’t help anything.”
Despite the angry look of the sky and the forecast of severe thunderstorms, foot traffic along Pine Street remained brisk all day. All the estimates had been right. Thousands of tourists packed the hotels, restaurants and shops of Philadelphia’s Center City. The merchants loved it, the politicians were crowing about it, and the residents were feeling like French Quarter residents during Mardi Gras. Almost everything in Philadelphia was staying open far into the evening.
