The Patriot Threat (Cotton Malone series)

by Steve Berry

  “What would Roosevelt have done?” she asked.

  “Exactly what Mellon said. Nothing. Remember, Roosevelt was the one who expanded the tax to a broader base and started withholding from people’s paychecks. He needed that revenue.”

  “Why not just re-pass the amendment?”

  “How could he? That would have been an admission that all of the collections from 1913 forward were improper. Think of the lawsuits.”

  And she recalled what Howell had referenced in his book. What Mellon said to his friend David Finley. In the end he’ll find what I left for him. He’ll not be able to help himself from looking, and all will be right. The secrets will be safe and my point will have been made. For no matter how much he hates and disagrees with me, he still will have done precisely what I asked.

  And his final declaration.

  I’m a patriot, David. Never forget that.

  “Mellon made sure that the 16th Amendment would not become a problem,” she said. “He tormented Roosevelt, knowing there was no danger.”

  But she realized that he probably also used what he knew to maintain a hold on the Treasury Department through three presidents.

  “Unfortunately, that danger still exists,” Levy said. “There’s enough here to raise a lot of legal questions. The 1930s were a different time, with different rules. You could actually keep a secret then. There’s no way we can survive this debate today. This would be a political nightmare.”

  And she remembered what the Eleventh Circuit had wanted in Howell’s appeal. An exceptionally strong showing of unconstitutional ratification. This may not be enough, but Levy was right. It could certainly start the ball rolling.

  “We’re standing here in the dark,” he said, “and that’s the way it should remain. This can’t see the light of day.”

  He was right.

  But their next course of action raised many ethical questions, ones she’d always prided herself on being able to answer.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  He seemed to sense her hesitancy.

  “It’s just you and me on this one,” he said to her.

  That it was.

  She led the way outside, carrying the solicitor’s memo. Levy toted the Salomon documents. Everything around them was dark and quiet. From her pocket she found a lighter, which she’d brought along just in case. She flicked the flame to life and set fire to the memo. Levy offered up the old vellum, which instantly disintegrated.

  They stood silent and watched it all burn.

  The ashes scattered into the night.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  COPENHAGEN, DENMARK

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 12

  6:10 P.M.

  ISABELLA WAS IMPRESSED WITH COTTON MALONE’S BOOKSHOP. Everything was organized, the shelves clean and orderly, a definite Old World feel. Books had never been much of an interest for her, but they clearly fascinated Malone.

  “You own this place?” she asked.

  “All mine.”

  Darkness had arrived outside, the lit square beyond the plate-glass windows—called, she was told, Højbro Plads—crowded with a rush of people. Malone had obviously chosen a great location for his business. Luke had provided her the quick bio on Malone’s early retirement and his move to Denmark. There was an ex-wife, a son, and a girlfriend. Cassiopeia Vitt. But that relationship had ended a month ago.

  They’d all flown from Croatia earlier. She and Luke were headed on to the United States tomorrow. Malone had suggested dinner and a layover in Copenhagen. Luke laid his travel bag on the hardwood floor while Malone tossed his on the stairs. They’d retrieved both of them from the Zadar airport before leaving. Luke had told her that Malone lived upstairs on the fourth floor. What an interesting life this ex-agent had forged.

  Malone had said little since last night. The bodies of Kim, Hana Sung, and the two foreign agents had been taken by the Croatian police. She doubted anyone from North Korea would claim them. Howell’s corpse was assumed by the U.S. embassy and would be shipped back home. Malone was right. The president had issued a full pardon, so Howell had died a free man. Secretary Levy had called and told her to hand over the sheaf of copied documents to the embassy for destruction. She was to personally witness the shredding and she had, just before they flew west.

  The bookshop was closing, the store manager heading home. Malone locked the front door behind her as she left. All of this had started late Monday night in Venice and ended twenty-four hours later in Croatia. People had died, more than she’d ever witnessed, one of whom she herself had taken down.

  Her first kill.

  It happened so fast that she hadn’t had time to digest the implications. On the plane ride Luke had sensed her reservations and explained that it never got any easier, no matter what the circumstances, and Malone had agreed.

  “There’s no internal investigation in the spy business,” Malone told her. “No suspension with pay. No press attention. No psych evaluations. You shoot, they die, and you live with it.”

  And he spoke from experience.

  He’d killed Kim.

  “It’s all tidied up,” Malone told them. “Everybody who knows anything is dead. The documents are gone, the code destroyed.”

  Including, she knew, everything from Howell’s anonymous email account, which the Magellan Billet had already accessed and erased.

  “How about you two,” Malone asked, pointing to she and Luke. “All good between you?”

  “He grows on you,” she said.

  Luke shook his head. “Don’t sell yourself short. You take some adjustin’ to deal with, too. But I’d do it again.” Luke held out his hand, which she shook.

  “Me too,” she added.

  “You both did good,” Malone said. “And I second what Frat Boy said. Anytime, Isabella.”

  Secretary Levy had been sketchy on the details from his end so she asked Malone, “What happened in DC?”

