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Stormy sipped her coffee in silence for a moment. Then she sighed. “I don’t doubt your words, Barry. It’s just difficult for me to accept them. But after what I saw in Idaho last year, I know that armed rebellion is certainly possible.”

  “There are millions of Americans who are fed up, Stormy. They’re weary of taxes that just keep going up and up and never seem to stop. Government programs that the majority of people don’t want and would like to see abolished. Nothing is sacred anymore. The government listens to our phone conversations, reads our mail, monitors electronic bulletin boards, and snoops into our bank accounts.”

  “Seems to me I’ve heard this conversation before,” Stormy said with a smile. “But it always seems newer and fresher each time you say it.”

  Barry chuckled. “Thank you. But I think it’s because I’m not mouthing theories or hypothetical situations, Stormy. I’ve seen revolutions, close up and personal. I’ve been involved in them and bloodied by them. I’ve watched them build from the grass roots, as the saying goes here in this country, and that’s what this nation is heading toward. And revolution is no longer crawling in that direction; it’s running all out.”

  “That’s scary.”

  “It’s pathetic, that’s what it is. And so avoidable.” He shook his head and cut his eyes to her in the dimness of predawn. “The networks have been awfully quiet about the death of Senator Holden, Stormy. Not even Coyote has had much to say about it. Are your people hitting a stone wall?”

  “If the senator’s death was murder, Barry, it was done by a very skilled assassin. All the law enforcement agencies involved in the investigation say it was suicide.”

  Barry grunted. “John Ravenna swears he did not kill Senator Holden, and I believe him. John was contracted to kill Congressman Madison. No one else. At least not yet. I’ve told Sheriff Salter about John. I don’t know what else to do ... speaking from a legal standpoint.”

  “But you’re going to stop John, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to try. Immortals don’t fight each other. Call it an unwritten agreement among us. We don’t fight each other because to do so would be pointless. We would mark each other, quite savagely, but in a few days, we would be healed, and the confrontation would have accomplished nothing. I don’t know how I’m going to stop Ravenna; only that I must try.”

  Barry was conscious of Stormy’s unwavering gaze. She said, “I get the feeling you’re holding back from me.

  “Not intentionally, I assure you. I just . . . well, have no proof of my suspicions.”

  “Bounce it off me. Let’s talk about it.”

  “I think the president is the main target. Congressman Madison, while certainly a target, is also a diversion. But President Hutton’s sudden decision to visit here just makes things easier for the coup planners.”

  Stormy’s hands were shaking as she lifted her cup and finished her coffee. “You think someone is going to try to kill the president of the United States.”

  “Yes. With Hutton out of the way, VP Thomas—a man who is in Senator Madalaine Bowman’s pocket—would be sworn in as president. With Congressman Madison dead, Congressman Lowe—also a quiet ally of Bowman, and a very weak person—would become Speaker, then vice president. Next in line for the Speaker’s slot in the House is Congressman Valli. A closet liberal; easily manipulated. There are three years to go on Hutton’s term. Three years during which the liberals could get their train back on track, divide this nation even further, and quite possibly bring it into full armed revolt by irate citizens.”

  Stormy stared down into her empty coffee cup and for a moment was silent. “What would happen to this country if there was some sort of revolution, Barry?”

  “It would be awful. The next revolution—if there is one—will not be great battles between thousands of troops. It will be done by sneak attacks. The bombing of federal buildings and sniper warfare. Anyone who is employed by the federal government will be fair game. The insanity of Northern Ireland brought to the shores of America. I’ve seen it, Stormy. I know what I’m talking about. The free travel that Americans have always enjoyed will be a thing of the past. Papers will be required to move from state to state. In a small way, that’s already started at our major airports. It can do nothing except worsen.”

  The sky was beginning to tint silver in the east. Stormy stared out at the fading night for a moment and said, “What are we going to do, Barry? The Speaker will be here in a few hours.”

