The Plot (40 page)

He shook his head, remembering his initial panic at the thought of being snookered by that agent. If he
was
an agent. What did he say his name was? Something Spanish. Italian, maybe. He shook his head again, remembering the badge and ID the guy had shown him. And the orders he'd shown Thompkins. Yeah. He was for real. So, why am I up here making an ass of myself? Because some half-asleep bellman saw two men walk through the lobby? Big deal. Still, if the guy wasn't on the up-and-up and I don't check it out, it'll be one more black mark on my record and “see ya later, Harry."

He thought about the universal key card in his wallet. It would open any door in the hotel. But, he might lose more than his career if he barged in and one of them happened to be a little too quick on the trigger.

He looked over his shoulder at the telephone on the shelf near the elevators and thought a moment. Yeah. If I call the room and they answer, everything will be cool. If not, I'll go in. He walked across to it, read the instructions on the telephone for room to room dialing, and picked up the receiver. With a deep breath and a brief prayer to the Almighty that this would be the end of it, he punched in the number. The line was busy.

He smiled. Good.
Very
good. A busy signal didn't
prove
the agent and girl were still in the room, but it was a reasonable assumption. He put the phone back in its cradle and reached across to press the “Down” button on the wall. “CYA,” he said aloud.
Cover your ass. Best career advice I ever received.

The lobby was deserted when Slade stepped from the elevator. No bellman. No desk clerk. Worst of all, no Thompkins. Where the hell had she gone? He strode across to the desk and banged on the service bell. A moment later, the clerk's bald head appeared from behind the office door.

"Yes, sir?"

"You seen my partner?” No need to describe her. She was one unforgettable looking broad.

The clerk yawned and pointed toward the hallway that led to the service area and parking garage. “The last time I saw her, she was over there."

Slade nodded and turned away. She'd probably decided to check the garage for some sign of the girl and her accomplices. With any luck, she wouldn't find any. And this
is
my lucky day, he thought as he started toward the door.

Ed peered around the corner of the broad concrete column, thankful for the deep shadows that concealed him, and watched Slade emerge from the hotel. Judging from his casual demeanor, he'd figured the guy right. Career man. No harm, no foul, no follow up. But, once Thompkins’ body was found, he'd be worse than a horny teenager looking for a date.

He ducked back behind the column and pressed his back against it. The steel fire extinguisher he held at his side was beginning to feel heavy. He wished he could just set it down and disappear into the night. During almost fifteen years with the Bureau, he'd never killed anyone. Now he was about to do it twice in one night. He swallowed hard. It couldn't be helped. Slade was the only one left who could identify him. And set the dogs on Cassie and Max.

The hollow echo of his target's footsteps approached, and Ed closed his hands more tightly around the cumbersome fire extinguisher. He'd only get one chance. If he didn't do it right ... well, Slade was a lot tougher than Thompkins. He felt the holstered .357 at his side. It would be so much more efficient, but gunfire wasn't likely to be ignored by the security guard dozing in the glass booth fifty yards away at the entrance.

The footsteps slowed and stopped.
What's he stopping for? Venga, venga. C'mon, c'mon.
The smell of cigarette smoke wafted toward him, and the footsteps began again. Closer. He raised the fire extinguisher slowly, clutching it with both hands like a baseball bat over his right shoulder, and waited. Slade passed within inches, took a step, stopped and began to turn just as Ed swung the heavy red canister. The sound of metal against skull filled Ed's ears. He stepped back, away from the gushing blood.

Slade staggered, tried to right himself, and looked up as he fell backward to the pavement. His eyes met Ed's.
"Why ... “
The rest of the question was lost in the rattle of his last breath.

Ed set the fire extinguisher down quietly, removed his gloves, and stood looking down at the dead agent for a long moment. “For America, Agent Slade,” he whispered. “For freedom."

Joshua turned the computer off and looked at his wrist watch. Dread filled him. It had been nearly two hours since the explosions rocked the nation and martial law was declared. The call to action had come within moments, but he'd had to time his response carefully. Too soon, not enough people would have turned to the Internet. Too late, the government would eliminate that source of communication. He hoped he'd hit it right. Was pretty sure he had.
Pretty
sure.

He hitched up his pants and walked out onto the small porch. The waning moon cast soft shadows in the broad clearing and glittered against the rippling waters of the Apalachee Bay in the distance. Humidity cloyed at him. Perspiration soaked his shirt and trickled from his armpits as he watched the lights of a shrimp boat flickering against the horizon. “Wish that's where we were,” he murmured, gesturing toward it. “Far away from the cares of this night. Of this world."

Aggie walked across to stand beside him. “I know. But we can't be and
shouldn't
be. We're right where God wants us. Doin’ His work."

He reached out and put his arm across her narrow shoulders. She was right, but it didn't matter. What he'd just done could backfire. Not just on him, but on Aggie and
all
of them if they traced it back to him soon enough. And trace it, they would. He prayed that Godiva was safe. They'd need her to step forward. He sighed, thankful he'd kept a copy of the manuscript and other evidence.

"Did it go through okay?"

"Hope so,” he answered. “There was a little problem uploadin’ the DVD, but I think I got the bugs worked out. All the rest seemed to go through like clockwork."

She put her arm around his waist. “Then we've done everything we can. The rest is in God's hands."

