The Lincoln Myth(98)

She found the picks in her clutch bag and worked them into the lock. No need to see anything, more a matter of feel. Both hands had to sense the inner workings and feel for the tumblers.

Two clicks signaled success.

She worked the bolt free from the jamb, then entered and closed the door, relocking the latch on the inside. As she suspected, electrical boxes dotted one wall. Lawn and garden equipment filled about a third of the space. Light spilled in through four windows. Her pupils were wide to the night, and she found the main breaker on the outside of one of the boxes.

Switch that off and she’d have maybe five minutes before somebody checked the circuits, especially once they noticed through the trees that houses in the distance remained lit.

But that’s all the time she’d need.

She found a dirty rag near a lawn mower and used it to wipe the lock latch clean, then to grip the electrical cutoff.



MALONE SMILED AS SALISBURY HOUSE WENT DARK.

“What the hell, Pappy?” Luke said in his ear.

“She’s making her move. Your turn, Frat Boy.”

“Bring her on. I’m ready.”

Yeah, right.



LUKE STOOD IN THE GREAT HALL WHEN THE HOUSE LIGHTS EXTINGUISHED. There was at first just a low murmur from those around him. Then, once folks realized the electricity was not returning, voices rose. He immediately turned and headed back for the Common Room, where the pocket watch waited. Darkness inside ran deep, the going slow as he had to be careful of others and constantly excuse himself.

“She’s back inside,” Malone said in his ear. “Have fun.”

He could almost see the smirk on Malone’s face. But he’d not met a woman yet he couldn’t handle. Katie Bishop was a perfect example. He’d certainly turned those lemons into lemonade.

He found the short flight of stairs that led down to the Common Room. Luckily the corridor was wide and not as populated as it had been at the Great Hall. He entered the main room and noticed shadows moving toward the walls, a male voice asking everyone to inch that way until they found it. Smart move. Protects the cases in the middle. Keeps people controlled and contained. Shows that somebody is in charge. Of course, he ignored the instruction and eased toward the third case.

Cassiopeia Vitt was already there.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“The guy that’s here to keep you from stealing this watch.”

“Bad move, Frat Boy,” Malone said in his ear. “Don’t give her a heads-up.”

He ignored the advice and said, “Move away from the case.”

The black form stood still.

“I don’t stutter,” he made clear. “Move away from the case.”

“Is there a problem?” a new male voice said, the same one who’d been directing traffic a few moments ago. Probably one of the cops.

Cassiopeia moved fast.

One leg came into the air and clipped the cop in the chest, sending him sprawling backward, crashing into an adjacent display case, which slammed to the wood floor, glass obliterated in a shattering crescendo.

People on the perimeter gasped in surprise.

Before Luke could react a second kick caught him square in the crotch. Breath spewed from his lungs. Pain burst upward and outward.

Mother of—

His legs collapsed.

Down he went.

He tried to gather himself and stand, but the pain was too intense. He grabbed for his aching midsection, fighting nausea and helpless to do anything as Vitt shattered the display case’s glass cover and claimed the watch.

“What’s happening?” Malone asked in his ears. “Talk to me.”

He tried, but nothing came out.

He’d played a little football in high school and had been racked before. It even happened a couple of times in the army.

But nothing like this.

Vitt vanished into the darkness, amid the chaos.

He drew a breath and staggered to his feet.

People were trying to flee the room.

Suck it up, he told himself.

“She’s got the watch … and … is leaving,” he reported into the mike.

He started after her.



CASSIOPEIA WAS BAFFLED AS TO HOW THAT MAN KNEW WHAT she was after. He’d obviously been waiting for her to make a move. The voice had sounded younger, with a touch of the American South she’d come to recognize from Cotton. Had Stephanie tracked her here? That seemed the only explanation, which meant the younger man was not alone.

She kept moving through the dark mass of people, edging herself toward the front door. Her car waited only a few hundred meters behind the house. Getting there from here through the house could be a problem.

Rounding the exterior would work much better.

So she found the door latch and eased it open, slipping out into the night.