The Plot (32 page)

"But, Mr. Bates, what ... I mean, we've got a signed contract with her."

"I didn't say Halcyon was a bad choice. I merely stated that
you
were. Please have the disk ready to be picked up,” he said, hanging up before she could reply.

Jennifer placed the phone back in its cradle and turned back to the words staring at her from the computer screen. She had only begun to scratch the surface, but if what she was reading was true, it was obvious why Bates was so
interested
in it. She wondered what Mr. Kingman would think when he returned. Would he just go along with Hamilton Bates? Or would he, like her, think that this might be the most important work of Madison Hart's career? If Cassandra Hart had the documentation she claimed to have, Hamilton Bates would be toast. Without a second thought, she backed up the manuscript onto the hard drive. Bates might be able to force her to turn over the original, but he couldn't prevent her from keeping a copy of her own.

It was shortly after nightfall when Max and Cassie pulled up in front of the deserted house where she had grown up, and the dark windows sent a wave of emptiness through her.

"You okay?” Max asked, handing her the flashlight.

"Yeah. I guess. It just takes some getting used to."

He leaned across and kissed her lightly. “I'll get the suitcase from the trunk. You go on inside."

She opened the door and climbed out, paused a moment to look up at the waning moon, then walked up the steps and unlocked the door. The echo of Max's footsteps on the porch followed her inside, dispelling her sense of aloneness as she switched on the foyer lights.

"What now?” he asked, setting the suitcase at the foot of the stairs.

"There's something very important I need to show you. Just in case things don't...” She hesitated, searching for the right way to put it, “go quite the way we hope.” She turned the lights on as she led the way to the second floor and down to the end of the hall.

"I'm right behind you,” he replied.

At the door to the attic, she stopped. “Remember when I told you that I have the perfect hiding place for the documentation?"

"Mm hmm. I think so. Wasn't that right after we got off the Interstate?” he answered, an impish grin on his face.

"I didn't mean for you to try to remember
when
I told you,” she said, punching him softly.

"I know. I just couldn't resist.” He rubbed his arm where she'd hit him, pretending to be in pain.

She opened the attic door and led the way up. “Max, I'm going to show you something that
no
one has ever known about except my parents, me, and maybe, Jonathon.” She hesitated a moment. “And Selena. I've been thinking and thinking about what you said this morning. You know, about the importance of keeping the proof safe until we can be certain that it won't fall into the wrong hands? Well, I've decided you are absolutely right. So, well, here goes.” She turned on the overhead light, took the charm bracelet from her pocket, and went to kneel by the far wall.

Max followed close behind her and watched as she pushed against a pine knot to expose a small hole in the paneling, found something on the bracelet and inserted it into the hole. When she pulled the panel open, he was stunned. Even his trained eyes had not detected the fake wall that concealed the large gun safe.

She looked up at him. “Daddy called it ‘Freedom,'” she said, then turned her attention to the combination lock, entered the numbers deftly, and, with a sharp tug, swung the door open.

It was the finest collection of weapons he had seen in a private home in years-since the anti-gunners had succeeded in annulling the Second Amendment. “Freedom?” he asked, stepping forward to examine the well-cared for rifles, shotguns, pistols, and semi-automatic weapons.

"Yes,” she said, turning toward him. “Did you ever read his book,
Linchpin
?"

"Yeah. Back in those days, it was required reading for law enforcement students.” He picked up the M-1 and studied it closely.

"Then you may remember that my father believed the Second Amendment was what ensured all of our other rights. So, his code name for the safe was ‘Freedom.’ He built this hiding place when he saw the growing power of the anti-gun lobby. ‘It's just a matter of time,’ he told me, ‘until they register everyone's firearms and then come to confiscate them.’ He refused to register his. He believed the new laws were unconstitutional and that the day might come when the people would have to, as he put it, ‘resist the coming tyranny.’”

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” Max said. He wiped his fingerprints from the M-1 with his handkerchief and returned the weapon reverently to the safe.

