The Jefferson Allegiance (29 page)

Turnbull gave a cold smile. “But look at the bigger picture. The Heart seems to win the argument in the letter, but in reality, Jefferson never saw Missus Cosway again. So while he felt what he thought was the right thing, he did the wrong thing.”

“Perhaps he was balanced,” Burns said. “Are we going after the killer at all? Or are we going to keep chasing Ducharme and Evie?”

“We’ll get the killer, don’t worry.”

“But not yet,” Burns said.

“Not yet.”

“Because there’s something you need her to do. In fact, it seems like we’re trying to stop Ducharme and Evie from stopping her.”

Turnbull turned his back and went back to issuing orders on his satphone.

“Wood disks,” Burns muttered to himself. He pulled out his satphone and checked to see what text messages Burns had received or sent.

One received.

He pulled it up.

>>>PARKER SAID HIS DISKS WERE IN A GRAVE<<<

Burns waited as a second line of text was decrypted.

>>>NO ONES AND EVERYONES<<<

Burns frowned. What the hell?

>>>WHAT DOES IT MEAN?<<<

Burns almost laughed out loud, realizing whoever was texting also had no clue.

*************

People were grabbing lunch from vendors along the edge of the cemetery. Fat-cat Wall Street financiers, secretaries, Con Edison hardhats. The men and women in business suits particularly irked Lily for some reason she couldn’t quite identify.

The first church on the site, according to the brochure she’d picked up entering the cemetery, had been built in 1698. Skyscrapers surrounded her, dwarfing the latest iteration of the church built in 1846, which had once been the most prominent feature on the southern Manhattan skyline.

She finished texting what she’d learned from Parker to Turnbull, hoping he had some idea what the old General had meant. She sat on a crypt just in front of Hamilton’s grave, her L.A. cloak wrapped tight around her body. It was a cold blustery day, not conducive to sightseeing.

She squinted at the brochure that listed notables buried in this small slice of dirt amongst the steel and concrete of the city. Alexander Hamilton was listed first. Then Robert Fulton, credited with making the first practical steamship. Also listed: Captain Lawrence, as she already knew, the connection to the saying on the wall of Admiral Groves’s office.

She looked up, scanning the cemetery. A couple hustled through, pausing long enough to stop at each important grave and snap a photo, then hustle on. Touring by checklist.

Her satphone vibrated. She pulled it out.

***LOCATION?***

Her fingers flew over the keys in response to Mister Turnbull’s query.

>>>NEW YORK CITY<<<

***WHY?***

>>>BELIEVE GROVE’S DISK IS HERE<<<

***WHERE EXACTLY?***

>>>HAMILTON’S GRAVE<<<

Lily took a deep breath and scanned the cemetery before looking down for the next incoming text.

***INTERESTING***

She listed out the numbers from the Post-it and sent them to Turnbull along with how she found them.

>>>ONE WILL COME HERE FOR DISKS<<< She added.

***AND?***

She looked about once more, and then her fingers flew over the pads, typing out her reply.

>>>KILLING 2D GENERATION WILL BE SAME AS GAINING CIPHER<<<

***NO. WE MUST GET CIPHER***

>>>I KILLED PARKER’S REPLACEMENT. GOT HER SINGLE DISK<<<

There was nothing for a few moments.

***WHERE ARE REST OF PARKER’S DISKS?***

>>> I SENT YOU THE RIDDLE HE TOLD ME<<<

***ANY IDEA WHAT IT MEANS?***

>>>NEGATIVE<<<

The screen went blank.

Lily surveyed the monument. There was no sign it had been tampered with. She went to the front and knelt as if in prayer. She slid out her sword and probed the ground front. The blade slid into the dirt freely. She continued, glancing over her shoulder every once in a while, but there was nothing. She went to the back of the monument and did the same.

Nothing.

Lily slowly got to her feet, putting her sword away.
Wrong twice?
She blinked, feeling a shooting pain in her head for the briefest of moments. It passed as quickly as it had come, and she forgot about it as she considered the situation. She sat back down on the crypt in front of Hamilton’s grave, mentally backtracking through what she’d seen on the computer in Philadelphia.

She saw a man enter the cemetery from the Wall Street side. He was moving slowly and looking about a little too much. Her fingers slithered around the grip of her wakizashi underneath her cloak.

************

Instead of flying them back to Stewart International Airfield, where there would no doubt be a reception committee, Pollock choppered to a local medical clinic, landing on the helipad in back of it. Pollock shut down the chopper as Ducharme stood off to the side with Evie and Kincannon.

Pollock took off her flight helmet, revealing mussed red hair tinged with gray, her sweat-soaked face covered in freckles and a deep frown. “What’s going on? We made two helicopters go down. I haven’t heard anything on the emergency net, so I think everyone on them is OK, but still . . .”

Kincannon held up his hand. “Honestly, the less you know, the better for you.”

Pollock seemed to consider that, then nodded. “OK. I’m going to check on what the latest news is.” She walked toward the clinic.

“You have good friends,” Evie said to Kincannon.

“Blood bonds,” Kincannon said. “People who haven’t been in combat don’t understand it.”

She tilted her head toward him. “Have we seen the elephant?”

Kincannon appeared startled, but then slowly nodded. “Yeah. We have.”

Evie nodded. “You know what Thomas wrote in the Head-Heart letter about friendship?
Friendship is but another name for an alliance with follies and misfortunes of others.”

Ducharme laughed. “Cynical, but sounds like what we’ve been doing.” He checked his watch. “We probably need to head to New York City as soon as possible.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think Admiral Groves’s disks are at Hamilton’s grave.”

