The Constantine Conspiracy (29 page)

“I think she’s okay,” the doctor said when finished. “Knife nicked her neck, gashed her arm, but nothing life threatening.”

Cotter went to work cleaning and bandaging the new wounds. Rick worried while she worked, his brain clicking overtime. His guards stood ready, waiting on orders. Rick’s shoulder throbbed with pain, but he forced himself to focus. He balanced several options but didn’t like any of them. After a few minutes, Cotter finished, then stepped back. Knowing he’d run out of time, Rick made a snap decision.

“We’re getting her out of here,” he said.

“You can’t do that!” the doctor argued. “She’s injured. She needs medical attention.”

“You’re right,” Rick said. “But it’s not safe here. You’re coming with us, five million dollars for you the day she climbs out of bed. You want the job or not?”

Rick motioned guards to the foot and head of the bed. The doctor hesitated as the guards took their positions.

“I’m coming,” Nurse Cotter said. “And I’ll do it for an autographed picture of you for my granddaughter.”

Rick smiled at her, then faced the doctor one last time.

“There’s a back entrance,” the doctor said. “I’ll show you. We’ll take an ambulance.”

“Two of you grab her things,” Rick ordered his guards. “The other two push the bed and follow the doctor.”

The doctor stepped out and the group trailed, Shannon in the bed, her eyes still closed.

Rick moved back to the body on the floor, braced his feet, and jerked the knife from the man’s forehead. Then he joined Nurse Cotter, the knife still bloody in his hand.

“Where we going?” Cotter asked, handing Rick a white cloth she produced from her scrubs to wipe the knife.

“My house,” he said. “We’ll buy the medical equipment she needs, then shut the place down, nobody in or out without my approval. Tighter than the lid on a mason jar.”

“They’ll come after you,” Cotter said. “You realize that, don’t you?”

Rick glanced at her and she held his gaze.

“Yeah,” he finally nodded, the knife now clean in his hands. “But not if I go after them first.”

35

W
hen Shannon opened her eyes, this time she found Rick sitting by her bed, dozing in his seat. She instantly remembered him this time, recalled everything that had happened since they met, every event as if it had occurred a second ago.

“Rick,” she whispered.

He startled slightly, then stood and bent over her. “Hey,” he said. “You feeling okay? Need anything?”

She licked her lips. “Water, maybe. I’m thirsty.”

Rick lifted a pitcher off a table, poured a glassful, then dropped a straw into it and bent it toward her lips. She drank deeply, then gazed around the room. A huge window covered most of the left side. Ornate crown molding ran around the ceiling. Soft green walls decorated with muted but striking paintings stared back at her. “This is nicer than your hotel room,” she offered. “Just barely though.”

“Glad you noticed,” he said, setting down the pitcher. “You’re at my house. The hospital wasn’t safe. I have a doctor and nurse here, they’re keeping an eye on you. Say you’re going to be fine. Internal bleeding has stopped, nothing permanently damaged from either incident. A little time for everything to heal and you’re ready to kick butt again. And I brought you this too.” He held up a bell the size of his hand and shook it. “Somebody will come if you ring,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I always wanted to be a diva.”

“Now’s your chance.”

She took the bell and placed it beside her. “I nurse you, then you nurse me. We have to find a better reason to spend time together.”

“I’ll work on that.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Pretty much since we left the hospital. Having much pain?”

“Not too bad but they’re giving me something, right?”

Rick nodded. “Things have gotten serious,” he said. “Sorry I got you mixed up in all this.”

She shifted slightly, winced as she spoke. “You didn’t mix me up in anything,” she said. “I came to you, remember? No blame on you.”

“The man at the hospital. Said he was your father.” He quickly told her all the man had said.

“My father is dead.”

“So I gather.”

“He died trying to protect me and Mom. The Conspiracy came for him the summer after my junior year in college. Mom woke up in the middle of the night, then Dad. He killed two of them before the third one brought him down. He shot Dad four times.”

“Why would they want him dead?”

