The Denali Deception

by Ernest Dempsey

  "The one Dawkins gave you? I don't understand."

  "The very same. In the letter, Seward suggested to Lincoln that they buy Alaska, both to expand our borders and to secure the area around Denali. Dawkins felt like there must have been something important for Seward to want to make such a purchase during a time of economic struggle. Heck, buying Alaska must have been a big contributor to the recession that plagued Johnson's presidency."

  "It was, though no one talks much about it."

  "So, all this has to do with a letter to Abraham Lincoln?" June asked, cutting in again.

  "Seems that way," Sean said.

  "Well, there's more to the story," Tommy said as he swerved around a semi. "Those guys back there, the ones who were trying to arrest me or whatever they were doing, they said something about you working with the Russians."

  "Russians?"

  "That's what I said. Where you suppose they came up with that?"

  Sean thought hard for a minute. The men who'd tried to kill him in New York were definitely not Russian, at least not that he knew. Porter was American, and while the other men in his outfit hadn't said much—if anything—Sean didn't get the impression they were from the former Soviet Union.

  "Looks like we may have gotten ourselves in deeper than usual."

  "We always get ourselves in deeper than usual."

  "Sure seems that way, doesn't it? So, we get to Mac's, meet with Adriana, tell her to warn the president, and then what?"

  Sean looked out the back window. He'd been doing it intermittently since they got in the vehicle. If they were being followed, he wanted to know it. So far, he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

  "We have to get to the bottom of this letter. And I think I know where to start."

  "Where's that?"

  "I was hoping you could help with that," Sean said with a devilish grin. "I didn't mention it to the men who tried to kill me, and I haven't told anyone about it until now. While I was at the Seward estate, I found an odd note. Couldn't tell who it was for or who wrote it, though it may have been Seward himself. It said something about proceeding with Operation Iron Horse. Got any idea what that might be?"

  The car cabin fell silent once more. Tommy kept his eyes on the road, navigating the late night Atlanta traffic as they neared Marietta. He narrowed his eyes, thinking about his friend's question.

  "Operation Iron Horse?" he asked, making sure he'd heard correctly.

  "That's what the note said. It was faded, almost unreadable. Probably because the thing is over a hundred years old."

  "If it was from Seward, more than 120 years old."

  "Right. So, any idea what that could mean?"

  Tommy thought for another minute, searching the archives in his mind for anything that came close. He'd absorbed history since he was young, as had Sean. Between the two of them, they had several dozen textbooks worth of information about the past memorized. The note had vexed Sean, however, and he couldn't think of anything concerning the mysterious Operation Iron Horse.

  "Wait a sec," Tommy blurted. "I think I've got it."

  The other two occupants stared at him, waiting with breathless anticipation.

  "What if—and this is just a theory—but what about Andrews' Raiders?"

  The idea punched Sean right in the gut.

  "You really think that might be a possibility?"

  "Would be crazy, right? I mean, all these years to have that right under our noses."

  June was doing her best to follow along, but Tommy and Sean had clearly ventured into an area where inside information was required to continue.

  "What are you guys talking about? What's Andrews' Raiders?" she asked.

  "You wanna field this one, or should I?" Tommy said.

  "Be my guest," Sean said.

  Tommy cast a sidelong glance at June out of the corner of his eye. "We grew up in Chattanooga. Just across the Tennessee/Georgia border in the little town of Ringgold, there's a monument next to an old country road. The monument commemorates what was called the Great Locomotive Chase. There was a movie made about it in the 1950s."

  He could tell she was trying to piece things together, so he went on. "During the Civil War, a civilian named James Andrews took a unit of undercover Union agents deep into the South. Their objective was to steal a train in Atlanta and make their way north, burning bridges and sabotaging the railroad as they went. The unit ended up being called Andrews' Raiders."

  Sean took over the tale. "History books tell us that the objective of the operation was purely to undermine Confederate efforts to resupply the lines in Chattanooga while Union forces pushed farther into the South. Chattanooga was a critical railroad center. It was effectively the gateway to the entire Southeast, and even to the western parts of the Confederacy. The North knew that if they could cut off supplies from Atlanta and the rest of the South, they could establish a stronghold in Chattanooga from which they could begin to slowly strangle the rebellion."

  June reflected on the story. "Okay. So, you think maybe this Andrews' Raiders group has something to do with all this trouble?"

  "Maybe," Tommy said. "Andrews and his men ran out of fuel just outside Ringgold. All the time it took for them to stop, burn bridges, and sabotage rails cost them. Eventually, their pursuers caught up. They would have been caught sooner, but Andrews and his men cut telegraph lines from Atlanta so there was no way to get word north to cut them off. When their train slowed to a halt, they had no choice but to make a run for it. Some of them made it into the forests around White Oak Mountain. Others split up and tried to get through the valley. Almost all of them were caught. Some were tried and hanged, including Andrews. Knowing their companions' fate, many of the captured men escaped and made their way back to Northern lines. Nearly all of the soldiers were awarded the Medal of Honor. Andrews wasn't because he was a civilian. Several of them were buried in the Chattanooga National Cemetery. There's a monument by the graves commemorating their mission."

