“Chet, could you hand me your gun? I’d like you to check with Rick on his progress.” Evarts kept eye contact with Branger. “Feel free to tell Rick what our gracious host just said about him.”
“With pleasure.”
Just before Chet left the room, Evarts threw over his shoulder, “Chet, not too much levity. We have some serious work ahead of us.”
He heard the door close and then Chet’s laughter as he walked down the hall. Evarts just stared at Branger until the man finally asked, “What makes you so sure that boy can unlock my computer?”
“When he worked in army intelligence, the National Security Agency kept borrowing him. Now that he’s out of the service, he works as a contractor for them. He does what they call destructive testing. Whenever they think they’ve got an airtight system, they call him in.” Evarts smiled. “He has an unusual contract. He gets paid only if he breaks into their new system, and he hasn’t missed a fat paycheck yet.”
A look of concern flitted across Branger face, but he erased it almost immediately. “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars he can’t break into my computer.”
“You sure you want to make that wager? You’re already betting your entire future.”
“I’d bet my life against the intelligence of a nig—” He gave a half smile. “Excuse me, a black man any day.”
“This is the day.” Evarts smiled. “Now, let’s talk about the vault. I assume you’ve booby-trapped it with incendiary explosives. A series of false combinations or an attempted forced entry will cause a firestorm to envelop the interior of the vault and destroy everything inside.” He let it sink in that he had anticipated the move. “I presume you’re aware that fire requires oxygen. We’ve already discovered the air vent, and we’ve ordered equipment that will suck the air out and create a vacuum.” Branger tried to maintain a poker face but his hands tightened in a tell. Evarts had guessed correctly. “We do this for a living. It may take us days to bypass your computer security, but we’ll have that vault open tonight.”
“Then we don’t need to have this conversation.”
“Time is of the essence. We don’t know whom you may have scheduled for a visit or if your alarm alerted others outside the house. You could make things easier if you gave us the combination.”
“I have no reason to make things easy for you.”
“I meant you could make things easier for yourself. Let me explain. We aren’t turning you over to the criminal justice system. You have been classified as an enemy combatant and will be dealt with by the military.”
“You can’t do that.” His eyelids flickered. “Get me a phone. I want my lawyer.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take you to your lawyer in a bit. Military police arrested him hours ago. You can talk to him in your cell … if you cooperate.”
“You can’t deny me legal counsel.”
“Of course I can. You’re a foreign agent.”
“I’m an American citizen.”
“The Supreme Court can sort that out in a few years. In the meantime, let me explain your alternatives. If you give me the vault combination, you’ll go to a stateside military prison and share a cell with your attorney. If you continue to be uncooperative, then you’ll go to a secret offshore prison, and your cellmate will be a huge nasty black man. We’ll make sure he knows all about your opinions of his race.” Evarts paused. “Do I need to say more?”
Branger couldn’t have looked more frightened if he had been approached with a white-hot poker. “You wouldn’t dare. You’re just a damn city cop.”
Evarts let his temper flare. “You asshole. You just did despicable things to the only woman I have ever loved. I wouldn’t dare? Do not test the limits of what I might dare!”
Evarts stood and paced the room to cool down. He intended a little interrogation theater, but when he pulled the stopper off his anger, he surprised himself with how much he really wanted to punish this man. Forcing his emotions under control, he sat back down on the ottoman and purposely spoke in an even voice. “As for being a city cop; that’s my day job. I also do contract work for the government. Did you think a bunch of army has-beens took out your team? This assault had the full backing of the Department of Defense.”
“That can’t be true. I would’ve been warned.”
“I believe you have heard of the Shut Mouth Society. Did you think they were just librarians?”
“I—”
“Mr. Branger, I’ve been patient.” He stood up and looked at his watch. “But your time is up. You have exactly thirty seconds to make a decision about your future cellmate.”
Before the thirty seconds elapsed, Chet reentered the library. “Rick broke the security system before I arrived. He said he knew twenty kids who could’ve done a better job.” He looked at Branger. “Just in case you think we’re a bunch of bluffing cretins, your primary account appears to be in the Cayman Islands.” He smiled and then recited the account number and exact balance from memory.
Branger looked shattered. Evarts had seldom seen a more crushed man.
Chapter 62
The water looked smooth as glass. Evarts loved an early morning that was overcast because it kept the wind from rippling the ocean surface. It was seven thirty, and he had been surfing for over an hour. He checked the flag on the lifeguard station, and it still dropped straight down: Not a whisper of wind. A low cloud cover made the sea look dark and heavy and as immutable as the earth. When the air was this still, Evarts sometimes found it hard to believe that a modest breeze could cause so much havoc with the surface of the ocean.
The smell of seawater, the feel of salt on his back, and the utter calm interrupted only occasionally by crashing breakers made Evarts feel at peace with the world. He looked out to sea to spot the next set. The waves were few and far between this morning, only about two to three feet. In these glassy conditions, the surf seemed to magically roll out of a flat, monotone backdrop, the overcast sky blending so evenly with the sea that there appeared to be no horizon line.
