James Burke - Light of the World

A meeting was under way in a spacious room hung with rustic paintings containing scenes from America’s national parks. Perhaps ten men were seated at a long hardwood table set with a silver service and a decanter and glasses and a silver bowl with red flowers floating in the water. Love and Caspian Younger were seated at the head of the table. A well-dressed man with gray hair was in the midst of introducing Love Younger to the group. He was a pleasant-looking man whose manner was deferential and whose sentiments seemed genuine. He had probably labored for hours on his introductory remarks.

“Mr. Younger formed an early and protective attachment to the woods and rivers and streams and mountains of his East Kentucky home,” he said. “The cabin in which he was born was not far from the Revolutionary fort built on the Cumberland River by Daniel Boone. His ties to American history, however, are not simply geographical in nature. He’s a descendant of Tecumseh, the great Shawnee leader, and proud of his relationship to Cole Younger, who fought for his beliefs during the Civil War and was admired by both friend and foe. Mr. Younger’s donation of ten thousand acres to the Conservancy is not only an act of great generosity but of vision.”

The gray-haired man turned to Love Younger and continued, “I cannot tell you how appreciative we are of your support. Your investment in wind and solar power has set an example for everyone committed to finding a better way to supply energy for the twenty-first century. You’ve demonstrated that the rancher and the sportsman and the conservationist and the industrialist can work together for the common good. It’s a great honor to have you here today, sir.”

Love Younger studied the tumbler of whiskey in his hand, tilting the glass slightly, as though more praise had been given him than was his due. He rose from his chair. “The honor is mine,” he said. “You gentlemen have invested a lifetime in a higher cause. I have not. People such as me are bystanders. Tecumseh was a man with a noble vision, one far greater than mine has been. Cole Younger led a violent life but became a Christian before his death. He was a business partner in the operation of a traveling Wild West show with Frank James. The two men were not cut out of the same cloth. I say this not to judge or condemn Frank James but to remind myself of the biblical admonition that many are invited and yet only a few are chosen. I believe my ancestor redeemed himself. The donation I make to your cause is my small attempt at righting some wrong choices in my own life.” Younger raised his whiskey glass. “Here’s to each and every one of you,” he said, and drank it to the bottom. Only then did he seem to notice Alafair and Gretchen standing in the doorway. “Would you ladies like to come in?” he asked.

“That’s Robicheaux’s daughter,” Caspian said, looking up from his chair at his father’s side. There was an ugly scab across the bridge of his nose from the beating Clete had given him, and a bruise couched like a tiny blue-black mouse under one eye.

Alafair waited for Gretchen to answer, then said, “We can speak with you later, Mr. Younger.”

“No, if you have something to say to me, do it now,” Love Younger replied.

“Your son is being blackmailed by Asa Surrette,” Gretchen said. “Your granddaughter’s death might make your son an independently wealthy man. I’m saying your son may have paid Asa Surrette to kill your granddaughter.”

“Who sent you here?” Younger said.

“No one. I called your office and was told this is where I could find you. I think your daughter-in-law is in danger, Mr. Younger,” Gretchen said. “I think she may be trying to contact Surrette.”

The gray-haired man leaned toward Younger. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Younger. I’ll take care of it,” he said.

Younger placed his hand on the man’s shoulder so he couldn’t rise from his chair, his gaze never leaving Gretchen’s face. “Felicity is trying to contact this killer?” he said.

“She thinks she’s responsible for Angel’s death,” Gretchen replied.

“And out of goodwill, you’ve come here to discuss my family’s personal tragedy in public? You use my granddaughter’s first name as though you knew her?”

“Maybe you’d rather see your daughter-in-law dead?” Gretchen said.

“I know all about you. You’re a contract killer from Miami. I think you’re working with Albert Hollister to blacken my name in any way you can.”

“I came here to prevent your daughter-in-law from being killed. I don’t see you as a victim, Mr. Younger.”

The other men at the table were silent, without expression, hands motionless on the tabletop. One man cleared his throat, then picked up his water glass and drank from it and set it down as quietly as he could.

“I think you ladies have come here to cause a scene and to further the agenda of Albert Hollister and the ecoterrorists who are his proxies,” Younger said.

“I’ve told you the truth,” Gretchen said. “I think your son has done everything in his power to provoke Wyatt Dixon into harming you. Why would he want to do that, Mr. Younger? Dixon said you were out on his property. Why do you and your son have all this interest in a rodeo cowboy?”

Love Younger looked at the other men at the table. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he said. “My family has been through a difficult ordeal. I’m sorry that you’ve been witness. I’m sure we’ll see one another again soon. Thank you again for allowing me to participate in your mission. I think you’re a fine group of men.”

“We feel the same about you, Mr. Younger,” one of the seated men said.

“I have to say something else,” Gretchen said. “You’re educated and wealthy and have knowledge about foreign governments that only intelligence agencies have access to. But you use your education and experience to deceive people who never had your advantages. I’m not talking about these men here; I’m talking about people who never had a break. You exploit their trust and patriotism and inspire as much fear in them as possible. Tell me, Mr. Younger, do you know of any viler form of human behavior?”

The only sound in the room was the wind blowing through the trees behind the train station.

“Come on, Caspian,” Younger said to his son. “We’ve taken up too much of these gentlemen’s time.”

“I’m sorry I had to disrupt your meeting,” Gretchen said to the men at the table. “I admire the work you do. If I could have talked to Mr. Younger somewhere else, I would have.”

She walked outside, leaving Alafair behind, the back of her neck as red as a sunburn.

“Is there something you wanted to say, Ms. Robicheaux?” Love Younger asked.

“Yeah, you got off easy,” Alafair replied. “Your son is mixed up with Asa Surrette, a man who ejaculates on the bodies of the little girls he tortures and murders, the same guy who murdered your foster granddaughter. You’re a real piece of work. I’ve known some scum in my time, but you take the cake.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he said, his face quivering.

“I just did,” she replied.

Alafair caught up with Gretchen outside. “Where are you going?” she said.

“I think I’ll drown myself.”

“I’m proud of you,” Alafair said.

“For what?”

“What you said in there. The way you talked to those guys when you left.”

“What about it?”

“They know courage and integrity when they see it. They can’t say it to Love Younger, but they respected what you did. It was in every one of their faces.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“You shouldn’t ask me that. I’ve never lied to you,” Alafair said.

“Care to explain why you’re looking at me like that?”