  “I’m going to make one last attempt to try to talk John Ravenna out of this. If that fails, and I’m sure it will, you’ve got to go to the FBI and lay it all out for them.”

  “Mentioning your name?”

  “Just tell them you got a tip about John Ravenna. They’ll act on it.”

  “You hope.”

  “Yes. I hope.”

  * * *

  Barry pulled into the driveway just as Ravenna was leaving his rented lake house, carrying a rod, reel, and tackle box.

  “Well, cousin!” the assassin called brightly. “How good to see you. I hear the fish are really biting today. Care to join me?”

  “I came out to talk, John.”

  “Oh. Well. I suppose I could give you a few minutes. My, but you do have a terribly serious expression on your face, cousin.”

  “I’m here to ask for a favor.”

  “You? Ask me for a favor?” He set his fishing gear on the ground. “I can’t believe it. If memory serves me correctly, the last time you asked me for a favor was two hundred years ago, in France. I was in the employ of Burgundy, and you were fighting with those miserable street rabble. Did I grant you the favor, cousin?”

  “No.”

  “Ah! Pity. What was the favor?”

  “A life.”

  Ravenna waved that off. “Oh. I thought perhaps it might have been something important. What favor do you request of me on this glorious day?”

  “A life.”

  “Really? Let me guess. Your windbag politician, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Then I must disappoint you again. The answer is no.”

  “You leave me no choice, John. I’ve got to expose us both.”

  Ravenna laughed, but the laughter held no mirth. It was dark-tinged with evil. “My cover is perfect, cousin. I’m a well-respected citizen in my little Irish village. Actually, I’m known as quite the generous person. I give money to all the right causes. I’ve saved many a poor widder woman from being tossed out into the street. The folks there love me. Interpol has already checked me out, a few years ago. They apologized for any inconvenience they might have caused me. You can’t touch me, cousin. So go ahead, make a fool out of yourself.”

  “Is that your last word on the matter?”

  “It is. I don’t care to discuss it any further. As a matter of fact, you’re becoming quite the bore.”

  “Then you go right straight to hell, Ravenna!”

  “Sometimes, cousin,” John said, a wistful note to his voice, “I wish I could.”

  * * *

  “I have no choice in the matter,” Sheriff Don Salter said to Chief Monroe. “Not now. You heard my deputy say that it appears Ravenna and Cantrell quarreled about something. He couldn’t hear the conversation, naturally; but his binoculars are good, and he said the men became quite heated. My guess is that Barry went to see him to try to talk him out of this assassination plan. He obviously failed.”

  The chief of police was still shaken by what the sheriff had just moments before told him about immortals and wolves. He wondered if Don was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He shook his head. “Don, ah, I know you think what you saw out at Cantrell’s place was real, but, ah, really, Don . . . there is no such thing as a shape-shifter. That’s Indian folklore. Legend. This Cantrell person is some sort of magician. He’s got you bamboozled, Don.”

  “I know it’s hard for you to believe, Russ. Hell, I fainted! Passed slap out when he did it. It’s no trick, Russ. And he is not alone in the abili
ty to do that. I told you, Ravenna is also a shape-shifter and he’s here to kill Congressman Madison.”

  Chief Monroe rose from the chair and paced the room nervously. These stories brought back vivid memories of when his half-Choctaw grandmother used to tell him stories about shape-shifters. Used to scare the crap of the young boy. He never wanted to believe the old woman’s stories, but a part of him always did. He turned and slowly nodded his head. “You know I’m part Choctaw, don’t you, Don?”

  “Yes.”

  “My grandmother used to tell stories about shape-changers. She said she saw one back around the turn of the century, when her father took her to visit relatives over in Oklahoma.” The chief paused to light his pipe.

  Don waited. He had learned never to push Russ Monroe. The chief would get to it, eventually.

  When Russ got his pipe going, he returned to his chair and asked, “I remember reading last year, I think it was, a story about a man who could not die?”

  “That’s Barry Cantrell.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” The older man sighed. “You want to go to the feds with this story?”

