The Denali Deception
A Sean Wyatt Thriller
Ernest Dempsey
Enclave Publishing
Contents
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Prologue
1. Upstate New York
2. Upstate New York
3. Washington
4. Upstate New York
5. Atlanta, Georgia
6. Atlanta
7. Atlanta
8. Fairfax, Virginia
9. Cartersville, Georgia
10. Washington
11. Ringgold, Georgia
12. Washington
13. Ringgold
14. Ringgold
15. Bowie, Maryland
16. Chattanooga, Tennessee
17. Washington
18. Auburn, New York
19. Auburn
20. Washington
21. Auburn
22. Washington
23. Washington
24. Washington
25. Washington
26. Atlanta
27. Washington
28. Clinton, Maryland
29. Clinton
30. Clinton
31. Washington
32. Washington
33. Clinton
34. Anchorage, Alaska
35. Washington
36. Denali National Park and Preserve, Alaska
37. Denali
38. Denali
39. Juneau, Alaska
Thank You
Other Books by Ernest Dempsey
From the Author
Acknowledgments
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Prologue
Washington, DC
April, 1865
Mary wandered over to the window and pulled back the curtain to steal a peek outside. The streetlights flickered along the sidewalks, illuminating the road for the few carriages that were still out at this hour. Her eyes panned from one end of the street to the other, making sure there was no one loitering where they shouldn't.
Over the last few months, her guests had come to meet at the boarding house in secret. They'd taken precaution on top of precaution to ensure no one would know what they were up to or who was involved.
Even with all the safety measures in place, Mary couldn't keep her paranoia at bay. To say what they were doing was risky would have been the understatement of the nineteenth century.
Satisfied nothing out of the ordinary was going on outside, she turned away from the window and looked over at the men around the warm embrace of the fireplace.
She returned to the little meeting and sat down in her rocking chair a few feet away from the discussion.
"All clear," she said to the man to her left.
His name was John. He had thick black hair and a tight matching mustache. His clothes were fashionable for the time, and he carried himself with an air of distinction, even in the way he sat around the table with the other men. Mary figured it was from his acting background, but she had no way of knowing. He was the only actor she'd met as far as she knew.
The other three were rougher around the edges, though handsome in their own right.
"You're certain of this?" John asked one of the others.
Lewis, a young man with hair brushed to one side, nodded. "I've never been more sure of anything in my whole life." His accent was firmly rooted in the Deep South. A native of Alabama, he'd been a supporter of the Confederacy since the beginning of the war. The others at the table were likewise backers of the rebellion.
The war was all but over, though, and the South had lost.
Robert E. Lee had surrendered at Appomattox just days before. With military engagements officially ending, all hope had been lost...except in the eyes of those sitting in Mary Surratt's boarding house.
To them, the The War of Northern Aggression wasn't over until they'd taken one last desperate measure.
Originally, they'd plotted to kidnap the Union president, Abraham Lincoln. Six of the conspirators had planned the abduction in intricate detail. Lincoln was supposed to arrive at a specific location where the kidnappers waited in the shadows. Hours went by before the group had come to the conclusion that Lincoln wasn't coming.
None of them were sure why the president didn't show up that day, although they figured he might have been tipped off to their plan. By whom, none of them were certain.
They were going to take the president to Richmond, the current capital of the Confederacy. Now that Union forces were crawling all over Virginia, the plan would have to be modified.
John Wilkes Booth stared down at the sheet of paper Lewis Powell had put on the table. "If you're right about this, Lewis, we may have just found a way to tip the scales in our favor."
"Even though we already surrendered?" George asked. His accent had a strong hint of German upbringing.
"Countries surrender and strike again later on," John said. "Look at the Brits. They were defeated in the Revolution and then came back to invade this very city a few decades later."
"I'd rather not wait decades for it to happen," said the man closest to the fire. His name was David Herold. His hair was combed to one side atop a rustic, chiseled face.
He was the sixth of eleven children born to his parents and the only one who survived to adulthood. Being so close to so much death created a hardened demeanor in him. David was known for keeping his feelings to himself, except when it came to his sympathy for the rebellion. He'd made it known early on that he believed the president handled the situation with the south poorly. Upon meeting other like-minded individuals such as Booth, David found what he believed to be his true calling. With his family all gone, there was even less cause for worry. If he failed and was executed, no one would miss him. He was quite literally a man with nothing to lose.
"If what he's saying is true, we won't have to wait that long."
"It's real, all right," Lewis said. "My sources tell me that the secretary has been sending men all through this region to map it and find out all they can. Word is, he's planning on buying the entire territory."
George guffawed. "Pfft. Why would they do that? It's nothing but an icebox up there."
"That's what everyone else thinks, too. They believe the Alaska Territory is nothing but a bunch of snow and ice and wild animals. But this letter"—he tapped his finger on a piece of paper—"and this map prove what Seward and Lincoln are really up to. They found something in that frozen wilderness. And I'm willing to bet the Russians have no idea it's there."
