Sedition (A Political Conspiracy Book 1) Page 16

  “Nothing to worry about,” announced Sir Spencer. “We thought that woman may have tried to abscond with a piece of George’s work as a souvenir.” The crowd bought the excuse and went back to its conversation and drink.

  The men walked back past the bar to the rear hallway. Thistlewood stopped to assure Laura that he’d be only a few more minutes. She accepted the delay as the men disappeared up the stairs and into a private room.

  They feared the plot was in peril. There was distrust amongst the conspirators. They needed to clear the air. Edwards was the first one into the room. He found a plastic chair in the corner in which to sit. He was also the first to speak.

  “So what was that about, Art?”

  “Someone in this group is telling the government what we’re planning!” He waved his hand loosely around the room at all three men, stopping at Edwards. “I think it’s you!”

  “Me?” Edwards pointed at himself with his thumb. “What are you talking about? You know me, Art. What would make you think I would ruin what we’ve worked so hard to accomplish?”

  “You didn’t want to tell Sir Spencer that we’re being followed. You insist on holding this high-profile art opening, even though we’re thirty-six hours away from the biggest day of our lives. You could’ve canceled it and kept our profile low. You didn’t. Then you spend time with this woman who is probably a spy. It adds up.”

  “First of all, I didn’t think we needed to make Sir Spencer believe we’re getting skittish or paranoid.” Edwards was standing despite his now-throbbing ankle. “Secondly, I couldn’t cancel the event. And if we were under surveillance, changing plans would have only raised suspicion. You said the very same thing at your office this morning. As for the woman tonight, I have never seen her before.”

  Davidson stood silently, listening to the back and forth between the professor and the artist. He wasn’t surprised. He knew that a conspiracy was destined to breed jealousy and paranoia. It was all the more reason for him to pull out.

  Sir Spencer also stood quietly, gauging the reactions and body language of the three men. He could tell from Edwards’s genuine shock and defense that he was telling the truth. The artist was no turncoat.

  The knight was certain that the professor protested too much. He was worried about Thistlewood’s steep decline from normalcy to rabid paranoia. But Sir Spencer was sure that he too was clean.

  He thought about Jimmy Ings. The drunk was too deep into the plot to spill the beans. That left only one person who might be responsible for a leak if one existed.

  “Bill.” Sir Spencer looked over at the former cabinet member with something just short of contempt. His lips were pursed as though he’d sipped sour milk. “What are your thoughts?”

  “Wait,” Thistlewood interrupted. “What about George here?” He gestured toward the irritated artist.

  “Arthur,” the knight said, fed up with the whining, “that will be enough. If there is a traitor among us, it’s not George. I suspect it’s not you, and I doubt James Ings has the wherewithal to betray anything but his brand of liquor. I know I am not talking to the government. That leaves the good attorney general here.”

  Davidson understood the knight’s suspicion, but it bothered him. Other than his expressions of concern and his hesitancy to follow through, he’d given no indication he would go to the authorities. He was too close to it. It was far enough along now that he risked complicity even if he shouted the plot from the rooftops.

  “I ask again,” repeated Sir Spencer. “What are your thoughts?”

  “I haven’t talked about this with anyone.” He tried to avoid sounding defensive but wasn’t successful. “What would I gain? I am the highest-profile person in this group. I would only sully my public reputation were I to reveal my affiliation with you people.”

  “You people?” Thistlewood didn’t like that. “That characterization gives me the impression that you don’t consider yourself a part of this.”

  “Quite right,” Sir Spencer concurred.

  Edwards stayed quiet, enjoying the spotlight being on someone else.

  “Well, I am having trouble with this,” Davidson admitted. “I’m opposed to the violence. I can’t justify it. But that doesn’t mean that I would set up some elaborate scheme to undo you. I am still hopeful we can achieve our goals without killing or injuring innocent people.”