Normally, he preferred a point break, but on some mornings he just liked to play in the beach break in front of his house. Due to the smallish surf, Evarts had chosen one of his new long boards to ride. All of his boards were new, of course. When he had finally returned to his home two months ago, his garage had been cleaned out and his old quiver of surfboards stolen. Luckily, a neighbor had noticed the open garage and called the cops before someone penetrated the house. He found everything inside just as he had left it.
Other things had changed, of course. He had visited the Abraham Douglass grave site twice since his return. He had missed the elaborate funeral, but the time he spent with Douglass had usually included only the two of them, and he preferred to pay his respects in the same manner. Standing alone at the grave site, Evarts came to understand that their friendship may have been engineered, but he and Douglass had bonds that stretched back over a century.
Over the last months, he had argued, cajoled, and even yelled to try and get the government to take the actions he thought necessary. After he had broken Branger, they had gotten enough hard evidence to create the biggest scandal in the country’s history, but the State Department had refused to add fodder to the horrible Yankee image south of the border. After weeks of negotiations, the Washington powers had finally come to a consensus that the best course of action would be to reveal the bust of a major money laundering operation and to disclose some carefully crafted half truths that would vindicate Congressman Sherman and restore his credibility. At least they had released enough information to insure that Ralph Branger would spend the rest of his life in prison for drug-related crimes. Mexican authorities had detained José Garcia, and his Panther Party had imploded after the government disclosed that the Yankee Branger had been financing Garcia. The existence of the secret society of the union, however, would be buried under so much governmental bilge that it would never see the light of day.
Evarts reveled in the news that Branger had experie
nced an emotional meltdown while in custody awaiting trial. At the house, he had broken Branger’s will to resist with a string of bluffs, lies, and insinuations. The one thing he hadn’t lied about was Matthew’s prowess as a computer hacker. Evarts had discovered years ago that people who used a radical belief system as a shield fell apart if you could pierce the veneer of their convictions. Branger’s collapse had started at the house and accelerated as he saw his impenetrable organization poked with holes from a dozen different directions.
Last week, the government had convened a grand jury. With the hard evidence from the house and Branger’s continued cooperation, the demise of the union should be eminent. Should be. Evarts worried that the government’s decision to focus primarily on the drug-related aspects of the union might leave elements of the secret society in place. In case the union wasn’t completely destroyed, Evarts had taken a few precautionary steps to make sure they would never wield the same level of power again.
Evarts straddled his board and continued to wait for a wave. The sets had become even more inconsistent. He looked up and down the surf line and saw only one other surfer in the water over a hundred yards away. Many surfers liked the sport so they could fraternize with other surfers and enjoy the onshore clannish lifestyle. Few ventured into the water alone, but Evarts liked solitude. He had never feared being alone. Especially today. He needed to be by himself to figure out a few things about his future.
He spotted a bump in the ocean surface almost directly behind him. He lay down on his board and paddled several strokes to his right. He had judged right. As the wave bent in toward shore, the peak had shifted north. Evarts was in perfect position. He swung his board toward shore and made a couple of lazy hand-over-hand strokes until he felt the back of his board rise slightly and sensed a small acceleration. Then he made two deep, hard pulls to make sure he caught the waist-high wave. Suddenly movement enveloped his senses, and he snapped to his feet and slid down the face at a leftish angle. When he reached the trough of the wave, he used the momentum to gracefully swing the board around to the right.
He had done all this without a conscious thought, just an athlete’s automatic reflexes in response to sensory input. As the board naturally climbed the face, Evarts saw that the wave would crash in a line too long for him to beat. Instead of pulling out, he ran to the tip of the board in the hope of getting a momentary nose ride. He had no sooner reached the nose than he saw a surfer’s nightmare, a head in the water directly in front of him. Damn it, a swimmer. He stepped to the inside of the board, crouched, grabbed the rail, and pulled with all his strength toward the wave. The board pivoted on the nose in what surfers called an island pullout, and the tail section swung around in a swift motion. Evarts waited for the awful thud that meant he had hit the person with the back of his board. When the nose smoothly sank and the tailblock spun free, he knew he had missed the swimmer.
Evarts came to the surface with water and wet hair in his eyes, and it took him a second to shake his head so he could see.
“Trish? What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Bodysurfing.”
“I almost hit you.”
She laughed. “I noticed.”
“Damn it. You scared the hell out of me. How’s the leg?”
“Still kicking.” She ducked under a wave at the last instant so that it would surprise Evarts when it blasted him from behind. As he turned around to paddle back out, she yelled, “A surfer who needs a board is a wimp!”
Evarts reached down to where his board leash attached to his ankle and ripped off the Velcro strap. With the board free, he pushed it toward shore in the next wave. He didn’t bodysurf often, but he couldn’t pass up the challenge. “Longest ride buys breakfast,” Evarts said.
