The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) (16 page)

The president leaned back into his chair with a triumphant smile beaming on his face. Lukas believed he had beaten the one man that had scorned him during his signature law and he was clearly relishing in his own personal victory. In reality, Adam had the man right where he wanted him.

“I accept your apology, Mr. Reinhart.”

“I will make you a deal. I’ll take that rifle off your hands after all, but if I am to receive gifts, then please accept something from me as a good faith measure.” Adam picked up his bag and took out the polished wood box. “It’s something I came by long ago that I decided I wanted to give you to smooth things over between us. I’ve had it for some time but I think it belongs in the hands of a collector like you, not me. Don’t worry; I had it checked with your men already when I arrived.”

The agent next to Adam nodded toward the president. Lukas smirked, took the box, and opened it. Inside was the flawless revolver—the gift Elizabeth had said would seal the deal.

After a long pause, Lukas broke the silence. “I am a man of reason, Mr. Reinhart, but I am no fool.”

Adam’s heart about leapt through his throat, thinking Lukas had somehow found him out.

“You’re telling me you want to hang on to that old rifle of yours but you are willing to freely part with something as rare and beautiful as this? Where is the reason behind that?”

Adam’s heart lowered itself again, though his pulse did not slow just yet.

“I’ve never been much of a collector other than that thing and frankly, I assumed someone like you that worked in the industry for so long would appreciate this much more than I would. Besides,” Adam said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “the word on the street is you can’t buy, sell, or trade things like this anymore. So I’ll make you a deal. You don’t report me for giving away what is now an illegal firearm and I won’t turn you in for that dead duck back there.”

“Congressman, I think we can make a few small exceptions to the law for one day.”

“Honestly, Lukas, that’s a rare gem you now have. I don’t think you’ll find a nicer Colt anywhere.”

Lukas looked at the revolver for quite some time, turning it over in his hands and holding it close to inspect the workmanship. Finally he stood up with the box in hand and spoke.

“Adam, as grateful as I am for the revolver, I do believe you are wrong about it not having an equal.” The president turned to his men. “Gentleman, if you will excuse us, we will be back in a bit. A couple of the drones for my protection will suffice for now. Adam, come with me.”

Adam stood up, trying hard to mask his anticipation. The president was basking in what he thought was another trophy of his conquest and he didn’t even realize that he was being played the fool.

The two men walked through a side door in Lukas’ office and down a long gallery as two of the drones filed in after them. At the end of the hallway, Lukas opened a door that led into the most massive room of the house that Adam had seen. Beautiful display cases held some of the most rare and expensive guns and weapons of eons past. Lukas couldn’t stop talking. Egyptian and Roman swords used in battle, an authentic dragoon rifle supposedly fired by Napoleon, a side-by-side shotgun used against wild bandits by Wyatt Earp himself, and even early production Gatling guns that gunned down hundreds of Confederates. Lukas showed them all off, telling him the history and lore behind each and every weapon. Adam found it interesting that almost everything Lukas had on display had actually been used in war to kill; a fact alone that spoke volumes of his true character. After about half an hour, when Lukas had just finished showing off a handgun carried by Douglas MacArthur, Adam butted into the conversation.

“And here you told me that guns are made to be shot and not displayed in a glass case. I’m starting to wonder what else you told me was a lie.”

Lukas laughed. “As it is with men, not all weapons are created the same, my friend.”

Friend.
The very word sent a shiver down Adam’s back like a jagged knife being dragged across the length of his spine. He didn’t know if he could continue the performance. He was right there, so close to what he had come for, but he was so infuriated with the man that he feared he would soon begin to shake with rage if he couldn’t calm himself. He forced himself to gulp down the words he wanted to shout and continued with his ploy.

“Well, as I said earlier, that revolver has no equal,” Adam said with an effort. “So I guess I wouldn’t be offended if you tucked that away in here and didn’t let it see the light of day.”

