“On that he was smart. He wanted the gallery to grow, to acquire many works of art from varied sources. He thought collectors would be more willing to donate to something recognized as the nation’s as a whole, rather than a single individual’s. And he was right. We’ve acquired an enormous number of objects thanks to the fact that this is the national gallery.”
She asked, “What happened when he died?”
“He was at his daughter’s home on Long Island. The cancer had taken a toll, but he remained focused on getting this building started. Construction had begun in June, but he died August 26, 1937. A few days later, there was a massive funeral in Pittsburgh.”
She could see that Carol Williams was a true fan, and she had to admit, “He left quite a legacy. This is an amazing place. Those children, there, seem to find it fascinating.”
“Tens of thousands come every year.”
“When did Mellon learn he was dying?”
Carol thought about the question for a moment, then said, “November 1936. He was immediately given radium and X-ray treatments, which drained him.”
Which meant that when Mellon met with FDR on New Year’s Eve, he knew he was terminal.
He said he’d be waiting for me.
“Have you ever visited his grave site in Pittsburgh?” she asked.
“That’s not where’s he’s buried.”
That caught her attention. “I just assumed that since the funeral was there—”
“The entire family lies together. Mr. Mellon, his son, daughter, and their mother, Nora, his ex-wife. All four of them in one place. A bit ironic since none of them were particularly close in life. Mr. Mellon and his ex-wife divorced thirty years before he died, and not in an amicable way. Paul and his father barely got along. Brother and sister weren’t much better. But in death, there they are, side by side, forever.”
She smiled at the irony. “And where is this family reunion?”
“Upperville, Virginia. At the Trinity Episcopal Church. It’s a small grassy graveyard surrounded by a stone wall.”
The schoolchildren continued to enjoy the fountain. She had several more questions, but they became unimportant as a man entered the garden court. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie.
The same outfit from Atlanta, if she was not mistaken.
He walked straight toward her.
Chick-fil-A Man.
FORTY-SEVEN
CROATIA
6:10 P.M.
Isabella was ambivalent toward Cotton Malone. He seemed the same arrogant, self-absorbed alpha male that she dealt with day in and day out. To him she was surely unimportant—first, because she was a woman, and second, because she worked for Treasury, as opposed to the CIA, NSA, or some other agency with jurisdiction outside the United States. But she’d been on this trail long before anyone from the Magellan Billet had ever heard of the problem, and she knew more about it than anyone else.
She’d left the American Corner and retreated to the library’s café, now nursing a cup of green tea. Coffee had never interested her, nor had drugs or cigarettes. A glass of wine? Now, that was something she could enjoy, and she did, alone, in her apartment, most nights after coming home from work. She never drank with her superiors or colleagues, preferring to always maintain her wits in their presence. Some of her fellow female agents thought differently, not realizing that no matter how much they tried they’d never be “one of the boys.”
Few people occupied the tables, the library quiet on this rainy afternoon. She sat with her fingers clasped behind her head, lost in her hair, one leg drawn up, knee in the air. Her gaze was locked out beyond the glass walls.
From down one of the corridors Malone appeared.
He entered the café, walked straight to her, and asked, “May I sit down?”
She nodded and appreciated him asking.
“I get it,” he said. “This is your baby. You’ve been on this from the start. And then we come in and take over.”
“The secretary of Treasury himself assigned me. I’ve searched the classified archives. I’ve been to state capitols researching records. You have no idea.”
“Actually, I do. I think I’ve figured this out. That crumpled sheet of paper is going to lead us to proof that the 16th Amendment may have been void from the start. Even worse, it’s fraud since the government knew the amendment may have been improperly ratified, but went ahead with it anyway. Kim is going to use that to bring us and the Chinese down in one shot.”
He actually did understand. And since he knew it all, she felt free to say, “I’ll tell you now, there are problems associated with ratification. It’s serious. I’ve seen those problems firsthand in state records. But I get the program. You guys are the big boys, and I’m just from Treasury—”
“Bullshit. You’re a trained agent. A damn good one I’m told.”
“Who was body-blocked into the water by a federal fugitive.”
He chuckled. “If you only knew some of the crap that’s happened to me. And besides, I’m the one who really screwed up here. I let Kim get his hands on those documents.”
That he had, but she appreciated his admission.
“Did the president really order me here?” she asked.
He nodded. “Absolutely. I told him I wanted you to stay with this. We need your help.”
“Luke thinks I’m a pain in the ass.”
“You should hear what he says about me.”
“I have. He actually respects the hell out of you. He won’t say it, but it’s clear.”
“I was told charm was not your specialty.”
“But it apparently is yours.”
And she meant it.
“I didn’t come here to play you,” he said. “I came to ask for your help. That was good thinking in there about the Beale cipher. You may be on target.”
She wondered about all this mea culpa. “How did you figure this out?”
