Propping her chin on her hands, Ellie stared at the terse summary. The shadowy figure of a Tejano formed in her mind. He didn't wear buckskins and rough frontier garb as depicted by Hollywood in its movies about the Alamo, but a broadcloth suit such as a doctor or lawyer might have donned. His face was shaded by a wide brimmed-hat to protect it from the fierce Texas sun. He grasped a double-barrel shotgun in one hand.
Who are you? she wondered for the hundredth time. Did you escape the Alamo? If so, when? Before the final assault or after?
Blowing out a long breath, she hit the laptop's keys.
By three o'clock the walls were starting to close in on her. Abandoning the computer, she decided to attack the cardboard box Sam Pierce had deposited on the floor. It took all her concentration to remain focused on the objects she pulled out to examine and verify against the inventory.
None of them appeared to hold any real historical significance. A broken snaffle bit. Several coins. A rusted tin plate. What looked like a piece of a plowshare.
At the bottom of the box, she found the dented silver disc Jack had turned up during his stint with Discoverer Two. Evidently the National Park Service hadn't considered the item worth salvaging. It was tarnished almost black, pitted all the way through and not anywhere near as valuable as the solid silver bracelet circling Ellie's wrist.
She'd never given Jack anything in return, she realized. She'd never had the opportunity. She'd only seen him once after he slipped the two-inch band on her wrist, and that was when she'd stormed into to the U.S. Embassy compound to engage in a furious, one-sided argument with a certain hardheaded Marine.
The small, dented concho wasn't in the same class as the expensive bracelet, but polished, it might make a keepsake for Jack. Something to remind him of these days in San Antonio—as if either one of them would need reminding!
Fingering the disk, she dialed housekeeping. "This is Dr. Alazar in Room two ten. Would you please send up a small jar of silver polish and a soft cloth? Yes, silver polish. Thanks."
Claire looked up from her book, her glance curious.
"Jack found this out at the site," Ellie explained, displaying the bit of silver. "I'm going to clean it up for him as a souvenir."
A maid delivered the requested items. No doubt the Menger's management was wondering just what Dr. Alazar was up to now. After passing the woman a generous tip, Ellie went to work on the concho.
Gradually, the tarnish disappeared to display an intricate pattern stamped into the silver. The design was extraordinarily artistic, with scrolls and swirls and a tiny oak leaf cut in the center. The oak leaf wasn't a traditional Mexican symbol. It struck her as more like a design a silversmith would do for one of the Tejanos.
A vague memory stirred in the back of her mind. She'd seen a design like this before. She was sure of it. But where?
Puzzled, she took it to the desk. A search of her database turned up no images that matched it. Only after a second lengthy search did she remember the design stamped into the silver work on the shotgun she'd photographed at the Alamo.
A touch of the old excitement fluttered in her veins. Pulling up the image of the double-barreled shotgun, she examined the elaborate scrollwork on the sidings and butt plate.
Yes! There it was! A small oak leaf in the center of the scrollwork.
Her excitement taking wing, she pulled up images of the gun they'd found some yards away from the skeletal remains. The silver was still tarnished, the design difficult to decipher, but Ellie could swear it was the same.
Okay. All right. What did she have here? Not a whole lot, except the possibility that the smith who worked the silver facings on both guns might very well have crafted the concho Jack had found.
Once more she attacked the computerized files.
The minutes ticked by. Undaunted, Ellie conducted search after search before she found a reference to Josiah Kennett, one of the Alamo's more obscure defenders. Or more specifically, to the silver conchos on Josiah's Kennett's hat.
Suddenly, Ellie remembered the miniature portrait of an unsmiling young man, his collar tight around his neck and his face shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat favored by Mexicans and Tejanos alike. She'd seen his miniature in the Alamo, right next to the man's tattered Bible.
The thrill she always felt when the pieces of a historical puzzle began to fall together gripped her. Closing her fingers over the silver disk, she swung around in her chair.
"When's Jack going to be back?" she asked Claire.
"I don't know. Soon, I would think. Why?"
