The Mozart Conspiracy

by Phil Swann

  “Why?”

  “This is brick and mortar—it isn’t two hundred years old.”

  “He’s right, Dan,” Marcus added, leaning in close. “I put myself through college doing this type of work. This mortar isn’t even completely set yet. Can’t be more than a couple of weeks old.”

  “I hear talking,” Petrovic yelled from across the room. He looked at his watch and then held up the cell phone. “You have seven minutes.”

  The three hostages were all on their knees. They were covered in dust and surrounded by shards of red brick and rock. Dani and David were positioned at one corner. David hammered and chiseled as Dani cleaned away shattered brick. Marcus did the same at the other end. They had broken through the first layer of brick only to find a second layer.

  “You mean this wall is new?” Dani whispered.

  “Not all of it,” Marcus answered, “just the top section. It’s that quickset stuff. But the bottom is very old—a sand, mud, and gravel type of mix.”

  “Oh God,” Dani breathed, “then that means someone’s already been here.”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Marcus replied.

  “What are we going to do?”

  David answered, “Take it one problem at a time. We have about five minutes to get this thing down.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Sparks shot from the bottom of the car as it bounced through the intersection of Wisconsin and P Street and began ascending the hill. Greenfield glanced at his note pad. “At the top of the hill turn right, first house across the street from the cemetery.”

  Fowler rolled through the stop sign and coasted to a stop by the curb. They both saw the white Ford Escort parked in front of the house. Fowler opened his door.

  “Tom, let’s wait for backup. They should be here in minutes.”

  “You wait. I can’t.”

  “Tom,” Greenfield said, taking his friend’s arm. “It’s not the smart play.”

  “I’m going around the back of the house. There has to be a back door. I won’t move in ’til the units arrive.”

  Greenfield nodded, knowing a direct order would be pointless.

  Fowler jumped from the car and headed straight for the cover of the trees.

  »»•««

  It was a cragged two-foot opening. David knocked the surrounding bricks out with the hammer. Dani and Marcus huddled on the floor.

  “Move,” Petrovic ordered, pushing David away.

  David dropped the hammer and stepped back. Petrovic shoved his weapon down the front of his pants, positioned himself a few feet from the wall, turned sideways, and readied his attack with three short, swift bounces. The kick was lightning quick and fierce, accompanied by an animal-like roar. Two bricks released. Then another kick, four more bricks broke loose. After five sorties, the two-foot opening expanded to the size of an oblong manhole.

  Petrovic retrieved a flashlight from the duffel bag, fell to his knees, and shone it into the opening. David, Dani, and Marcus braced for the worst.

  “It’s empty,” he spit. “It’s…wait…”

  Dani squeezed David’s arm.

  “…there’s something…a door.”

  Petrovic removed his head and picked up the hammer. The sound of steel against steel reverberated through the house as Petrovic sat on the floor with his arm inside the wall and pounded. Finally, there was a snap. Petrovic stopped, threw down the hammer, and shone the flashlight back into the wall. He turned to the three exhausted people on the floor beside him and smiled. “You," Petrovic said to Dani, “hold the flashlight.”

  Dani took the flashlight as Petrovic lifted the wooden hatch.

  David saw the look on Dani’s face.

  “What?”

  “Looks like a ladder,” Dani answered.

  Petrovic moved out of the fireplace and removed his gun from his trousers. “Why? Where does it lead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He pointed the pistol at Dani’s head.

  “I swear,” Dani pleaded. “This must be a station.”

  “A what?”

  “A station. It was a term used in the Underground Railroad. It must be to a tunnel for hiding and relocating slaves. But I didn’t know about it—I swear I don’t know where it leads, if anywhere.”

  Petrovic lowered his weapon and looked at the opening. “We’re all going down, same rules—” Petrovic stopped mid-sentence and cocked his head. He moved from the fireplace to the front window and fell against the wall. He separated the curtains with the barrel of his gun. “Fools!” He ran back to the fireplace, grabbed Dani, and pulled her in front of him.