Joshua looked down at her. She'd been through so much for the cause. For
him.
He pulled her a little closer and allowed himself to smile. “Yeah. And, now that the battle's been joined, you don't have t’ pretend to be sick no more."

She smiled back. “See? Don't I always say there's a silver linin’ to every cloud?"

"You do, Miss Aggie. You do fer a fact,” he answered, taking her by the hand. “Wanta go for one last walk on the beach before the others get here to help us pack up?"

"Ya got a date,” she answered and followed him down the rickety steps past the faded, hand-lettered “Promise Land Ministry” sign in the front yard.

Cassie stood in the wings, peering out into the semidarkness of the vast auditorium, and smiled at the sight of Max and Selena sitting side by side in the front row. They had hit it off from the moment they met. She closed her eyes.
You would have liked him, too, Daddy. He's so much like you. Strong. Steady. And so warm
-
once you get to know him.

The glittering engagement ring on her finger caught her eye, and she felt her chest grow tight. In a few months, she would be married. But Mother wouldn't be there to help her dress or offer advice-or “cry for happy,” as she used to say.
Thanks to cancer detected too late
. Daddy wouldn't be there to walk her down the aisle and place her hand in Max's.
Thanks to Hamilton Bates. Some godfather. May he rot in prison
-
along with the rest of his cronies.
She was glad Max had decided against rejoining the police department. As an FBI agent, he'd be in a much better position to make sure Penseur and its operatives would never again pose a threat.

The murmur of the audience subsided as the voice of the master of ceremonies reverberated through the microphone, interrupting Cassie's thoughts.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to Columbia University on this beautiful April morning for this momentous occasion. Never before in the history of this award has the recipient so influenced the future of our nation and, indeed, that of the world. Because of the courage, professionalism, and commitment of this year's honoree, the United States of America is once again a nation governed by ‘We, the People’ and guided by a Constitution that guarantees the rights of all her citizens. For this reason, the Committee has chosen to break with tradition and present this year's award in a public forum.

"It is now my distinct pleasure to announce that the jury has unanimously chosen to award this year's Pulitzer Prize for Literature to the late Madison Hart for his documentary book,
In the Name of Peace.
Here to accept in his behalf is his daughter, Cassandra Rose Hart."

Cassie paused a moment to compose herself as she listened to the applause echoing against the walls. Rumor had it that her father was also in line for this year's Nobel Prize, but to Daddy, there was no greater honor than this. Her head high, her heart full, she stepped from the wings and crossed the broad stage to accept the MC's congratulations and the check she was donating to
America's First Freedom Foundation
.

As the MC stepped back, Cassie turned toward the throng assembled to honor her father. Joshua should have been here. He was the hero who had turned the tide of public opinion by uploading duplicates of Daddy's manuscript and the documents to the Internet. But he had declined her invitation, preferring to remain anonymous, ready for the next time, the next threat he was sure would come.

At last, the applause subsided, and Cassie stepped up to the microphone. She had never felt so humble-nor so proud-as she began to speak.

"On behalf of my father, I want to thank the jury for this prestigious award. I also offer my heartfelt gratitude to those among you whose dedication to a free and independent press has helped to further the cause for which my father gave his life. I believe that a very special thank you is owed to my father's friend, who risked everything to bring the truth to light via the Internet following the ‘Midnight Bombings.’ I also want to thank Jennifer Miles of Halcyon House, whose publication of my father's book and supporting documentation in more than thirty languages has made it available to people throughout the world.

"My father was not only a strong believer in concise reporting but also in brief speeches, and as his representative here today, I will be true to his principles..."

Cassie paused as many in the crowd chuckled, no doubt recalling Madison Hart's distaste for long-winded speakers. As the noise died down, she looked at Max, who winked at her. Public speaking was not her strong suit, but this was going well.

"Let me simply say that those who attempted to create peace by placing all power in the hands of government had it backward. As my father once said, ‘without liberty, there can be no peace,’ and in the United States, we recently discovered what it is like to be without our most cherished freedoms. We saw despotism and tyranny rear their heads in our most hallowed halls and the blood of patriots shed on our streets.

"Today, as we again assemble freely, practice journalism unfettered, have the right to keep and bear arms, the right to a fair and speedy trial by jury, and the sanctity of our homes is restored, we appreciate as never before the importance of our Constitution and its cornerstone-the Bill of Rights. Nothing is so cherished as that which is lost, and I doubt that any among us will so easily surrender our freedoms again.

"Thank you again for honoring my father, Madison Hart, with this prestigious award and for your presence here today. God bless the United States of America and those whose courage has made this day possible."

Kathleen McCabe Lamarche is an award-winning author and journalist with close ties to law enforcement and a keen interest in politics, whose articles have appeared in numerous newspapers and magazines. She owns a successful private security company serving large hunting plantations in Florida and Georgia, and she recently graduated Magna cum Laude from Florida State University with a degree in Creative Writing. Married to her high school sweetheart, Kathleen has two grown children, two dogs, two young grandsons, and a love for shooting sports, fishing, and, most of all, writing. She is a resident of Tallahassee, Florida but spends as much time as possible at her “fish camp” at Shell Point on the Gulf, where she does most of her writing.

Kathleen's debut novel, THE PLOT, received first place in the Suspense/Thriller category of the Authorlink 2002 New Authors Awards.