Veil. Part 15

"They know what's at stake. They'll understand."

"I'll look like a coward," she said, raising her voice an entire octave.

You're supposed to watch out for me, not bury me."

"I'm trying to protect you. Save your life."

"I want you out of here," she screamed. "Now!" She picked up the cue ball and hurled it into a trophy case. The gla.s.s exploded. Fiona marched into the den and slammed the door behind her. Several agents scrambled into the room. He put his hands up to let them know everything was okay.

"Is everything alright Mr. Veil?" asked Agent Sams, as the others panned out and inspected the damage.

"It was an accident. Everything is under control," he told them.

Agent Sams gave Robert a knowing look, ordered his men outside, and holstered his gun. "Mr. Veil, this has been hard on all of us. But I think we need to keep things as routine for the judge as possible." Robert understood. Secret Service agents were trained to protect, but were also skilled at making those they protected feel as normal as possible. He thanked the agent.

Agent Sams turned to leave, then hesitated. "It's no secret most of us resent your involvement."

"I know. It's been a long standing feud."

"Well, the boys in the trenches, myself included, want you to know we understand. We'll be there when, and if, you need us."

"That's a change of heart for you."

"The past is the past," said Sams. "Let's just say making sure the judge lives through this takes precedent. When this is over we can go back to status quo." He smiled and left the room.

Thorne walked in and admired the smashed trophy case. "Well, I see you've got everything under control."

"What about you? I'm sure you've got it all under control and Julie Rice is sitting outside in your car, with the missing evidence." She shot him a go to h.e.l.l expression, picked up the cue ball and tossed it on the pool table. "No," she said. "I didn't find a thing. In fact, I feel further away than when we started."

"What about the cemetery brochures?"

"I checked the records at each, looked at the mausoleums of several.

Dry so far. Not a sign of Charlie anywhere."

"That makes sense," said Robert, aggravated. "After all, we're looking for fly s.h.i.t in pepper."

"Not really," said Thorne.

Robert moved in closer. He needed good news.

"Charlie knew he was going to contact us, to bring this whole thing out, right?"

Robert nodded.

"He was smart," she continued. "A vile little f.u.c.ker, but not stupid.

There has to be something we're missing. A clue he knew we'd find if something went wrong."

"You're right," Robert agreed. "We'll have a look at the cemeteries again. The brochures are the key. The evidence is in one of them, I know it. After the reception we'll check." Robert cracked a smile.

"You were right about this one, huh?"

"Fool, don't get me started."

"Look at it this way," said Robert. "It can't get much worse." Thorne cracked a smile. "Well, hold onto your b.u.t.t' cause it is." She crossed her arms and stepped closer. "My friends at NSA tell me there's been a stirring high in government circles. A revelation about President Kennedy's a.s.sa.s.sination. They mentioned you, me, Charlie, and Rothschild."

Robert stroked his chin. "Did your friends say how far up it goes?"

"To the top," Thorne answered.

Robert's face asked the question. You mean?

"President William Jefferson Claymore," she said. "And get this.

The President met with Edward this morning. Something about his son Charleston's bid for the White House. They weren't sure, but my contacts say Edward left the meeting a little, how shall I say, sullen.

They also said Edward's trying to get his hands on a large parcel of offsh.o.r.e real estate."

Robert furrowed his brow. "Real estate?"

"In the Middle East," Thorne clarified. "A very large oil field somewhere in the Middle East. The State Department's about to p.i.s.s their pants."

"That's not possible," said Robert. "I don't care how much money that arrogant a.s.shole has. None of the Arab countries would ever sell an oil field to an outsider. Why would they? It's their base of power."

"Because this a.s.shole's son is about to become President. Word around the intelligence water cooler says Edward intends to orchestrate a ma.s.s exchange of nuclear technology in return."

"Israel would never stand for it," said Robert. "And if I recall, I've heard Rothschild speak out about the protection and security of Israel from the Palestinian threat." He smirked.

"Obviously he's full of s.h.i.t," Thorne answered. "You know how hypocritical these guys can be. Everything is a means to more. The real issue here is how this plays into our situation. With so much at stake, he's gonna be h.e.l.l warmed over."

Robert paced the room. "Let's rattle the trees. Confront Edward directly. Bluff. We'll tell him we have Charlie on tape, and the evidence, and see what falls out. We expose the Kennedy plot, and the Middle East bulls.h.i.t will take care of itself. His son won't get close to the White House."

"That's your plan? Suicide?"

"It's better than being sitting ducks," said Robert. "We'll smoke'em out. Rothschild's not working alone and we need to find out who's with him. It'll buy us some time. He wants the evidence, that's why he didn't kill Charlie at first. That's why he won't kill us, at least not right away."