“I will find a place for it, Mr. Reinhart, but as I said before, I do believe you’re wrong about the gun. Come.”

Lukas led Adam over to the far wall where a smaller display case stood on top of a waist-high podium. Three feet above it was a shelf holding old maps, wartime memorabilia, and a stacked pyramid of ancient marine cannonballs. The case was topped with a thin glass lid and bordered by dark polished wood that had Lukas’ full name etched in real silver. Inside was a beautiful handcrafted revolver next to a Silver Star medallion. They stopped in front of the display and Adam’s adrenaline began to surge. His plan had almost worked.
This has to be it,
he thought. He was so close to his goal and he now just had to figure out a way to get into the case, find what he was after, and get out of there without Lukas suspecting a thing.

“That is the Army Silver Star,” Lukas said proudly. “The media tried to bring that up every now and then during the election, but any solider worth his weight would choose not to speak of combat. Civilians always say they understand, but they expect us to comply nonetheless. I am sorry, if you will forgive me, I do not really wish to discuss its origins with you either. I mean no offense.”

“Fair enough,” Adam said, “but I’m beginning to think maybe I was wrong about my revolver not having an equal. You have got to tell me about this masterpiece.”

Lukas smiled, took a set of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the glass display. He lifted the glass and gazed silently into the case. Adam tried to act as interested as possible, but his eyes glanced under the inner border of the lid. He listened to Lukas ramble on about the revolver, some ceremony, and days gone by as he continued to scan the inside. However, after a minute or so passed, a panic-induced fear began to sink in.

There was nothing inside that Adam could see but the revolver and the Silver Star medallion.

Lukas had quieted himself down for a moment and Adam took it as a chance to search elsewhere. “You know, as impressive as the revolver is, this case is just as stunning. I took up furniture building at one point. . . .”

Adam talked on, lying about a woodworking hobby as he knelt down and looked around every corner of the stand, running his fingers under the edge. His fear threatened to become a full blown anxiety attack as he failed to find anything.

“I have not opened this for quite some time now,” Lukas said without looking away from the revolver. “I came back from Iraq with that Silver Star. Everyone saw me as a heroic icon. My father was just happy to have his son back alive. He had this made for me when I got back. He was a good man, my father. I always. . . .”

Adam had to think fast while Lukas continued on. He tried to remember everything Elizabeth had said. Somewhere in the case underneath the lid.
Could Sue have meant something else?
He was trying hard not to be frantic, but his eyes were darting everywhere, looking for what he had worked so hard to find.
Could it have been somewhere inside the display and not on it?
Suddenly, he realized Lukas had said something to him.

“What was that?”

“I said shall we continue back to my office now?” Lukas asked.

“Oh sorry, I was just, uh . . . mesmerized. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The revolver, I mean. Now you know Mr. President—I mean Lukas—you know that you have got to let me hold it.”

“I am afraid I cannot let you do that,” Lukas replied with a laugh. “No round has ever traveled down that barrel and it has never left the case. Nor will it ever, I believe. Here, let me close this.”

Lukas started to close the lid. Sweat began to bead on Adam’s forehead. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for an answer. They dashed from the base, to the glass, to the stand, the floor, the shelf above with the cannonballs, to the. . . .

Lukas locked the display and stepped back. He looked around the room with the revolver box in hand that Adam had given him.

“Now, I just need to figure out where to put this.”

Cannonballs.
Adam saw his chance. He quickly took the box from Lukas’ hands. “I’d put it up here just above—”

He pushed the ornate box onto the shelf, attempting to fake a quick, accidental slip in the process, and shoved the bottom-corner cannonball loose. It plunged down, followed by the booming crash of the others, and smashed the prized case below it to pieces.

“Damn it!” Adam shouted. “Mr. President, I am so sorry. I am so, incredibly sorry.” The display was ruined. Glass shards and splinters of the engraved wooden border were strewn everywhere on the floor.