  It was mindless, the insanity of it never entering David's consciousness. “No!” David yelled, hurling himself at Petrovic, hitting him waist-high.

  The attack took Petrovic totally off guard, his hold on Dani broken on impact. The two men stumbled across the room, clutching one another like Sumo wrestlers until Petrovic’s feet came out from under him. They crashed on top of the coffee table, its legs disintegrating from the weight. David was on top, but the advantage was short-lived. Before David knew what was happening, Petrovic had him rolled over, his hands around David's throat. David’s mouth gaped wide open, begging for air as Petrovic’s grip got tighter and tighter. David looked into the killer’s eyes—they were completely without emotion. He heard Dani screaming and Marcus say something, but it all seemed far off in the distance. Then he heard a familiar voice.

  “Federal agent!”

  Then a gunshot.

  Blood spurted over David’s face, and Petrovic released his hold.

  David gasped as air rushed to fill his lungs. He wasn’t completely cognizant when he saw Petrovic’s gun. Not thinking, just acting, David rolled to his side and grabbed the weapon.

  Then another shot.

  David’s head jerked down by reflex. Her face filled his mind. Dani.

  He got to his knees and looked toward the fireplace. Petrovic had Dani by the hair and was reaching into the bag for something. His shirt was covered in blood, but the gun from the holster was now in the killer’s hand.

  “Let her go!” David yelled, raising the gun.

  Petrovic looked at David and began firing off rounds while rustling through the bag. David fell to the floor, scrambling behind the four-feet high stone partition separating the living room from the dining room. He wasn’t expecting to find what he found. It was Fowler, and he’d been shot. The FBI man's eyes were open, but blood was everywhere.

  “Get down,” Fowler ordered.

  David didn’t reply. Instead, he took a breath and peered over the wall, the gun shaking in his hand. What he saw horrified him. Petrovic was halfway into the fireplace. Dani was still outside but bent over and screaming in agony. Petrovic had a rope wrapped around her neck like a leash and was pulling her in behind him. David raised the gun but froze when he saw Petrovic remove the cell phone and begin dialing. For David, everything moved in slow motion. David raised the gun. Petrovic raised the cell phone. David fired but missed by a mile. Petrovic extended the phone out from his body. David heard his own heartbeat as the killer smiled and mouthed, “Boom.”

  “No!” David howled like a wounded animal. He never heard Fowler say, “No, David, she’s—” as he cocked the pistol and bolted from behind the wall.

  But it was too late. Petrovic and Dani had disappeared into the fireplace.

  “Dani,” David whispered. He ran to the fireplace. Marcus had taken cover behind a pile of brick. The man was shaking uncontrollably.

  “You okay?” David asked, pulling a flashlight from the duffel bag.

  “Yeah, he’s got Dan.”

  “Tell them Fowler’s been shot,” David said, stepping into the opening.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to get Dani. And I’m going to kill that mutherfucker.”

  And he was gone.

  »»•««

  “Shots fired! Shots fired!”

  Greenfield fastened his flak
vest and started up the stone path, adjusting his headset. “Copy Unit Two, cover the back. Remember we have four friendlies—one of those is ours. Unit one, fan out, watch for an ambush.”

  Except for Greenfield, the six men from the elite FBI Tactical Unit behind him wore all black with helmets, headsets, and goggles. All carried semi-automatic weapons.

  “Leader, this is Unit Two. We’re behind the house—back door is open.”

  “Damn it, Tom," Greenfield said under his breath, "Roger, Unit Two.”

  “Shot’s fired! Shots fired!”

  “Go, Unit Two. Go,” Greenfield ordered. “Unit One, we’re going in.”

  Greenfield hit the porch first, waving for the others to follow.

  “Leader, we have a bogey, repeat we have a bogey.”

  “Where, Unit Two?” Greenfield said, stopping his men with a raised hand.

  “Running around the side of the house. He must have come out of another entrance—I’ve sent three of my men after him. Should I follow?”

