With her SIG, she pointed down a hallway and they moved silently into it. All the doors were closed, except the one at the end of the hall. She motioned at Sharp to hang back a couple of steps, then Tolman stepped into the office, leading with her pistol.
“Good of you to come,” Ann Gray said. “I’m so pleased you received my message.”
She was sitting behind the desk. A placard on the edge read DIANE CORBIN – CEO. The desk was otherwise empty. A table to the side held a computer, printer, and fax machine.
“I was already coming anyway,” Tolman said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“I have no business arrangement concerning you, Ms. Tolman,” Gray said. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“And I don’t believe a thing you say.”
“Of course not. I’m so sorry we didn’t have time to talk more in Cassville.”
“You shot at me,” Tolman said. “You gave me the letter, then you shot at me. It finally occurred to me that it had to be you. More of this little game of illusions that you play.”
Gray smiled and crossed her legs at the knee. She was wearing tan slacks and a white blouse, and looked perfectly at ease behind the desk. “The Associates wanted you dead, but that was unnecessary. Still, at that moment, there was a possibility of salvaging the project. But The Associates were watching me, and I had to at least give the appearance of doing their bidding.”
Sharp entered the room, rifle at the ready.
“You’re right to have backup,” Gray said. “They’re here somewhere.”
“The Associates?”
“Of course.”
“Who are they? What are they? What the fuck are The Associates? And what is April 19? For real, not the cover story.”
Gray placed one hand on the desk. “Please, Ms. Tolman—may I call you Margaret, or Meg?—there’s no need to be crude. By the way, I’d love to hear you perform sometime. I understand you are fond of Rachmaninov. I’m more of a classicist, personally. Mozart is a favorite of mine, but I do enjoy some of the early romantics, Schubert and Mendelssohn. Early Beethoven, of course.”
“Get up,” Tolman said. “We’re not having tea and discussing composers. We’re getting out of here. You’re responsible for a lot of deaths, and you diverted money from this mine into a secret White House slush fund. The CIA hired you as a ‘contract agent’ to steal that French map, and somehow you found the letter, put it together, and found this place. You, and whatever these fucking ‘Associates’ are, made this little enterprise into a secret moneymaker. And when Barry Cable found it, you killed him and made it look like antigovernment extremists. I know it all.”
“I assume you’ve talked to Bart Denison,” Gray said. “Lovely man. He has four children, did you know that? I’d done a few other freelance jobs for your CIA, and this was quite an easy one. The church wasn’t secured, and the map was in plain view on the priest’s desk. I never knew it would lead to the most interesting project of my career. But let’s not talk about me. And trust me, Meg, you don’t know it all.”
Sharp had been standing in the doorway, shuffling his feet. “I’ll go outside and watch the perimeter,” he said, and moved silently down the hall.
Tolman looked over her shoulder, then back at Gray, the SIG never wavering. “You said on the phone you didn’t kill Jim or Dana, but you said nothing about Barry.”
“Correct. Barry Cable’s discovery of the accounts was a legitimate threat to the project. He was in a position to do something about it. So yes, the decision was made to eliminate him, but it could not be done in such a way as to point to his work. I created April 19 and did a nationwide search for a few men who would fit the profile. They already had antigovernment sentiments. All I had to do was fire them up, arm them, and point the way. You might be surprised by how easy it was.”
“Then you made sure they were captured. Nice and neat—nutty antigovernment guys shot up the GAO office, case closed. It was lucky that five of the six other people who worked in the office were at a workshop in D.C. that day.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I made sure the others would be away that day.”
“And how did you accomplish that?”
“A fairly minor detail. It was unfortunate, though, that another member of the team stopped by the office before going to the workshop. I am thankful that Rayburn and company didn’t get too carried away. The woman was only shot in the arm. I saw to it that her hospital bills were paid. It was the least I could do.”
“But you still had Rayburn and the others shoot up the building, destroy all the computers, shout their antigovernment slogans when the media showed up.”
