The Constantine Conspiracy (33 page)

“That was quick, even for you.”

“She says I’m not her type, not a Jesus man.”

“Really? Quite the goody-goody is she?”

“Time for games is over, Pops. I found a photo and I’m guessing Dad hung it.” He quickly recounted what he’d discovered, his suspicions about it.

The phone went silent for several seconds when he finished but then Pops spoke, his tone even. “I have no clue what you’re getting at, Rick, truly I don’t.”

“It’s more than coincidence, Pops. Think about it— Constitution Avenue, a street with the same name as the one where Justice Toliver will be buried. You’re saying they don’t connect?”

“How would I know? And when and why would your dad have left this picture?”

“The same time he left the DVD and the video in the panic room. He wanted somebody—me, the police, somebody—to find these things if something happened to him.”

“Your imagination is out of control, Rick, you’re grasping at straws.”

Rick hesitated for a moment, then tried another slant. “Why is Mom afraid of you? Your own daughter?”

“I’d prefer to speak of this at a later date, Rick. It’s really not the time.”

“Give me the truth! Or I go to the police!”

“And tell them what?”

Rick halted, realized how little evidence he really had.

“Look, Rick,” Pops said. “Rebecca knew my feelings about Steve. I . . . well, I hate to admit it, but I threatened her once— told her I wanted her to leave him. Said if she didn’t, I’d cut off her funds, empty her bank accounts. You know the drill. She turned on me after that, said I didn’t care about her happiness, accused me of meddling, which I did of course, like I’ve always done with her. She’s my only child, Rick. I wanted the best for her and never felt that Steve offered that.”

“Not the best as you defined it.”

“Exactly. But that’s why she fears me. It breaks my heart, but I made the mistake, cut myself off from my dear, sweet daughter. No doubt my callousness contributed greatly to her current condition. It’s a pain I carry with me every day.”

Rick calmed some; as always Pops had an explanation that kicked the legs from under his initial instincts. “You still haven’t explained the photo,” he said, not willing yet to give up his suspicions.

“Like I said, I have no explanation. Your dad dabbled in art, you know that, and the National Gallery sits on Constitution. Perhaps Steve hung the photo to recall memories of the first time he took you there. That’s as good an explanation as any other I have.”

“You don’t see it as a message? Pointing me to a connection to Justice Toliver?”

“Did your dad usually send you messages in such ambiguous ways?”

“Not normally.”

“What else can I say?”

Rick took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said finally, no longer confident of his previous conclusions. “I’ll drop it for now. But we have to talk as soon as you return. Something has to give. I can’t keep twisting like this, one way, then the next.”

“I agree. You need to make a decision. I’ll come home tomorrow evening. We’ll visit then.”

Rick shut off the phone, his mind whirling. Although he had no reason to think it, his instinct told him tomorrow night might be way too late.

Augustine dropped his cigar into an ashtray and turned to Charbeau sitting at the table across from him. “You heard?” he asked.

“Smart kid, ain’t he?”

“Bright as they come. But dumb too, in some ways. No clue what he’s up against.”

“What’s the plan if he shows up at the funeral?”

“We stop him like we would anybody else.”

“But he’s your flesh, heir to the Succession.”

“I will grieve if harm comes to him. But the mission remains paramount, don’t you agree?”

“You’re a hard man, Mr. Augustine.”

“I am a fair man, Nolan. Inflexible but fair. I’ve labored most of my adult life to accomplish what we’re within hours of finishing. I cannot walk away from that now. Not even if it costs me one as dear as Rick. Great things from great people always demand sacrifice.”

“I’ll handle him if he comes.”

“Like you’ve handled Miss Bridge?”

“That sounds like a slap to me.”

“She’s still alive, isn’t she?”

“She’s living a charmed life, what can I say?”

“Perhaps the Lord is protecting her?”

“You’re a funny man, Mr. Augustine.”

Augustine waved him off. “Leave her be,” he said. “Nothing she can do now, anyway.”

“I’ll take another run at her if you want.”

“Not necessary, so long as she stays out of the way.”

“Whatever you say.”

Augustine inhaled slowly. “It will not be long now, Nolan. Not long at all.”

After hanging up with Pops, Rick walked to a window and stared out at the grounds beneath him. Although he knew he and Shannon had no future and he’d walked out on her, he wanted her opinion on this. At the same time, he didn’t want to talk to her, let her confuse him again. Once he’d left a woman behind, he didn’t go back for a second look. Still . . . he opened his phone and dialed the head of Shannon’s security detail.

“Hey,” he said when the guard answered. “Put Ms. Bridge on the phone.”

The guard agreed, then Shannon came on. “You okay?” she asked. “I’ve worried since you left. I don’t want you mad at me.”

“I found a photo,” he said quickly, not wanting to touch on anything personal. He outlined what he’d discovered.

“I know the place in the picture,” Shannon said. “My dad served in the Pentagon. I spent a lot of time in Washington.” “I’m wondering if my dad left this photo for me to find.”

“Slow down, Rick,” Shannon said. “What makes you think the photo is significant?”

“Justice Toliver’s burial is on Constitution Avenue. The picture was taken on Constitution Avenue. The letters dad typed before he died—CONS, as in a place name. Not conspiracy but Constitution.”

“What do you think it means?”

“You tell me. Something will happen at the funeral? But what?”