  “Fair enough,” said Sir Spencer. “But we are resolved to accomplish our objective in the most effective way possible. In war there is always collateral damage. This is a battle over the soul of this nation and its global positioning. I think you comprehend the gravitas, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Davidson pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed beads of sweat from his forehead.

  “I need an answer from you by midnight,” Sir Spencer said. “And I need the information you promised. I will call you.”

  Davidson nodded. “Am I done here?”

  “Yes.” There were things to discuss that Davidson didn’t need to know.

  Davidson started to leave when Edwards stopped him. “Bill, wait a second. I have something for you. It’s downstairs.” Edwards told the knight and the professor he would return in a moment, and they walked out.

  “How can we pull this off even if we don’t have a leak?” Thistlewood said, convinced the plan was ruined. “We can’t explain that woman, Matti, or what she was doing here. It’s just too dangerous now. Maybe Bill is right.”

  “Bill is wrong.” Sir Spencer crossed the small room and sat in the plastic chair that Edwards had vacated. He sighed. “If our conspiracy is compromised, we will know it soon enough. We are too far along now to step on the proverbial brake.”

  “How is that?” Thistlewood asked doubtfully.

  “If they know anything about us, they likely know everything. Or at least, they think they know everything. In either case, they won’t stop us until we advance far enough with the plot to give them probable cause.

  “They won’t try to stop us until it’s too late to stop us. Even if we are caught in the act, there are elements to this that they won’t expect. We will be successful regardless. The only thing we risk now, if we have been exposed, is our own freedom.” Sir Spencer wasn’t looking at Thistlewood as he spoke. The knight’s eyes were distant. “I am willing to sacrifice my life for the greater good.”

  “But if they know about us now, then they could stop us from placing the explosives. Or they could disarm the explosives,” Thistlewood insisted. He believed that the knight wasn’t facing the reality of these new developments. “They’ll arrest us. It will all have been for nothing. Remember that guy in Dallas? He was a Jordanian or Egyptian on a personal jihad, trying to blow up a building in downtown Dallas. Somehow his plan got discovered and he unwittingly divulged everything to the feds, who were working undercover to bust him. They gave him a fake bomb, which he left in a garage. He thought he’d pulled it off when the feds rolled in and arrested him. That could happen to us. It could be happening already.”

  “Ye have little faith, Arthur.” The knight snapped from his daze and looked at Thistlewood. “A wise man attacks the city of the mighty and pulls down the stronghold in which they trust.”

  “Proverbs. I get it.”

  “I mean to remind you that wisdom conquers strength. We must trust that our just cause will triumph. There is no proof that anyone has betrayed us or that Matti Harrold is anything more than a desk-riding bureaucrat who became spooked at George thumping on the bathroom door.”

  Thistlewood considered the rationalization. He said nothing in response.

  “Now you have a job to do,” Sir Spencer concluded. “Get your girlfriend and get it done.”

  Thistlewood turned to leave and hesitated as Edwards reentered the room; he was uncomfortable leaving Sir Spencer alone with him and worried he himself would be left out of the loop. But he knew that his role that night was critically important, so he turned into the hallway. He didn’t acknowledge Edwards as
they passed.

  Sir Spencer hit the C on his phone and made a brief phone call for some last minute arrangements. Davidson, he knew, needed a push.

  Chapter 27

  Bill Davidson was two blocks east of the Mayflower Hotel. He walked from the exhibit hall and turned right onto Seventeenth. He was holding a small bag that Edwards had given to him, which contained a copy of Henry David Thoreau: Collected Essays & Poems. It was a heavy hardback edition squeezed between two other volumes in a boxed set, and its weight stretched the plastic handles of the bag.

  Edwards had borrowed it weeks earlier to read some of Thoreau’s political writings. He’d expressed particular interest in the famed “Civil Disobedience” essay. Davidson had mentioned that he knew a copy of the book was in a storage room at the Hanover-Crown Institute, and he’d borrowed it and loaned it to the artist.