“You don’t?” Kincannon asked. “Why not?”

She held up the book that she had stolen from the library. “Oliver Hazard Perry. Since Groves was his namesake, I think Perry is key, not Captain Lawrence. Plus, it was the flag—which was Perry’s—that hung in Groves’s office. So the line of deduction is that the saying, as appropriated by Perry, and put on a flag, is the key. Not just the saying.”

Ducharme moved closer. “OK. And?”

“Follow the logic thread of history,” Evie said. “The saying from Lawrence. The flag with the saying on it. And the ships Perry commanded that flew the flag.”

Ducharme nodded. “Following so far.”

“OK. Brief history summary if you will bear with me.” Her eyes got that distant look. “Perry’s flagship in the Battle of Lake Erie was the
Lawrence
, named after our man, Captain Lawrence. It got blown to bits during the battle and over eighty percent of his crew was killed or wounded. I don’t see Lawrence’s grave being important either in terms of the saying or the ship named after him. Perry transferred his flag—with the famous words on it—to the
Niagara
. He forced the surrender of the British and uttered his own famous phrase: ‘We have met the enemy and they are ours.’”

Ducharme waved his hand, indicating she should fast forward.

“And?” Kincannon asked. “The disks are at Niagara Falls?”

“No. We have to remember we’re dealing with history and graves.” She tapped the book. “OK. Perry was a big hero now. After the war, in eighteen nineteen, he was selected by the Secretary of the Navy to lead a diplomatic mission to Venezuela.”

“All right,” Ducharme said, with barely concealed irritation. He wanted the answer, with little patience for the reason for the answer.

“OK. What’s important here is the name of his new—and final-- command. The
USS John Adams.
Named after the country’s first Vice President and second President. Now, Adams is appropriate. Very appropriate to our current situation and Thomas Jefferson.”

She opened her mouth and paused, realizing she was about to utter her familiar phrase, then decided the hell with it. “Did you know that John Adams and Thomas Jefferson died on the exact same day?”

“Nope.” Ducharme didn’t seem too impressed.

“Do you know what day it was?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“The Fourth of July, eighteen twenty-six. They both died exactly fifty years to the day after the signing of the Declaration of Independence.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Evie experienced a small thrill at finally getting through to him. “Adams’s last words were: ‘Thomas Jefferson survives.’ Except he didn’t know that Jefferson, who had been very sick for a while, had indeed managed to hold on until the Fourth, but succumbed earlier in the day.”

“That’s fucking bizarre,” Kincannon said.

Ducharme shivered for a moment, that dull look coming into his eyes. Evie waited, wishing there was something she could do to help, but it passed quickly.

“So,” Ducharme finally said. “The disks. Where are they?”

“John Adams.”

“What about him?”

“Perry contracted Yellow Fever and died during the trip to Venezuela on board the
John Adams
. It was the last ship over which that flag flew. Johns Adams was the second president.

“The disks,” Ducharme said, always one to focus on the current problem instead of the reasons for it. Which could be a dangerous flaw, and something Evie recognized. Because as she kept trying to point out to him, current problems were always tied to past problems.

She touched his arm. “If I were going to hide a piece of the Jefferson Cipher, I’d put it in Adams’s grave, not Hamilton’s. Although Jefferson and Adams sparred over a lot of things during their long careers, by their twilight years, they were in constant correspondence and very much in agreement on many critical issues.”

“But you’re not certain,” Ducharme said.

“No.”

“And the Surgeon is probably at Hamilton’s grave as we speak. Along with Groves’s replacement.”

“Most likely.” A tremor moved through her chest, as she understood what Ducharme was saying. “The Cipher is the most important thing.”

“Not the person?” Ducharme held up a hand. “I’m sorry. That was cheap.”

“It was,” Evie said, “but not any different than what I said to you earlier.” She took a deep breath, getting her mind back on task. “Do you have the disks from Custer’s grave?” Evie asked.

“Yeah.” Ducharme pulled the box wrapped in plastic out of the butt pack and used his knife to cut away the plastic, revealing a wooden cigar box. He opened it, Evie and Kincannon watching over his shoulder. There was a long, thin object wrapped in the same plastic and underneath a round, thin object wrapped in the same. Evie reached over his shoulder, pressing her body armor against his, thinking:
well this is just plain weird
. She grabbed the round object and then reached out. “Your knife, please?”

Ducharme handed it to her. “Careful.”

“I know which end is sharp.”

He laughed, a surprisingly light sound for someone so grim, and his face changed once more, from stone to something more open. “No offense. I’ve just always cut myself on every knife I’ve owned. It’s as if the blade doesn’t take some of my blood, then it’s not mine.”

“Maybe you’re just awkward with knives?”

“Maybe.”

She cut open the plastic and frowned. “Not disks.” She held up a 8mm film tape inside a hard plastic container. “This is old, very old.”

“When did they stop using that kind of film?” Ducharme asked.

“No idea.” Evie looked at Kincannon.

“What?” Kincannon said in mock horror. “You think I’m that old?”

Ducharme unpeeled the plastic from the long object, revealing a metal cigar tube. He unscrewed the end and slid out a piece of paper. “My uncle wasn’t going to make it easy.”

“What’s it say?” Evie asked as Ducharme unrolled the paper.

Ducharme handed it to her:

FRP: EXCALIBUR

A/D: 270 DEGREES, ONE HUNDRED AND SIX METERS

IRP: BASE OAK