While she was waiting for the man to come out of the Charleston police station, she had received a text message from Evan Makley in reply to the photos she took of the man earlier. It simply stated:
Butler, TN. More to follow
She took an exit in Spartanburg, South Carolina for the triple purposes of refueling the BMW, getting something to eat, and going to the bathroom. Seventy-five dollars and fifteen minutes later she pulled back onto Interstate 26 with a full tank of gas, a bag of fast food, and an empty bladder. She rummaged around in her food bag and pulled out some French fries. Why did something so bad for you, smell so enticing and taste so good?
Her cell phone rang, Evan Makley, she recognized the number on caller-id.
"Hello, Evan."
"The woman has a book. A journal of some sort. That man you saw arrested in Charleston is working for Rudd. He could be a problem. Whatever is in that book is no doubt what she's using to blackmail me…and the President. Abigail, I need that book. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Evan. I'm not an idiot." Now she remembered what she didn't like about Evan Makley from before. It was his condescending tone whenever he was upset or nervous. "I'll take care of the woman."
"There are two of them."
"Two of them, what? Women?"
"Yes. Two women. Ashley Regan and Christa Barnett. Get the book and kill them both."
"What about the man? What if he interferes?"
"His name is Jake Pendleton. If he gets in the way, kill him too."
Francesca Catanzaro turned off the recorder when Evan Makley disconnected his call with Abigail Love. Her palms became clammy as the feeling of anxious apprehension grew inside. The Chief of Staff just ordered a known assassin to kill two women and Jake Pendleton.
The President's suspicions about Makley had been correct. He was in over his head. Whatever he was trying to do, for whatever reason, was illegal and now Jake's life was at stake. Jake was her partner. There was no way she would sit idly by and let Evan Makley get away with ordering a hit on him. The Chief of Staff just made a critical mistake. A fatal mistake.
She thought about her options for a moment and realized that Chief of Staff Evan Makley was a bigger liability to President Rebecca Rudd's administration than Senator Richard Boden had been. When Wiley split Jake and her up, he tasked her only to observe and gather intelligence on Makley but that time had now passed. Now was the time to take action.
Swift and decisive action.
She picked up the phone and dialed Elmore Wiley.
27
A breeze slid down the mountain and across the small town of Butler, Tennessee. It was everything Ashley Regan had expected. She gazed across Watauga Lake and saw fishing boats and water skiers slicing through the calm waters. A serene lake where parents took their families on all-day outings, anchoring in a shady cove along the 106-mile shoreline and letting the kids swim while mom and dad enjoyed a cool drink on deck. Or perhaps, camping on one of the many islands inside the peaceful lake.
At one end stood the Watauga Dam, 318 feet tall and over 900 feet wide. Watauga Lake extended eighteen miles from the dam before the shoreline doubled back. At the base of the dam the water was 280 feet deep at the lake's fullest stage. But this year had seen a severe drought, the second year in a row, and the lake was nineteen feet below full stage.
This information was important to her after she spent the morning scanning the history records at the Butler Museum and talking to the old man at the Butler Country Store and Bait Shop. Five hours ago, when she and Christa Barnett drove from Banner Elk, North Carolina to Butler, it would have seemed like useless information. Now, it was worth over two million dollars.
At nine o'clock this morning when the two women arrived, Regan set out to do what they had done everywhere else, case the area to determine the location of the cemetery and grave. They also scouted the primary and alternate access points along with all highways and roads leading in and out of Butler. Careful preparation and planning were necessary to achieve her goal. What she found when the two of them arrived in Butler was totally unforeseen.
There was no grave for Norman Albert Reese, Jr. in the Butler Cemetery. As a matter of fact, the only Reese graves in the cemetery belonged to his parents, Norman, Sr. and Sarah Hawkins Reese, both who died over fifty years after their son was killed in the war. She scoured through the archives of the museum and found only one entry about Norman Jr.'s burial. According to the records, his family refused a military funeral and buried him on the family homestead where he grew up. She could find no further mention of Norman, Jr. or the Reese homestead.
The cemetery was a dead end, Regan pulled into a Butler Country Store and Bait Shop to get gas for the rental car. It had a rustic overhang and a single gas pump. Hanging on the screen door was a long, flat, plastic bag filled with water. She walked in and noticed an old man with a cane rearranging cigarette packs in the rack behind the counter. Two aisles were stocked with fishing gear — rods, reels, tackle, nets, paddles, life jackets, and more. The old building was musty. She heard a gurgling sound coming from a tank in the back of the store. Minnows in the tank with an aerator, crickets in a cage making annoying chirping sounds next to the tank, and a box of black dirt lined the back wall. The handwritten sign above the box read Worms.
She grabbed two soft drinks and two bags of chips and took them to the counter. She looked at the screen door. "What's with the bag of water?" She motioned toward the door.
"Keeps the flies out." The old man never looked up.
"How's that?"
"When the flies get near it, they see their reflection. The bag makes their reflection look like a much larger bug so they fly away."
"Does that really work?" It sounded like country hocus-pocus to her.
"It wouldn't be hanging there if it didn't." He looked up at her for the first time. "Will this be all?"
She nodded and slid the items across the counter. While the old man took her cash she noticed several old wartime photos on the wall behind him.
She pointed to one on the wall. "Is that you in those pictures?" She asked.
"Eh?" He cupped his hand around his ear. "Speak up missy."
"The pictures." She raised her voice. "Is that you in the pictures?"
He turned around and looked. "That's me and my friend in all these pictures." He limped with his cane and pulled one off the wall, blew several years worth of dust off of it, and placed it on the counter in front of her. It was a picture of two men in uniform, barely old enough to be considered men. He tapped on the picture. "He's dead now."
"I'm sorry," Regan said. "How long ago did he die?"
The man grew silent. He rubbed his arthritic hands across the glass covering the photo. "One month after this picture was taken. We went off to war together." He paused. "I came home in a cast. He came home in a box."
"I'm so sorry to hear that." Regan genuinely felt sorry for the old man. She knew what it was like to lose someone close. Her parents died while she was attending college. During her freshman year, her mother got sick and battled breast cancer. While she was undergoing chemo, her father was diagnosed with Stage 4 prostate cancer and died two months later. Six months after his death, her mother died from an infection contracted during her treatment. "Which war was that, Korea?"
He didn't answer at first. She could tell his thoughts had drifted elsewhere. She guessed back to the war.
"World War II," he said. "We took a mortar round in our bunker. Landed five feet from Norm. Blew him to pieces. I was further away, but shrapnel still tore up my leg. Almost lost it."
Did he say Norm? Could she be so lucky? "Norm? Was that your friend's name?"