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “Not really, I suppose. But the whole story?”

  “I think we can get away with just the assassination plot. We can say we got a phone tip from a man who refused to give his name.”

  “All right.” The chief rose to his boots. “Let’s do it before I lose my nerve.”

  * * *

  “Now, let’s go over this one more time, Ms. Knight,” Inspector Van Brocklen said. “You say you received a phone tip from a man claiming to have knowledge about a plot to kill Congressman Madison?”

  “That is correct. The call was received at my camera-persons motel room.”

  “Not your room?”

  “You people know perfectly well I am not staying at the motel. Stop playing games, Inspector. If you don’t find this serious, then to hell with it.”

  “Just calm down, Ms. Knight. We take death threats very seriously. The caller mentioned John Ravenna by name?”

  “For the fourth time, yes.”

  The door to the adjoining motel room opened. “Inspector? Agent Chet Robbins on the phone. I think you’d better hear this.”

  Van Brocklen picked up the phone. “Go, Chet.” He listened for a moment, his expression hardening. “That is interesting. I have Ms. Stormy Knight with me now, telling me that she received an identical call, also anonymous. Let’s coordinate this, Chet. Right. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He turned to Stormy. “Thank you, Ms. Knight. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Outside the motel room, Ki said, “You think he bought it?”

  Stormy nodded. “Yes. I think that phone call cinched it. That must have been Sheriff Salter. Let’s stick around and see who shows up.”

  “We’re being watched,” Ki said. “A man and a woman. And they’re not making any effort to hide that fact.”

  “As far as I know, Ki, there is no law against two people standing in a motel parking lot.”

  “Yet.”

  They watched as several cars pulled into the parking lot, among them the units of Sheriff Salter and Chief Monroe. The men disappeared into that section of the motel occupied by federal agents and closed the door.

  “You want to drive on out to Mr. Will’s store and wait for the feds there?” Ki suggested.

  “No. I think they’ll send a couple of people out there to keep an eye on Ravenna and wait until they get something back from Washington; the State Department, maybe. I don’t want to do anything that would tip the agents’ hand.”

  The sound of a horn honking up the street caused them to turn their heads. A man and woman walked out of the motel restaurant and paused by Stormy and Ki. “Well,” the woman said, “I guess the Speaker of the House has arrived.”

  BOOK TWO

  We must remember not to judge any public servant by any one act, and especially should we beware of attacking the men who are merely the occasions and not the causes of disaster.

  —Theodore Roosevelt

  Sixteen

  Congressman Cliff Madison stopped at the mayor’s office for some glad-handing and was immediately surrounded by reporters. Ki and Stormy were there, filming, but Stormy asked no questions. That would come later, for she had already requested and received a block of the Speaker’s time later on. That is, Stormy thought glumly, providing the Speaker’s time has not run out.

  Since the Coyote Network had taken a decidedly conservative stance in news reporting, conservative politicians always found time for any reporter from Coyote.

  Stormy had been covering politicians for years, and she noticed immediately that security was very tight. There were agents on rooftops with rifles, and a helicopter slowly circled the area. Looking around, she saw Barry sitting on the tailgate of his truck, and leaving Ki to film, she walked over to him.

  “Big doings,” Barry said with a smile.

  “Security is tight.”

  “John isn’t here. I just left him on the lake. He’s fishing, and looks as though he plans to stay out for quite some time.”

  “You went out there twice today?”

  “Yes. The sheriff has two men watching him at all times, and I’ll bet that after Don talked to the feds, John will be blanketed with agents. Not that it will do any good.”

  “Well, there he goes,” Stormy said, pointing. “Off to his cabin on the lake.”

  They stood and watched the caravan of vehicles pull away from the courthouse square and head out of town. Moments later, the town had settled down to its normal routine.

  Ki strolled over and leaned against the bed of the truck. “As much security around the Speaker as around the president,” she remarked.

