Gideon’s Sword

by Douglas Preston; Lincoln Child

  “Oh, don’t everybody love a fight.”

  “Some do,” I play along. “Personally, I’m just trying to make sure we do the right thing and put local interests first.” He’s silent at that, enjoying the sudden attention. “Anyway, as we push for the request, we’re trying to think who else we should go to for support, so would you mind walking me through how the town might benefit from the sale of the mine taking place? Or better yet, is there anyone in particular who’s excited by the deal going through?”

  As he’s done twice before, the mayor laughs out loud. “Son, to be honest, you got as much chance sucking bricks through a hose as you do finding someone who’ll benefit from this one.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “And maybe I don’t, either,” the mayor admits. “But if I were putting up my money for a gold mine, I’d at least want one that had some gold.”

  My finger stops tapping against the keyboard. “Excuse me?”

  “The Homestead mine. Place is empty.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Son, the Homestead may’ve broke ground in 1876, but the last ounce of gold was mined almost twenty years ago. Since then, seven different companies have tried to prove everyone wrong, and the last one went bust so ugly, they took most of the town with ’em. That’s why the land’s been sitting with the government. There used to be nine thousand of us here in town. Now we’re a hundred and fifty-seven. You don’t need an abacus to do that math.”

  As he says the words, the storage room is dead silent, but I can barely hear myself think. “So you’re telling me there’s no gold in that mine?”

  “Not for twenty years,” he repeats.

  I nod even though he can’t see me. It doesn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor—maybe I’m just dense, but if there’s no chance of finding gold, then why’d you write that letter?”

  “What letter?”

  My eyes drop to the desk, where Matthew’s old notebook holds a letter endorsing the land transfer to Wendell Mining. It’s signed by the mayor of Leed, South Dakota.

  “You are Mayor Tom Regan, right?”

  “Yep. Only one.”

  I study the signature at the bottom of the letter. Then I reread it again. There’s a slight smudge on the R in Regan that makes it look just messy enough that it’d never get a second glance. And right there, for the first time since this all started, I start to see the ripple in the mirror.

  “You still there, son?” the mayor asks.

  “Yeah… no… I’m here,” I say. “I just… Wendell Mining…”

  “Let me tell you about Wendell Mining. When they first came sniffing here, I personally called MSHA to—”

  “Em-sha?”

  “Mine Safety and Health Administration—the safety boys. When you’re mayor, you gotta know who’s coming to your town. So when I talked to my buddy there, he said these guys at Wendell may’ve bought the original mining claims to the land, and filed all the right paperwork, and even put enough money in someone’s pocket to get a favorable mineral report—but so help me, when we looked up their track record, these boys’ve never operated a single mine in their lives.”

  A sharp pain in my stomach burns, and the fire quickly spreads. “You sure about that?”

  “Son, did Elvis love bacon? I’ve seen this one a hundred and nineteen times before. A company like Wendell has a little bit of money, and a lotta bit of greed. If anyone would bother to ask me my opinion, I’d tell ’em that the last thing we need around here is to get everyone’s hopes up and then see ’em squashed once again. You know how it is in a small town… when those trucks showed up—”

  “Trucks?” I interrupt.

  “The ones that showed up last month. Isn’t that what you’re calling about?”

  “Y-Yeah. Of course.” Matthew transferred the gold mine barely three days ago. Why were trucks there a month ago? “So they’re already mining?” I ask, completely confused.

  “God knows what they’re doing… I went up there myself—y’know, just to make sure they’re doing things right with the union… Let me tell you right now, they don’t have a single piece of mining equipment up there. Not even a pelican pick. And when I asked them about it… let me just say… crickets aren’t as jumpy. I mean, those boys shooed me away like a fly on the wrong end of a horse.”

  My hand holds tight to the receiver. “You think they’re doing something other than mining?”

  “I don’t know what they’re doing, but if it were up to me—” He cuts himself off. “Son, can you hold on one second?” Before I can answer, I hear him in the background. “Aunt Mollie,” he calls out, suddenly excited. “What can I get you, dear?”