“I need to make a quick visit to the Alamo. I think I may have a clue to the identity of the remains that my team and I recovered. I won't know until I get a shot of a portrait in the museum and enlarge it."
"It's not a good idea for you to leave the hotel," Claire countered gently. "Not until Jack gets back, anyway."
Ellie had no intention of taking a step outside the Menger without Jack. "Can you contact him? Find out where he is?"
"Of course."
Slipping a small cell phone out of her pocket, she pressed a single button.
"This is a secure instrument," she said with a smile as she put the instrument to her ear. "Mackenzie would take it as a personal insult if anyone ever eavesdropped on one of us."
Like Mackenzie herself was doing to Dan Foster. Recalling the builder's terse call last night, Ellie almost changed her mind about leaving, the confines of her hotel room. A cowardly little voice inside her head whispered at her to hunker down behind strong barricades and stay there until it was safe to come out.
She couldn't cower behind drawn shades and closed doors forever, though. And a determined foe could breech even the strongest walls...as the defenders of the Alamo had learned all too well.
Shoving her hands in her pocket, she listened to Claire's side of the conversation with Jack. Evidently, she'd caught him and Mackenzie on their way back to the hotel. His first instinct was to flatly veto Ellie's request for a quick trip next door. His second, to acknowledge the bitter truth. If two OMEGA agents backed-up by their chief of communications couldn't keep her safe, no one could. Period. End of story.
"He'll meet us in the lobby in fifteen minutes," Claire advised. "Hang loose while I run a check of the halls and the elevators."
Her movements graceful and unhurried, she hooked her purse over her shoulder and exited the suite. In her gray pleated linen slacks, narrow belt and silky green blouse, she could easily pass for one of the hotel's well-heeled guests instead of a highly specialized protective agent.
At least that's what Ellie assumed she was. One of these days, she vowed, she'd have to pin these people down on exactly who they worked for. Pacing the room, she rubbed her thumb over the silver disk and waited in mounting impatience for Claire's return.
"All clear," she advised after a short absence.
Snatching up her camera and a curled-brim crush-able straw hat, Ellie hurried out the door.
Jack and Mackenzie met them as they stepped out of the elevator. He didn't have much to say about his visit to the FBI and Ellie knew better than to probe for details in such a public place. He did, however, want to know what the hell was behind the urgent visit to the Alamo.
"This."
Pulling her hand out of her pocket, Ellie uncurled her fingers. "It's the concho you found at the excavation site. Look at the design. I've seen it before, Jack. I'm sure I have. I just need to verify where."
He shook his head but could tell from the suppressed excitement in her voice that she thought she was on to something.
"Okay. Just stay with me, and do exactly what I say the instant I say it. Cyrene, you take point. Mac, you've got rearguard."
With Claire strolling ahead and Mackenzie trailing behind, they walked outside. After the controlled chill of the hotel's air-conditioning, the muggy Texas summer hit them like a baseball bat. Hastily, Ellie slipped on sunglasses and tugged her hat lower on her brow to shield her face. Her
skin began to dew before they covered half the distance to the monument next door.
The usual crowd milled around Alamo Plaza, snapping photos in from of the mission and slurping up ice-cream cones purchased from near-by vendors. The hair on the back of Ellie's neck prickled as her glance roamed over the tourists. Was Scarface lurking among these camera-laden sightseers?
Her pulse skittered when she caught a glimpse of a straw Stetson similar the one the killer had been wearing when she'd unintentionally photographed him with Dan Foster, but the face beneath the brim belonged to a short, stocky man of Hispanic descent. He carried a baby in one arm and had looped the other around his young son's shoulders.
Blowing out a sigh of relief, Ellie pushed through the door set in the massive walls. Once inside, a welcome wash of cool air surrounded them.
"Oh-oh!"
Elle's murmured exclamation put Jack on instant alert. Claire's head whipped around. Her hand disappeared inside her purse. Mackenzie hurried up to add to the living shield around Ellie.
‘‘Do we have a problem?'' Jack asked softly.
