Timothy’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. “Goodness, the two of you pull no punches, do you?”
“Not usually.” Maddock looked around. “How about the two of you screen me from view and then close the door behind me? Once I’m in, you can wander around. That way we don’t draw unwanted attention.” Without waiting for them to agree, he took out his Maglite, clenched it in his teeth, opened the door, and crawled inside. When the door closed behind him, he clicked on the light.
He was in a tiny passageway about three feet square. Cracked brick and crumbling mortar surrounded him on all sides. He resisted the temptation to reach up and test the ceiling. Probably best to search the area and get back out as quickly as possible.
He crawled forward, occasionally banging his knee on the hard, uneven surface. He kept his eyes peeled, scanning every inch of floor, walls, and ceiling as he moved forward. Nothing caught his eye.
He rounded a corner and crawled another ten feet to where the passage came to a dead end. Set in the brick wall was a hinged iron square. He took out his knife and scraped away the dirt and debris that caked it until he uncovered a small latch. He slid it to the side and swung the little doorway open. Peering through, he saw that it opened into an empty fireplace inside what was obviously an office. Disappointed, he quietly closed the small door and turned around.
“There’s got to be something here,” he whispered. He couldn’t believe he was trusting in a ghost story, but he knew in his gut there was a find to be made here. But where?
He turned his light up to the ceiling and played it back and forth, examining every inch. And then he saw it. Just short of the spot where the passageway made a hard left, a section of brick had been covered over. He remembered what Timothy had said about the hidden door. It was covered with a thin layer of plaster.
“Two times lucky?” he said hopefully as he began chipping away with his knife. He was rewarded immediately as his blade broke through the plaster and into an open space up above.
He turned his head away from the falling chunks of plaster, the swirling dust burning his eyes and nostrils. When the dust had cleared, he hastily cleared away an opening wide enough for him to fit his shoulders through.
The open space above was sufficient for him to stand. Directly in front of him was a stone shelf coated in dust. And on that shelf lay the skeletal remains of a man in colonial garb.
His heart raced. Could it be?
Maddock reached out and brushed aside a layer of the dust. His fingers ran across deep grooves. He leaned in for a closer look, wiping away the dust until he could see that there were words carved there. He let out a half of breath, raising the cloud of dust. When it cleared he could read the words.
ISRAEL HANDS
A REPENTANT MAN
Israel hands! Maddock had found him. His eyes drifted to the skeleton’s left hand. Something was wrong. He saw it immediately. The ring finger was missing.
“Damn!” Someone had gotten here first. He gave the skeleton a thorough inspection just to be safe but to no avail. The ring, if it had ever been there, was gone. And then he noticed something else — words scratched roughly into the dark stone just next to where the hand lay. He trained his light on the spot.
A RING FOR MY BELOVED SOULMATE. MY LILLY OF THE VALLEY. HRH
“HRH. H Rider Haggard. It’s got to be”
So he had been right about Haggard. The problem was, Haggard had gotten there first.
“Maddock, you won the battle but you’re still losing the war.” Disappointed, he made his way back to the door. He hoped there were no witnesses around, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He listened for a moment, heard no sounds, and pushed the door open an inch. No one seemed to be about. Hastily, he crawled out, stood and brushed the dust from his clothing. He froze when he felt the barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his neck.
“Remain very still and no one will get hurt.”
Chapter 23
Constance followed Avery down the street from a small parking area to her destination — the Truman Little White House. Did the woman work here? Perhaps she was a tour guide or something.
Absently, Constance touched the spot at the small of her back where her pistol was hidden before following along. Florida’s only presidential museum, the Harry S. Truman Little White House had served as the winter White House for America’s 33rd president. Presidents Taft, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Carter and Clinton also used the house. She paid the admission fee and wandered the interior, pretending to admire the exhibits.
When she was satisfied that Avery was nowhere to be found, she sought out help from the woman at the ticket counter. She had curly gray hair, and squinted at Constance through narrowed eyes, probably a result of not wearing the glasses which hung from a chain around her neck.
“Excuse me,” Constance began, “I was supposed to meet a friend here. She ought to have already arrived but I can’t seem to find her. I was wondering if you might have seen her.” She described Avery and gave her name.
The woman flashed an easy smile. “Yes, of course I know Ms. Halsey. She works here. I’ll give her a call.”
Constance opened her mouth to tell her there was no need to call Avery. The woman could simply direct her to Avery’s office. But the lady was already talking into the phone. She hung up after a brief conversation, turned and smiled.
“She will be here in just a moment. Sorry to make you wait but we’re fussy about security even though this is a small museum.” She spread her hands as if to say, What are you going to do?
Constance forced an easy smile, and stood, waiting.
A few seconds later, a gruff voice said, “You are here to see Avery Halsey?”
She knew immediately that something was wrong. She reached for her pistol but powerful hands seized her by the wrists. She drove her heel backward catching the man in the shin. He let out a grunt but his grip did not weaken. She drove her head backward, hoping to catch him across the nose, but he was ready for it, and moved aside. She only hit his shoulder.
“None of that,” he said. “You might as well stop fighting. You’re not going to get away.”
Rage boiled inside of her. For a moment she considered kicking him again, but she immediately realized the futility of her situation. Another man, tall and lean with short brown hair stood before her. He smiled, his demeanor relaxed, but she could tell by the way he stood, the way he held his hands, that he was ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The old woman who had sold her a ticket stood a few feet to the left, aiming a stun gun at her.
“Who the hell are you people?”
“My name is Greg,” the tall man said. We will discuss the rest in our office.” He glanced at the man who was still holding Constance and gave a small nod. She felt something cold pressed against her neck and then everything went black.
She regained consciousness to find herself handcuffed to a chair at one end of a long table. It looked to be the sort of meeting room found in any office.
To her left sat a big man with a military bearing. Greg sat on her right, and on his other side, Avery. At the far end of the table, hands folded, sat an attractive, dark-skinned woman in a business suit.
“Glad you could join us. How was your nap?” the woman asked sweetly.
Constance scowled but did not reply.
The woman made a clucking sound and shook her head.
“Manners,” she chided. “We are being gracious hosts. The least you can do is have a friendly conversation with us.”