“It was necessary to continue the illusion,” Gray said. “This had to be an act of terror, not the murder of a specific individual.” Gray spread her hands apart. “And I have no doubts that young Mr. Rayburn would have gone on to commit some rather serious acts on his own, if left to his devices. Now he is in prison for the rest of his life.”
Tolman shook her head in disbelief. “Barry sent the file to his brother,” Tolman said, “and that screwed it all up for you.”
“Apparently so,” Gray said. “In the last seconds of his life, no less. I did not believe Jim Cable was a threat, even after he started asking questions. He sent an e-mail to his sister with his thoughts that what happened to Barry wasn’t what it appeared to be, and that he was going to check into it. Still, he really couldn’t harm the project. He was an engineering professor. But The Associates disagreed. I refused to kill an innocent like Jim Cable, so they went around me. They wanted it to look like a suicide.” Gray’s eyes clouded. “I was outraged. I had read the dossier they compiled on Dr. Cable. There were a few lines about his family, and it mentioned his son—” The sentence died away.
“What? What about his son?”
“His son played chess.”
“Excuse me?”
“His son was a chess player. A champion, apparently.”
“What difference does that make?”
Gray hesitated, and for a quick moment Tolman thought she was somewhere else, that her thoughts had strayed to a different place. Then the sheen of the cool professional assassin was back.
“None,” Gray said. “No difference at all. Be that as it may, Jim Cable was not a threat.”
Tolman felt rage rising in her throat, at how this woman could sit at this desk and talk so dispassionately about the destruction of an entire family. “Dana,” she said.
“A few weeks ago, she went to Oklahoma to close up her brother’s home. When I heard, I decided to meet her. I didn’t know if she’d seen anything, but it was time. The Associates had gone too far in murdering Jim. I had to protect Dana—she deserved to know what happened to her brothers. Then I would shut the project down and move on.”
“You lured her to Wilmington. You were going to give her the letter and the map.”
“Yes, though I don’t think ‘lured’ is quite the right word. I thought it appropriate that we meet there, where it all started, with Rose Greenhow’s death. I met her at the Fort Fisher Museum, told her I knew the truth about her brothers’ deaths, and would explain it all to her. I told her that we would talk about Rose Greenhow and the Silver Cross. It was late. We made plans to meet the next day.”
“But something else happened.”
“I made a tactical error. I wasn’t paying close enough attention. My son … no, never mind. I wanted to get home. I wasn’t watching. The Associates had people there, in Wilmington. I don’t know the particulars, but my guess is that they called her that night, said they were working with me, and that the meeting had been moved up. They intercepted her somewhere, poured alcohol into her, took her out on the seawall, and bashed her head against the rocks. Again, sloppy. The Associates employ people with the wrong backgrounds for nuanced work.”
“Nuanced work?” Tolman shook with anger. “Who are you fucking people? Nuanced work—you killed Dana Cable because of who her brothers
were! She couldn’t do anything to you. She was a cellist, for God’s sake!”
“I understand your feelings, Meg. I did not kill Dana Cable, and I made it clear to The Associates that what they had done was wrong. The unnecessary violence jeopardized the project.”
“The project? But you jeopardized the project yourself by giving me the letter, sending Nick the map. You built all this up, killed Barry Cable to protect it, and then … what?”
“I’m a professional, Meg. When The Associates killed Dana, I decided then that enough was enough. Then when The Associates shut all this down without me, and even sent a man to kill me, something had to be done. But as I told you on the phone, I couldn’t expose them myself. It had to come from others. I’ve taken lives, but only when necessary. I have no thirst for blood.”
“What about April 19? What about the buildings blown up this week, all those people? Don’t preach to me about not having a thirst for blood. What was that about?”
A shadow crossed Gray’s face. “That was a message. That was a lesson that needed to be taught. I tried to ensure minimal loss of life in the bombings. I couldn’t control every factor, but many more could have been killed in those buildings.”
