Gideon's Sword (58 page)

The first call to BLM gets me voice mail. Same with the call to the CEO. That leaves only the mayor. Fine by me. I’m better with politicians any day.

Dialing the number, I let the phone ring in my ear and glance down at my watch. Viv should be back any…

“L-and-L Luncheonette,” a man with a cigarette-burned voice and Hollywood-cowboy drawl answers. “What c’n I do?”

“I’m sorry,” I stutter, glancing down at the bottom of the letter. “I was looking for Mayor Regan’s office.”

“And who should I say is calling?” the man asks. “Andy Defresne,” I say. “From the House of Representatives. In Washington, D.C.”

“Well, why didn’t you say?” the man adds with a throaty laugh. “This is Mayor Regan.”

I pause, suddenly thinking of my dad’s barbershop.

“Not used to small towns, are ya?” the mayor laughs.

“Actually, I am.”

“From one?”

“Born and raised.”

“Well, we’re smaller,” he teases. “Guaranteed or your money back.”

God, he reminds me of home.

“Now, what c’n I do?” he asks.

“To be honest—”

“Wouldn’t expect anything but,” he interrupts, laughing wildly.

He also reminds me why I left.

“I just had a quick question about the gold mine that’s—”

“The Homestead.”

“Exactly. The Homestead,” I say, nervously tapping a finger against one of the spare keyboards in the room. “So, getting back… I’m working on Congressman Grayson’s request for the land sale…”

“Oh, don’t everybody love a fight.”

“Some do,” I play along. “Personally, I’m just trying to make sure we do the right thing and put local interests first.” He’s silent at that, enjoying the sudden attention. “Anyway, as we push for the request, we’re trying to think who else we should go to for support, so would you mind walking me through how the town might benefit from the sale of the mine taking place? Or better yet, is there anyone in particular who’s excited by the deal going through?”

As he’s done twice before, the mayor laughs out loud. “Son, to be honest, you got as much chance sucking bricks through a hose as you do finding someone who’ll benefit from this one.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“And maybe I don’t, either,” the mayor admits. “But if I were putting up my money for a gold mine, I’d at least want one that had some gold.”

My finger stops tapping against the keyboard. “Excuse me?”

“The Homestead mine. Place is empty.”

“You sure about that?”

“Son, the Homestead may’ve broke ground in 1876, but the last ounce of gold was mined almost twenty years ago. Since then, seven different companies have tried to prove everyone wrong, and the last one went bust so ugly, they
took most of the town with ’em. That’s why the land’s been sitting with the government. There used to be nine thousand of us here in town. Now we’re a hundred and fifty-seven. You don’t need an abacus to do that math.”

As he says the words, the storage room is dead silent, but I can barely hear myself think. “So you’re telling me there’s no gold in that mine?”

“Not for twenty years,” he repeats.

I nod even though he can’t see me. It doesn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor—maybe I’m just dense, but if there’s no chance of finding gold, then why’d you write that letter?”

“What letter?”

My eyes drop to the desk, where Matthew’s old notebook holds a letter endorsing the land transfer to Wendell Mining. It’s signed by the mayor of Leed, South Dakota.

“You are Mayor Tom Regan, right?”

“Yep. Only one.”

I study the signature at the bottom of the letter. Then I reread it again. There’s a slight smudge on the
R
in
Regan
that makes it look just messy enough that it’d never get a second glance. And right there, for the first time since this all started, I start to see the ripple in the mirror.

“You still there, son?” the mayor asks.

“Yeah… no… I’m here,” I say. “I just… Wendell Mining…”

“Let me tell you about Wendell Mining. When they first came sniffing here, I personally called MSHA to—”

“Em-sha?”

“Mine Safety and Health Administration—the safety boys. When you’re mayor, you gotta know who’s coming to your town. So when I talked to my buddy there, he said these guys at Wendell may’ve bought the original mining
claims to the land, and filed all the right paperwork, and even put enough money in someone’s pocket to get a favorable mineral report—but so help me, when we looked up their track record, these boys’ve never operated a single mine in their lives.”