"And if it did?"

He looked at her a long moment. “I'd do what I have to."

She sat down atop a big black steamer trunk and was quiet a long time. At last, she looked up. “Max? Do you think May Lee is okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure she'll be fine. And, when all of this is over, maybe you can arrange to bring her back ... home."

She fell silent again, studying the charm bracelet in her hand, then, without a word, she handed it to him.

"Yours?” he asked.

"My mother's. It was her most cherished possession. Daddy hid the key to Freedom on it. No one would ever expect to find it there, would they?” It was more a statement than a question.

"Never,” he answered, studying the various charms that glinted in the harsh overhead light. “They're not likely to find the gun safe, either."

"Call it ‘Freedom,’ Max."

"Okay. Freedom."

"Do you know why I've shown all of this to you?” She stood, her voice resuming its former strength. She didn't wait for his answer. “It's because
this
is where I'm going to put all the documents that prove Penseur exists and who they are and what they're doing. This way, if anything should happen to me, I won't be the only one who knows where they are hidden."

He nodded and placed the charm bracelet back into her hand. “I'll get the suitcase,” he said, leaving her alone amid the scattered remnants and memories of bygone years.

It had been another long, tedious day of doing background investigations, and Ed was eager to get home. He had only one more stop to make before he could put the Bureau behind him for a few blessed hours. It wasn't really necessary that he see Max tonight. He could just call him in the morning. But it was on the way, and, well, he felt it was important to give his old friend a heads-up.

Max was wearing just an undershirt and jeans when he opened the door. “Ed? Hey, buddy. Here to claim that pizza I promised you?” He seemed to be in an unusually good mood.

"Nope. Not tonight, amigo. I've got a hot meal and a warm woman waitin’ at home. I just stopped by to give you some information.” He was sorry to see the smile disappear from his friend's face.

"Come on in."

Ed sat down on the couch, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. Max continued to stand. He knows I've got something bad to tell him, he thought, wishing he didn't have to be the one to pass the information along.

"What is it? May as well just spit it out."

Ed took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “There's a Federal warrant out for the arrest of Cassandra Hart."

Max blinked like he'd had cold water thrown on him. “What for?"

"She's a suspect in the murder of two Federal Agents as well as an armed bank robbery in Florida. Two bank employees died, and a third was shot and is in serious condition,” Ed replied, watching as Max slumped onto the couch beside him. From his friend's reaction, he knew his instincts had been right. Max was personally involved with Cassandra Hart. He shook his head slightly. He had hoped it wasn't so. Max was in enough jeopardy for shooting the handyman. In some people's eyes, his involvement with the Hart woman could influence the results of the Internal Affairs investigation for the worse.

"How'd you find out?” Max finally asked.

"It showed up on my computer. There's an APB out for her and the seven other people who were at the scene."

"That means they don't know where she is."

"Yeah. But they're keepin’ a watch on her apartment ... and her father's house, of course.” He knew he was stepping over the line by giving out this kind of information. But hell. Something stunk about this whole Hart situation.

Max stood abruptly. “Sure you don't want a beer?"

"No, thanks. Like I said, I gotta get home.” He started toward the door. “But I thought you'd want to know."

"Yeah. Thanks,” Max said, opening the door for him.

"Stay in touch, amigo."

Max nodded and shut the door between them.

"Man, I hate this job,” Ed muttered
. The day I've got my twenty years in, that's gonna be it for me. I'll be outta there so fast, they won't even see me leave.
He trudged down the stairs and out into the night, hoping he'd done the right thing.

Max stood motionless, staring at the door Ed had exited, his mind racing. He'd had a funny feeling about leaving Cassie alone. Of course, she'd insisted on driving herself back to her apartment. And she'd been right. Her car had been at her father's house, and she needed it if she was going to be able to get around freely.
Freely. How casually we use that word
. The question was whether she'd been spotted. There hadn't been anyone at her father's house. Obviously, they weren't maintaining round-the-clock surveillance. Maybe she'd made it home safely. He could call her just to be certain. But, if they were looking for her, they'd have her phone tapped. No. He'd have to go over there.

