The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(75)

“Is that why you sold me out in Port Mayaca?”

“We were brought to Oliver’s house for appearances. Once you and he talked and everything was secure, we would have all been released and I would have the original recording. Everything over. It seemed like a smart move.”

“Except that Valdez had other ideas.”

“That caught Jansen and Oliver off guard. So they’ve sent me to try one more time. They want this to go away as much as I do.”

But I didn’t.

I was now privy to a conspiracy that would shock the world.

“J. Edgar Hoover sanctioned the death of Martin Luther King Jr. Surely you can see that I can’t let that go.”

“What good comes from exposing it now?”

“Jansen and Oliver will go to prison.”

“As will I, and I’ll lose a daughter in the process.”

“That inevitability was set in motion a long time ago, when you made the deal with them.”

“I never sold the coin.”

“Why not?”

“Never could find a buyer.”

I smiled. “I thought you were broke. In debt. I thought you wanted to be rich. Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you sell it?”

“The last year of Martin’s life was truly difficult for him. He lost the president’s ear when he came out against the war. He’d already lost the ear of many young blacks, who no longer believed nonviolence was the way for change. His marriage was in trouble. The SCLC swirled in civil war. He stayed depressed, tired, and despondent. Even his health was failing. He was overweight, smoked terribly, and drank too much. Doctors had told him he had the beginnings of serious heart disease.

“Black people were tired of being beat up by racists and thrown in jail, offering no resistance. They’d had enough of symbols. Even worse, many whites soured on Martin because of his shift on the Vietnam War. They accepted him as a spokesperson for civil rights, but not as an antiwar advocate. By April 1968 Martin was not the same man who’d stood at the Lincoln Memorial five years earlier and proclaimed I have a dream.”

I could hear the torment and regret in his voice.

“After his death, though, everything changed. It was amazing. The world began to listen again. It was as if he were still alive, at the height of his influence, his message loud and clear. He became relevant again. Hoover never discredited him. How could he? The man had been shot down in his prime. His image remained inviolate. He became a martyr. Only years later, when historians started culling through declassified FBI records, were Martin’s personal weaknesses finally exposed. But by then none of it mattered. He wasn’t a martyr anymore. He’d become a saint. A savior. How could I cash in on that?”

Maybe because you helped kill him? But I kept my thoughts to myself. Foster was right about one thing, though. Coleen and Nate were the priority.

“Where did you drive to Gainesville from?” I asked.

“A commercial building outside of St. Augustine, near an outlet mall. Valdez told me they would be leaving there just after I drove away. I have no idea where they are now. He gave me a telephone number to call, after I spoke with you, to arrange the trade.”

“I still don’t get why he let you leave.”

“He wanted me to broker a deal, but I refused to do that anywhere near Coleen or Nate. This had to be face-to-face, just like when Jansen recruited me. Valdez knows that destroying those files and that recording is more important to me than anything. All he wants is the coin. Jansen and Oliver are a different matter. But strangely, we all have a similar goal.”

“They followed you to Gainesville.”

“I assumed that would be the case. What you had me do in the bus depot was to throw them off?”

I nodded. “And it worked.”

No one had followed us.

My mind was racing.

I was assessing all of my options, which weren’t many. One thing I knew. I couldn’t tell Foster that there was no way I was relinquishing the files. The coin? Who cared? But the files and the cassette? Those were going to Stephanie Nelle. Yet to get Foster’s cooperation, I would have to lie.

This guy shouldn’t mind that, though.

He seems to have forged an entire life based on a lie.

“I have an idea,” I said. “How we can help Coleen and Nate and solve your problem, too.”





Chapter Forty-six


Dan Veddern had the right idea when he met with Coleen and me in St. Augustine’s main plaza. Lots of people. Activity. Plenty of distractions. I decided that though it had been the right idea, there wasn’t enough of all three for what I had in mind. So I opted for Disney World. If I was going to confront Jansen, Oliver, and Valdez, the place to do it was where there were thousands of people, a security presence, and too many witnesses for any of them to try anything foolish.

Foster and I drove from Micanopy south to Orlando. The trip took about ninety minutes. Just before reaching the entrance to Disney World, I stopped and called Valdez, at the number he’d provided Foster, using Nate’s cell phone, its battery about on its last leg. Thankfully, the call went through and the meeting was arranged. I’d waited as long as possible before making contact so that this time I could control the high ground.

Foster and I parked the truck in a massive asphalt lot and took a replica steamboat across the lake to a dock outside the Magic Kingdom. There were three ways to get to the park: the boat, a monorail, and a bus. I opted for the boat so I could see in all directions. Twilight had arrived and darkness was coming. The time was approaching 8:00 p.m.