Jordan’s eyes widened. “Did Penn tell you that?”
“Not exactly. He made it sound like a fringe theory.”
Jordan smiled with what looked like bitter resentment. “Look, you were obviously headed somewhere. Were you taking advantage of Penn and John being busy to follow whatever lead you hinted at last night at the hospital?”
Caitlin was tempted to tell the truth, but she didn’t dare—not with Tom’s life at risk. “Why have you told me this, Jordan? Are you and John having problems or something?”
The photographer shrugged. “Not exactly. Maybe I want you to have a level playing field. We’re both journalists, and I’ve been exactly where you are, only without help. I wanted you to know you need to be careful about more than your enemies. You might be an intelligence target.”
“I appreciate it. So . . . is John going to simply abandon the civil rights cases that remain unsolved?”
“No way. He’s trying to get approval for a massive search for the Bone Tree, and he’s doing overflights of the Valhalla hunting camp in the hopes of finding it empty.”
Caitlin almost gulped at the mention of the Bone Tree, but she quickly moved away from the subject. “Why would Valhalla need to be empty for him to search it?”
“It wouldn’t, for a normal search. But he wants to do what they call a sneak-and-peek search under the Patriot Act. That way Forrest Knox won’t know how much scrutiny he’s under.”
“Man. The gloves are off, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, what’s your plan?” Caitlin asked, glancing at her watch again and thinking of Melba and Tom.
“I haven’t got one. I spent way too long today photographing geriatrics at Glenn Morehouse’s funeral. No Double Eagles showed up, by the way. Not known ones, at least. Now I’m pretty much at loose ends. Tomorrow evening I fly to Havana to shoot Fidel Castro and his brother, but till then . . . nothing.”
Glass obviously wanted to be asked along on Caitlin’s trip, but Caitlin wasn’t ready to trust her completely. “Listen,” she said awkwardly, “what I’m about to do, I have to do on my own. But if you can get away later tonight . . . come back and see me. I do have a plan for tomorrow, and you might be able to help.”
The smile that lit Jordan’s face warmed Caitlin inside. Yesterday the photographer had talked like a burnout case, but there was no denying the excitement in her eyes.
“I’ll be here,” Jordan said, turning off the tap. “You make sure you get back safe. These are serious people you’re trying to dismember in your newspaper. Have you still got your gun?”
Caitlin nodded. “And I won’t hesitate to use it.”
“Good girl. And good luck.”
Caitlin hugged her old idol, then left the restroom and ran for the back door.
CHAPTER 32
ANNIE DUTIFULLY AWAKENS me at six o’clock, and Mom sends me on my way with a mug of coffee made in the Abramses’ 1970s-vintage percolator. Annie begs me to take her along, but I explain that I’ll be working in a place that, while not physically dangerous, is no place for an eleven-year-old girl. She isn’t happy about this, but she doesn’t try to guilt-trip me over leaving.
Night has fallen as I approach the Mississippi River. An hour ago, the sun’s last rays bled red and orange into the clouds over the westward-flowing bend south of town. It’s too late now to show Caitlin Edelweiss at sunset, as I’d planned, but before I feel too guilty, she sends me a text saying she’s tied up and won’t be able to meet me for several hours.
Dwight Stone has checked into one of the new hotels situated in the flood zone between the levee and the river on the Vidalia side. I park near the front entrance, my mind filling with memories of the two weeks in 1998 that Dwight Stone and I teamed up to break the most important case of my career. Without his selfless help, I not only wouldn’t have solved the case—I wouldn’t have lived to hear the verdict. As I walk to the door, I notice two black SUVs with FBI stenciled on the doors. One has two high-tech satellite dishes deployed on its roof. One points skyward, but the smaller one is pointed at the hotel. This reminds me of the microcassette recorder in my coat pocket. Since I have no idea how long our conversation will last, I decide to switch it on just before entering Stone’s room.
Kaiser gave me the floor and room number, so I’m surprised to find him in the lobby. He’s talking on his cell phone, but he waves and motions me over to him. “Thanks for coming,” he says, slipping his phone into the inside pocket of his sport coat. “I know you didn’t want to, but it means a lot to Dwight.”
“I owe it to him.”
“That was an assistant director of the FBI on the phone. I want you to know that I’m pushing hard to get a protective custody deal for your father. That’s what that call was about.”
“And?”
Kaiser winces. “It’s a tough sell, Penn. You know that. But the director hasn’t ruled it out. Stone is pushing as well.”
“Does the director know about Stone’s Working Group?”
“He does now. After the discovery of those rifles in Royal’s basement, I decided to pull the trigger and bring him into the circle. But last night’s deaths created a lot of anxiety in Washington. The director’s pretty pissed off, but he’s not going to ignore what we’ve found. I think he’ll get there on your father as well.”
“It’s not like Dad’s got a lot of time, John.”
“I know.” He pats my arm. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”
We move toward the elevators. “Any idea how long this will take?”
“If you let Dwight speak his piece without interruption, an hour ought to do it.”
“He’s going to tell me about Carlos Marcello and the Kennedy assassination?”
“And your father.”
“What about my father? What haven’t you told me already?”