"It's risky," said Thorne, stroking her hair. "But you're right.

Besides, you know me. If I have to die, I might as well go out in a blaze."

"Then it's agreed. We'll shake'em up, then burn'em down."

"What about the judge?" Thorne asked. "We still have to baby-sit.

What if they think she's involved?"

"It's already too late. They know we're watching over her, if not, they will soon, and they'll keep an eye on her just to be safe."

"Do you think we should tell her?"

Robert looked over at the trophy case and the pile of broken gla.s.s.

"Not at the moment," he said. "I'll tell her when I think the time is right.

We'll be taking a big chance when we do."

"It can't be any bigger than it is now," said Thorne.

"She's a member of the bar, a judge," said Robert. "We'd be providing her with knowledge of a crime. The a.s.sa.s.sination of President Kennedy no less. She might feel compelled to tell what she knows."

"Well, maybe she'll be more compelled to keep breathing," Thorne answered, peering out of the window at the agents checking the grounds.

"I'll handle that phase," said Robert.

"Well then, let's hop to it," Thorne said, full of confidence.

Robert looked at Thorne and remembered the battles they'd fought together. Bullies, war, even the deaths of parents.

Thorne stared back. "Don't worry partner," she said, with the conviction of a fighter pilot. "I wasn't with it at first, but now I am. I want it as much as you do. We'll win, or take every last one of them with us."

They clasped hands, feeding off each other's energy. They let go and Robert looked toward the den. "I have to get her ready for tonight.

Make sure her mind is settled."

"Go to it big boy, I'll check on our friends outside. Where's my room in this place?"

"Upstairs, the second to the right, next to Jessica's." Thorne slapped his shoulder, cut through the kitchen, grabbing several sandwiches from a platter, and hit the back door. Robert heard her bark orders as she chewed. The agent's dogs barked back anxiously, as though they understood.

Robert, hesitant, went to the den, stopping at the door to collect his thoughts. He understood Fiona's frustration. She and Jessica were being forced to live like caged animals. She asked him to leave, but that was the stress talking. It didn't matter anyway. He wasn't going anywhere.

If something happened to Fiona or her daughter, he'd never live it down.

His mother had a long memory.

He knocked on the door. No answer. He let himself inside. Fiona lay stretched out on a big green sofa, fitful and restless. She turned toward him, eyes red and swollen.

"I'll be so glad when it's over," she said, fighting the sobs.

Robert knelt at her side and used his hands to untangle her disheveled, golden locks. "It's going to be okay," he said softly. "I'm sorry if I seemed insensitive, that wasn't my intention. We'll go to the reception tonight and deal with it. You concentrate on dazzling the President and the crowd. I'll worry about everything else. We can discuss the rest tomorrow."

Fiona sat up and wiped her eyes. "You must think I'm a wimp," she said. "Not exactly as tough as my billing."

"Not at all. Anyone would have a hard time in this situation, and none of us are as good as our press."

"Except you."

Robert cracked a smile. "Even I have my moments." He fixed on her ocean blues, drawn by her vulnerable charm.

"I really appreciate everything you're doing for us," she said.

Before he could respond, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

Her eyes and lips invited him to kiss her. His body flinched forward.

He pulled back.

"I better help Thorne check the grounds," he said, standing.

"Yes," said Fiona. "And I better get ready for tonight." He helped her up and headed for the door.

"Robert," she called.

He turned, wanting to go back. To hold her tight and kiss her hard.

"Again, thank you."

He smiled and left the room.

17.

Andre lingered in the woods behind a plain two-story house, and waited.

He checked his watch. Four o'clock. He'll be here soon. He opened the briefcase leaning against his leg. Two hundred thousand dollars in crisp counterfeit bills stared back. He closed the case and lit a cigarette.

Two Winstons later, a black Ford Crown Victoria parked in the driveway, and the driver ran inside. Andre put the third smoke back in the pack, checked the area for nosey neighbors, and quickly strode to the back door. Two knocks and the door s.n.a.t.c.hed open. "You're late comrade."

"It couldn't be helped. Come inside."

Inside, the house looked less impressive than outside.

"You should move up in the world comrade. You've certainly earned enough."

"In due time. Extravagance draws attention I don't need." Andre understood, and admired the host's restraint. "Here's the money." He tossed the briefcase and made himself a drink. "Count it if you like."

"No need. I trust you," his host said. "And here's the information you requested."

He handed Andre a thick folder. The Russian tucked it under his arm and drained his gla.s.s.

"Aren't you going to check it?"

"I trust you too comrade," said Andre, smiling. "Without trust, what do we have?" They laughed. He hugged his host and left. Back in the woods, he lit another Winston, and hummed a Russian tune.