“I’ve talked to Stephanie Nelle. Things are happening in DC. Your boss and mine are now working together. This is a joint operation that’s about to get complicated. The Chinese and North Koreans are both involved. They want what Kim is after, then they want Kim dead. Like I said, I need your help.”
She gestured with her tea. “Want me to keep your coffee cup full? Make sure there are snacks for everyone?”
“Is it that bad?” he asked. “Do you get that much lack of respect? ’Cause I have to tell you, I worked twelve years for the Magellan Billet and the women there were just as good, just as tough, just as smart as any man. Most times, they were better. Never once have I ever treated a female agent different from a male. I’d never even consider doing that.”
She was beginning to think that she may have misjudged this man.
“What I need,” he said, “is for you to play with the team. This isn’t a job for the Lone Ranger anymore. It’s going to take a combined effort and you have a luxury that I don’t enjoy. Kim doesn’t know you exist. Luke, either. That means you both are going to have to take point. Can you handle that?”
Now she knew exactly why he’d come. To judge for himself if she was up to the job. She wanted in, of that she was sure, so much that she was willing to give this man the benefit of the doubt. “I can do it.”
“That’s what I want to hear. And besides, I owe you one.”
She was curious.
“You kept watch over me in Larks’ room while I was out cold. You wanted me to think you hung around just to chew me out, but you were also making sure no one came back for a second look.”
That she had. Agents did that for one another.
“Thanks,” he said. “Now tell me about Kim’s daughter, the one you failed to mention in Larks’ room after I woke up.”
“You understand why I kept that to myself.”
He nodded. “I would have done the same thing. I was a stranger, an unknown. You just wanted me out of the picture.”
“Her name is Hana Sung. She’s North Korean, early twenties, black hai
r, short, pretty. We know little to nothing about her, other than she’s illegitimate, but most of Kim’s children fall into that category. She boarded the cruise ship with him and shadowed Larks most of the time.”
“I never made her.”
“It would have been impossible. She kept her distance and faded into the other Koreans on board. I wouldn’t have made her, either, except that we had some intel that alerted us to be on the lookout for her, including a picture.”
“You knew she killed Larks?”
She shrugged. “Either her or Kim. Who else could it be?”
“The North Koreans are some of the most ruthless agents in the world. You’re going to have to keep your eyes and ears open, ’cause they can come from anywhere. Don’t get yourself killed, okay?”
She could see that his warning was genuine, and she appreciated it. “I’ll watch out. What do you have in mind?”
He stood. “Drink your tea and relax a bit. There’s not going to be much time for rest in the hours ahead.”
She watched as he left the café, her opinion of Harold Earl “Cotton” Malone quite different than a few minutes ago. Silence returned and she allowed the calm to soothe her nerves. Here she was, right in the middle of an international intelligence operation. Chinese? North Koreans? Luke Daniels was right. This was far different from what she was accustomed to handling.
But she liked it.
FORTY-EIGHT
WASHINGTON, DC
Stephanie stood from the bench and faced the man from Treasury. She kept her cool and asked, “Are you following me?”
He did not answer, and she understood why.
She looked down at Carol Williams and said, “Could you excuse us? I appreciate your time. I’ll give you a call if I need more information.”
The young curator left.
“New friend?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“I wish that were true. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. I told you back in Atlanta that you should leave things to us.”
“And I told your boss not an hour ago that this was now an American intelligence operation, of which you are not a part.”
They were speaking low, beneath the ambient noise from the fountain and the schoolchildren, who continued to enjoy the garden court.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to tell you a few things.”
He sat on the bench. She had no choice but to sit, too.
“No chicken sandwiches today?” she asked.
“You still sore about your phone?”
“I’m still sore about a lot of things. I thought Joe Levy and I had an understanding that he was going to leave this to me.”
“Look, don’t shoot the messenger. My boss told me to find you—”
“And since you were having me shadowed anyway, that wasn’t so hard.”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
“So what’s so important?”
“There’s been some reorganization within North Korea. It’s late breaking, and the secretary thought you might want to know.”
She listened as he explained that six government officials had been convicted of treason, then summarily executed.
“Happens all the time there,” she said.
“There’s more.”
“What makes you so cocksure of yourself?”
He shrugged. “Those friends in high places I told you about at our first little chat.”
She still wasn’t intimidated. “Tell me more.”
“The Dear Leader’s other brother, the middle one, has been executed, along with his wife and their three grown children. Two of those children were married, so the spouses and their four children were also killed. Seems like a thorough housecleaning.”
Definitely a message was being sent from brother to brother. And a fast one. Only about eighteen hours had passed since the loss of the $20 million. In that time North Korea had assessed the situation, determined the culprits, and fashioned an appropriate response. Not bad. By eliminating his middle brother and all of that brother’s heirs, Dear Leader was saying to his older sibling that his remaining nieces and nephews were next. From what she could recall, all of Kim’s children and grandchildren still lived in North Korea, making them easy targets.