  “Just the regular,” a woman with the sweetest hometown twang replies. “No jelly on the toast.”

  Behind me, someone pounds shave-and-a-haircut against the door. “It’s me,” Viv calls out. I stretch the phone cord and undo the lock.

  Viv steps inside, but the tap dance in her step is gone.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did you get the—”

  She pulls my electronic organizer from the waist of her pants and tosses it straight at me. “There—you happy?” she asks.

  “What happened? Was it not where I said it was?”

  “I saw an FBI agent in your office,” she blurts.

  “What?”

  “He was there—talking to your assistant.”

  I slam down the phone on the mayor. “What’d he look like?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “No—forget I don’t know. What’d he look like?” I insist.

  She reads my panic easily but, unlike last time, doesn’t brush it off. “I didn’t see him that long… buzzed salt-and-pepper hair… I guess a creepy smile… and eyes that kinda, well… kinda look like a hound dog if that makes any sense…”

  My throat locks up, and my eyes flash over to the door. More specifically, the doorknob. It’s unlocked.

  I dart full speed at the door, ready to twist the lock shut. But just as I’m about to grab it, the door bursts toward me, slamming into my shoulder. Viv screams, and a thick hand slides through the crack.

  27

  THE DOOR’S BARELY open an inch, but Janos already has his hand inside. Viv’s still screaming, and I’m still moving. Lucky for me, momentum’s on my side.

  My full weight collides with the door, pinching Janos’s fingers in the doorjamb. I expect him to yell as he yanks his hand free. He barely grunts. Viv also goes dead silent, and I look over to make sure she’s okay. She’s standing there, eyes closed and hands clasped around her ID. Praying.

  As the door slams shut, I dive for the lock and click it into place. The door thunders as Janos rams himself against it. The hinges shudder. We’re not gonna last long.

  “Window!” I say, turning back toward Viv, who finally looks up. She’s frozen in shock. Her eyes look like they’re about to explode. I grab her hand and twirl her toward the small window that’s high up on the wall. It’s got two panes that swing outward like shutters.

  There’s another thunderclap against the door.

  Viv turns and panics. “He’s—”

  “Just go!” I shout, pulling one of the spare chairs toward the windowsill.

  Hopping up on the chair, Viv can’t stop her hands from shaking as she tries to unhook the window latch.

  “Hurry!” I beg as the door once again rumbles.

  She pounds the windows, but they don’t move. “Harder!” I tell her.

  She hits them again. She’s not a small girl—the impact’s tremendous.

  “I think they’re painted shut!”

  “Here, let me—”

  With the base of her palm, Viv gives it one final shove, and the left window pops open, swinging out toward the rooftop. Her hands lock on the windowsill, and I give her a boost up. There’s a loud bang against the front door. The lock buckles. Two screws look like they’re about to come loose.

  Viv turns t
oward the sound.

  “Don’t look!” I tell her.

  She’s already halfway out the window. I grab her ankles and give her one final push.

  Another screw flies from the lock and clinks against the floor. We’re out of time. I hop on the chair just as Viv crashes against the balcony outside. Behind me, I spot Matthew’s notebooks sitting on the nearby table. Janos is one good kick away. I’ll never make it…

  I don’t care. I need that info. Leaping off the chair, I scramble back toward the desk, grab the Grayson section, and tear the pages from the three-ring binder.

  The door flies open and crashes to the ground. I don’t even bother to look back. In one mad dash, I leap on the chair and dive toward the open window. My pelvis crashes against the windowsill, but it’s enough to get me through. Teetering forward, I tumble outside, blinded by the sun as I hit the floor of the balcony.

  “Which way?” Viv asks, slamming the window shut as I climb to my feet.

  Rolling up the stack of papers and shoving them in my front pocket, I grab Viv’s wrist and tug her to the left, along the three-foot-wide pathway just outside the window.

