The Lincoln Myth(17)
“You think this is a joke?”
“I don’t know what this is. But your guys came for a fight. All I did was give them one.”
“We want him,” the man said, pointing at Kirk.
“Can’t get everything you want in this world.”
“We’ll have him, one way or another.”
He brushed past, and they kept walking toward the café.
He’d guessed right.
These two did not want a scene.
Around him almost everyone’s attention was on the police and what was happening at his shop. Luckily, there were four floors for them to search.
Tables dotted the pavement outside the Café Norden’s ground-floor windows, all filled with diners enjoying a late dinner. He was usually one of them, a habit developed after he moved from Georgia to Denmark.
But not tonight.
“How many more you think are lurking?” Luke asked.
“Hard to say. But you can bet they’re here.”
“Be smart, Barry,” one of the men called out.
Kirk stopped and turned.
“You will be shown respect,” the younger man said, “if you show the same. You have his word. Otherwise, there will be an atonement.”
Fear filled Kirk’s face, but Luke led him away.
Malone stepped forward. “Tell Salazar that we’ll be seeing each other real soon.”
“He’ll look forward to it.” A pause. “As will I.”
The two officers emerged from his bookshop. The search had not taken long. Malone pointed at one of the young men and shouted, “Jeg ringede til dig. Zdet er Malone. Det er ham, du er efter, og han har en pistol.” I called you. This is Malone. He’s the one you’re after and he has a gun.
The effect was instant.
The officers bolted toward their target.
Malone retreated into the Café Norden.
“What did you do?” Luke asked.
“Slowed our minders down a little.”
He ignored the stairs that led up to the second-floor dining room and wove a path around the crowded tables toward the rear of the ground floor. The restaurant was doing its usual brisk business. Through the outer windows he saw people sauntering back and forth on the cobblestones. He was a regular and knew the staff and owner. So when he entered the kitchen no one paid him any mind. He found the door at the far end and descended a wooden staircase into the basement.
Three exits appeared at the bottom. One for the lift that moved to the building’s upper floors, another that opened into an office, and a third that led into a storage room.
He flipped on an incandescent bulb in the storage room. The space was littered with cleaning equipment, empty fruit and vegetable crates, and other restaurant supplies. Cobwebs clouded the corners and a tang of disinfectant floated on the chilly air. On the far side was a metal door. He carefully made his way over and unlocked it. Another room spanned ahead and he flicked on a new bulb. Ten feet above him was a narrow street that ran parallel to the Café Norden on its back side. The cellars beneath the buildings had long ago merged, forming a subterranean level that extended from one block to another, the shopkeepers sharing the space. He’d been down here several times before.
“I assume,” Luke said, “we’re going to leave where they can’t see us.”
“That’s the plan.”
Past the second cellar he found a set of wooden stairs that led up to ground level. He took them two at a time and entered an empty retail space that had once hosted an upscale clothing store. Shadowy islands of boxes, cellophane garbage bags, counters, mannequins, and bare metal racks lay scattered about the dark interior. Through uncovered windows he saw the lighted trees of Nikolaj Plads, which sat a block behind the Café Norden.
“We go out and to the right,” he said, “and we should be fine. I have a car parked a few blocks over.”
“I don’t think so.”
He turned.
Barry Kirk stood behind Luke Daniels, a gun nestled at the younger agent’s right temple.
“It’s about time,” Malone said.
ELEVEN
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
ROWAN HAD FLOWN DIRECTLY BACK FROM THE SOUTHERN part of the state via the same government helicopter that had ferried him to Zion National Park. He was accustomed to such perks. They came from being a man with national power. He was careful, though, never to abuse it. He’d seen too many colleagues fall from grace. His fellow senator from Utah was a perfect example. Not a Latter-day Saint, just a gentile who thought little of his office and even less of the people who elected him. He was currently under investigation by the Senate Ethics Committee, and privately the word was that he would be censured for gross misconduct. Luckily, this was an election year and strong opposition had already announced, so the voters should put him out of his misery.