“It’s at Montpelier, his home in Virginia, where he built himself a temple.”
She’d visited there twice and had seen the columned structure. Madison loved Roman classicism, so he’d based the structure on the tempietto of Bramante in Rome. It sat on a knoll, among old-growth cedar and fir trees, in the garden adjacent to the house.
“Madison had style,” Daniels said. “Beneath his temple he dug a pit, which became the icehouse. The original flooring above was wood, so it would have been cool in summer to stand out there. Like air-conditioning. That wood floor is gone, replaced by a concrete slab with a hatch in the middle.”
“And why do I need to know this?”
“Madison called the temple his summer study. I need you to find what he hid beneath it.”
“Why me?”
“Because, thanks to Senator Rowan, you’re the only one who can.”
TWENTY-NINE
SALZBURG
MALONE FLED THE GOLDENER HIRSCH AND WALKED DOWN A crowded Getreidegasse toward his hotel. He’d gone to rattle Josepe Salazar and he supposed that mission had been accomplished. But he’d also wanted to send a three-pronged message to Cassiopeia. First, she was not alone. Second, he knew she was there. And third, Salazar was dangerous. When he’d insulted Cassiopeia he’d caught the contempt in Salazar’s eyes—how he’d been personally offended by the attack on her honor. He understood that Cassiopeia would have stayed in character, playing her part, but he still wasn’t sure it was a part. He didn’t like anything about this. The fact that they were both staying at the Goldener Hirsch, having dinner, about to attend an auction together, then head back to the hotel for—
Stop it.
He needed to think straight.
He turned and headed for the Residenzplatz, an open cobbled square bordered by the city’s cathedral and its former archbishop’s residence, centered by a white marble Baroque fountain. His hotel was just to the northeast, past the state museum. Daylight still shone, but evening was taking hold, the sun rapidly fading in the west.
He stopped at the flowing water.
Time to start acting like an agent.
So he found his phone, and did the sensible thing.
STEPHANIE’S PHONE VIBRATED IN HER JACKET POCKET.
“You going to get that?” Daniels asked.
The pulse of the hum could be heard in the quiet of the dining room.
“It can wait.”
“Maybe not.”
She found the phone and read the caller ID. “It’s Cotton.”
“Answer it. On speaker.”
She did, laying the unit on the table.
“I’m in Salzburg,” Malone said.
“Like I’m surprised.”
“It’s a bitch being predictable. But I have a problem. I’ve rattled Salazar and he now knows we’re all over him.”
“Hopefully not at Cassiopeia’s expense.”
“No danger of that. This guy thinks he’s her knight in shining armor. It’s touching to watch.”
She saw Daniels smile at the sarcasm and wondered just how much the president knew. He definitely seemed like a man informed.
“There’s an auction happening here. I want to buy a book.”
“You’re the expert on that.”
“I need money.” He told her the amount.
Daniels mouthed, Do it.
“Where do you want it deposited?” she asked.
“I’ll email my account info. Wire it immediately.”
The president reached over and drew the phone closer. “Cotton, this is Danny Daniels.”
“I didn’t know I was interrupting a presidential conference.”
“I’m glad you did. It’s important you keep Salazar busy for the next day or so. Can you manage that?”
“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. If I can buy that book, I’ll be tops on his list of things to do.”
“Then buy it. I don’t care what it costs.”
“You know he needs a bullet in his brain.”
“He’ll pay for what he did to our man. But not yet. Be patient.”
“I specialize in that.”
The call ended.
She stared at Daniels.
“Stephanie,” he said. “If we lose this one, it’s all over.”
CASSIOPEIA TRIED TO ENJOY HER DINNER, BUT COTTON’S appearance was troublesome. Josepe, too, seemed distracted. He’d apologized to her, expressing concern that the man named Malone was deranged. She’d again suggested the police, but he’d vetoed the move. Ten minutes after Cotton left another man appeared in the restaurant—young, muscular, short hair—obviously someone who worked for Josepe, and they stepped outside.
A Danite?
She’d watched them through the windows, sipping her water, trying to seem disinterested. Cotton had come to deliberately announce his presence to both Josepe and her.
Of that there was no doubt.
But he wanted her to know about the dead agent, too.
Was it possible Josepe was involved?
“Are you enjoying the food?” he asked her, returning to the table.
“It’s delicious.”
“The hotel chef is renowned. I always enjoy visiting here.”
“You come often?”
“There’s an active stake in Salzburg, started in 1997, now with over a thousand members. I’ve visited several times, as part of my European duties.”
“The church has truly become worldwide.”
He nodded. “More than fourteen million members. Over half live outside the United States.”
She was trying to calm him down, help him forget about the intrusion. But she could see that he was still bothered.
“What Malone mentioned,” she said. “About the U.S. government investigating you. Is that true?”
“There have been rumors. I’ve been told that it involves the church and some vendetta the government has against us. But I know nothing for sure.”
“And the allegation of you being a murderer.”
“That was outrageous, as was his personal attack on you.”
“Who is Barry Kirk?”
“He works for me and has been missing for a few days now. I have to confess, that part of what he said is of concern.”
“Then we should call the police.”
Josepe seemed troubled. “Not yet. I have my associate investigating. It could be that Barry simply quit without notice. I need to be sure before involving the authorities.”
“I appreciate you coming to my defense.”
“My pleasure, but I want you to know that there is nothing here to be concerned about. I just told my associate to telephone Salt Lake City and report what happened. Hopefully, church officials can contact the right people in the government and make sure that we’ve seen the last of Mr. Malone.”
“He made some wild accusations.”
Josepe nodded. “Designed, I’m sure, to provoke a response.”
“If I can help in any way, you know I’m here for you.”
He seemed to appreciate her concern. “That means a lot.” He glanced at his watch. “Shall we prepare ourselves for the auction? We can meet in the lobby in, say, fifteen minutes.”
They rose from the table and walked from the restaurant, back into the hotel. Her apprehensions had now turned to outright fear.
Unfortunately Josepe was wrong.
Neither one of them had heard the last of Cotton.
THIRTY
SALZBURG
7:00 P.M.