A sharp pain in my stomach burns, and the fire quickly spreads. “You sure about that?”

“Son, did Elvis love bacon? I’ve seen this one a hundred and nineteen times before. A company like Wendell has a little bit of money, and a lotta bit of greed. If anyone would bother to ask me my opinion, I’d tell ’em that the last thing we need around here is to get everyone’s hopes up and then see ’em squashed once again. You know how it is in a small town… when those trucks showed up—”

“Trucks?” I interrupt.

“The ones that showed up last month. Isn’t that what you’re calling about?”

“Y-Yeah. Of course.” Matthew transferred the gold mine barely three days ago. Why were trucks there a month ago? “So they’re already mining?” I ask, completely confused.

“God knows what they’re doing… I went up there myself—y’know, just to make sure they’re doing things right with the union… Let me tell you right now, they don’t have a single piece of mining equipment up there. Not even a pelican pick. And when I asked them about it… let me just say…
crickets
aren’t as jumpy. I mean, those boys shooed me away like a fly on the wrong end of a horse.”

My hand holds tight to the receiver. “You think they’re doing something other than mining?”

“I don’t know what they’re doing, but if it were up to me—” He cuts himself off. “Son, can you hold on one
second?” Before I can answer, I hear him in the background. “Aunt
Mollie,
” he calls out, suddenly excited. “What can I get you, dear?”

“Just the regular,” a woman with the sweetest hometown twang replies. “No jelly on the toast.”

Behind me, someone pounds
shave-and-a-haircut
against the door. “It’s me,” Viv calls out. I stretch the phone cord and undo the lock.

Viv steps inside, but the tap dance in her step is gone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did you get the—”

She pulls my electronic organizer from the waist of her pants and tosses it straight at me. “There—you happy?” she asks.

“What happened? Was it not where I said it was?”

“I saw an FBI agent in your office,” she blurts.

“What?”

“He was there—talking to your assistant.”

I slam down the phone on the mayor. “What’d he look like?”

“I don’t know…”

“No—forget
I don’t know.
What’d he look like?” I insist.

She reads my panic easily but, unlike last time, doesn’t brush it off. “I didn’t see him that long… buzzed salt-and-pepper hair… I guess a creepy smile… and eyes that kinda, well… kinda look like a hound dog if that makes any sense…”

My throat locks up, and my eyes flash over to the door. More specifically, the doorknob. It’s unlocked.

I dart full speed at the door, ready to twist the lock shut. But just as I’m about to grab it, the door bursts toward me, slamming into my shoulder. Viv screams, and a thick hand slides through the crack.

27

T
HE DOOR’S BARELY
open an inch, but Janos already has his hand inside. Viv’s still screaming, and I’m still moving. Lucky for me, momentum’s on my side.

My full weight collides with the door, pinching Janos’s fingers in the doorjamb. I expect him to yell as he yanks his hand free. He barely grunts. Viv also goes dead silent, and I look over to make sure she’s okay. She’s standing there, eyes closed and hands clasped around her ID. Praying.

As the door slams shut, I dive for the lock and click it into place. The door thunders as Janos rams himself against it. The hinges shudder. We’re not gonna last long.

“Window!” I say, turning back toward Viv, who finally looks up. She’s frozen in shock. Her eyes look like they’re about to explode. I grab her hand and twirl her toward the small window that’s high up on the wall. It’s got two panes that swing outward like shutters.

There’s another thunderclap against the door.

Viv turns and panics. “He’s—”

“Just go!”
I shout, pulling one of the spare chairs toward the windowsill.

Hopping up on the chair, Viv can’t stop her hands from shaking as she tries to unhook the window latch.

“Hurry!” I beg as the door once again rumbles.

She pounds the windows, but they don’t move.
“Harder!”
I tell her.