Shannon stared at the ceiling and almost cried, but then pushed through the tears. “Dad was incredibly influential at the Academy. He taught young officers there, molded them, and their influence often carried into the Air Force. The Conspiracy fought him every step of the way, got laws changed where he couldn’t mention Christ on campus. But he ignored the laws. Finally, the Conspiracy concluded they had to silence him.”

Rick shook his head. “Hard to believe.”

“But true, Rick—all of it.”

“The man at the hospital told me stories about you, the rough times your last year of college, said you had a miscarriage.”

“All true again.” She dropped her eyes. “I lost my way after my folks were murdered. Should have expected it, I suppose, but I still feel guilty about what I did, didn’t do.”

“Then you became a believer and joined the Order.”

She looked back up. “After the miscarriage, I called Mabel. She flew to Colorado to take care of me. I spent time in a hospital. Between her and a chaplain I met, I recovered. Returned to my faith, finished college, entered the Order. They sent me into the military.”

Rick offered her more water which she drank deeply. “So Mabel is your—?”

“Aunt on my dad’s side.”

Rick grunted. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Sorry.”

“I killed the guy at the hospital,” Rick said.

“After he almost killed me.”

“Yes.”

“You saved my life. Where’d you learn to throw a knife like that?”

“Eagle Scout, remember? Earned badges for knife skills.”

She smiled. “Now who’s full of surprises?”

“Your tattoo is a surprise,” he said, nodding toward her right ankle.

“You looked at my ankles?”

“And they’re lovely, may I say. What does it mean?”

“It’s Greek, letters for the word
zoë
which means ‘abundant life.’ You got any tats?”

He looked confused for a moment, then said, “One.”

“Where is it? What is it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Too embarrassed?”

“Something like that.”

He offered nothing else so Shannon let it pass and moved back to more serious issues. “The police didn’t arrest you?” she asked.

Rick shook his head. “Roche and Webber showed up after I brought you here. Questioned me again, but witnesses backed my self-defense story so they left me alone. They’re trying to find out about the dead guy. They’re clueless who he really is.”

“He’s with the Conspiracy, Rick. Or do you still reject the idea?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he said. “Except that somebody wants you dead.”

“Like they wanted your dad dead.”

“But why?”

“You know the answer. Just give up and let yourself believe it.”

“They think you know whatever my dad knew, that you uncovered it in the panic room.”

“Bingo. And your grandfather gives the orders.”

“He’s my Pops, Shannon, not a monster like you say. Nothing I’ve ever seen points to that.”

“You do accept the fact of the Conspiracy, though, right?”

Rick rubbed his forehead. Finally, he spoke again, his voice barely audible. “I . . . don’t know.”

“You saw the knife the man at the hospital used on me.”

“I kept it—it’s in my room upstairs. And it’s just like the one left with my dad.”

“The cops didn’t want it?”

“I told them I left it in the hospital.”

“But they didn’t find it there.”

“I suggested maybe one of the hospital workers took it. I don’t think they believed me, but honestly, I don’t care right now.”

She licked her lips. “I have the knife used on your father,” she said.

“You do?”

“I took it before the police saw it. Replaced it with one I carried.” She told him what she’d done.

“But why?”

“Same reason you took the one at the hospital. I didn’t want the police involved any more than necessary. We now have two of the twelve in existence.”

“One for each of the first twelve men in the Conspiracy?”

“Exactly. They had them made, a symbol of their allegiance to their cause. Their assassins use them now.”

“We’re both thieves, obstructers of justice.”

“To an extent, yes. But it’s necessary, don’t you think?”

Rick sagged to a chair and pulled it close to her bed. He looked exhausted. “What do we do next, Shannon? Once you’re . . . once we’re both healed?”

“That’ll be too late,” she said.

“Too late for what?”

“I told you. The Conspiracy has something monumental in the wings. They’ve brought the Council in from all over the globe. They’re here for the Succession, the event that will lead to it. We’ve gotten indications it’ll happen soon, maybe within days. Your grandfather wants to leave a final legacy, go down as the greatest leader in the history of his movement.”

“But you have no idea what this grand thing is.”

“That’s why we need you. Otherwise, we have no way to get ahead of it, stop it.”

