Wildcard. Rachel Lee

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СКАЧАТЬ both live with secrets,” the man said.

      “You more so than I, apparently,” Veltroni murmured, “as you seem to know all of mine.”

      These meetings always troubled him for that reason. More than once had he tried to pry open the wall of stone that shielded Nathan Cohen, if that was indeed his name. He had found very little. Certainly not enough. The man beside him was too much of a mystery, placing Veltroni at a distinct disadvantage. In this game, information was power.

      “Like you, I am but a humble man of God,” Cohen said.

      That part might have been true, though Veltroni knew this man was no rabbi. He doubted the man was even Jewish, although he sometimes presented himself as such. Rabbis operated within the structure of the Jewish community, and while that structure was not as rigid as the Catholic Church, neither was it anonymous. For a while Veltroni had wondered if the man was Mossad—Israeli intelligence—but discreet inquiries had ruled that out, as well.

      “You don’t believe me,” Cohen said.

      It was not a question.

      “No,” Veltroni answered. “But you already knew that.”

      “You tried very hard to locate me after our last little chat,” Cohen replied. “Your people are good, but…well…mine are better.”

      “And who are your people?” Veltroni asked. “You’re offering to help in a confidential matter known to very few. I’m not such a fool as to believe that help would come with no strings attached. If I were to accept your offer, I’d want to know who I would be beholden to.”

      Cohen looked up at the clouds for a moment, as if he were considering what to say, although Veltroni had no doubt he had long since rehearsed every possible move and countermove in this verbal sparring match.

      “Is it not enough to say I am a man who thinks the world would not be improved by the chaos that would arise from these discoveries?” Cohen asked.

      “No,” Veltroni said. “I am far too old to believe in convenient altruism.”

      “You are a cynic, my friend.”

      “I am a realist,” Veltroni answered.

      “The defense of all cynics and depressives,” Cohen replied with a quick chuckle. “You don’t see the glass as half-empty. It simply is half-empty, correct?”

      “Mockery is a dangerous game, Mr. Cohen. Even a dog tires of being poked with a stick. And I lack the saintly patience of that species.”

      “Please, Monsignor, let us not devolve into boys, strutting about the schoolyard with our chests out. That would demean us and serve no one but your enemies.”

      Veltroni was not accustomed to being lectured, nor to being patronized. His temper flared, his jaw clenching for a moment, before he bit back his reply and forced himself to take a long, slow breath. Wading into battle with an unknown enemy was the height of folly, and he was no fool. But signing a blank check to a stranger was equally foolish.

      “It seems,” Veltroni said, “that we have little more to discuss. I cannot consider your offer unless I know what is involved. My superiors—and I do have them, even if my organization is not a formal organ of the Church—would not permit it. We could sit here and joust all day, but, as I said, I am not blessed with saintly patience.”

      Cohen watched Veltroni rise and walk away. Another man might have regretted the course of the conversation, but Cohen had expected nothing more. Veltroni might lack patience, but Cohen did not. The Guardians had waited over three thousand years for a conjunction of opportunity such as now existed. A few more weeks were but a drop in a vast river of time.

      Veltroni was not yet desperate. But he would be, and sooner than he knew.

      7

      Fredericksburg, Virginia

      Tom and Miriam reached the door of her house just in time to keep the courier from departing.

      “I’m Miriam Anson,” she said to the courier. “I believe that’s for me.”

      “Identification?”

      She showed him her Bureau ID. His eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing, merely had her sign a receipt. Then he was off, whistling, and Miriam and Tom entered her home with the box.

      “I take it Terry came through,” Tom said as she dropped both the box and her keys on the dinette.

      “You betcha.”

      “So this is lunch?”

      “Well, whatever you can find in the fridge is lunch. Unless you want to eat videotapes.”

      The thrill of the hunt was rising.

      “Pastrami and homicide,” he said, returning moments later. “Extra mustard.”

      She opened a bottle of water. “You want to tell me what you’re looking for? We already know no one caught the assassin on camera.”

      “Well, it’s really quite simple.” He used a key to cut the tape on the box. “I want to know what the Secret Service was doing during the shooting.”

      She raised her brows. “Conspiracy involving the Secret Service?”

      He shrugged and pulled a stack of videocassettes from the box. “We’re supposed to disprove a conspiracy, right? Well, I’m about to disprove one angle everyone is going to be screaming about.”

      She nodded slowly. “Maybe,” she said.

      “Right. Maybe. No one’s expecting us back, I hope.”

      “Tom, at the moment I don’t think Kevin much cares if we fall off the edge of the earth, as long as we don’t get in the way of the ‘real’ investigation.”

      “My thought exactly.”

      He held up the tapes and gave her a crooked smile. “Shall we?”

      Tom and Miriam were still hard at work in her living room later that night. It had become their base of operations. She had dragged in a whiteboard on an easel she’d packed away in a closet, some dry erase markers, a folding table and the torchère from her bedroom, which made the entire room nearly as bright as day.

      They had watched the videos repeatedly and were now assembling a time line on the white board, listing who was where when.

      Finally Miriam tossed her marker down in frustration. “I don’t see anything out of line.”

      “I do.” As he stood looking at the time line, Tom pointed out each item he mentioned. “Okay, we’ve got one agent on the podium with him.”

      “Right.”

      “One in front of the podium on the ground floor.”

      “Right.” She flopped on the couch.

      “And СКАЧАТЬ