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The Lincoln Myth(16)



“I’m sorry that I deceived you. When I asked for the dossier on Salazar, I should have told you what I knew. I held back, hoping we were wrong.”

“What’s changed?”

“We weren’t wrong. I just heard from the secretary of the interior, who’s with Rowan in Utah. They found some bodies and wagons from the 19th century in Zion National Park. There’s a connection to the Mormons. Rowan flew straight back to Salt Lake City and is meeting with the prophet of the church right now. What they’re discussing could change this country.”

“I still have a man missing. That’s my primary concern at the moment.”

Davis stood. “Then deal with it. But I need you in Washington tomorrow morning. We have to handle this quickly and carefully.”

She nodded.

Davis shook his head. “Thomas Jefferson once said that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical, a medicine for the sound health of government. Jefferson didn’t live in our world. I’m not sure that would be true anymore.”

“What are we talking about here?”

Davis stared at her with ice in his eyes.

“The end of the United States of America.”





TEN





COPENHAGEN


MALONE WATCHED AS LUKE REACTED TO THE MEN’S ADVANCE, protecting Barry Kirk. He moved toward the front window, hand on his gun. He’d never answered Luke’s question about a rear door.

“What’s going on?” Kirk asked.

“We have visitors.”

“Where? Who?”

“Outside.”

He saw Kirk’s gaze dart past the window to the square beyond. The two men were nearly at the bookshop.

“Look familiar?” Luke asked Kirk.

“Danites. They’re Salazar’s. I know them. They found me in Sweden. They found me here. You people are useless. You’re going to get me killed.”

“Pappy, that back door. Where is it?”

“Just follow the aisle in front of you. But you understand, with all those people around out there, these two aren’t going to make a scene.”

“Okay, I get it. That’s why they want us out back. How many you think are waiting there?”

“Enough that one gun between us is not going to solve the problem.”

“Call the police,” Kirk said.

Luke shook his head. “Useless as teats on a boar hog. But it sounds like somebody already has. Those sirens are getting louder.”

“We don’t know if those are headed here,” Malone said. “But the last thing we need is to be bogged down with the locals. We’re going out the front and hope these guys don’t want a scene.”

“You got a plan after that?”

“Every good agent does.”

He’d ragged Luke for his rash decision to flee out the back, but he admired the young man’s cool under pressure.

And he’d heard what Kirk had called the men outside.

Danites.

If that group existed at all—and there’d been much historical debate on the issue—it would have been two centuries ago. A reaction to a different time and place. An understandable way to counter the violence Mormons had routinely faced. So what was happening here?

He grabbed his keys off the counter, then opened the front door. Noise from the people enjoying the Danish night grew louder, as did the sirens. He stepped out and waited until Luke and Kirk joined him, then shut and locked the door.

The two men eyed them.

He turned right toward the Café Norden, which anchored the east end of Højbro Plads. The walk was fifty yards across crowded pavement. Between them and the café the lighted Stork Fountain flowed with splashing water. People sat along its edge socializing. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the two men following. He deliberately slowed to give them a chance to meet up. His pulse quickened, senses alert. He wanted any confrontation to happen here, in public.

The two men adjusted the angle of their approach and ended up in front, blocking the way. The cold weight of the gun beneath his jacket only partially reassured him. Beyond the square, back toward the canal, where the rental boat was moored and the street ended, four city police cars skidded to a stop.

Two officers rushed their way.

Another two headed for the boat.

“That ain’t good, Pappy,” Luke muttered.

The uniforms rushed into Højbro Plads and turned toward his bookshop. They gazed through the front windows and tested the locked door. Then one of them busted the glass and they entered with guns drawn.

“You killed my people.”

Malone turned and faced the two men. “Gee, I’m so sorry. Anything I can do to make it up to you?”