  Davidson turned left onto DeSales Street off of Seventeenth. He took the side entrance into the hotel and went straight into an open elevator to his left in the main lobby.

  When the elevator door opened again, he stepped out into the hallway and knocked on the first door to the right. He heard the pull of the chain lock on the door and the turning of the latch. He was anxious.

  “Hello, sexy,” she purred. She was dressed in a white cotton robe and nothing else, the belt at her waist looped but not tied. She pulled him into the room and locked the door behind him. She had a glass of wine in her hand. “I thought you’d never make it.”

  Davidson walked her to the bed and dropped the bag onto the floor. He kissed her on the neck and then whispered in her ear, “I missed you.”

  “I missed you,” she replied. “Now go get changed.” She playfully pushed him away from her and took a sip of the wine. Davidson noticed a room service tray with a bottle and another glass.

  “Okay, I’ll be fast.” He walked to the bathroom near the front door of the room.

  “Oh,” she said in between sips of wine, “you left your little book at the gym today.” He felt his breast pocket and realized it wasn’t there. He turned around to see her pointing her glass toward the small desk. It was next to her purse.

  “Really? I don’t ever take it out of my pocket except to write in it.” Davidson was bothered. He walked purposefully to the desk to pick it up and put it in its rightful place.

  “Don’t worry, silly,” she cooed. “I didn’t look at it. I picked it up because I recognized it as yours. Your secrets are safe.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He wasn’t sure what to think. But there were too many other more important things to worry about. He relaxed his brow. “Okay. Thanks for finding it.” He patted his breast pocket and walked to the bathroom.

  Davidson flipped on the light and shut the door. It was false modesty, but it was habit. He had started to unbutton his shirt when she called to him.

  “I love the wine, Bill,” she said from just outside the bathroom door. Thank you, sweetie.”

  “I didn’t order it.” Davidson thought she was kidding. He sat on the edge of the tub to slip off his shoes. “I thought you bought it.”

  “No.” Her voice came from farther away; he imagined she was looking at the bottle. “The card just says ‘Enjoy’. It doesn’t have a name or a signature. So who sent it, then?”

  “Probably the concierge,” Davidson said, suspecting it was from the hotel; he spent a lot of money there. He stood from the tub’s edge and unbuckled his belt, dropping his pants to his ankles. He heard a knock at the door.

  “Hold your horses, gorgeous. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “No, that’s the room door, Bill. I’ll get it.” She peeked through the peephole and saw it was the same man who’d delivered the wine. “Room service again, I think.”

  Davidson heard her unlock the door and swing it open. Then he heard two hollow-sounding clicks within a second of each other followed by a thud. He didn’t hear the door shut, nor did he hear any voices.

  He looked down to see wine seeping onto the bathroom floor from underneath the door. “Are you okay?” In his undershirt and boxers, Davidson stood and felt a rush of panic. His heart rate quickened and he gripped the door handle. He pulled it open.

  Her body fell onto his feet.

  There was a deep red hole in the center of her forehead. There was a red trail down the side of her face and leaking from the back of her head. It wasn’t wine on the floor. It was blood.

  He knelt on the tile floor where it met the carpet, cradling her head in his hands. He called her name. She wasn’t responding. Her eyes were open and fixed with fear. The last thing she’d seen was her killer. Davidson saw a dark stain growing on the robe at her chest. She’d been shot twice.

  He pulled her limp body from the doorway and into his lap. The door to the room automatically shut. Blood was everywhere. His mind was racing.

  Why would someone kill her? Was it another john? Her pimp? Did she owe someone money?

  And then as quickly as the silenced shots had changed his world, he realized who was responsible. Sir Spencer. Davidson knew it. It had to be him. He gently laid her head on the bathroom floor and stood.

  With blood on his hands, Davidson picked up his pants to find his cell phone. He couldn’t remember in which pocket he’d stuffed it. Then it rang. He found the phone, pushed ‘C’ and placed the phone to his ear but didn’t speak.