  Greenfield paused for a millisecond. “Negative, I’ll send two of mine. Get in that house.” Greenfield pointed to two of the men, and they were off.

  “Leader, this is Renegade,” another voice reported. “Bogey has crossed street and entered cemetery.”

  Greenfield didn’t respond. He pushed open the door and entered the dark foyer. The three-man team entered behind him. Greenfield motioned to the living room.

  “Leader, we’ve lost bogey. Repeat, lost bogey.”

  Greenfield gave the signal.

  The three men stormed through the alcove into the living room. One took a firing position on one knee, the other two entering in a crouch.

  “He’s got Dani,” Marcus yelled from the floor. “David went after him.”

  “Where’d they go?” Greenfield demanded as the two men from Unit Two ran in from the kitchen.

  Marcus pointed to the fireplace. “Down there.”

  A sound came from the back of the room. Greenfield raised his weapon.

  “No,” Marcus shouted. “It’s Agent Fowler.”

  Greenfield rushed behind the partition. Fowler was sitting up holding his arm. “Jesus, Tom.”

  “I’m okay. Go get him.”

  Greenfield clenched his jaw.

  “Leader, we’ve lost him. He just disappeared.”

  “Damn it,” Greenfield exclaimed. “Roger, Renegade, hold your position.”

  “What happened?” Fowler asked.

  “We lost him running out of the house.”

  Fowler shook his head. “Bob, that wasn’t him. Petrovic went into the fireplace.”

  “Then who—”

  Fowler started to stand. “Help me up. We’re going into that hole.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  After a twelve-foot drop into total darkness, David stood in an eight by ten foot chamber. He shined the light on the walls of red clay surrounding him. Eight wooden beams, two on each wall and all differing in size, extended upward from the dirt floor to a crooked ceiling of rock. Where he stood, the clearance was a good twelve feet. On the opposite corner, however, it was less than five. The structure looked as if a good sneeze could bring it all down. Three exits were visible; the wooden ladder behind him, a chasm to his right, and one to his left. He’d already ventured down the one to the right only to run into a wall of red clay ten feet in. The one to the left had to lead him to Dani.

  With the flashlight in one hand and Petrovic’s gun in the other, he trotted into the tunnel. The air smelled of mud, but it wasn’t stagnant. There had to be an opening somewhere at the other end. Petrovic had a head start, so David prayed the descent into the chamber had taken Petrovic as long as it had him.

  Thirty seconds into the tunnel, David noticed he was having a hard time keeping his trot from becoming a run—he was descending, and quickly. The walls had changed too. The red clay had become hard and coarse like limestone. He stopped and listened. The temperature had dropped at least fifteen degrees, and he heard the sound of running water from above. He shined the light over the walls. A steady stream of water was running from a jagged rock formation to his right. He raised the light beam and understood why. The clearance was now at least thirty, maybe forty feet—the tunnel had become a cavern. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling like gigantic tears, as stalagmites rose to meet them from balconies of rocks that shelved the cragged walls. The builders of the room below the fireplace had excavated a cave. It was beautiful, but it was also dangerous. David realized Petrovic could be hiding behind any of the formations.

  With that thought, David began moving again, alternating the light from ground to wall. He’d gotten used to the path being relatively smooth, so he wasn’t prepared when his foot slid out from under him, throwing him off balance and nearly putting him on his back. He held the light to the ground. It was a thin, off-white, cylindrical object that was the culprit. David put the flashlight under his arm, bent over, and picked it up. He held the object high so it would catch the light. He turned it in different positions when it finally hit him what it was. A chill surged through his body, and he dropped it to the ground. It was a bone, and it was human. Moving the light, David saw there were a few others, four or five and varying in size. But as he raised the light and shined it farther down the tunnel, he began seeing more of them. Then he saw it in an alcove off to the right, not ten feet from where he stood. If he didn’t know differently, he’d have thought the image was someone’s idea of a clever Halloween decoration. But this was no decoration, this was real, this was a burial ground. Complete skeletons, at least fifty of them, some huddled together, bone wrapped around bone, lined the wall, tossed aside and piled up like someone’s dirty laundry. He didn’t have to guess what he was looking at. These were slaves. Slaves that for one reason or another didn’t make it. “Oh my God,” he muttered as he walked closer. Tattered rags still hung off many of their frames, and personal items like walking sticks and women’s bags littered the ground nearby. Then he spotted something else, a skeleton off to the side. His heart sunk as he got closer. It was small, much smaller than even the smallest of the others. It was on its side in the fetal position, a brown piece of cloth draped over its little ribcage and what looked like a small handmade doll of corncob and cotton still clutched in its tiny hand. The air left his body, and he fell to his knees, his eyes filling with tears.

