The Lincoln Myth(93)
He could only imagine that guilt.
“Danny chose to deal with his loss by looking the other way. That’s why he never went to the grave. He simply couldn’t. Your father came to understand that. God bless him. He was such a good man. I was there when he wrote the note. There when he and Danny said their goodbyes. That happened just before we told you boys that your father was dying.”
His contact with his uncle had always been minimal, little to nothing in fact, the talk earlier their first since he was a boy.
“Luke, Danny is not a bad man. He’s looked after us, made sure everyone got what they wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s helped out with your brothers, when needed, though they have no idea. You wanted to be an intelligence agent. He’s the one who had you steered to where you are. He and I spoke. He told me the Justice Department was the best place for you and he’d take care of it.”
“Sonovabitch,” he whispered. He never knew that.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. He didn’t order anybody to hire you. That was earned, by you. And he and I both agreed that if you couldn’t cut it then out you went. No favors. No special privileges. Nothing. Yes, he got you in the door, but you kept yourself there.”
“Does that mean I owe him or you?”
“You only owe yourself, Luke. Do your job. Make us all proud.”
She’d always known exactly what to say to him.
“I’m glad you called,” she told him.
“So am I.”
FIFTY-THREE
DES MOINES, IOWA
6:40 P.M.
CASSIOPEIA SETTLED INTO THE DRIVER’S SEAT WHILE JOSEPE climbed into the passenger side. His two associates occupied the rear seat. Josepe had arranged for a rental car to be waiting for them at a private terminal adjacent to the main airport. Before landing, she’d changed into a dark pantsuit with comfortable shoes, ready for what might lie ahead. The Learjet had been equipped with sophisticated communications equipment, so she was able to learn all about Salisbury House.
It was built by Carl and Edith Weeks in the 1920s, after an overseas trip ignited their passion to re-create an English manor house. They bought fourteen acres of timberland and built 28,000 square feet of house, 42 rooms, for them and their four boys. Inside they decorated with 10,000 pieces of art, statuary, tapestries, relics, and rare books, collected from their many travels. There were Tudor fireplaces, 15th-century oak paneling, and ceiling beams from a demolished British inn. Title to the house had been lost during the Depression, then passed through a succession of owners, until a foundation finally took control. Now it was a cultural center, museum, and rental space, a local landmark that was currently hosting a traveling Smithsonian exhibit that dealt with Abraham Lincoln.
She was able to download a PDF brochure on the house, which included a map of the two floors open to visitors. The exhibit was spread out between the Great Hall and the Common Room, both on the ground floor and near each other. She’d reserved a ticket online for the exhibition, then studied Google Maps to learn the local geography. Salisbury House was situated in a quiet residential neighborhood, surrounded by winding streets and older houses. Trees and gardens enclosed it on all sides. The plan was to drop Josepe and his men off at a hotel, then head for the exhibit, arriving after sunset, giving her the opportunity to reconnoiter the site and decide how best to accomplish her task.
“I can’t imagine the security is anything elaborate,” she said to him. “From all I read about the exhibit, nothing contained within it is particularly precious or valuable. Just a few historic artifacts. My guess is there will be some private security guards, maybe an off-duty policemen, but that’s about it.”
“You speak as if you’ve done things like this before.”
“I told you that I have some specialized skills.”
“May I ask why you developed these?”
She could not tell him the truth, so she said, “Mainly to protect my business interests. Then it was to protect my reconstruction project. We’ve had theft and vandalism. I learned that to handle things myself was best.”
She hated herself for telling more lies. When would they stop? Impossible to say. Especially with the leap she was about to make.
They found the hotel where Josepe had booked three rooms and said their goodbyes.
“Be careful,” he told her.
“I always am.”
LUKE STARED ACROSS THE CAR’S INTERIOR. HE’D JUST SPENT the past four hours with Cotton Malone and learned that the ex-agent’s mood had not changed since Denmark.
He’d been waiting at the regional airfield north of Des Moines and watched as an F-15E Strike Eagle dropped from the midday sky and powered to a stop on the field’s short runway. He’d never flown in a fighter and envied those allowed the privilege. He knew from Stephanie that Malone was a trained fighter pilot who’d abandoned that career to become a Navy lawyer. She hadn’t explained why he made the transition, but he assumed there’d been a good reason, since he doubted Malone did anything he didn’t want to. They’d eaten lunch, then scoped out Salisbury House, learning all they could about its layout.