He blinked, realizing that he hadn't moved since Ed left. “What the hell am I standin’ around for? God, please don't let me be too late,” he muttered, grabbing his shirt and wallet as he rushed out.

Turning the corner slowly, Max scoured the dark street. He hadn't been to her apartment before and had some difficulty even finding the right street, much less the right address. He cursed the time it had taken him to get here and the darkness that hid the numbers on the brownstone buildings. A car pulled away from the curb, and he decided to park and walk. It would be faster and easier to see addresses on foot. Turning into the empty spot, he shut off the engine, climbed out, and made his way along the sidewalk.

Within moments, he spotted Cassie's car by the curb and turned up the walk toward the building. Shining his Sure-fire miniature flashlight on the door, he saw the numbers he'd been searching for and pressed the buzzer. Once. Twice. Cassie answered on the third try, her voice sounding tinny over the intercom.

"Hi, Cassie. It's me, Max. Can I come up?"

"Sure. I'm on the right at the top of the stairs,” she replied, buzzing him into the foyer.

Max took the stairs two at a time, his shoes thudding loudly on the bare wood. She was standing in the doorway wearing a white terrycloth robe, her hair wrapped up in a blue towel. She smiled when he reached the landing.

"Hi. This is a nice surprise,” she said, motioning him inside. “I was just getting ready to make myself a sandwich. Want one?"

He said nothing for a moment as he surveyed her apartment. It was larger than he'd expected. Most brownstones offered either efficiencies or a single bedroom. He strode across to pull the blinds shut, then went back to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Cassie, you've gotta get dressed."

"Why?” Her blue eyes opened wide.

"I'll tell you while you dress. But you need to hurry."

She disappeared into her bedroom, and Max stood just outside the partially open door, telling her what Ed had said. When she emerged, her hair was combed but still wet and she wore no makeup. She'd never looked more vulnerable.

"Well, now you get to see the real me,” she said, trying to smile, and picked up her purse from the dining table. The charm bracelet dangled from her wrist.

Max led her into the hallway, waiting as she locked the door, then, after checking to see if anyone was in the foyer below, led her downstairs.

"Stand back a moment,” he said, pushing her out of sight behind him as he opened the front door a few inches and peered outside. The street was quiet. The sidewalks were empty. “Come on.” He took her by the arm and guided her out into the night.

"My car is just down the street,” he said, still holding her arm to urge her forward.

"Why not take mine? It's right here."

"No. Too risky. They'd catch you in no time. Better to take mine and then switch to a rental later."

His car was just a few yards away when Max saw a door open across the street. A large woman emerged, her silhouette dark against the light in the doorway, and she moved quickly toward the curb. At the sound of heavy footsteps approaching rapidly from behind, Max took a deep breath and spoke to Cassie in his command voice, loud enough to be audible to those he knew were closing in on them.

"You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. If you choose to give up these rights, everything you say can and will be—"

"Hold it!” a baritone voice barked.

Max spun around to face a short, square-built man standing with his feet planted apart on the sidewalk just a couple of steps away. A taller, slimmer man moved around to Max's left, his hand inside the jacket of his dark, ill-fitting suit. The woman who had emerged from the building crossed the street. She crouched behind a car parked by the curb, pistol drawn and aimed.

"What's this all about?” Max challenged.

The short, squat man ignored him, directing his words to Cassie as he held his badge and a folded piece of paper out toward her. “Agent Slade. FBI. Cassandra Hart, we have a warrant for your arrest."

He reached to grab her by the arm, but Max blocked his hand. “I'm a police officer,” he said. “And this is
my
collar."

"Let's see some I.D.,” ordered the taller man, pulling a pistol from inside his jacket.