"Yes," Ellie whispered, "but not the one you're worried about. See that docent?"
All three agents eyed the gray-haired volunteer cheerfully passing out brochures.
"If she recognizes me," Ellie whispered, sliding her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, she'll call out the palace guard. Would one of you distract her long enough for me to slip by?"
Claire had no difficulty claiming the docent's attention. A simple question about the age of the wood beams overhead had the volunteer craning her neck to point out original iron nails and peg-joints. Ellie kept her face averted and whisked right past.
Once inside the courtyard, the ripple of excitement she'd felt earlier in her hotel room returned. History was both her profession and her passion. Solving the mystery of the remains found in a creek bed five miles south of the Alamo might not rank up there with discovering the Dead Sea scrolls or deciphering the Rosetta Stone, but putting a name to the man who died alone and unmourned would afford her immense personal satisfaction. Consequently, she paced in a fever of impatience until Claire re-joined them.
"The exhibit I want to see is in that long, low building."
Cyrene, you stay outside and surveil the crowd," Jack instructed, slipping a hand under Ellie's elbow. "Mac, I want you at the entrance."
Nodding, both women took up their posts.
As she and Jack entered the Long Barracks, Ellie kept a wary eye out for Dr. Smith. The museum director had insisted she submit written requests for further access to the private collections. He hadn't said anything about the public exhibits, but she wasn't taking any chances.
The display case containing Josiah Kennett's tattered Bible and miniature was in a small room filled with artifacts belonging to the Alamo's lesser-known defenders. Ellie's gaze shot straight to the hat shading Kennett's young, unsmiling face.
A narrow leather strap banded the crown. Ellie's breath caught as she noted the silver conchos ornamenting the band. Given the small size of the portrait, she couldn't tell whether or not the design included a small oak leaf.
A quick glance around the room showed she and Jack were alone. A clutch of tourists peered at exhibits in the room across the hall, but for the moment at least, Ellie had Josiah Kennett all to herself.
"I just need a few pictures," she said, excitement simmering in her veins.
She was reaching her digital camera when Jack's cell phone gave a discreet ping. Sliding it out of her pocket, he glanced at the digital display.
"It's Mac."
Flipping open the phone, he tried to acknowledge the call. A frown creased his forehead. The static coming through the line was so loud even Ellie could hear it.
"Something's breaking up my transmission," Jack muttered. His gaze snagged on the intrusion detection device mounted above the exhibit cases. "Probably the infrared beams from those security alarms."
"Probably," Ellie agreed, absorbed by the contents of the exhibit case. ‘‘The Alamo is more wired than Fort Knox."
Jack glanced down the way they'd come. The halls were clear. The rest of the tourists had moved onto another section of the museum. Mac was right outside, ten steps away. Jack could keep Ellie in sight while he checked with Comra on the transmission problems.
"Do not leave this room," he ordered tersely. "I'll be right back."
He took two steps down the hall. Caught a faint whisper of sound. Sheer instinct spun him down and around.
There was a soft pop. A fiery explosion of pain. With a small grunt, Jack took the bullet.
Unaware of the lethal drama taking place just paces away, Ellie fiddled with the settings for her camera and snapped away. She'd have to do more research on Kennett. Verify where he came from.
How he ended up at the Alamo. If possible, determine what weapons he was carrying when he joined the ranks of defenders.
Humming, she zoomed in on the miniature. Only then did the significance of the small leather pouch slung over Kennett's left shoulder sink in. On closer examination, she decided it could well be a courier's pouch, like those carried by army scouts. Identical, in fact, to one she'd seen in a portrait of James Allen, the sixteen-year-old courier who carried Travis's last, desperate appeal for reinforcements out of the Alamo on March 5th, the day before Santa Anna attacked in full force.
She knew from historical documents that Travis had sent out a number of couriers, some identified by name, some not. James Butler Bonham, a lawyer and fellow South Carolinian from Travis' home county, had tracked down Colonel James Fannin at Goliad. Captain Juan Seguin carried an appeal directly to Sam Houston. Young James Allen made that last, hopeless ride.