  “I imagine the president ordered it,” Barry said. “According to what I read in the papers, they’re old friends. But with the president making this surprise trip, the coup planners have had to do some sudden changing of plans.”

  “What do you mean?” Stormy asked.

  “I told you I thought the president was the main target in this plot. I don’t know what the plan was, of course, but let’s say it was to hit him at his home in Ohio. Now all that’s had to be revised. According to the papers, he’s flying to Little Rock directly from Washington, then leaving from this area for his vacation out west. Hitting him here would be the logical choice, considering all that has happened; two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  “You think the feds have put all that together?” Ki asked.

  “I would certainly hope so.”

  “And if they haven’t?” Stormy asked.

  Barry shrugged his shoulders. “It’s going to get real interesting around here.”

  “Perhaps we should tell the Secret Service and the FBI about those suspicions.” Ki suggested.

  Barry smiled. “And when you do, they’ll be very interested in how you reached that conclusion.”

  “Yeah,” the woman said slowly. “I see what you mean.”

  “I just hope the president does not take a helicopter from Little Rock up here,” Barry said softly.

  “Why not?” Stormy asked. “That’s the way he usually travels on short hops.”

  “A helicopter is easy to bring down. It would only take one nut with a shoulder-fired SAM to bring down the chopper.”

  “I did a report a couple of years ago on how easy it is to get one of those things,” Stormy said. “Jesus Christ, Barry. Do you think . . . ?”

  Barry held up a hand. “It’s a possibility, that’s all. As far as I know, it’s never been tried. But there is always a first time for everything.”

  “Ravenna could get one of those SAMs, couldn’t he?” Ki asked.

  “As easily as snapping his fingers,” Barry said. “He’s got contacts all over the world.”

  “And has had a thousand years to develop them,” Stormy said drily.

  “You want to hear more bad news?” Barry asked.

&n
bsp; “Why not?” the women said.

  “Some of those contacts are immortals.”

  * * *

  The feds got a search warrant and served it on Victor Radford. When ten agents in two cars and a van pulled out of the motel parking lot, Stormy and Ki followed them straight to Victor’s compound. Ki jumped out filming.

  “Just stay back, ladies,” one agent shouted.

  “Oh, hell, no!” Vic hollered. “Come on in, ladies. This is my property. You’re welcome. Please come in. I want you to see your government at work.”

  “Goddammit!” one FBI man muttered.

  Inspector Van Brocklen held up a warning hand. “Stay back, ladies. We’re in the process of serving a federal warrant. String that tape!” he shouted to another agent, then turned to the Coyote Network crew. “Stay back of the tape, ladies. Please.”

  Stormy nodded, and she and Ki remained behind the warning tape.

  Stormy had no idea what was being said by the federal agents on the other side of the tape, but whatever it was, Vic Radford wasn’t taking it well. She and Ki could hear him shouting.

  A dozen or so of Vic’s followers drove up in cars and trucks, and the federal agents had to warn them repeatedly to stay behind the tape.

  “Why aren’t you filming this?” one of the men shouted to the Coyote Network crew.

  “Yeah!” another shouted. “What’s the matter, are we the wrong color?”

  Ki started to lift her camera. “Forget it,” Stormy said.

  Several of the men started making chicken-clucking sounds.

  “On second thought,” Stormy whispered.

  “Right,” Ki said, and clicked on her camera as Stormy picked up the mike and headed toward the knot of red-faced, angry men gathered by the road.

  The hen-house sounds stopped abruptly as the women approached, and the men began casting wary glances at each other.

  Stormy walked up to one pus-gutted man with a mouthful of teeth that looked as though they would be more at home on a well-used garden rake. “Do you know why federal agents are serving a federal warrant on this man, sir?” she asked.

  “Hell, yes, I do!” the man blustered. “ ’Cause we won’t kowtow to them damn communist politicians in Washington, that’s why. ’Cause we believe in the right to keep and bear arms. And ’cause we believe in the purity of the races.”