  Overlooking the Washington Monument, we’re on the long balcony outside the Senate wing. Unlike the enormous Capitol dome, which rises up in front of us, the path on this side of the building is flat.

  I glance over my shoulder just as the window bursts open behind us. The glass shatters as it swings into the white wall of the building. As Janos sticks his head out, it only makes us run harder. We’re moving so fast, the intricate marble railing on my right starts to blur. To my surprise, Viv’s already a few steps ahead of me.

  The sun beats down, reflecting off the white railing so brightly, I have to squint to see. Good thing I know where I’m going. Up ahead, the pathway forks as we approach the base of the Capitol dome. We can go straight and follow the pathway, or make a sharp left into a nook around the corner. Last time we did this, Janos caught me off guard. This time, we’re on my turf.

  “Left,” I say, yanking the shoulder of Viv’s suit. As I tug her around the corner, there’s a rusted metal staircase dead ahead. It leads up to a catwalk that’ll take us up to the roof, directly on top of the room we were just in. “Keep going,” I say, pointing her toward the stairs.

  Viv keeps running. I stay where I am. By my feet, a trio of thin steel wires runs along the floor of the balcony, just outside the windows. During the winter, the maintenance division sends a small electric current through the wiring to melt the snow and prevent the ice from piling up. During the rest of the year, the wires just sit there, useless. Until now. Squatting down, I press my knuckles against the floor and grab the wires. As Janos runs, I hear his shoes pounding against the roof.

  “He’s right around the corner!” Viv yells from her perch on the catwalk.

  That’s what I’m counting on. Tugging up like I’m curling a barbell, I pull the wires as hard as I can. The staples that hold them in place pop through the air. The metal wiring goes taut, rising a few inches from the ground. Perfect ankle height.

  Just as Janos turns the corner, his legs slam into the wiring. At his speed, the thin metal slices into his shins. For the first time, he yells out in pain. It’s not much more than a muted roar, but I’ll take it. Tumbling forward, he skids face first against the ground. The sound alone is worth it.

  Before he can get up, I leap toward him, gripping him by the back of his head and pressing his face against the burning-hot green copper floor. As his cheek hits, he finally screams—a guttural rumble that vibrates against my chest. It’s like trying to pin a bull. Even as I grab the back of his neck, he’s already on his knees, climbing to his feet. Like a trapped panther, he lashes out, swiping a meaty paw at my face. I duck back, and his knuckles barely connect with a spot below my shoulder, just under my armpit. It doesn’t hurt—but as my entire right arm tingles and goes numb, I realize that’s where he was aiming all along.

  “Harris, run!” Viv shouts from the catwalk.

  She’s right about that. I can’t beat him one-on-one. I spin back toward Viv and sprint as fast as I can. My arm’s dead, flapping lifelessly at my side. Behind me, Janos is still on the ground, clawing at the wires. As I race toward the metal staircase that leads up to the roof, a half-dozen more staples pop through the air. He’ll be loose in seconds.

  “C’mon!” Viv yells, standing on the edge of the top step and waving me up.

  Using my good arm to hold the railing, I scutter up the stairs to the catwalk that zigzags across the roof. From here, with the dome at my back, the flat roof of the Senate wing is spread out in front of me. Most of it’s covered with air ducts, vents, a web of electrical wiring, and a handful of scattered rounded domes that rise like waist-high bubbles from the rooftop. Weaving through all of it, I follow the catwalk as it curves around the edge of the small dome that’s right in front of us.

  “You sure you know where you’re—?”

  “Here,” I say, cutting to the left, down an offshoot of metal stairs that takes us off the catwalk and back down to a different section of the balcony. Thank God neoclassical architecture is symmetrical. Along the wall on my left, there’s a corresponding window that’ll take us back into the building.

  I kick the window frame as hard as I can. The glass shatters, but the frame holds. Pulling some glass out to get a good handhold, I yank as hard as I can. I can hear the pounding of Janos’s feet up on the catwalk.

  “Pull harder!” Viv yells.