They bodysurfed for another half hour, and although he quibbled, Evarts knew Baldwin had won breakfast. They picked a rear table at Mrs. Olson’s Coffee Hut.
“How’s the book coming?” Evarts asked. When he had left to go surfing at about six that morning, Baldwin already sat in his library, enmeshed in writing her new book as she drank her morning coffee.
“Excellent. I can’t wait to get back to it.”
The preinaugural Lincoln papers had been announced to the press but not released. Baldwin had kept exclusive possession until she could finish a new book on his early political life. Most of the William Evarts dossiers from Reconstruction had been released, and historians around the country had begun to rifle through them with the gusto of children ripping open Christmas presents. Baldwin had told Evarts that a pile of new books about the Civil War period would hit the market soon. That was the reason she stayed on sabbatical: so she could work full-time on her book to beat the rush.
Greta sauntered over, carrying two steaming coffee mugs. “What’ll ya have this morning, Trish?”
“Oatmeal and wheat toast.”
“You got it, darling.” She started to walk away.
“Hey, what about me?” Evarts asked.
Greta twirled around, threw out a hip, and placed a hand on her waist. “Bacon and eggs, over easy, hash browns, and rye toast. That right, mystery man?”
“White toast,” Evarts said defiantly.
“White toast? Only wimps eat white bread. I’ll bring you rye, hon.” And she walked away without a backward glance.
“She’s got your number,” Baldwin said.
“I don’t know. You beat me bodysurfing this morning. I may be on a white-bread diet soon.” He grabbed the table edge to scoot closer but touched something under the table. He felt around with his fingers until he recognized the object and ripped a number 10 envelope free from the underside of the Formica table. “I forgot all about this,” he said. “It seems like years since I taped this to the bottom of the table.”
“What is it?”
“A copy of the code Abraham Douglass gave me with the Cooper Union address. I hid this encrypted page the first time we ate here together.”
“I didn’t see you do that.”
“You weren’t supposed to. At the time, I didn’t want to alarm you.”
They both just stared at the still-sealed envelope. Finally, she said, “You’re right. It seems like such a long time ago, but it was less than three months.” Baldwin’s expression turned glum. “Greg, I went bodysurfing this morning because I had a piece of disturbing recall. I wanted to wash it away.”
Evarts took her hand. “The doctor said this might happen, but if you can, leave it be. Some history deserves to remain buried.”
“I—” She pulled her hand away. “It’s like a scab I can’t quit picking at. It’s painful and I’d rather let it be, but I don’t know if I can.” She looked down at the table. “It’s like my brain can’t accept a blank spot in my memory.”
“Then we’ll deal with it. You’re a strong woman.”
“I don’t remember much of it, but I can feel it.” She looked like she might cry. “The emotions keep floating up: the fear, the humiliation. Greg, I told them everything.”
“So did Douglass. So would I, had I been in your place. You were heavily drugged. The doctor said memories may resurface, but they will never be clear because your mind seldom had contact with reality. The emotions are a different thing. He said they might haunt you for years. I wish I could tell you that you can forget it or it doesn’t matter or that it’ll be easy, but those would all be lies.”
She smiled wanly. “I’ll tell you what you can tell me: Tell me you love me.”
He grabbed both of her hands. “I love you.”
“Then propose, hon,” Greta said, as she placed their breakfast in front of them. “She’s way more than you deserve, but you might get lucky.”
“Greta, you’re looking at the luckiest man in town. She said yes a week ago.”
“Congratulations.” She came around the table and kissed Baldwin on the cheek. “He’s a great guy.” Then she gave Evarts a stern look. “You devil. You knew what you were waiting for all along, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I never really believed dreams come true.”
They had set the wedding for the Friday after Thanksgiving. The date had been his idea, because his family had a tradition of gathering for Thanksgiving, and he wanted the holiday to always remind them of how close they had come to a different ending. Actually, they were both eager to officially cement their relationship, and they wanted to separate their future anniversaries from Christmas.
After Greta left, Evarts said in a hushed tone, “You know, you don’t have to go the whole way. It’s a lifetime commitment.”
“Greg, I want to marry you.” She smiled. “I have no doubts.” Then the smile faded. “Do you?”
“I was talking about becoming the Keepers. We can still get married, but let someone else carry that burden.” Not everything that came from Branger’s vault and computer had been turned over to the authorities. In the future, the Keepers’ duty would be to protect this new evidence in case the union ever resurrected itself. “You ran from the Society all your life. Are you sure?”
“I ran from something I didn’t understand. Now I know.” She took his hands and lifted until their elbows rested on the table. Then she leaned forward and kissed the backside of his hand. “I want to be the Keepers. If the union comes back, I want to know where I can get my hands on the wooden stake and the silver bullets.”
She held his eyes. “Besides, fighting the union seems to be our fate.”
Please turn the page for a preview of
Tempest at Dawn by James D. Best
Chapter 1
Tuesday, May 15, 1787
Roger Sherman shook the rain from his heavy cloak.
“Are you meeting someone, sir?”
The Shut Mouth Society Page 34
