The Medici Return (Cotton Malone #19)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

C OTTON SETTLED INTO A NEW SEAT, ONE CAR BEHIND THE WOMAN . He wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. Involve the police? But that would only magnify his failure to honor the Vatican’s request to keep things close. The better tactic was to sit tight and see where she led him. He could then make a thorough report, which hopefully would end his involvement.

He was tired. Long day. Not to mention the gymnastics from earlier getting off that roof. He was beginning to feel his age. Staring down fifty came with challenges. Just another reason he’d opted out from the Magellan Billet early. Along with going out on top and all that crap.

But getting shot?

That was never a good career path.

The bullet tore into his left shoulder.

He fought to ignore the pain and focused on the plaza. People rushed in all directions. Horns blared. Tires squealed. Marines guarding the nearby American embassy reacted to the chaos but were too far away to help. Bodies were strewn about. How many? Eight? Ten? No. More. A young man and woman lay at contorted angles on a nearby patch of oily asphalt, the man’s eyes frozen open, alight with shock, the woman, face down, gushing blood. He’d spotted two gunmen and immediately shot them both, but never saw the third, who’d clipped him with a single round and was now trying to flee, using panicked bystanders for cover.

The wound hurt.

Fear struck his face like a wave of fire.

His legs went limp as he fought to raise his right arm. The Beretta seemed to weigh tons, not ounces. Pain jarred his senses. He sucked deep breaths of sulfur-laced air and finally forced his finger to work the trigger.

Mexico City. His last official Magellan Billet assignment. People died that day. One of whom was almost him. It was a few months later that he retired.

A big change.

And not really.

He was still being shot at. Only now as favors to friends instead of getting paid for the risk. What irony.

Would he have it any other way?

Not really.

T HOMAS KEPT AN EYE ON WHAT WAS HAPPENING IN THE NEXT CAR, catching glimpses as Malone halted his advance. Normally, he never encountered an opponent of Malone’s caliber. The targets he usually dealt with were soft. Mainly troublemakers who had never really been in a firefight before. People who had no idea that someone wanted them dead. He could easily stay a step ahead of them, using their anger and violence against them. But an experienced government agent? That was another matter. The smart play was to leave Malone alone and deal with the easier problem.

He checked his watch.

The train was scheduled for a quick stop at Koblenz in less than thirty minutes.

That would work.

C OTTON LAID HIS HEAD BACK ON THE SEAT AND DECIDED A QUICK rest of the eyes would be great. Nobody was going anywhere. A lighted sign at the end of the car indicated that a stop at Koblenz was coming in twenty minutes. He’d have to be alert then, just in case the woman decided to leave. In the meantime a few minutes of quiet seemed welcomed.

His life was in a good place. The bookshop was doing great. More than enough income to offset costs and make a profit. He was blessed with a great group of employees. His love life was likewise good. He and Cassiopeia seemed bonded. His relationship with his son, Gary, was also solid. The boy was still in high school and was still talking about following in his father’s, and grandfather’s, footsteps and joining the navy. College was not really his thing and he wanted to serve and make a difference. His ex-wife, Pam, was not happy with that decision but was smart enough not to press her opposition. Gary had to make up his own mind.

Just one thing was an issue.

And he’d only learned about it recently.

He opened the envelope and shuffled through the papers. A lot there. Mainly field reports from an investigative agency that apparently had located a woman, some of which he skimmed through. There were three color images showing a lean figure in a simple red dress, her face sharp-featured and attractive. At the bottom of the papers he found an order of adoption, issued by a Texas court. The petitioner was Susan Baldwin, noted as the natural mother. The adoptive parents’ names were also there, with Suzy relinquishing all her parental rights. The order also provided that the petitioner had sworn, under oath, that she did not know the identity of the natural father. A copy of the new birth certificate was there showing the adoptive parents now as mother and father, vested with all the rights as if they’d produced the child themselves.

But the last sheet grabbed his attention. The original Texas birth certificate. Listing Suzy as the mother and the father as unknown. And the date of birth? He did the math. Seven months after Suzy left Pensacola. An uncomfortable question forced its way into his thoughts.

Could it be?

Long ago, while still in the navy, before his time with the Magellan Billet, he’d had an affair with Suzy Baldwin. Nothing about that was he proud of, and he never repeated that mistake again. But recently he’d come to learn that he might have a daughter from that relationship who would be approaching twenty years old. The problem? Suzy Baldwin was dead and the truth died with her.

But maybe not.

He had enough information to go find the young woman. The question that kept crowding his mind was, should he? Wrestling with that difficult inquiry had caused his insides to wither and shrink, leaving pangs of regret and plenty of confusion. Everything about the situation seemed blurred by uncertainty. He sometimes questioned himself for pursuing the problems of others, like here, especially when he had plenty of troubles of his own that required attention.

But that ghost had lain dormant for a long time.

Better to leave it alone?

The train slowed.

They were coming into Koblenz.

T HOMAS FOUND HIS PHONE AND SENT A TEXT.

Come to the lavatory one car behind. Now, before we stop.

He watched through the glass panel in the rear door and into the next car. His female acolyte stood and walked toward him, sliding open the doors, leaving the car, and entering here, disappearing into the lavatory. He surveyed the people around him. Less than ten. All comfortable in their seats. He reached into his shoulder bag and found his gun. Keeping the weapon inside the bag, he attached a sound suppressor to the end of the short barrel. This was risky. No question. But it had to be done.

He stood, his senses sharpened, with one hand inside his bag, the other cradling it, and walked to the end of the car. The lavatory door was closed. He lightly tapped the panel.

Which opened.

He stepped inside.

“What was the problem?” he asked.

“We planted the money and the police came for the American. We took down the Swiss Guard contact, as you wanted, but the American showed up unexpectedly in Cologne.”

“Your partner?”

She shook her head. “They fought and he was stabbed to death.”

Then Malone had followed her. Right here. Yes, this was a problem. “Why did you not shoot him?”

“Too many people around. I would have been caught. Definitely seen.”

Incompetence.

He hated it.

He brought the gun out and fired one round into her skull.

The rumble of the train helped mask the soft pop of the well-placed sound-suppressed shot. The bullet exploded into the forehead, leaving a jagged red pulpy opening from which gray matter trailed. The head jerked back, a hand moved upward, blood splattered the wall like a work of modern art. The body lurched backward, but he caught it in time so there was no noise.

He helped her settle atop the toilet.

Lifeless eyes stared back.

He left, engaging the OCCUPIED notice and closing the door.

The train was beginning to slow more.

He needed to hurry.

He slid open the exit door and moved to the next car. Through the glass panel at the other end he peered ahead and saw no sign of Malone. About a dozen people filled the seats ahead of him. Several were asleep. No one seemed to be readying themselves to leave. He stepped down the aisle and entered the space between the cars where a door leading off the train awaited. A red light indicated it was still locked, but the light changed to green once the train came to a full stop.

He opened the panel and stepped off the train.