“What about Chicago? Another lesson? I know you’re sending people in there against those protesters today. You have to pull the plug on it. Denison’s digging, he has the whole CIA on this. He’s probably coordinating with the FBI. We’ll find your connection to The Associates.”
The shadow deepened. “No, you don’t understand. April 19 is … no longer mine.”
“No longer yours … what the hell does that mean?”
Gray bowed her head. “I’m no longer in control of it. I’m not involved in Chicago. The Associates somehow reached my people, offered them more money, turned them against me. Please, you must understand that I would never move against a mass protest. I do not operate in that way. I can’t stop it. I no longer have the resources. But you can.”
“How? For God’s sake, how?”
“It’s already in motion,” said a man’s voice. “There’s no stopping it.”
Both women turned.
“Your people are good, Ann,” Victor Zale said as he walked into the office. “They worked all night. Amazing what a little money—a little silver, if you will—can do. The bombs are placed. The rallies start in a couple of hours. All those dead protesters. All those self-righteous people disrupting the life of this country, shouting to be heard, yelling at each other, yelling at the media. They are a distraction, and you’re about to kill them. You, Ann … the assassin with a conscience.”
“Stop it,” Gray whispered, steadying herself against the desk.
“You’re not in control now, are you?” Zale said. “But you never were, Ann. You never were.”
* * *
Sharp thought he saw movement on the ridge, a tiny sliver of motion, a patch of grass disturbed. He was worried about shooters on the high ground, aiming down toward the office building, and he gradually worked his way higher, cutting a wide swath around the building and the edge of the pit, coming around from behind.
He moved silently, always focusing on his breathing. When he saw the man in the grass with an assault rifle trained on the building below, he sighed inwardly. He put his rifle on the ground and drew the Glock.
“Hey,” he whispered.
The man jumped, then swung his weapon around. Sharp put a round between his eyes with the Glock, then he dove to the ground, grabbing his rifle from the grass as other shots erupted from higher on the ridge. He rolled down the hill, scanning the horizon above to see where the other shooters were.
At least two of them, he thought, one at two o’clock, the other at about ten o’clock. Sharp wriggled on his belly toward the lip of the mine pit. He peered over the side. The drop onto the first shelf was only a few feet. He swung his legs over it and dropped into the pit.
* * *
“Your man went looking for my men,” Zale said, looking at Tolman. “Gave me a nice opening. That’s good. I don’t have time to screw around. Drop the pistol, Tolman.”
“Who are you?” Tolman said.
“He’s one of The Associates,” Gray said.
“The only one left,” Zale said. “Had to eliminate Terry. The little bastard, trying to help you. Treason is a capital offense, Ann.”
“Treason?” Gray said. “Treason against whom?”
“The gun, Tolman. On the floor and kick it to me.”
Tolman looked at the pistol with the ivory grip. Zale was only five feet from her. She had no chance. She complied, and Zale kicked the gun into the hallway. “What are The Associates?” she said.
“Nope, not doing that,” Zale said. “You think I’m going to make a big speech? Sort of a ‘you have the right to know before you die’ kind of thing? Sorry, I don’t do speeches.” He gestured with the gun. “Out from behind the desk, Ann. You went off the reservation. Not good.”
“You broke our arrangement,” Gray said. She hadn’t moved. “Killing Jim and Dana Cable was completely unnecessary. And when you sent that man after me … I couldn’t allow it.”
“Wait a minute,” Tolman said. “Wait one goddamned minute!” She glared at Gray. “You worked for him, running this ‘project,’ and when it went bad, you started blowing up buildings to send him a message? And that led to him hijacking your people to crush the protesters? Couldn’t ‘allow’ it? Sending a message? Do you know how many people are dead?”
Gray shuffled her feet behind the desk. “But his behavior was unacceptable.” Her voice strained. “You see, I had to show him—and more importantly, any potential future clients—that such behavior would not be tolerated. It was time to expose the operation—minus my own role in it. This was a way to bring The Associates’ world crashing down, while protecting myself. April 19, Representative Mercer, the French … all designed to thoroughly destroy The Associates’ power, to expose them for what they have been doing. April 19 is a domestic crisis. Pairing Mercer with the French created an international crisis. It raised the stakes, and it brought everything to light. The Associates’ power is broken.” She pointed at Zale. “He is out of control. You have to call off Chicago, Victor. Alex Cable shouldn’t have had to pay, and those people in Chicago shouldn’t pay, either.”