  “Let’s have some dinner and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  STEPHANIE SAT IN EDWIN DAVIS’ WHITE HOUSE OFFICE, WHICH was located down the hall from Danny Daniels. She and Joe Levy had returned from Pittsburgh last night. To alleviate any concerns she’d sent a text to Edwin confirming that everything was under control and that she would make a full report in the morning. So she and Danny now sat alone, in the office of the chief of staff.

  “You going to tell me what happened?” he asked.

  She reported the events in Solaris, culminating in the death of Kim and his daughter. The documents had been retrieved and destroyed, including the crumpled sheet of paper. Then she described her ruse in Washington and how she diverted the Chinese, allowing her and Joe Levy an open-field run to what Mellon had left behind.

  He chuckled. “Now, that was the perfect turkey decoy. Good job.”

  She also told him about the ambassador’s call and his warning on the North Koreans.

  “Which might also explain something that happened overnight,” he said.

  He told her that China had declared a “red line” on North Korea, proclaiming that it would not allow any war, chaos, or instability on the Korean peninsula. Peace, their foreign minister had declared, can only come through denuclearization and they would work to make that happen. The days of pointless confrontation were over.

  “That’s downright revolutionary,” Danny said. “They flat-out told the North Koreans that they better straighten up and fly right or else. And Pyongyang can’t ignore Beijing. We may actually be able to get rid of the North Korean nuclear program. That announcement was another way for China to show they’re on our side.”

  “Generous of them, considering their antics here.”

  “I hate that Howell had to die, though. That man wasn’t stupid. He made a lot of sense.”

  Nothing remained that could cause them any problems. When she and Levy burned what Mellon left, they effectively ended everything. Was it the ethical thing to do? Probably not. But it certainly was the smart play. Little would be gained by
raising questions about the 16th Amendment. The United States of America was a world power and nothing could be allowed to interfere with that status. People had paid their taxes for decades and they would continue. Only one thing bothered her.

  “You realize that there are people in prison for failing to pay taxes,” she said. “Who have no business there.”

  “I know. I’ve thought about that. Before I leave office, I’ll pardon the ones I can. We’ll couch it in some neutral manner, like nonviolent federal offenders with a sentence of so-many years or less. That way it doesn’t solely zero in on tax evaders. That should work. I’ll make that right.”

  She knew he would.

  In the end she, Edwin, Joe Levy, and Danny would know it all. Cotton, Luke, and Isabella Schaefer would know some, but they were seasoned agents, sworn to secrecy. So things were safe.

  “How about the people at the National Gallery?” she asked. “They okay?”

  “There were some ruffled feathers. The director didn’t appreciate me ordering him around. And he wasn’t happy that one of his paintings was desecrated. But when Edwin told him that his budget next year would be increased by twelve percent he said I could abuse him anytime.”

  She smiled.

  Always a dealer.

  “You’ll be glad to know that Luke may have met his match,” she said. “Cotton tells me that Ms. Schaefer from Treasury handled him, and herself, with style.”

  “You thinkin’ about hiring her?”

  She shrugged. “I’m always on the lookout for good people.”

  “Joe Levy might fight you on that one.”

  Always a possibility.

  “I looked into that other matter,” he said to her.

  And she knew what he meant. Luke reported that Isabella Schaefer had told him about the Omnibus Appropriations Act, which forbid Treasury from using public money to redesign the $1 bill.

  “She’s right,” he said. “It’s buried deep in the bill, but it’s there. We’ve redesigned every denomination, save the $1 bill. Edwin poked around and found out that the prohibition has been there for decades. Nobody knows why. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  That it did.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he asked. “About what you found in Pittsburgh.”

  “There was nothing there.”

  He gave her a sly smile. “Is that Joe’s story, too, and you’re both stickin’ to it?”

  Last night, after returning to DC, she and Levy had made a stop at Treasury. In the locked room where all the documents were assembled, together they’d shredded every page. Levy’s observation at the cemetery had made sense. The world was a different place from 1937. And what Andrew Mellon left could alter the balance of power across the globe. Too much was at stake. But she did offer, “Just know that, in the end, Mellon really was a patriot.”

  “How about this,” he said. “Once I’m no longer your boss and retired to pasture, we’ll have a little chat on this subject. When it doesn’t matter if I know.”

  She tossed him a smile. “I’ll look forward to that.”

  MALONE SAT ACROSS THE TABLE FROM LUKE AND ISABELLA. HE’D led them across Højbro Plads to the Café Norden and his usual table on the second floor, against the window, with a view down to his bookshop.

  “Last time I was here,” Luke said, “we were being chased by men with guns.” The younger man pointed a finger at him. “And you almost blew my head off.”

  He grinned. “I thought it was a pretty good shot, myself. Right past your ear and into the bad guy.”

  “I’d like to hear that story,” Isabella said.

  “I’ll tell you on the way home. That way it’ll be my version instead of this old-timer’s.”

  They’d all enjoyed a bowl of tomato bisque and he’d told them what happened across the Atlantic. Stephanie had called on a secure line before they left Croatia and explained the outcome.

  “You goin’ to be okay?” Luke asked.