As she tried to recall references to the other, unnamed couriers, the possibilities burst like fireworks in Ellie's mind. Maybe Travis had gleaned intelligence warning of the imminent attack. Maybe he'd worried one courier might not get through enemy lines. Maybe he'd sent two, sacrificing badly needed firepower in the hope that one of them would make it. Maybe young Kennett wasn't fleeing the massacre on March 6th, but trying urgently to prevent it.
She'd have to go back through the inventory of artifacts recovered at the dig. Check to see if there was any bit of metal or scrap of rotted rawhide that might have come from a pouch. Snapping away, she recorded several more digital images. The creak of a floorboard behind her had her whirling to share the exciting possibilities with Claire and Jack.
It wasn't Jack who stood in the doorway, however. Or Claire. It was a tourist in mirrored sunglasses and a black ball cap emblazoned with NYPD in gold letters. Ellie took in the reassuring lettering and started to smile a welcome. Her smile turned into a sick gulp when she noticed the white scar tracing a path in the tanned folds of the man's neck.
"Hello, Dr. Alazar."
She didn't need the faint mockery in his greeting—or the long, lethal silencer screwed to the muzzle of the pistol in his hand—to know she'd come face-to-face with her stalker.
"Jack!"
Her frantic scream bounced off the thick walls.
"Your friend can't hear you," Scarface said with a grim smile. "He can't hear anything."
Despair knifed into Ellie, so sharp and lancing she almost doubled over.
"No!" she moaned. "Dear God, no!"
"Yes," the thug taunted. "And now..."
"You bastard!"
Acting from sheer animal instinct, Ellie reached behind her and smashed her digital camera into the glass exhibit case. Before the first, shrieking alarm had filled the air, she brought her arm forward and flung her camera at Scarface.
What was left of the glass exhibit case behind her shattered. Ellie didn't hear the gunshot over the screaming alarm, didn't even care that his first shot had missed. Fingers curled into claws, she launched herself at the man.
She had to get past him, had to get to Jack....
Before she reached him, there was a bright flash.
An unseen force propelled her attacker into the room. He collided with Ellie, took her down. Frantic, she tried to scramble out from under his dead weight.
"Ellie!"
The hoarse croak came from above her. A fist reached down, yanked at the weight crushing her into the floor. The instant she could wiggle free, she rolled onto all fours. Broken glass cut into her hands and knees. The alarm shrieked like the hounds of hell, but Ellie felt nothing, heard nothing but a roaring rush of joy.
Jack! It was Jack! Blood flowered like a bright, obscene hibiscus on his shirt. His face was dead white. But his eyes were feral as he went down on one knee beside her, keeping his weapon trained on the man sprawled in a growing puddle of blood the whole time.
"Were you hit?"
She saw his mouth move. Saw, too, the near panic in his eyes as they raked her from head to foot. "What?"
Mackenzie raced into the room at that moment, followed a second later by Claire. Ellie saw the weapon in their hands, saw their lips moving, but couldn't hear anything over the deafening clang.
Jack motioned to Claire to keep Scarface covered and whirled back to Ellie. ‘‘Where were you hit?''
She shook her head, unable to hear but grasping the reason for his fear. Blood splattered her white blouse and drenched her jeans from the knees down.
"I'm okay!" she yelled. "But you..." Frantic, she fluttered her sliced palms at blood-drenched shirt. "You've been shot!"
The alarm cut off abruptly. Her ears ringing, Ellie tried to understand what Jack was saying as he gently grasped her wrists.
"It looks worse than it is. Damned bullet ricocheted off the bone and took me down for a few moments, but it went clear through."
Mackenzie's sneakers crunched on the glass as she crouched down beside them. "Just hold still," she instructed, "we'll get you patched up and..."
The sound of running footsteps cut her off. Jack chopped a hand in the air, motioning her to one side, and shoved Ellie behind him. Claire slammed her shoulder blades against the wall, where she could keep both Scarface and the door covered. Ellie tensed for another attack.
Texas Hero Page 12
