The Lincoln Myth(95)

Malone had described Cassiopeia Vitt and Stephanie had emailed a photograph. He saw no one matching her description admiring the glass cases of Lincoln artifacts displayed in the Great Hall. The only security was a uniformed city policeman, no side-arm, standing near the fireplace, surely here to earn a few bucks from an easy off-duty gig.

Sorry to mess up your night, he thought.

He wandered from the hall down a short flight of stairs and entered what a placard called the Common Room. More halogen-light-displayed exhibits were here, as were more people.

One of the patrons caught his eye.

Long dark hair, with a hint of curl. Killer body. Gorgeous face. Like a model, but he could tell that she was in shape. She wore a clingy silk pantsuit that clung to all of her curves.

He liked what he saw.

No wonder Malone was freaked out.

Cassiopeia Vitt was hot.



CASSIOPEIA ADMIRED A MAGNIFICENT STEINWAY GRAND PIANO. On the walls of the Common Room she’d already noticed a Van Dyck portrait dated to 1624 and an elaborate crest of the Armand Cosmetics Company, which had been founded at the turn of the 20th century by the house’s original owner. The center of the long room was dotted with lit glass cases, each displaying some object dealing with Lincoln. There was an iron wedge used to split wood, various clothing, books, writings, even the top hat worn the night he was assassinated. The idea seemed to present an intimate portrait of Lincoln’s life and legacy. The case that drew her attention stood third from the end and contained a silver pocket watch. The information card inside confirmed that this was her prize.

She’d already taken a look at the ground-floor rooms.

Lighting was ambient, intentionally low so as to highlight the brightly lit displays. That would help. She’d only seen two security men, both wearing local police uniforms. Neither appeared especially interested, nor a threat. Maybe a hundred people were present, scattered about, making for plenty of distractions.

She ambled from the Common Room back to the Great Hall, admiring the three-quarter-scale suit of armor that sat near stairs leading up to a balcony. She’d only need a minute or so to acquire the watch. The glass in the case was not thick. Breaking it would be an easy matter that would not damage the watch. Besides, according to Josepe, what they were after lay within the timepiece.

She admired the house’s interior style and design. Her trained eye noticed English oak, Elizabethan cupboards, Chinese vases, and the paintings, each old and unique. But she also felt the sense that this had been someone’s home. People had lived here. In some ways it reminded her of her own childhood home, though Tudor adornments gave way there to Spanish and Arab influences. Her parents had also decorated it with things that meant something to them. It remained that way to this day, as, like Josepe and his mother’s parlor, she’d not changed much.

She wandered outside to the terrace.

A lovely rear garden stretched to a tree line about forty meters away. Her gaze drifted up to the roofline, and she saw where electrical cables entered the main house. She followed the wires to an outbuilding among the trees. She’d expected that to be the case. Through decades of modifications and upgrades, eventually everything became centralized. It happened with her château in France and at her parents’ home. Here, the location was a cottage with a gabled tile roof.

All she had to do was get inside.

Unnoticed.



LUKE KEPT BACK, AMONG THE VISITORS, EVEN CHATTING WITH a few as if he belonged there. But he kept one eye on Cassiopeia Vitt, who was clearly scoping things out. He’d lingered inside while she explored the terrace, then drifted out into the garden.

She was noticing something.

He reentered the house and twisted on the radio in his pocket. He’d brought with him from D.C. communications equipment, which came with a lapel mike and ear fob, Malone wearing its counterpart.

“You there?” he whispered.

“No, I left,” Malone said in his ear.

“She’s casing the joint.”

“Let me guess. She’s outside, checking the roof.”

“You do know your girl.”

“Get ready, ’cause things are about to go dark.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”



MALONE STOOD IN THE SHADOWS OF THE TREES BEHIND Salisbury House. He’d parked their car a hundred yards away on a side street that paralleled the estate’s rear property line. The lack of fencing had made it easy to hike back to a place from which he could spy the house’s illuminated terrace and the people milling about, enjoying the cool night. Soft lights burned in the ground-floor windows. He’d watched as Cassiopeia exited and casually strolled the gardens. She’d have to improvise, and the best way to gain an advantage was to take away the other side’s ability to see.