Shannon didn’t speak for a moment and he wanted to press her but let the silence hang instead. “A Supreme Court judge interprets the Constitution,” she finally suggested. “They determine what it means. Basically, they tell us what the law is.”

“A first-year political science student knows that. Give me some real insight.”

“Don’t snap at me, it’s not charming.”

“Okay, sorry. But if something is going down at the funeral, I have to figure this out fast. Pops says it’s nothing, the photo’s a coincidence.”

“You talked to your grandfather about this?”

“You think I’d do otherwise? He deserves to know.”

“Not if he’s a murderer.”

“Like I’ve said before, prove it, then I’ll believe you.”

“You’re loyal, I give you that.”

“A man doesn’t turn on his family without cause.”

“I got it but remember this—if I’m the one telling the truth, then you’ve tipped your grandfather off and he’ll take extra precautions to keep you from interfering with whatever he’s about to do.”

“I realize that. So back to my question—what’s happening at the funeral?”

“Let me think a minute.”

Rick started walking toward the front door. Two guards appeared as if by magic and he motioned them to follow him. No matter what Pops said, he needed to get a couple of things in order just in case.

Shannon spoke again as he left the house and hopped into the driver’s seat of the SUV parked in the circular driveway. “The Order fears the Supreme Court more than anything else,” she said. “The justices serve for life—as any first-year poli-science student can tell you. The Court struck Bible reading and prayer from the schools in 1962, ruled in
Roe v. Wade
eleven years later to make abortion legal, pushed nativity scenes and the Ten Commandments off the public square, you’ve heard the litany.”

“Yes.” He motioned his guards to the backseat, then punched a button and the privacy glass slid up, cutting him off from the bodyguards as he pulled through the security gate and onto the road.

“Now we have a new president,” Shannon continued. “Although we have no concrete evidence that he’s officially part of the Conspiracy, we have traced a ton of his funding back to Conspiracy coffers. So he owes them big time, and their ultimate goal in America has always been to control the Supreme Court. Put enough of their people in place there, and the Conspiracy will have the power to repress Christianity like never before, to push it so deep into the closet that spiders won’t even be able to find it.”

“Every president names his own kind to the Court,” Rick said, more anxious by the second as the media horde scrambled after him, their vehicles closer than he liked. “It’s the American way.”

“You don’t get it, Rick! That list of judges I mentioned at the cabin? Many are members of the Conspiracy, the others are controlled by them! The president will appoint people from that list!”

“But slots on the court don’t come open often enough for one president to make that much difference,” Rick said. “That’s a huge protection, isn’t it? For liberals when conservatives win the White House, for conservatives when liberals rule.”

“Thankfully, yes,” Shannon said, sounding a touch calmer. “Most presidents never appoint more than one or two justices, some presidents serve without an opportunity to appoint any.”

“So even if the president does appoint one or two judges from your list, it’s okay, right?”

“I suppose so. We’ll still have a split court, one that can’t sway too far right or left. Moderates will generally rule as a result.”

“So as long as no one president—” The hair on the back of Rick’s neck stood up. “That’s it, Shannon!” he exclaimed.

“What?”

“Think about it.”

Shannon hesitated for a second, then gasped. “It’s not possible,” she choked.

“Probably not but still, if we thought of it, someone else might have too.”

“The Conspiracy plans to—”

“Exactly,” Rick interrupted her as he hit the gas and sped around a corner. “You think we’re right?”

“Nobody would ever try this, nobody in their right mind at least.”

“But assume we’re right? How would they go about it?”

“Maybe you should ask a first-year poli-sci major.”

“No time to joke around.”

“Okay, I agree.”

“Do we really believe this?” Rick asked, pulling into a row of cars backed up at an entry gate.

“We have to believe it—even more, we have to stop it.”

“Do we?” Rick asked, thinking over the potential outcomes of their guess. “I mean, sure, it’d be terrible but given the other evils in the world—people dying of hunger, the child sex trade, suicide bombers—what’s the worst that can happen if we’re right?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking that Rick.” Her voice trembled. “It may not be Armageddon for the world at large, but it might be for the church in America. That should scare everybody, even you. Shut down the voice of one segment of society and you can shut down the voice of any segment. Can we at least agree on that?”

“Okay, okay,” he backed down, “it would be horrible, unprecedented. But still, we’re just guessing at this.”

“Where are you now?” she asked.

“I’m at Rolling Hills.”

“What are you doing there?” Shannon sounded slightly panicked.

“I’m going to see my mom.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because she’s got an invitation to Justice Toliver’s burial. I’ll need it to get through security there.”

“You’re going to the funeral?”

“Pops is attending, Shannon. If we’re right and he’s directing this insanity, I have to be there to make him shut it down.”

“Go to the police,” she said. “You can’t do this alone.”

“And tell them what? All we have are nutty suspicions, nothing concrete. They’ll laugh us out of the place. And you told me not to trust them, remember?”

“You’re right, sorry. Okay. I’ll contact the Order. They’ll send the reinforcements we need.”

“No,” Rick countered. “This is between me and Pops.”

“But he’s dangerous!” The panic surged in Shannon’s voice.

“He won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I do. Pops has his faults, but he loves my mom. I’m her son, his only heir. If your cronies show up, a lot of people will end up dead, I’m confident of that. But if it’s me and Pops, I can talk to him, make him come to his senses if he’s really trying to do what we suspect.”