“I didn’t see the Seventh,” said Rook. “I’m glad that it has arrived.”
“That’s too bad. You missed quite a parade. The best part was to see the president. He was relieved.” Scott emphasized the final word and looked at Seward, who nodded in approval.
“I didn’t think this day could get any better,” continued the general. “If you bring me good news, though, it may indeed do just that!”
“I’m afraid that I’m going to make it worse, sir,” said Rook.
“I see.” The smile vanished from Scott’s face. He fell into a chair and gestured for Rook to do the same. Locke and Seward also took seats. The general’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“What do you have?”
Rook hesitated. “Sir, what I have to say might best be said to you alone,” he said, casting a quick glance at Seward. The general saw it and seemed to consider Rook’s request for the briefest of moments before rejecting it.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Secretary Seward is fully aware of the Mazorca situation and will soon present us with a valuable piece of data. Isn’t that right, Mr. Secretary?”
“Yes, General, in a few moments anyway.” He made a motion to rise. “I could easily step out…”
“Nonsense, sir!” thundered Scott with such force that Seward dropped back into his chair. “We will have a frank discussion about the Mazorca operation. It is indeed fortuitous that we are all here.” He looked directly at Rook. “Colonel, give us your report.”
Rook described what had happened: the beginning of the surveillance, Mazorca’s murder of Tabard, and the raid that had revealed the whole operation as a failure.
“No wonder you wanted to make your report to me alone. This is an embarrassment. We had him in our clutches, and you let him get away.”
Rook bristled at the phrasing but let it pass. “The reason he got away is because he knew we were coming,” he said.
The general raised his eyebrows in at least partial disbelief. Seward shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Mazorca has an informant-someone who may not know that he is passing information to a man who seeks to murder the president, but someone who nonetheless is doing it through his own sheer recklessness.”
Rook paused. He wanted to read the general’s face. Did he harbor any suspicions? Scott merely sat still. His face was expressionless. Seward pursed his lips and scratched his chin. Locke made no attempt to conceal his disdain: he rolled his eyes and let out a mocking sigh.
Scott broke the silence. “That is an extraordinary charge, Colonel. Do you have extraordinary proof to back it up?”
Rook reached into a pocket and pulled out the letter Springfield had given him. He unfolded it slowly.
“This may explain our problem,” said Rook, handing the letter to Scott.
The general took the letter and read it in silence. Rook watched Scott’s eyes widen in astonishment as he read a few lines and checked the signature at the bottom. He let out a little gasp. “This is an unwelcome development,” he said. Then he read aloud, with disgust:
Dearest Violet,
So much to tell you! I have an amazing story to relate about the insubordination of Col. Rook and a group of prisoners that I personally released, acting upon intelligence from an unnamed source. It appears that the unauthorized surveillance of ordinary citizens was much more extensive that I had originally believed. Expect me Friday night. I will keep no secrets from you. I desire to tell you all-and I desire you.
Most intimately,
Sam Locke
Scott glowered at Locke. “Is there anything you can possibly say for yourself, Colonel?”
Locke buried his face in his hands. When he looked up, Rook could see his eyes turning red from tears. “Sir, it is an innocent mistake!”
“Your dealings with Mrs. Grenier do not sound very innocent to me,” said the general, his voice rising in anger. “It would be bad enough if you were merely divulging sensitive information to a random whore-but here is the proof that you’re giving it away to a woman whom we now know is in league with the enemy!”
“I’m sorry, I did not know,” sobbed Locke. “She seduced me.”
“Get out of my sight,” sputtered Scott. “You are relieved of your rank and your duties. Leave this building and never come back.”
As Locke rose and headed for the door, Scott turned to Seward. “This is a tremendous embarrassment. I personally guarantee you that I will get to the bottom…”
He was going to say more but became distracted when Locke nearly crashed into a new figure in the doorway-a short man with dark eyes, thick black hair, and skin the color of bronze. He wore black clothes as well.
Seward rose. “General, I believe that this man will have some answers for us.”
Mazorca rolled the dress into a ball, tossed it into a half-empty closet, and shut the door. He hoped he would never have to see it again. The experience of wearing Tabard’s clothes was humiliating, but it could have been worse. Nothing would have been more humiliating than the defeat he had so narrowly avoided.
His own clothes were ruined. A mirror confirmed it. Tabard’s blood had streaked across his shirt and pants. There was no way he could go out in public. He was annoyed at himself for letting it happen. He could have killed Tabard more cleanly. She had not even put up a fight and probably did not know what was happening to her before she was dead. He had taken her completely by surprise.
The problem was that he had been caught by surprise as well. Someone had exposed him. He reviewed everything that had happened since his arrival in Washington. He had tried to cover his tracks, even murdering Calthrop when the smallest hint of possible detection surfaced. He wondered about whether Tabard was some kind of informant, but that seemed far-fetched. Then there was Grenier. Was she a weak link? Bennett had vouched for her. She must have been the author of that missing letter, because she was the only person who knew his whereabouts. He wished he could read it now. Had she tried to warn him of something?
Before he could plumb these mysteries, he needed a change of clothes. At least this problem had an easy solution. Beneath the mirror sat a dresser. Several of its drawers were empty, but others contained shirts and pants for a man. Mazorca dumped them onto a bed and sorted through the piles. The closet held a few coats and ties. Within minutes, he found all that he needed. He stripped and changed, then threw his old clothes into the closet beside the dress.
His next dilemma was only slightly less urgent. He was in the safe house at 1745 N Street that Grenier had recommended for a time of emergency. Was it truly safe? He could not be certain, and there were few things he disliked more than uncertainty.
From a window, he looked at N Street. People across the city were leaving their jobs and heading home. Three soldiers strolled by. Mazorca figured they belonged to the New York regiment. They must have broken ranks and obtained some free time to explore the city they had come to defend.
Mazorca left the bedroom and drifted down the staircase. In a closet by the foyer, he found a light coat with a pair of large pockets and a hat with a wide brim. A layer of dust covered them. Mazorca brushed them off and put them on. At the front door, he slipped his deadly book into one of the oversize pockets. He grasped the door handle and stepped onto the front porch.
After closing the door and locking it with the key Grenier had given him, Mazorca turned to walk in the direction the soldiers had taken. He collided with a red-haired boy who was running home with a loaf of bread from the market. The boy, less than half the size of Mazorca, tumbled to the ground.