Free The Jefferson Key by Steve Berry Page B

expendable.”
    “Caesar was once captured by Sicilian pirates,” he said. “They demanded a ransom of 25 gold talents. He thought himself worth more and demanded they raise the ransom to 50, which was paid. After he was freed, he hunted his captors down and slaughtered them to a man.” He paused. “How much do you think you are worth?”
    Spit flew through the bars and splattered on his face.
    He closed his eyes as he slowly reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped it away.
    “Stick it up your ass,” his captive said to him.
    He reached into his other pocket and found his lighter, plated with German silver and engraved with his name, a gift from his children two Christmases ago. He ignited the handkerchief and tossed the flaming cloth through the bars, straight at his prisoner.
    Stephanie Nelle reeled back and allowed the burning bundle to drop to the floor where she extinguished it with her shoe, never taking her gaze off him.
    He’d snatched her as a favor for someone else, but over the past couple of days, he’d been thinking how to make use of her for his own purposes. She might even become expendable if Knox’s news from New York—that the cipher may be solved—proved true.
    Considering what just happened he hoped that was the case.
    “I assure you,” he said to her. “You will regret what you just did.”

Part Two

SIXTEEN

    MALONE HELD TIGHT IN HIS CHAIR AS AIR FORCE ONE ROSE from the runway and vectored south back to Washington, DC. Everyone still occupied the conference room.
    “Tough day at the office, dear?” Cassiopeia asked him.
    He caught the playful look in her eyes. Any other woman would be highly irritated at the moment, but Cassiopeia handled the unexpected better than any person he’d ever known. Cool, calculated, focused. He still recalled the first time they’d encountered each other—in France, at Rennes-le-Château, one dark night when she’d taken a shot at him then sped away on a motorcycle.
    “Just the usual,” he said. “Wrong place, right time.”
    She smiled. “You missed out on a great dress.”
    She’d told him before he left the hotel about the stop at Bergdorf Goodman. He’d been looking forward to seeing her purchase.
    “Sorry about our date,” he told her again.
    She shrugged. “Look where we ended up.”
    “It’s good to finally meet you,” Edwin Davis said to Cassiopeia. “We missed each other in Europe.”
    “This trip to New York was a lark,” Danny Daniels said. “Or as much of a lark as a president is allowed to have.”
    Malone listened as Daniels explained how a close friend and lifetime supporter was having a retirement gathering. Daniels had been invited but had not decided to attend until a couple of months ago. No one outside the White House was told of the journey until yesterday, and the press was informed only that the president would be visiting New York. No location, time, or extent of the visit had been provided. Once inside Cipriani, attendees would have passed through a metal detector. By not forewarning anyone, and keeping even the press in the dark until the last minute, the Secret Service thought they had the trip reasonably secure.
    “It’s always the same,” Daniels said. “Every assassination, or attempted one, happened because of screwups. Lincoln, McKinley, and Garfield had no guards. Just walk right up and shoot ’em. Kennedy’s protection was waved off for political reasons. They wanted him as close to the people as possible. So they announced that he’d be parading down a crowded street in an open car. ‘Come on out and see the president.’ ” Daniels shook his head. “Reagan took a bullet solely because his layers of protection broke down. Always some screwup. This time it was mine.”
    Malone was surprised to hear the admission.
    “I insisted on the trip. Told everyone it would be fine. They took some precautions, and wanted to take more. But I said no.”
    The plane leveled off from its climb.