The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [74]
I shake my head as we leave the metal droning of the bridge and glide onto the perfectly paved Royal Palm Way. On both sides of the street, tucked between the towering, immaculate palm trees, are the private banks and investment firms that juggle some of the biggest accounts in the city. “You know how fundraising works,” I tell Rogo. “Palm Beach was, is, and will always be the capital of Manningland. If Dreidel wants to cash in on his old connections, here’s where he has to come to kiss the rings.”
Rogo scratches again at his head. He’s tempted to argue, but after seeing the shape I was in last night, he knows he can only push so far. Lost in the silence, he taps a knuckle against the passenger window to the tune of “Hail to the Chief.” The only other sound in the car comes from the jingling of the two dangling presidential faces on the lapel pin that’s attached to my navy suit jacket.
“Here’s hoping you’re right,” Rogo offers as he stares down at Yosemite Sam. “Because, no offense, pal—but the last thing you need right now is another enemy.”
40
What’d she write?” Micah asked, gripping the steering wheel and trying to read the newspaper in O’Shea’s lap. Four cars ahead of them, Wes’s Toyota chugged back and forth through traffic.
“Some fluffy mention about the First Lady’s suit,” O’Shea said from the passenger seat, still scanning Lisbeth’s column. “Though she did manage to work in a Dreidel mention.”
“You think Wes told her what’s going on?”
“No idea—though you saw the body language last night. All the hesitations . . . just barely looking her in the eyes. If he hasn’t said anything, he’s thinking about it.” Pointing ahead to the Toyota, O’Shea added, “Not so close—pull back a hair.”
“But for him to go to the press,” Micah began, hitting the brakes and dropping back a few cars. “He’s safer with us.”
“Not in his eyes. Don’t forget, the kid’s been wrecked by the best, and he’s somehow still standing. Deep down, he knows how the world works. Until he gets a better bargaining chip, in his mind, he’s not safe with anyone.”
“See, that’s why we should just offer him straight clemency. Okay, Wes, next time you hear from Boyle, tell him Manning wants to meet with him and give him a time and place. Then call us and we’ll take care of the rest. I know you’ve got big eyes, O’Shea, but unless we finally put hands on Boyle—”
“I appreciate the concern, Micah—but trust me, we stick with Wes and we’ll get our Boyle.”
“Not if Wes thinks we’re gonna bite back. I’m telling you, forget the vague promises—put a deal on the table.”
“No need,” O’Shea said, knowing that Micah always went for the easy way out. “Wes knows what we want. And after everything Boyle’s so-called death put him through, he wants him more than any of us.”
“Not more than me,” Micah insisted. “After what him and Manning pulled—”
“Get up there! He’s running the red light!”
Micah punched the gas, but it was already too late. With a screech, the car in front of them came to an abrupt halt, forcing them to do the same. In the distance, Wes’s Toyota climbed up the bridge and out of sight.
“I told you to—”
“Relax,” Micah said. “He’s just going to work. Losing him for two minutes isn’t gonna kill anyone.”
41
Woodbine, Georgia
“. . . but that’s the problem with hiding a treasure,” Nico said as the early morning sun punched through the damp Georgia clouds. “You don’t pick the right spot, some stranger’s gonna come along and dig it up.”
But to say they hid it in a map . . .
“Dammit, Edmund, it’s no different than hiding it in a crossword or a—” Cutting himself off, Nico gripped the steering wheel and turned toward his friend in the passenger seat. It was harder than he thought. Trusting people never came easy. But Nico understood the power of the Lord. The power that delivered Edmund to his side. From the rearview mirror, the wooden rosary swayed in a tight circle, like a marble in its last seconds before circling down an open drain.