Steve Berry - The Jefferson Key

His gaze was drawn to the fireplace and he wove a path around loose blocks. The hearth would hold half a dozen men standing side by side. He noticed places where planks covered the stone floor, some milled and clearly of a more recent vintage, others rotting and dangerous.

Beyond a darkened passageway, he spied another room. He negotiated a short hall and entered that empty space. A second staircase led up. Probably to the walk he’d spotted encircling the battlements.

Something to his right, near a pile of grass-infected rubble, caught his attention.

Smears on the rock floor.

Footsteps. Toward the second staircase.

More stains colored the risers. Fresh, moist.

Somebody was above him.

KNOX WAITED ON THE BATTLEMENTS FOR WYATT TO EMERGE from the cluster of decaying buildings. Though the ceilings were gone, as were most of the walls, there remained many places to hide. He’d watched as Wyatt entered the fort. Before he killed him he hoped perhaps Wyatt might point the way to where the missing pages waited. He had the full text of Jackson’s message with him, including the five curious symbols. Instead of spending all night searching, he could let Wyatt lead him straight there.

But his adversary was wandering, as if lost.

Apparently, he did not know where to find whatever Andrew Jackson had hidden.

So kill him and be done with it.

WYATT HAD LEARNED LONG AGO THAT WHEN YOUR OPPONENT was expecting the expected, it was best not to disappoint. That was why he’d boldly entered the Garver Institute through the front door. Near the base of the staircase, where more footprints in the mud and excrement led upward, a bare window opened through the outer wall facing the sea. He crept over and carefully poked his head out, checking above.

Maybe a ten-foot climb to the top, with plenty of handholds in the withering stone.

He glanced down at the hundred-foot drop to a rocky shoreline being assaulted by the sea. Birds leaped from the cliff-like walls and hung in the breeze. The half-choked cries of gulls accompanied their waltz. He retreated inside and found a stone the size of a softball. The battlements above were certainly populated by birds, too. Carefully, he crept up one flight of risers and peered up into an ever-dimming sky.

He lobbed the rock up through the opening, but did not wait for it to land.

Instead he retreated down to the window.

KNOX WAS POSITIONED ACROSS FROM WYATT, ON THE FORT’S north wall. One of his men waited on the south battlement with Wyatt, the other man on the west wall. The oppressive silence was broken only by surf and a steady wind that masked all noise.

Birds suddenly took flight from the south wall in a thick layer, sweeping upward, their wings colliding in midair.

What had panicked them?

His gaze locked on the battlement.

WYATT GRABBED HOLD OF THE GRAY LIMESTONE, USING THE crevices as holds. The stone he’d tossed upward had flushed the birds and caused enough of a distraction to cover him. He was suspended in the air, nothing but ocean to his back. Night was rapidly grabbing hold. His shoes were planted firmly in a deep scar in the wall. One hand gripped the top. He reached up with his other hand and peered over the edge.

A man stood eight feet away, his back to him, near where the stairway he’d avoided emptied down from the battlements.

He held a gun in one hand.

Exactly as he’d thought.

They were waiting for him.

CASSIOPEIA AND HER NEW PARTNER, JESSICA, APPROACHED Shirley Kaiser’s house. They’d driven over in a Secret Service car, parked down the street, and trotted to the wrought-iron fence that encircled the property, an easy matter to leap over.

They made their way toward the garage.

“Have you done this before?” she whispered.

“Not outside the training academy.”

“Stay calm. Think. And don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yes, ma’am. Any other words of wisdom?”

“Don’t get shot.”

No smart remarks came in reply to that one.

Jessica hesitated, listening to something through her ear fob. They were in radio contact with the agent back at the Comfort Inn.

“The two guys are still there.”

Because, Cassiopeia thought, they knew they would not be interrupted. Hale apparently was aware Kaiser was gone, but she wondered why he’d decided to remove the device. Did he know that they knew? If he did, he would not have gone anywhere near Kaiser’s house. No physical evidence tied him to the device. No, he was covering his tracks. Maybe readying himself for something.

She signaled for Jessica to swing around to the rear of the garage. She would approach from the front and flush them out.

Surprise should work in their favor.

Or at least she hoped it would.

KNOX STARED ACROSS TO WHERE HIS MAN ON THE SOUTH WALL waited. The birds had settled down, some returning to their perch, others flying off into an ever-darkening sky. A man suddenly appeared from the outer portion of the wall, facing the ocean, balanced atop the battlement.

No question as to his identity.

Wyatt rushed forward and attacked. The fight was brief and silent thanks to the distance and the wind.

A gun appeared in Wyatt’s hand.

One shot, the retort muffled to a sound like hands clapping, and one man was down for good.

Knox raised his weapon, aimed, and fired.

MALONE CAUGHT THE SUDDEN FLIGHT OF BIRDS FROM THE crest of the fort. He was just outside the main gate, using the enveloping darkness for cover, unsure if there was anyone else around.

He heard a pop, then another, and knew he was not alone.

He needed to enter the fort, but to do that meant crossing an open fifty feet. The only cover was a pile of rubble ten feet away. He rushed the mound, leaping over to its protected side.

Two bullets pinged the limestone wall behind him.

From the battlements.

He kept his head down and peered through an opening in the rocks. Movement came high on the wall walk, to the left of the doorway he wanted to negotiate. Waiting would do nothing but allow his attacker time to prepare. So he aimed at the spot on the wall where he’d last spied anything and laid down two rounds, then took advantage of the moment and dashed through the doorway.

No bullets followed him.

The base of a stairway rested to the left, a passageway deeper into the fort straight ahead. But an open space loomed directly ahead. A decayed tower.

He glanced upward.

The wall walks above were exposed.

A bad feeling swept over him.

One that signaled he’d made it here far too easily.

WYATT LUNGED FORWARD, DIVING JUST BEFORE THE MAN ACROSS the fort fired at him. He’d caught sight of the second assailant an instant before he’d killed the first-and recognized the face.

Clifford Knox.

Carbonell had sold him out to the Commonwealth.

But he told himself to stay calm and handle that later.

Puffs of stone erupted inches away as bullets penetrated the semi-darkness, searching for him. Thankfully, the battlements offered ample protection and he was now armed with the dead man’s gun.

But that wasn’t discouraging Knox.

Who kept firing.

CASSIOPEIA SWEPT ACROSS THE DRIVEWAY’S PAVERS. IF THEY timed their approach properly they should be able to catch the two interlopers off guard and snag an easy capture. Hale’s decision to make this move had changed her thinking. Living, breathing proof of a crime would finally give the White House some immediate bargaining power, and Hale would surely then be in a panic. Maybe enough to guarantee Stephanie’s safety. True, there was no tangible proof, as yet, of the Commonwealth being involved with the assassination attempt or Stephanie’s disappearance. But there would be a direct link to a burglary and violations of various wiretapping laws, and no letters of marque, valid or not, would protect them since Shirley Kaiser was not an enemy of the United States.