The Jefferson Key

TEN

MALONE REALIZED THEY WEREN’T HEADED TO ANY POLICE station. He’d been cuffed and quickly led from Grand Central. They’d confiscated his wallet and St. Regis room key, so he assumed Cassiopeia was going to have visitors. Too bad about dinner and the show. Would have been fun. He’d even bought some new clothes for the occasion.

They’d given him no time to speak. Instead he was stuffed into a waiting car, left alone for a few minutes, then driven away. Now they were crossing the East River and entering Queens, heading away from Manhattan. Police cars ahead cleared a path. If he didn’t know better he’d swear they were headed for JFK airport. Were they transporting him to a place under their exclusive control?

You can’t trust anyone.

Stephanie’s caution.

Perhaps she was right.

He doubted anyone in the car was going to volunteer anything, but there was one thing he wanted to say. “Fellows, you know my name, so you know my background. I didn’t try to kill anybody.”

Neither of the agents in the front seat nor the one sitting next to him in the rear responded. So he tried a different tack.

“Is Daniels all right?” he asked.

No response again.

The guy beside him was young and eager. Probably his first time in a situation like this.

“I need to speak with someone at the Magellan Billet,” he said, changing his tone from friendly to irritated.

The agent in the front, sitting on the passenger side, turned toward him. “You need to sit there and shut up.”

“How about you stick it up your ass.”

The man shook his head. “Look, Malone, make this easy and just ride. Okay?”

This conspiracy reaches far.

More of Stephanie’s warning.

Which they now had, the note taken from him when he was searched.

So they knew he knew.

Fantastic.

They rode in silence for ten more minutes, then motored into JFK, passing through a gate that led directly to where planes were busy coming and going. One, though, sat alone, away from the others, ringed by police. A 747, painted blue and white, an American flag on its tail, the words UNITED STATES OF AMERICA stenciled in gold on its fuselage.

Air Force One.

A navy-blue jacket was tossed from the front seat. “Put it on,” came the command.

He noticed three gold letters stamped on the front and back.