  He thought he was used to it, the perpetual cruelty man perpetrated against his fellow man on an everyday basis. He thought he was immune. He thought that after spending the better part of his adult life consorting with people who exist only after midnight, he’d witnessed about every sick example of mankind at its worst. Bitterness, selfishness, callousness, pettiness, and loneliness—he couldn’t forget loneliness, the most common of them all. These were the diseases of night people. But he was immune—he’d seen it all. Or so he thought. But here, in this cave surrounded by the most heinous act of cruelty this country had ever witnessed, he was both infected and affected.

  His mind flashed on a happy old security guard at the Museum of American History and his two grandchildren. And a brilliant yet humble athlete turned scholar at Georgetown University. And a woman named Sugarberry whom he’d never met, but that Dani had described so vividly as the essence of grace and dignity, he felt as though he knew her. He thought of all of them and realized that if today was a hundred and fifty years ago, any one of these skeletons could be them. He walked next to the small and fragile remains. He felt nothing but shame as he kneeled and pulled the small cloth over the tiny skull. It was only a few seconds. But he’d later confess to have totally gone away, and that it was only the sound of Dani's voice that pulled him back. “No!”

  He couldn’t tell how far off it was, but it was Dani. He started running deeper into the cave, his legs beginning to burn because he was now running uphill. It was getting warmer, and he smelled fresh air—he was nearing an exit. The tunnel began to get smaller and the incline steeper. Voices could be heard up ahe
ad, but he still couldn’t make out the words. A few more steps and he saw a beam of light flash across the wall. It was Petrovic. It was only then he asked himself the questions. What would he do? Could he really pull the trigger and end another man’s life? Then he thought of J.P. and Dani—and the answer was yes, he could.

  David knew he had left the cave and was now in something man-made. The ceiling had progressively gotten lower until he had to finally go to his hands and knees and crawl the last ten yards. But the voices had become clearer, and he could see the opening twenty feet in front of him. He turned off his flashlight and pushed his way up the narrow shaft. He got to the opening and waited. Petrovic was talking.

  David raised his head out of the portal and saw it exited into a large enclosed structure with an opening at the far end. He could only see Petrovic’s and Dani’s legs. He pulled himself from the hatch and found he was below a table of some kind. Making sure Petrovic was still facing away, he crawled out from under the table—but it wasn’t a table, it was a tomb. He was in the cemetery across the street from the house—this was a mausoleum.

  David took cover behind the large concrete block and waited before he peered around. Petrovic was standing in the shadows at the far end of the room, looking out through the rusty iron gates. He held Dani in front of him, the rope still around her neck.

  “When they leave, we leave,” David heard Petrovic whisper.

  One shot, that’s all it would take, David thought as he aimed the gun at Petrovic’s back. His hand was steady, and he was certain he could do it—but not that certain. Petrovic could move at the last minute, and he’d miss him and hit Dani. He couldn’t risk it. He had to get closer.

  Just as he began to move from behind the mass of concrete, Petrovic spoke again, “They’re gone, let’s go.”

  Without releasing tension on the rope, Petrovic shoved open the gate and pushed Dani into the open air. David jumped from behind the tomb and ran into the shadow Petrovic and Dani vacated. He watched the killer make sure the cemetery was empty. This was the moment. He could wait no longer. He stepped from the shadow, moved a few feet closer, and turned on the flashlight.