  “Bill?” It was Sir Spencer. “I’m assuming you’ve made up your mind?”

  Davidson’s jaw was clenched. The vein across the top of his forehead was pulsing against his skin. He was seething but said nothing.

  “It had to be done, Bill,” Sir Spencer said with no compassion. “You understand.”

  No response.

  “Okay.” The knight sighed. “Here’s where we find ourselves. You need to provide to me the information necessary for our success. If you do, the dead prostitute vanishes. Your relationship with her vanishes. The whole bloody mess vanishes.” He paused then laughed. “That pun was intended, Bill.”

  “And if I don’t cooperate?”

  “I think you know the consequences of that.”

  “If I lose either way, then why do I help?”

  “Oh, Bill!” the knight said condescendingly. “Don’t you get it? If you don’t help me, someone else will. You will be a two-time loser. Bill Davidson: the killer of a hooker and the Benedict Arnold of the twenty-first century. You are the brains behind this whole operation, right? I mean, you pushed us to this violence, didn’t you? I assure you that is the truth that the rest of us will be telling the authorities if it comes to that.” He paused for effect. “If you do as promised, you have a chance to save yourself, Bill. There is a possibility that you can keep whatever shred of dignity you have remaining. That is up to you.”

  Davidson contemplated his options; he had none. He knew that if he called the police, he’d be arrested. Even if they didn’t have a weapon or a motive, he’d be ruined. If he helped the knight, however, there was a chance that he could go on living his life.

  Desperate men do desperate things; Sir Spencer knew that. He exploited that.

  “Fine. I’ll give you the information you want. Give me a half hour. Then you need to get this cleaned up.”

  “When you call me with what I need, then I’ll clean it up. So chop-chop.” The knight hung up.

  Davidson stood weak-kneed and turned on the shower. He needed to get the blood off his body. While he waited for the water to warm up, he stepped over the body and into the room. He went to the desk, where he grabbed her purse.

  Davidson dumped the contents on the bed. It bothered him that she’d had possession of his journal. He wanted to find out if there was some connection between her and Sir Spencer.

  On the bed, there was a pack of cinnamon gum, a small makeup bag, a cell phone, a large headset, some loose change, a set of keys, two condoms, a roll of cash bound with a red rubber band, and a small canister of pepper spray.

  He picked up the phone and scrolled t
hrough the numbers. He didn’t recognize any of them except for his. He tossed the phone back onto the bed and picked up the headset. Davidson thought it was somewhat large for a hands-free device. It almost looked like something a Time-Life operator would wear. He’d only seen her use a wireless earpiece in the past.

  He picked the phone up again and plugged in the headset. It fit. He scrolled down her call list and then randomly picked one that had registered a lengthy call time. He pushed send and slipped on the headset.

  Chapter 28

  Matti was opening the door to her office when the phone started ringing. She’d decided to skip going home and had headed straight back to work.

  On the drive from the Metro park and ride, she’d thought about the troubles that lay ahead for her. There would be a lot of questions in the morning. She needed as much time as possible to organize her thoughts.

  There were so many things she’d done to disobey her direct orders, including engaging the subjects and compromising the integrity of three agents.

  But as she drove with the windows down and the radio off, she wasn’t apologetic. For the first time in her life she was coloring outside of the lines. She had gained valuable intelligence. She’d gotten herself out of a potentially dangerous situation. Those were good things. And she began to realize that nobody was what they seemed to be. Everyone had shades of gray.

  Even my mother.

  The wind whipped around her in the driver’s seat of her government-issued Ford, and Matti found that she was more afraid of being pulled off the case because of the rush it provided than because of the eventual career consequences. She reminded herself of that as she walked into the office.

  “Harrold.” She was still standing when she picked up the receiver.

  “Who is this?” said a robotic voice. Matti recognized it as belonging to the asset.