Maddock tried the trapdoor. It wouldn’t budge.
“Guess you’ll have to bust through it.” Bones’ voice didn’t indicate the slightest bit of strain at holding Maddock’s solid one hundred eighty pounds. The man was a beast.
“Unless there’s something heavy sitting on top of it.”
“Always the optimist,” Bones said. “Just try it.”
Maddock drew back his hand, palm open. If this didn’t work, the sound was certain to draw their pursuers directly to them. That could get ugly. Nothing he could do about it now. He threw all of his strength into the blow. He struck the soft wood with the heel of his palm, letting out a guttural keop, martial arts style. The trapdoor shattered like a movie prop. Two more blows and the way was open.
“Nothing like dry rot to make you look like a badass,” Bones said.
Maddock climbed up into a pitch black room, turned and reached back to help Bones up.
“Don’t bother. I got this.” Bones took a few steps back and ran toward the corner below the trapdoor. He leaped up, kicked off of one side of the wall, and then the other, each push propelling him upward. With a grunt of effort, he caught the lip of the trapdoor with the tips of his fingers. “Okay. Help?” he gasped.
Under a different set of circumstances, Maddock would have let him fall as a punishment for his hubris, but they didn’t have time. He grabbed Bones by the wrists and hauled his friend up.
“You’re strong for such a little guy,” Bones stood and reached out to tousle Maddock’s hair, but Maddock knocked his hand aside. “So touchy. Where do you think we are?”
“A storage area.” The beam of Maddock’s light fell on crates marked COSTUMES and a heap of outdated lighting fixtures. “A theater, by the looks of it.”
“Any prop weapons we can use? A spear or something?”
“Not that I can see, but let’s try and make it tough on these guys.” He hefted one of the crates and placed it over the gaping hole in the floor, and then leaned a few of the lighting fixtures onto it to add some weight. It wasn’t much, but it might slow the Sons down. Now to find an exit.
Bones had already found the door. “Locked,” he said after trying the knob. “But not for long.” He lashed out with a powerful side kick and the door swung open with a sharp crack of breaking wood as the facing shattered.
Maddock shook his head. “You have the delicate touch of the finest craftsman.”
“I get crap done. That’s what matters.”
They came out in a dark hallway that led to a narrow stairway. The dust beneath their feet bore mute witness to this being yet another forgotten, or at least lightly traveled, space. Faint, yellow light gleamed through the crack beneath the door at the top of the stairs, giving them hope.
“Wonder what we’ll find on the other side,” Bones mused.
“Can’t be worse than what’s behind us.” Maddock pocketed his MagLite and opened the door. As light poured in, a loud voice called out.
“Take one more step and you’re dead!”
Maddock froze. Had the Sons of the Republic somehow gotten ahead of them? And then another voice rang out in the narrow hallway beyond the door.
“You don’t understand. Just listen to me.”
“What the hell have we stumbled into?” Bones asked.
“I don’t know.” Maddock listened. “They’re somewhere that way.” He pointed to his left.
“I’m through listening to you, Ryan,” the first voice said.
“Justin, put the gun down!”
The sharp report of a pistol reverberated down the hall.
“I say we go the other direction,” Bones said. He shouldered past Maddock and took off at a trot. They ascended another staircase and found themselves at another locked door. Bones didn’t have to kick this one in. A little fiddling with the doorknob plus a bit of main force was all it took. He stepped through and stopped.
“It’s a play.”
“What?” Maddock moved to his friend’s side and froze.
They stood on a small balcony overlooking a packed theater. To their left, two tiers, one for seating and one for lighting, looked down on the stage. The walls were painted cream and white, the carpet a bright red. Down below, heads turned their way as patrons noticed their presence. Someone pointed up at them and said something Maddock couldn’t quite hear. An angry murmur rippled through the audience.
“This box is fancy,” Bones said. “I wonder why no one’s sitting here. The tickets must be too expensive.”
For the first time, Maddock looked at the box in which they stood. American flags framed the small space, and bunting adorned the rail. His eyes fell on the antique chairs and his stomach lurched.
“Bones, this is Ford’s Theatre.” He swallowed hard. “And we’re standing in the box where Lincoln was shot.” Bones’ eyes went wide. “Holy crap. Let’s get out of here.”
Down below, Maddock saw two uniformed, armed security guards, scurry out of the theater. “I don’t think we have much time.”
Bones opened the door, looked out, and closed it again.
“Sons of the Republic coming up the stairs.”
“That was quick,” Maddock grumbled.
“I guess we’ll jump.”
“The last guy who tried that broke his leg,” Maddock said.
“Was he a SEAL?”
“It was John Wilkes Booth.”
“Three names? Sounds like a wuss to me.” Bones turned and approached the rail. The actors on stage, probably distracted by the noise of the crowd, had stopped the play, and now stared up at Bones and Maddock in shock.
Bones didn’t miss a beat. “You shot my brother!” he shouted at the actor who still clutched his prop pistol. “I’ll kill you for that.” He flashed a grin at Maddock and then vaulted the rail. He hit the stage with a loud thud, but regained his feet in an instant. As he rose to his full height, the actors on stage took one look at the massive Cherokee, turned, and ran.
Grinning, Maddock vaulted the rail, felt the tingling sensation of falling, and hit the stage. He felt the impact all the way up to the top of his skull, but he didn’t think anything was broken. He stood and turned to the audience.
“There will be brief intermission and then our play will resume.”
He and Bones leaped off the stage and sprinted up the aisle toward the exit. More shouts filled the air, this time from the direction of Lincoln’s box. He stole a glance back and saw their pursuers, pistols in hand, turning to face the security guards who had just burst into the box.
“It’ll be cool,” Bones said. “The rent-a-cops will back down when they see those guys mean business.”
“I hope so.”
They dashed out through the tiny lobby and burst onto the sunlit street. Navigating the throng of tourists, they ran aimlessly down the street, taking turns at random, until they finally managed to hail a cab.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Maddock’s thoughts drifted to the book. They’d need to find a way to translate it, but he wanted to get out of DC.
“Take us to the best bookstore in Alexandria, and I’ll pay you double if you get us there in twenty minutes or less.
The cabbie accepted the challenge at once, put the pedal to the floor and screeched out into traffic to the tune of blaring horns.
“What’s our next move?” Bones asked.
“Let’ call Sterling,” Maddock said. “We can’t seem to shake the Sons, so we’ll need all the help we can get.”
TEN
Cyrus Jamison couldn’t help but grind his teeth. He despised failure, and having to deal with Wright made it that much worse. Between her, Maddock, and Bonebrake, he wasn’t sure whether to be more concerned about his enemies or his ally.