He said, “The official reason given was ‘acts of treachery regarding a business dispute.’ I guess that’s what they call the loss of $20 million. Wasn’t it your agent who screwed that up?”
“My man did his job. At least that money won’t be used to buy any nuclear components. I’d rather see it as ash.”
“Can’t argue there, but I bet the family of that middle brother wishes things had gone different.”
She stared at the man. “Is there anything else?”
His hand slipped into a pocket and he pulled out a $20 bill. “I hear you’re into hidden symbols and secret messages on money. Here’s one you might not know about.”
She watched as he creased the bill in half, lengthwise, then folded the left and right sides upward, the bill now shaped like a house with a gabled roof.
He pointed at his creation. “See anything?” He pointed.
“Right there,” he said, “above the fold. It’s the Pentagon, burning, on 9/11.” He flipped the bill over. “And here are the twin towers.”
He was right. Both images were strikingly poignant.
“What are the odds?” he asked her.
“Is this some Treasury Department trivia?” she asked.
“You work with money all the time, you come across things. Frankly, I think it’s spooky as hell.”
“You came here to show me that?’
He shook his head. “Nope. I came to see your reaction.”
“To what?”
“We know where Kim is in Croatia.”
She did not mask her surprise. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Are we just too stupid at Treasury to know anything? The NSA is still monitoring Kim’s phone and email. We got a hit and a trace. Seems he’s getting sloppy, or desperate. I guess that depends on your point of view.”
“And why are you telling me?”
“It’s your guys on the ground, so my boss wanted you to know. And we decided not to broadcast it to the world on a cell phone line.”
“Tell Joe Levy I appreciate the news flash, but I don’t need a babysitter.”
“My boss doesn’t trust you. There’s a lot at stake here.”
“I could have all of you arrested.”
He chuckled. “But you won’t. That draws a lot of attention, especially from the White House, which you don’t want.”
She said nothing.
“There’s one other tidbit. You know the Chinese are involved, but they’ve also brought in the North Koreans. NSA picked that up, too. Beijing decided to curry some favor with their neighbor to the south and told them everything they know. The North Koreans are going to do the dirty work, while the Chinese sit back and watch. Gives them deniability. Thankfully, they’re all dumber than dirt, but unfortunately they’re also crazy as hell, so there’s no telling what might happen. You got nobody here on this with you. Zero. You’re flying solo. So my boss just thought you could use a little help from an old friend like me.”
“And when I find whatever there is to find, you’ll be there to make sure it’s properly destroyed.”
He shrugged. “That’s entirely possible.”
“Where is Kim?”
“He retreated to a Croatian luxury resort on the Virsko Sea. The Hotel Korcula. He’s in a two-bedroom suite. You want the room number?”
“What is it?”
An irritating smirk formed on his lips. “3506. Bet you thought I didn’t know.”
She stood. “Tell your boss I’d rather be shot by the Chinese, or the North Koreans, than have you help me. Stay off my tail.”
“I’m good with that. I don’t like you, anyway.”
She g
lanced around the courtyard. The schoolchildren were moving on. She counted six more people on the other benches. Two women, four men. Nobody paid her or Chick-fil-A Man the slightest heed. Actually, she did feel a bit alone. The only two agents she trusted with anything associated with this mess were engaged in Croatia. This end was hers. And she was stymied until Cotton solved the cipher. His last scrambled text message indicated that he was close.
She walked off.
Leaving Chick-fil-A Man alone.
FORTY-NINE
CROATIA
Malone was back in the American Corner with Luke and Howell.
“Wonder Woman going to play ball?” Luke asked.
“You know, she might actually surprise you.”
“She’s green as an unripe banana, Pappy.”
“She’s your partner on this one, so make it work. Hell, I got you last time and it was okay.”
Luke seemed puzzled. “Actually, I thought that was the other way around.”
Malone faced Howell. “Have you given any thought to what you and I talked about?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, I can do it.”
“I do worry. Kim has killed two people in the past twenty-four hours. A third would not be a problem for him.”
“Let him try.”
He pointed a finger. “That’s what I mean. Right there. Cockiness will get you killed, and that’s going to do none of us any good, especially you.”
Howell seemed to get the message. “If it matters, I’m scared to death. But I’ll get it done.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Fear’s a good thing, in small doses. Now tell me about where you’ve been hiding.”
Before he’d left to visit with Isabella he’d explained his plan to both Luke and Howell. What he needed was a place where his show could be staged. Howell had suggested a locale deep in Croatia.
“Solaris is a small village about two hours by rail from here, up in the mountains. Jelena was from there. I was just wandering, trying to vanish, and one day I stepped off the train. I met her and she asked me to stay.”
He listened as Howell told them that there were only a few hundred residents, the town located near the eastern border between Dalmatia and Bosnia. Serbs once dominated the area, but when Croatia retook the land in the 1990s they were all expelled in ethnic cleansing.