The Lincoln Myth(9)

A crease of amusement touched her friend’s face. She knew he was nearly old enough for Social Security, but his youthful physique cast the pose of a much younger man.

“I understand you’ve drawn some interest from Capitol Hill.”

That she had.

Six written requests for classified data from the Senate Committee on Appropriations had arrived last week. Which wasn’t uncommon. Congress routinely sought information from the intelligence community. If the particular department or agency was uncooperative, the “requests” were followed by subpoenas, which could not be ignored without a court fight. Public brawls over classified information were rare. Congress had to be placated. After all, they held the purse strings. So usually disputes were privately compromised. These six, though, had not left room for negotiation.

“They want anything and everything to do with my agency,” she said. “Top-to-bottom. Financial, field reports, internal analysis, you name it. That’s unprecedented, Edwin. Nearly all of that stuff is classified. I passed it on to the attorney general.”

“Who passed it to me. I’ve come to tell you that those requests relate to that favor I asked of you on Josepe Salazar.”

Six months ago a call from Davis had started a Billet inquiry into Salazar. The White House wanted a complete dossier, including all financial, business, and political associations. From the cradle to the present. Salazar held both a Danish and a Spanish passport, thanks to his parents who’d hailed from different countries. He lived half of the year in Spain, the other in Denmark. He was an international businessman who’d turned over everyday control of his multibillion-euro ventures to others so he could devote himself solely to his duties as an elder in the Mormon church. By all accounts he was devout, possessed no criminal record, and had lived an exemplary life. That he’d earned the attention of the White House had raised a multitude of questions in her mind. But being the loyal public servant she was, she hadn’t asked a single one.

A mistake.

Which she’d finally realized three days ago, when her man sent to Europe to compile the Salazar dossier disappeared.

And even more so after just talking with Malone.

“My agent working on Salazar has disappeared,” she said. “I’ve got people on the ground, right now, tracking him down. What have you gotten me into, Edwin?”

“I had no idea. What happened?”

“The situation escalated. One of Salazar’s associates, a guy named Barry Kirk, made contact with my man. He had inside information and even claimed that his boss might have killed someone. We couldn’t ignore that. We now have Kirk in custody, though two of Salazar’s men were killed in the process. Cotton shot them.”

“How’d you manage to get him involved?”

Davis and Malone had worked together before, too.

“He was nearby and doesn’t like our men going missing, either.”

“There’s a connection between Josepe Salazar and Senator Thaddeus Rowan.”

“And you’re just now telling me this?”

Rowan was chairman of the Senate Committee on Appropriations. All six of the requests for information bore his signature.

“It wasn’t my idea to withhold it.”

She knew what that meant. Only one person could overrule the White House chief of staff.

“The president should understand that you can’t hold back information and expect me to do my job,” she said. “This has become a circus. One of our own could be dead.”

He nodded. “I realize that.”

But there was something else.

True, she had two assets on the ground—Luke and her missing man. Malone had now joined the fray, at least for the night, making for three.

But there was actually a fourth.

One she hadn’t mentioned to Malone.





SIX





KALUNDBORG, DENMARK

8:50 P.M.


SALAZAR SMILED AS HE ENTERED THE RESTAURANT AND SPOTTED his dinner companion. He was late but had called and asked that his apologies be passed on, along with a glass of whatever his guest might like to enjoy.

“I am so sorry,” he said to Cassiopeia Vitt. “Some important matters detained me.”

They were childhood friends, he two years her senior, their parents lifelong companions. In their twenties they’d become close, dating five years before Cassiopeia apparently realized that the attraction between them may have been more for their parents’ benefit than her own.

Or at least that’s what she told him at the time.

But he knew better.

What really drove them apart was more fundamental.

He was born a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So was she. That meant everything to him, but not so much to her.