  "What Tommy is saying, June, is that we don't know if it has anything to do with what's going on with us or not, but right now it's the only lead we have."

  "It's possible," Tommy said, "that the sabotage story was a cover-up to the real purpose. Seems like an awfully desperate move from a military that was already winning the war. The South was on the run. The North was closing in, and it would only be a matter of time until the war ended."

  "Unless they found something that could turn the tide," Sean said.

  "Right. Like a massive fortune. The Confederacy was strapped for cash, and they didn't have the manufacturing the Union had. There was no way they could keep their men supplied with weapons and ammo at the same rate as the North. But if they had money, they could buy supplies from an old enemy of the United States."

  "The British?" June said.

  Tommy nodded. "Possibly. There were others, too. But the British certainly had a vested interest in the war's outcome."

  "Or maybe they found something more powerful than money," Sean said in an absent tone.

  The two in the front looked back at him.

  "Like what?" Tommy asked.

  Sean looked out the window again, keeping his eyes on the lanes behind them. "I don't know, but maybe we need to make a little trip back home."

  Chapter 7

  Atlanta

  Yuri rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours. His eyelids felt like ten-pound weights were hooked to them as he struggled to stay awake on the road. He couldn't stop to sleep, though.

  His mark hadn't. So he wouldn't either.

  He'd been following Sean Wyatt around New England, and now all the way into the Southeastern United States. The American's ability to go without rest was impressive. Yuri knew why, of course.

  Over the last month, he'd studied Wyatt, learned everything about the man...or what he could learn, at least.

  Wyatt wasn't exactly secretive for someone who'd once-upon-a-time been an exemplary special agent. With that
kind of experience, Yuri imagined, sooner or later someone would come looking for payback. Although, according to Wyatt's dossier, the way he operated didn't leave many opponents alive, which might be why the American was so comfortable being in the open.

  Yuri started dozing off again and almost veered into the oncoming lane. He smacked his cheek for what must have been the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. The fresh sting on his skin snapped him back to reality.

  His assignment had been simple enough, or so it seemed on the surface. He was to follow Wyatt until he found something.

  Simple and also vague.

  Yuri asked his superior what Wyatt was looking for or what was meant by the term "found something."

  "What will he find?" Yuri said.

  "We...don't know. Just stay with him. This mission is of the highest importance."

  They didn't know what Wyatt would find? That fact had struck Yuri as beyond strange. As a good soldier, though, he wouldn't question orders.

  He'd always done what he was told. Being raised in a strict home had yielded that mindset.

  Yuri's parents were hard-working middle class people. His father worked in a steel factory, his mother as a custodian in a hospital. He'd yearned for something more as a child, wishing to travel the world and see magnificent sights.

  His father, however, spent more money on vodka than taking family vacations. As Yuri went through school, he soon realized that if he were going to ever get a chance to leave home, it would be in the service of Mother Russia.

  He'd been in the military since he was of age. Four years in, his superiors recommended him to a special branch of their Spetsnaz (special forces). It didn't take long before Yuri's commanding officers saw his potential. They contacted the main intelligence directorate—GRU—and requested he be trained as a spy.

  Most of Yuri's work had taken place in Chechnya, Ukraine, and Georgia, but he'd been to more countries than he could remember.

  Sure, he had to kill people now and then, but he was living his dream of seeing the world. It wasn't a typical life, that much he knew. Yuri also didn't care.

  He watched the line of cars in front of him, making sure the one carrying Wyatt didn't leave his field of view. He couldn't see the American's car, but he knew it was there. One of the things he'd learned early on was how to trail a mark without being detected. An expert like Wyatt would most likely be on the lookout for trouble. Yuri knew he would be if the roles were reversed. So far, he'd managed to follow Wyatt from New England to Atlanta without being noticed. He couldn't screw up now.

  His mind drifted to the events in upstate New York. He'd watched as a group of men abducted Wyatt. Following those men had been much more of a challenge, requiring mere guessing on several occasions as to the direction their SUV had gone. Yuri was lucky, and had managed to keep up with the mysterious men until they pulled off onto a side road, far out in the country.

  Hiding his car a half kilometer away, he trudged back to the side road on foot before ducking into the forest and making his way to the meadow. From the safety of the trees, he watched as the men—Americans from what he could tell—threatened to execute Wyatt. They had a grave dug for him before they arrived, fully intent on disposing of the man permanently.

  Yuri wasn't sure what to do. Should he protect Wyatt and take out the men but risk exposing himself? If he did, Wyatt would know someone was following him. If he didn't save the American, the odd trail Yuri had been on would come to an abrupt end.

  Fortunately, he hadn't been forced to make that call.

  Wyatt had managed to free himself of his captors, killing a few of them in the process. A stranger also appeared with a hunting rifle and scared Wyatt's captors enough that they fled the scene. Two bullets in Wyatt's chest, no communications, and being stuck out in the middle of nowhere were a recipe for certain death.

  At least it would have been had the stranger not shown up and pulled Wyatt out of the grave.