John listened to his comrades, considering every element of the scheme.
A younger man stood in the corner of the kitchen, doing his best to appear as though he wasn't paying attention. His name was also John, named after his late father, John Surratt, who'd died from a stroke some years before.
John Jr. had been doing his part for the Confederacy for several months, working as an undercover courier delivering medical supplies, ammunition, and other important equipment to various drop spots all over the border between North and South.
He'd become so active that at one point the Union placed three hundred troops around the Surratt farm to keep an eye on their activities.
John Jr. shut things down for a short time to throw off the heat, but now he listened closely as the men in his mother's boarding house discussed their elaborate plan.
"It's hard for me to believe Seward's explorers found something so big in such a remote area," George said. "What if we're wrong? What if there's nothing there? That ma
p doesn't even have a specific location marked on it."
"Yes," Lewis added. "George makes a good point. It's a vast wilderness. You could search for years and not find anything."
The look in Booth's eyes intensified. "If we're wrong, the worst we'll do is rid the world of a tyrant and his toadies. I'm not wrong about this, though. Three years ago, President Davis was getting ready to send a group of men west to Alaska. Rumor had it there was something big underground near the Denali Mountains. Locals and natives talked about it. Most of what came out was nothing but rumors and legends. A few bits of information, however, were legitimate enough that our president wanted to investigate."
"I guess he didn't find anything," George said. He took a sip of whiskey and set the little glass back on the table. "Nothing valuable anyway."
Booth shook his head. "Actually, his men never left. A group of Lincoln's spies infiltrated the operation's headquarters in Atlanta. The entire unit was killed in their sleep. Then the spies tried to escape by stealing a train and heading north."
"Wait a minute," Lewis interrupted. "You're not talking about the locomotive chase, are you?"
Booth nodded. "Indeed, I am. Their leader was a civilian scout, a volunteer for Lincoln's little secret mission. After they stole the information about the Alaskan objective and executed the men set to carry it out, they boarded the General and took off toward Chattanooga, Tennessee. From there, they planned on stealing another locomotive to carry them west where they could arrange passage to the Alaskan Territory.
"Their mission was twofold. General Mitchell—the one who put the entire operation together—would move his forces in and take Chattanooga. Andrews and his men would disable the railway and telegraph wires between Atlanta and Chattanooga so their military lines couldn't be reinforced. I have to admit the whole thing was pretty brilliant. Most people just thought it was a raid to destroy the Confederate railroads, but that was only one piece of the puzzle. The other motive behind the sabotage was to cover up whatever is in the Alaska Territory." He paused for a short breath. "And so they could take it for themselves."
"They were stopped before they could reach Chattanooga," Lewis said. "Several of the men, including Andrews, were caught and executed. Most escaped. Union sympathizers were all over the place. Couldn't trust anyone. Still can't." He spat the last words out.
"Right," Booth agreed. "But now the war is coming to an end. Lee has already surrendered. If we don't act now, our cause will be lost for good. Our only hope is to take out Lincoln, Seward, and Johnson. When we do, the Union government will be thrown into disarray. While they're trying to settle the chaos, we'll find whatever is hiding in the Denali Mountains."
"And just how are we going to find that? You're talking about going all the way out to Alaska. That map isn't even complete. Where's the other half of it?" Herold asked. "What do those letters at the bottom mean?"
"Not to mention the fact that you're talking about murdering the president of the United States," George said with an eyebrow raised.
Booth's eyes narrowed as he stared down everyone in the room, making sure they understood the gravity of the situation.
"This is only half of the puzzle," Booth said, tapping on the map. "When Andrews and his men ran out of fuel, they fled the locomotive and ran for their lives. They'd devised a plan to split the information in case they were caught. Once Lincoln and his allies are dead, we'll find the other half. Then everything will become clear."
"Just how do you figure on finding the other half? Those Yanks could have hidden it anywhere."
Booth looked from one pair of eyes to the other until he'd made contact with everyone. "It's in North Georgia."
"How do you know that?" George asked.
"One of the men from the locomotive chase had a penchant for drink. Let's just say when he's drunk, he gets real mouthy. I overheard him in a bar, talking about something that would make the Union invincible. So I followed him out of the tavern, and when the moment presented itself, I pulled him into an alley and coaxed the information out of him."
"So, once this is done, with the president and his allies, we go to Georgia, find the other half of this, and then off to Alaska?" David said. "Seems like an enormous task."
"It is. Great victories come with great sacrifice and incredible risks. This will turn the tide in our favor," Booth said. "Lincoln will be the hardest target. I have a plan for him, and I'll see to it personally. Seward and Johnson will be easier, especially Seward. He's in his home in Auburn, New York, recovering from an accident. He'll be in bed and an easy target with few guards around."
