Hamlin Turner entered his office, shut the door, and announced, “I haven’t been able to locate your friends.”
Caleb acknowledged the news with a tight nod. In truth, he remained intent upon what he had just received. Maddie’s many-layered message was far clearer to him than the lawyer’s words.
Seemingly aware that something had rocked Caleb’s world, Hamlin had left him alone in the massive inner office and seen to other affairs. An hour or more had passed—Caleb wasn’t sure of time’s exactitude. Long enough for him to drink two mugs of that excellent brew and to sort out most of what Maddie had sent him. Layer upon layer, including a map of where he was to strike.
The question was how.
Caleb was far less worried than logic might have demanded. The dynamics had changed now. The internal barrier of fear and doubt had been breached. In the space of one long breath, Caleb passed through all the reasons to remain locked in uncertainty. He now entered the realm of all that was yet to unfold.
Maddie’s messages always arrived as a compacted group of ideas. Caleb usually took several days to sort through them, to digest them and the exquisite emotions that bound them together. This time was different. There were so many different images, they flashed like playing cards, in and out of view in split seconds. And yet each was . . . Caleb recalled a word his mother often used. Prescient. More than clear. Painted in vivid, electric tones.
“I’ve had to be extremely careful.” Hamlin crossed the office and sank into the chair behind his desk. “Rule of law only protects us so far these days. Which means, if I ask the wrong person the wrong question and it gets back to the authorities, we could both wind up very dead. Or worse.”
“I’ve found her.”
“Through your friends who went missing?”
“No, they’re still absent. Others are helping.”
Hamlin looked genuinely worried. “You and your surviving friends really must take great care. This is no longer just about the Atlanta bosses. Washington is involved.”
Caleb nodded. “Which is why I need to set up contingency plans. In case I don’t survive.”
Hamlin looked ready to argue, but in the end he drew out a pen and fresh sheet of paper. “What do you have in mind?”
Caleb responded with a question of his own. “What would the Atlanta authorities anticipate happening next?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said the local rulers expect someone with this much wealth to translate it into power.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I want to set up a smoke screen. Give them what they expect to find.”
“I don’t . . . You were talking about contingencies.”
“Whatever happens to me, this is what I want you to do.”
“What about your missing friend, the woman whose father—”
“Maddie is more than a friend. Call her my fiancée.” That was a stretch, since Caleb first had to locate her and rescue her, then ask her to marry him. But still.
“So . . .”
“When people ask about the gold, and they will, tell them you represent a group seeking to forge new alliances. With Atlanta and Washington both. And you’ll only identify who we are once these alliances are in place.”
Hamlin frowned. “Am I correct in guessing this is not your true aim?”
“Peace is. Absolutely. But not like they expect.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Caleb could feel the press of events pushing him onward. This contact was no longer an end in itself. It was merely one step forward. And he could feel himself being pressed to accelerate. “Can you turn the bars into gold coins?”
“Can I . . .” Hamlin clearly disliked how he was no longer in control of the dialogue. “I suppose, yes. It’s certainly possible. But . . .”
Caleb stood and reached across the desk for pen and paper. The image he had received just before entering the lawyer’s building made sense now. It fit together with the dawn impressions and Maddie’s message like pieces of different puzzles that only made sense when re-created into one unified structure.
He swiftly drew the design he had seen imprinted in the rain. “Make them half-ounce coins. On one side print this.”
Hamlin rose and turned his head to study the drawing. “It looks like a revised symbol of the American eagle.”
“Right. That’s what they’re to be called. Eagles.”
“And on the coin’s other side?”
“Alternate words. Freedom. Unity. Peace. Democracy.”
Hamlin took the pen and wrote on the paper bearing the symbol. “Rule of law.”
“Good.”
“Declaration of Independence. One man, one vote.”
“You decide.” Caleb wished he could dwell on the moment, for the sensation that accompanied the discussion was . . . exquisite. But there was no time. “I need a way to communicate with you. Where we can be certain no one else will hear what we discuss.”
Hamlin straightened and studied him a long moment. “Such a thing, if it existed, would be extremely expensive and highly illegal.”
Caleb just waited.
Hamlin must have seen what he wanted, for he seated himself and reached into his bottom-right drawer. He drew out a bulky apparatus, about twice the size of a gold bar. “This is called a satellite phone. It works on the basis of technology from before the Great Crash.” He pointed at the ceiling. “High overhead are . . . Never mind. What you need to know is this. It only works between midnight and three o’clock in the morning, when the last functioning satellite is directly overhead.”
Caleb forced himself to concentrate as Hamlin showed him how to use the phone, then accepted an extra battery pack and instructions on how to charge them. Hamlin assured him the two batteries were fully charged and would stay good for many hours of conversation.
Caleb wrote down the number for Hamlin’s own device, stowed it all in his backpack, and said, “Whoever else comes with more gold bars, tell them of this conversation. Ask them to treat what we have just discussed as my dying wish.”
Hamlin’s features crumpled with the effort to maintain control. “I dislike such farewells intensely.”
“Let’s hope this isn’t one.” Caleb offered the lawyer his hand. “I have to go.”