Lukas held up his hand. “It is alright, Adam, do not worry about it. I will get someone to clean this all up,” he said as pleasantly as possible, though Adam could see the man’s eye twitch. As Lukas turned around and bent down to pick up the revolver from the floor behind him, Adam turned and reached into the broken display case where his eyes had spotted the object of his ruse.

He took a hold of the small envelope—it was no bigger than a credit card and contained something small and rigid—and gave it a strong pull, ripping it away from case. He smacked his palm against one side of the broken glass lid and let out another curse. Adam grabbed the envelope with his good hand and stuffed it in his back pant pocket. Blood began to run from the cut. A sharp piece of glass stuck out from the side of his left hand and he slowly pulled it out as he turned back around toward Lukas.

“You are hurt,” Lukas whispered.

Adam looked up and saw Lukas staring back at him with anger in his eyes and the damaged revolver in one hand lowered to his side. He stepped toward Adam without lowering his hateful gaze.

“We should get someone to look at that.” Lukas pulled out a white handkerchief, looked down at the wound, and pressed the makeshift bandage hard onto the injury. His wide and dark eyes met Adam’s, and Adam knew the time had come for him to get out of there fast.

“Thank you, Mr. President, but I really think I should be going.” Adam stepped around Lukas and walked quickly toward the door. His mind was racing out of control. He had to get out. He was almost jogging by the time he had passed through the gallery and opened the door to the president’s den. The three secret service agents looked at Adam, down to his bloodied white bandage, and began to step forward with their hands resting on their side arms.

“It is alright, guys,” Lukas said as he entered the room behind Adam. “I just had a little accident back there and I broke my damn display. I am fine, but our friend here will need a stitch or two. Come, let us get you cleaned up, Mr. Reinhart.”

The two of them walked into the kitchen and Adam rinsed out his hand. Lukas took out a fresh bandage from a cabinet to replace the ruined handkerchief. The cut wasn’t as deep as Adam had thought, but he didn’t care if his hand had been severed. He wanted nothing more than to leave.

“Looks like you will live for now, Mr. Reinhart,” Lukas said with a bit of contempt in his voice. “Why don’t we go for a walk and have ourselves a little chat? And really, do not worry about the case. It was an accident . . . was it not?”

Adam stared blankly at Lukas, wondering if he had seen Adam take the envelope from the ruined case. Suddenly, his back pocket felt afire. A few seconds passed before Adam turned his eyes, cleared his throat, and spoke.

“No, I mean yes, it was,” Adam said, stumbling over his own words. “I’m fine. It was an accident. Sorry. But I, uh . . . I really think I should go.”

“Oh do not let this ruin our afternoon. I am still a billionaire. I can afford a new case and the medal and revolver should be fine. Please, do not worry about it. There is so very little I can’t replace . . . or do.”

“No, I really insist. I’m too embarrassed, Mr. President. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I thank you for your hospitality and everything, Mr. President—I mean Lukas. It was a pleasure. Thanks and uh . . . yeah.” Adam walked fast and opened the front door to leave.

“Stop!”

Adam’s hands were shaking. He cursed himself inwardly for the whole idea. He had told Elizabeth he was no master spy, but he had gone along with it all regardless. He had never been this nervous before, fumbling over his tongue and tripping over his feet; he felt like a blubbering fool. Sweat was forming circles underneath his arms and eyes, pouring down his palms and burning the cut on his hand. He knew every minute he stayed would be a minute closer to being discovered and he didn’t think Lukas would let him leave if he found whatever it was that he carried in his pocket.

Lukas walked slowly toward the front door with heavy boots clicking loudly on the red tiles underfoot. His glare never left Adam’s eyes, and the congressman did what he could to meekly match it. The president stopped just short of the door and after a few moments he bent down next to the entryway and picked up the Kevlar gun bag that contained Adam’s old war rifle.