Booth could see the hesitation in some of the eyes looking back at him. Lewis was the only one who appeared to be comfortable with the idea.
"So, what do you say, gentlemen? Are you ready to make history?" Booth asked.
The others glanced at each other as if confirming their resolve, then nodded.
"Good. Soon, the tyrant will be dead, and the South will rise again."
Chapter 1
Upstate New York
Sean Wyatt was dead.
His heart still thumped in his chest, his lungs inhaled and exhaled air, but he was dead. And he knew it.
He watched the snowy countryside of western Upstate New York pass by outside the heavily tinted window. The darkness of the glass was an irony in itself since civilians weren't allowed to tint their car windows that dark. It made seeing inside nearly impossible. Looking out during times of low light must have been difficult as well, or at least Sean figured as much.
He wasn't concerned about the government-issue tinted windows, though. It was merely a passing thought in his mind.
His concern was where he was being taken and why.
The answer to the first part of that question wouldn't be known until they arrived, but he knew exactly why. The guns in the laps of the men surrounding him, the utter silence of the SUV's cabin, the matching black outfits the men wore—all told Sean everything he needed to know about why.
These men worked for the government. And they were going to execute him.
He'd seen assets like the ones around him before. They wore the typical tactical gear; each had a small earpiece planted in the right ear. Back in Sean's day—when he worked for Axis—there would have been a wire attached to the tiny device. Now everything worked on Bluetooth.
The only man in the group who appeared to be over thirty was the driver—his age given away by the sparse strands of gray in his beard. All the others had naked faces, like they'd never had to shave in their lives.
Sean knew that didn't change the fact that these men were well trained and would execute their mission without batting an eye. He'd seen it before, though he never expected to be on the receiving end—at least not from his fellow Americans.
He averted his gaze to the road ahead. Snow was piled up along both sides of the asphalt. Winter had hit the area hard of late, dumping a few feet of powder on the countryside.
Were he not heading to his death, Sean would have enjoyed the drive in the serene beauty of a winter landscape.
They hadn't seen a car in twenty minutes. It wouldn't be long now.
Sean knew better than to ask questions. These guys wouldn't say anything. Their hardened expressions told him everything he needed to know. Well, not everything. He would like to know who they worked for, why they were going to kill him, but those questions wouldn't be answered. Not by these men.
Sean's only hope was clutched in the palm of his hand. It was in the shape of a small, black disk: a gift from a friend at DARPA.
When the hit squad nabbed Sean in Auburn, New York, he'd seen them coming. Sensing trouble before the men made their move, Sean grabbed one of the disks from a little pouch on his belt and kept it in his hand. There was no point in trying to fight the men off—not yet anyway. When he saw them approaching with their weapons drawn, he'd surrendered without a fight. Sean's pistol had been left in the car. He figured there was no reason to make the museum curator
uncomfortable if there was no need.
Very few crazy things happened in the quiet little western New York town.
Sean should have known better.
It was always when one least expected something bad to happen when things started to go south.
He'd been all over New England from Massachusetts and Connecticut to Vermont, New Hampshire, and even southern Maine. In the end, his search brought him back to where he began this particular quest—at the home of Abraham Lincoln's Secretary of State, William Seward.
The initial reason Sean went to Auburn was at the request of his friend, President Dawkins. Sean and Tommy had been instrumental in helping the president with issues on more than one occasion. In fact, the leader of the free world had called so often over the last few years that Sean wondered if Dawkins had memorized his phone number.
In this case, Dawkins had come across a peculiar letter from former Secretary of State William Seward. It was written to Lincoln in 1864.
Sean asked the president how he'd come by the letter. Dawkins was happy to explain that he'd been looking through an old book in the White House when the letter fell out from amid the other pages. It was only later that Dawkins realized that the book was a first edition from the early nineteenth century and had been in the White House for over 160 years.
"Keep this between you and me," Dawkins said when he handed Sean the letter. "I don't know exactly what this means, but if anyone can figure it out, it's you and Tommy."
"I'll do my best, sir," Sean said.
Now, months later, he'd been unable to find anything.
The cryptic letter was pretty vague, a fact Sean had made known to the president. Dawkins had insisted that Sean at least give a look around the Seward estate. And when the president of the United States insisted that someone do something, they usually did it.
Tommy was busy back in Atlanta, showing his parents the entire operation at the International Archaeological Agency. For nearly two decades, Sean's best friend, Tommy Schultz, had believed his parents to be dead. He'd used his inheritance to establish the IAA in their honor to continue the search for lost artifacts in hopes of exposing new and genuine history to the world. His parents certainly had a lot of catching up to do. For nearly 20 years they'd been imprisoned by North Korea's Chairman, otherwise known as the Dear Leader. When he died and his son took over, one of the head generals continued to keep Tommy's parents hostage, demanding they unravel a mystery that would lead to what the general believed was an ancient power that would make his military unstoppable.
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