She hits them again. She’s not a small girl—the impact’s tremendous.

“I think they’re painted shut!”

“Here, let me—”

With the base of her palm, Viv gives it one final shove, and the left window pops open, swinging out toward the rooftop. Her hands lock on the windowsill, and I give her a boost up. There’s a loud bang against the front door. The lock buckles. Two screws look like they’re about to come loose.

Viv turns toward the sound.

“Don’t look!” I tell her.

She’s already halfway out the window. I grab her ankles and give her one final push.

Another screw flies from the lock and clinks against the floor. We’re out of time. I hop on the chair just as Viv crashes against the balcony outside. Behind me, I spot Matthew’s notebooks sitting on the nearby table. Janos is one good kick away. I’ll never make it…

I don’t care. I need that info. Leaping off the chair, I scramble back toward the desk, grab the Grayson section, and tear the pages from the three-ring binder.

The door flies open and crashes to the ground. I don’t even bother to look back. In one mad dash, I leap on the chair and dive toward the open window. My pelvis crashes against the windowsill, but it’s enough to get me through. Teetering forward, I tumble outside, blinded by the sun as I hit the floor of the balcony.

“Which way?” Viv asks, slamming the window shut as I climb to my feet.

Rolling up the stack of papers and shoving them in my front pocket, I grab Viv’s wrist and tug her to the left, along the three-foot-wide pathway just outside the window.

Overlooking the Washington Monument, we’re on the long balcony outside the Senate wing. Unlike the enormous Capitol dome, which rises up in front of us, the path on this side of the building is flat.

I glance over my shoulder just as the window bursts open behind us. The glass shatters as it swings into the white wall of the building. As Janos sticks his head out, it only makes us run harder. We’re moving so fast, the intricate marble railing on my right starts to blur. To my surprise, Viv’s already a few steps ahead of me.

The sun beats down, reflecting off the white railing so brightly, I have to squint to see. Good thing I know where I’m going. Up ahead, the pathway forks as we approach the base of the Capitol dome. We can go straight and follow the pathway, or make a sharp left into a nook around the corner. Last time we did this, Janos caught me off guard. This time, we’re on my turf.

“Left,” I say, yanking the shoulder of Viv’s suit. As I tug her around the corner, there’s a rusted metal staircase dead ahead. It leads up to a catwalk that’ll take us up to the roof, directly on top of the room we were just in. “Keep going,” I say, pointing her toward the stairs.

Viv keeps running. I stay where I am. By my feet, a trio of thin steel wires runs along the floor of the balcony, just outside the windows. During the winter, the maintenance division sends a small electric current through the wiring to melt the snow and prevent the ice from piling up. During the rest of the year, the wires just sit there,
useless. Until now. Squatting down, I press my knuckles against the floor and grab the wires. As Janos runs, I hear his shoes pounding against the roof.

“He’s right around the corner!” Viv yells from her perch on the catwalk.

That’s what I’m counting on. Tugging up like I’m curling a barbell, I pull the wires as hard as I can. The staples that hold them in place pop through the air. The metal wiring goes taut, rising a few inches from the ground. Perfect ankle height.

Just as Janos turns the corner, his legs slam into the wiring. At his speed, the thin metal slices into his shins. For the first time, he yells out in pain. It’s not much more than a muted roar, but I’ll take it. Tumbling forward, he skids face first against the ground. The sound alone is worth it.

Before he can get up, I leap toward him, gripping him by the back of his head and pressing his face against the burning-hot green copper floor. As his cheek hits, he finally screams—a guttural rumble that vibrates against my chest. It’s like trying to pin a bull. Even as I grab the back of his neck, he’s already on his knees, climbing to his feet. Like a trapped panther, he lashes out, swiping a meaty paw at my face. I duck back, and his knuckles barely connect with a spot below my shoulder, just under my armpit. It doesn’t hurt—but as my entire right arm tingles and goes numb, I realize that’s where he was aiming all along.