The Warsaw Protocol: A Novel(51)
He chuckled. “How appropriate.”
He stepped over to the small bar that had been set up for his visit and poured two generous measures of Irish whiskey. They’d discovered a mutual admiration for the beverage, so he’d asked that a bottle be made available, hoping she’d be here at some point.
“Now the question is, will we learn the location of the auction?” he asked, offering her a glass and sipping from his own.
“We will. Cotton will make sure of that.”
They wanted Malone to take the spear. They’d implanted a GPS marker in the wooden box that protected it, which should lead them straight to the auction site.
“What do you mean, he’ll make sure we know?”
“Janusz, Cotton is no fool. He certainly realizes that we allowed him to take the spear. He might be a little upset over the fall he took, but he’ll get over it.”
“If he knows, why take it?”
“It’s America’s ticket in, and he wants us to follow. He’s headed into a blind situation, and he’s being used by Tom Bunch and President Fox. He stayed in this because of Stephanie Nelle. It’s the only reason he would. They used that loyalty to get him to steal the spear and they’ll use it to force him to go to the auction with Bunch. But he knows the Russians are not happy. That was made clear in Bruges. There could be trouble, so he’s going to need some help. That’s where we come in.”
“Sounds like you know this man well.”
“He’s a pro. He’d also dealt with Ivan before. So he knows the man is not trustworthy. Cotton has to assume that the Russians are not telling us everything. Especially the auction location. So he’ll lead us there.”
“You have great respect for him.”
“Still jealous?”
“And what if I were?” he asked her.
“I’d say it’s a strange reaction from a married man.”
He appraised her with a cautious gaze, the whiskey warming his chest. “Why are you with me?”
He genuinely wanted to know.
“I work for you.”
“That’s not an answer, and you know it. Do you love me?”
He’d never asked her that question before.
“I do.”
Her admission pleased him. “I love you, too.”
She enjoyed more of the whiskey. “Was any of that in doubt?”
“Not doubt. But this whole thing is complicated.”
She smiled. “That it is. But isn’t the problem of this auction a bit more pressing than our personal lives?”
“They’re both important to me.”
He’d not felt so vulnerable to a woman in a long time. Yes, he was still married and the country would disapprove. The church would disapprove. His wife? Only if the press discovered any of it would she care. Thankfully, his security team was discreet and understanding. And now he found himself inside a magnificent suite, with a beautiful woman he loved, night firmly embraced outside, the day over.
Another saying came to mind.
Nie chwal dnia przed zachodem s?ońca.
Don’t praise the day before sunset.
First, though, he wanted to know, “Will there be any mention of the theft?”
She nodded. “The castle is releasing a statement about the break-in, saying they are still determining what, if anything, may have been taken. The director was told this is a national security matter and secrecy is necessary. He’s the only one who knows that we planned it all. I assured him the spear would be returned within two days.”
“If we lose it, there’s going to be trouble.”
“I know. I’ll get it back.”
“Along with what’s being auctioned on me?”
“That too.”
He finished his drink and laid their glasses down. “Where is the box being tracked?”
She nodded. “Only on my phone.”
“And nothing more will be happening tonight?”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. But we’ll keep an eye on it.”
He took her into his arms.
“How about we both do that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Cotton found the U.S. consulate, located on a side street not far from Kraków’s main square. A message on his phone indicated he was to go there after leaving the castle. He still carried the wooden box containing the Spear of St. Maurice, the walk over through the night crowd uneventful.
Two marines stood guard at the main entrance. Three American flags hanging from the stone above waved an indolent welcome. The soldiers opened the door as he approached, obviously briefed to expect him. Inside, he was ushered past the metal detector and up a steep flight of stairs to a second-floor office where Stephanie and Bunch waited.
He laid the box on a desk.
“Well done,” Bunch said, a smile on his face.
Stephanie did not appear to be as pleased.
Bunch called for a screwdriver, brought by an eager young man, which he used to remove the top. Inside lay a dull-pointed iron spearhead, about twenty inches long and three inches wide. Its color reminded Cotton of battleship gray. The tattered remnants of a copper sleeve wrapped its midsection, partially covering an aperture chiseled from the top third of the blade. He knew it once harbored a nail, like the Spear of Destiny in Vienna, but the spike was gone. At its lower end were two wings, above which stretched a crisscross of wire. Below that was the round receptacle that once attached it to a lance.