Rick dropped his head. “But he’s my blood, Shannon, and without proof, I just—”

He stopped suddenly, faced Shannon again, his face ashen.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The knife. You said you have it.”

“In my bag.”

“Black bag?”

“Yeah.”

Rick stood, hurried to the closet, pulled her bag out, and moved back to her. “My guards brought it from the hospital,” he explained.

“The bottom,” Shannon said. “Flip it over, look close.”

Rick rolled the bag over. “Don’t see anything.”

“Give it to me,” Shannon ordered.

Rick handed her the bag and she slipped her hands across the bottom, feeling as much as looking for the slender opening she sought. A moment later, she unhooked a zipper hidden by a seam on the left side and pulled open a pocket.

“Easy to miss,” she said, lifting the plastic bag from the corner and holding it up, the bloody knife visible inside.

Rick took a deep breath. “My grandfather knew about this knife,” he said. “The ruby crosses in the handle. He talked about it when I questioned him. But if you took it . . .” His voice trailed away, unable to finish.

“How did he know about it unless he sent the assassin with it?”

Rick shivered as if freezing. Shannon laid the knife back in the bag, then reached for his hand. He gave it to her and she stroked him until he calmed a little.

“I hate that you have to face this,” she whispered. “That I had to serve as the messenger of such horrible news. But lives are at stake, Rick. Maybe more importantly, people’s faith hangs in the balance too. You see that now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, obviously taking strength from her touch. “I do, finally I do.”

“Then you’ll help us?”

He shivered once more, then shook himself. “I’ll do what I can. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll let me handle this my own way. You’ll trust me to find out what you need to know. If not, I’ll walk away, am I clear on that?”

“You’re clear. And I’ll make you that promise if you’ll make one to me.”

“You’re in no condition to bargain.”

“You’ll contact me when you need my help. Promise me that.”

He continued to hold her hands as he looked into her eyes. “I’ll contact you,” he said. “No doubt about it.”

36

D
etermined to uncover the truth, Rick took a limousine to meet Pops at the airport. A line of media vehicles trailed him, but guards in SUVs ahead and behind him kept them at bay on the highway. Then the limo slipped inside the airport security gate and the paparazzi had to stop outside. Pops exited his jet just after 7:00 p.m. and strode toward the car, his head erect and spine straight. Rick watched him approach, anxious about the exchange about to begin. Two bodyguards and a luggage carrier followed Pops, and within minutes everything was loaded in the limo and ready to leave. The guards climbed into a black SUV while Rick and Pops piled into the limo where Pops closed the privacy glass and loosened his tie.

“Surprised you came to meet me,” Pops said. “Something up?”

“Shannon Bridge almost died,” he said. “Twice!”

Pops’ eyes narrowed for a moment. “Tell me what happened.”

Rick quickly repeated the events of the past day.

“I see your concern,” said Pops when Rick finished. “And I’ll make sure Ms. Bridge receives the finest medical care available. What else can I do to help?”

Rick inhaled. “You can tell me who tried to kill her.”

“You’re back on the Conspiracy notion, aren’t you? And this time you seem more certain of yourself. Why is that?”

“The knife left with Dad,” Rick said. “You knew about the ruby handles, the cross design. But the police never had that knife. Shannon took it from the scene before they saw it.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“It’s not the time for verbal diversions,” Rick countered. “If you didn’t send the assassin, how did you know about that particular knife?”

Pops fell still. “Luisa told me,” he finally said. “She told me everything that happened that morning.”

“I haven’t seen Luisa since I got home,” Rick said. “Where is she?”

“I thought you planned to call her.”

“I wanted to, but things have been so crazy. You don’t mind if I contact her now, do you?”

“Of course not, but you might have trouble doing that. She and her family left for Mexico a couple of days ago, visiting her grandmother if I remember correctly, celebrating her ninety-fifth birthday.”

“Tony went with her, I suppose.”

“That’s my understanding.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“I want you here, Rick, out of trouble. And I knew that Tony and Luisa would help you run again if you asked them, so I sent them to Mexico. They’re fine—back here in a month.”