“High and mighty, aren’t you?” Zale said. “But we’re not broken. I do what has to be done. Now stand up.”
“No,” Gray said. One of her hands snaked out of sight.
“You crazy bitch,” Zale muttered.
Gunfire sounded on the ridge behind the building. Zale jumped, turning toward the door. Tolman saw her chance and took it, rushing him on his blind side. He was a big man, and she had no thought to disable him … only disarm him. She needed both Gray and Zale alive. She launched a flying kick at his arm as he swung it back to aim at Gray. He took his shot, but it went awry, shattering the window behind the desk. If Tolman hadn’t moved when she did, the shot would have taken Gray in the chest.
Thank God, Tolman thought. She saw Gray’s eyes go wide, in realization that Tolman had just saved her life. Gray moved from behind the desk, her motions smooth, fluid, silent.
Zale’s gun arm arched toward Tolman, swinging like a crane with a wrecking ball. Tolman dodged but was too slow, as Zale slammed the pistol into the side of Tolman’s head. Tolman went down, her vision going black just as she heard another gunshot and the sound of a body falling to the floor.
* * *
Journey steered the Hall County Sheriff’s Department’s Explorer onto the gravel path that led into the mine. He was exhausted from the late-night flight, the intensity of feelings, a few hours of bad sleep in another anonymous motel. But he’d called the Gardners, and Andrew was all right. Sharon had put the phone to Andrew’s ear and Journey had talked to him. Andrew hooted a couple of times, but otherwise attended to his father’s voice. It comforted Journey.
Journey’s mind was still careening with the knowledge of what Noah Br
andon had told him. With his foot, he nudged the package under the seat. Napoleon’s letter to Jefferson Davis wasn’t the only thing Rose Greenhow took with her into the lifeboat after the Condor ran aground.
* * *
Sharp landed on his feet, bent his knees to balance himself, then straightened. He edged sideways several steps along the shelf, sloping upward until his head was almost level with the top of the lip. He propped the FN Special on the lip and watched for movement. He’d counted three shots after he shot the man in the grass, then the guns had fallen silent after he went into the pit.
He watched; he listened. He was sure one of the shots had come from above and behind him. He heard some movement, but couldn’t tell from which direction. Gunshots did that to him. The ringing in his ears stunned his hearing, confused his senses for a time. He blinked—he would have to be alert. Any sound, any movement …
He strained, listening for gravel being displaced. But his ears were still ringing. Sharp shook his head violently, and then he wasn’t in dusty West Texas, but in muggy Key West, Florida, with a bunch of drug dealers opening fire on his partner and him. Then he could almost feel the knife as one of the dealers lunged at him and drew the blade across his stomach.
Sharp flinched, trying to quiet the sounds in his head. I’m not in Florida, I’m in Texas, and I’m helping Meg.…
Meg.
Meg Tolman had been the only person to visit him in the hospital when he checked himself into the mental health unit. No one else had known what to say to him. They all cast their eyes down and mumbled about how Sharp hadn’t been able to handle the pressure, and wasn’t it a shame … his very first assignment …
Sharp squeezed his eyes closed. I’m helping Meg.
The sounds and colors crashed together in his head. The rifle slipped from his fingers, clattered against the floor of the shelf, and flipped end over end down to the bottom of the pit.
Sharp went crazy … Sharp couldn’t stop crying … Sharp couldn’t hack it …
And he heard piano music, Meg Tolman playing something by Rachmaninov. She loved all those little preludes, and Sharp’s dad had once played them, too. What was the famous one? It was in the key of C-sharp minor, wasn’t it? And Meg had played it for him once, a long time ago.
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