  The wood splinters in my hands, and the window flies open, swinging toward me. The pounding’s getting closer.

  “Go…” I say, helping Viv slide inside. I’m right behind her, landing hard as I hit the gray-carpeted floor. I’m in someone’s office.

  A stocky coworker comes rushing to the door. “You can’t be in here—”

  Viv shoves him aside, and I fall in right behind her. As a page, Viv knows the inside of this place as well as anyone. And the way she’s running—sharp turns without a pause—she’s not trailing anymore. She’s leading.

  We cut through the main welcoming area of the Senate curator’s office and fly down a curving narrow staircase that echoes as we run. Trying to stay out of sight, we jump down the last three steps and duck out on the third floor of the Capitol. The closed door in front of us is marked Senate Chaplain. Not a bad place to hide. Viv tries the doorknob.

  “It’s locked,” she says.

  “So much for your prayers.”

  “Don’t say that,” she scolds.

  There’s a loud thud from above. We both look up just in time to see Janos at the top of the staircase. The left side of his face is bright red, but he never says a word.

  Viv jackrabbits to her left, up the hallway and toward another flight of stairs. I head for the elevator, which is a bit further, just around the corner.

  “Elevator’s faster…” I tell her.

  “Only if it’s—”

  I hit the call button and hear a high-pitched ping. Viv quickly catches up. As the doors slide open, we hear Janos lumbering down the stairs. Shoving Viv in the elevator, I follow her inside, frantically trying to pull the door shut.

  Viv jabs wildly at the Door Close button. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”

  I wedge my fingers in the door’s metal molding and pull as hard as I can, trying to tug the door shut. Viv ducks under me and does the same. Janos is a few feet away. I see the tips of his outstretched fingers.

  “Get ready to pull the alarm!” I shout at Viv.

  Janos lunges forward, and our eyes lock. He jabs his hand toward us just as the door clicks, thunks, and slides shut.

  The elevator rumbles downward, and I can barely catch my breath.

  “My… my hand…” Viv whispers, picking something from her palm, which is bright red with blood. She pulls out a piece of glass from one of the broken windows.

  “You okay?” I ask, reaching out.

  Focused on her palm, she doesn’t answer. I’m not even sur
e she hears the question. Her hand shakes uncontrollably as she stares down at the blood. She’s in shock. But she’s still sharp enough to know she’s got far more important things to worry about. She grips her wrist to stop the shaking. “Why’s the FBI chasing you?” she asks, her voice cracking.

  “He’s not FBI.”

  “Then who the hell is he?”

  This isn’t the time for an answer. “Just get ready to run,” I tell her.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “You think he’s not sprinting down the stairs right now?” She shakes her head, trying to look confident, but I can hear the panic in her voice. “It’s not a continuous staircase—he’ll have to stop and cross the hallway at two of the landings.”

  “Only at one,” I correct her.

  “Yeah, but… he still has to stop at each floor to make sure we didn’t get out.” She’s trying hard to convince herself, but even she’s not buying it. “There’s no way he’ll beat us down… right?”

  The elevator bobs to a stop in the basement, and the door slowly slides open. Sprinting out, I barely get two steps before I hear a loud click-clack on the metal treads of the staircase that rises directly in front of us. I crane my neck up just in time to see Janos whipping around the corner of the top step. He’s still silent, but the smallest of grins spreads across his lips.

  Son of a bitch.

  Viv takes off to the left, and I’m again right behind her. Janos storms down the stairs. We’ve got nothing more than a thirty-step head start. Viv makes a sharp left so we’re not in his direct line of sight, then a quick right. Down here, the basement’s got low ceilings and narrow halls. We’re like rats in a maze, twisting and turning as the cat licks his chops behind us.

  Dead ahead, the long hallway widens. At the end, a bright shot of sunlight glows through the glass in the double doors. There’s our way out. The west exit—the door the President uses as he steps out for his inauguration. From here, it’s a straight shot.

  Viv looks back for a half second. “You know what’s…”

  I nod. She understands.