  Yuri watched as the older man hauled Wyatt back to a cabin in the woods. There, over the course of days, the stranger nursed Wyatt to health.

  Not knowing how long he'd have to sit and wait near the cabin, Yuri found a town not far from there and bought some supplies. He lined his crossover with blankets at night to keep the interior as warm as possible. Sleeping in the cold had been something he learned as a child when there wasn't always enough heat in their rickety Moscow apartment building.

  During his first night near the cabin, he set up a laser tripwire on the driveway in case anyone left. For several days and nights, the only person who went anywhere was the old man. At one point—when the cabin's owner drove into town—Yuri risked venturing to the cabin and taking a quick look inside to make sure Wyatt was still there. It would have been Yuri's luck for the American to make a sneaky escape in the back of the old guy's truck.

  Wyatt, though, was still there, recovering from his wounds.

  When the American did finally leave, Yuri followed, all the way to Atlanta.

  After several days of sleeping in his car, his exhaustion was near the point of driving him insane.

  He kept his wits, though, and continued his pursuit of Wyatt. Yuri had a mission to complete.

  "Where are you going now?" he said quietly. He found talking to himself helped keep him awake better than just thinking.

  A few dozen miles north of Kennesaw, Yuri saw the sedan suddenly move over to the right lane. He checked the green sign noting the name and number of the exit. From the looks of it, his mark was heading to Cartersville.

  "Cartersville? What is it you're looking for here?" he said.

  His phone rang in the passenger seat. He glanced at the number, picked up the device, and answered it.

  He answered the phone with a simple "yes" in Russian.

  "What's your status?" the man's voice said through the earpiece.

  "Still observing."

  "Anything yet?"

  "Nothing worth reporting," Yuri said. His superior didn't bug him often, but it was enough to be irritating. If there had been something he needed to relay to the boss, he would have already done it. He decided to risk a proposition.

  "You know, sir, it could be that there is nothing to find. I've been over here for several weeks, and there have been no developments. Is it possible we have made a mistake?"

  "No. There is no mistake. Just stay on it."

  "Perpetually?" It was a legitimate question. Yuri didn't mind doing his duty, but at some point, his superiors needed to call a wild goose chase what it was.

  "We will give it forty-eight more hours, Agent Stolov. If the American doesn't find anything by then, abort the mission."

  "Yes, sir." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "I almost forgot; there is one thing you need to be aware of."

  "I'm listening."

  "When we were in New York, Wyatt was abducted by a group of armed men. They looked like Americans."

  "Abducted?" The voice sounded angry. "Why didn't you tell me this to begin with?"

  Yuri sighed. It was the reaction he'd expected. "I apologize, sir. I've been without sleep for over a day. Also, Wyatt got away. He managed to escape, killing a few of his captors in the process. My question for you is, who are those men, and what do they want with Wyatt?"

  A long silence seeped into the phone. Had Yuri not heard the other man breathing on the other end, he would have wondered if they'd lost the connection.

  "We'll have to get back to you on that. Were you spotted?"

  "No, sir."

  "Are you certain? At any point in time did these men or Wyatt see you?"

  "I'm certain. I've not been seen or heard. If I was, I wouldn't be speaking to you right now."

  The man seemed to accept the answer. "See to it things stay that way. If Wyatt doesn't find anything in the next two days, return home."

  "Yes, sir."

  The call ended, and Yuri placed the device back in the passenger seat. He shook his head, half to keep awake and half out
of irritation.

  Why were the higher-ups so interested in this Wyatt guy? They'd been incredibly sparse with the details.

  Yuri understood it wasn't his place to question authority. He was also glad he only had to stay on this mission for two more days. His thought was if Wyatt was going to find something, he'd have already found it.

  "Two more days, Yuri. You can do anything for two days."

  Chapter 8

  Fairfax, Virginia

  Drew Porter sat in his SUV, flipping through the news feed on his phone. Tensions were growing between the United States and the Russian Federation. The Russian president, a man named Nikolai Zhirkov, had invaded land on the Black Sea that once belonged to Ukraine. Like getting beat up by a bully in the school yard, there wasn't much the Ukrainians could do to stop the attack.

  Some retreated farther into their country. Others stayed put, accepting the way things were with their new overlords.

  Porter didn't buy into the stories the media wove for the public. He knew better. He should. After all, he was on the inside making the real news happen, pulling strings from behind shadowy curtains.

  He raised his wrist and glanced at the time. The man he was meeting would be arriving any minute. Porter had chosen the place, an old cemetery outside of Washington, just across the border in Virginia. He'd have preferred to meet at night rather than the morning, but as long as he got paid, Porter didn't care.

  "I'm glad you didn't keep me waiting," a voice said through the open passenger side window.

  Porter wasn't startled. He noticed the older man approaching in the side mirror a second before he spoke.

  "I don't like being late," Porter said. "It doesn't reflect well on one's character."

  "I agree," the other man said, keeping his face pointing forward.

  He was wearing sunglasses and a black trench coat. His ears were pink from the biting winter air. Breaths came out in big clouds before dissipating.

  "What happened in New York?" the man asked, never facing Porter directly.