  He had no regrets about killing Kim. Not that he reveled in pulling the trigger, but there were some people who just needed to die.

  Kim Yong Jin was one of those.

  “The world is a better place without that piece of crap,” he said.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Luke said.

  Interesting how the younger man had sensed his reluctance. Being here brought back thoughts of Cassiopeia. He could not deny that. They’d enjoyed many meals at this same table. But he could not think about that. Not now. Instead he allowed the last bits of energy to evaporate from his body. He’d lived off adrenaline the past forty-eight hours, sleeping little.

  So he stood and said, “I’m going to let you two enjoy the rest of the evening. I think I’ll head back to the shop and go to bed.”

  Luke did not press for an answer to his question, which he appreciated.

  He’d booked two rooms at the Hotel d’Angleterre.

  “The hotel is a few blocks that way.” He pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “Just follow this side street and you’ll see it. I’ll see you both in the morning, at breakfast there. Then I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  “You take care, Pappy,” Luke said.

  He noticed the softer tone, that of a friend, which he now considered Luke to be. He’d also noticed that Wonder Woman had become Isabella, which might mean something, too.

  She stood and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I second that. Take care.”

  Warmth laced her words and a smile illuminated her features. She wasn’t nearly the badass she wanted everyone to believe her to be.

  He threw them both a smile, then descended the stairs back to ground level and left through the café’s main door. A welter of thoughts from the past month swirled through his mind. Interesting how he was so precise as an agent, executing his assignments with surgical precision, everything always handled and resolved.

  Like here.

  Nice and neat.

  But not in his personal life.

  That seemed to stay in chaos—a frustrating and relentless pattern of expectation, disappointment, then hope.

  A familiar feeling of loneliness swept through him, one he’d grown accustomed to before meeting Cassiopeia, but one he’d been glad to see gone once he came to love her.

  And he had loved her.

  In fact, he still did.

  All of that was over, though.

  Now life went on.

  WRITER’S NOTE

  As usual, there was fieldwork associated with this novel. The cruise that Larks, Kim, Hana, Malone, and Isabella take across the Mediterranean and Adriatic Seas is one Elizabeth and I enjoyed. We visited all of the places the characters saw, including Venice and Croatia. We also made a trip to Hyde Park and the Franklin Roosevelt Library, along with three excursions to Washington, DC. A few years ago I explored the Little White House at Warm Springs.

  Time now to separate fact from fiction.

  The meeting between Andrew Mellon and Franklin Roosevelt (prologue) happened on December 31, 1936. The two men were fundamentally different (chapter 46) and personally detested each other. As depicted, Roosevelt had no choice but to accept Mellon’s donation for the National Gallery of Art, and the meeting’s purpose was to finalize that gift. Of course, I added the part about Mellon’s revenge. Roosevelt did in fact have Mellon prosecuted for tax evasion. When a grand jury refused to indict, Roosevelt pursued the case civilly. That litigation ended in Mellon’s favor with a full exoneration. And as Mellon notes, Roosevelt was not the first to use the Bureau of Internal Revenue (as it was then known) against enemies. The story of Senator James Couzens is historical fact. Also, the derogatory campaign ad Roosevelt makes reference to is taken from history, and the comment from Harry Truman about Roosevelt’s lying is real.

  Venice is accurately portrayed (chapters 1, 4, 6, 23), as are Isola di San Michele (chapters 1 and 4), the cruise ship terminal complex (chapters 19, 21), and ferry terminal (chapter 23).

  Kim Yong J
in is fictional, but he is based on Kim Jong-nam, the eldest son of the late North Korean ruler Kim Jong-il. Jong-nam was the heir apparent when, in May 2001, he tried to sneak himself and one of his children into Japan to visit Disneyland. The details of that fiasco provided in chapters 2 and 27, along with Kim’s exile to Macao, are factual. Kim Jong-il did in fact disown Jong-nam and his younger son, Kim Jong-un, became heir and eventually head of North Korea in 2011. In the novel I refer to this person only as Dear Leader. Most of the Kims’ history, as related throughout the story, is taken from reality. Political purges, which include sham trials and swift executions, are commonplace in North Korea (chapters 9, 44, 45).

  The insurance fraud scheme described in chapters 4 and 10 is factual. Millions of dollars were realized each year, all presented to the North Korean leader on his birthday. Those illegally obtained funds were used to finance everything from luxury goods to nuclear components. Of late, though, international attention to the scam has made its continuation more difficult.

  Sadly, the North Korean labor camps, which are an integral part of Hana Sung’s life (chapters 13, 39, 44), exist. At present it is estimated 200,000 people are confined in unimaginable horror. The best primary source on the subject is Escape from Camp 14, by Blaine Harden, which tells the story of Shin In Geun, the only known person to escape and tell the tale. Most of Hana’s experiences herein are based on Shin’s experience. And though recently Shin has publicly acknowledged that some of the accounts related in the book may not be true, he continues to insist that he, and thousands of others, have suffered behind the fences. Typically, the North Koreans acknowledge nothing, saying only There is no human rights issue in this country, as everyone leads the most dignified and happy life.