The top of the box popped free, and they both held their breath for a second.
"No," Tommy said, returning the smirk. "I got it."
They leaned over and stared into the container.
An old piece of parchment was folded inside. The two friends glanced at each other and then returned to the box's contents.
Tommy took a dry napkin from the table and bent it between two fingers. Carefully, he reached into the container and pinched the parchment between the folds of the napkin, lifting it out with delicate precision.
"Spread out a couple of napkins on this table," Tommy said. "We don't know what kind of chemical residue might be on it from cleaning."
Sean did as told and hurriedly spread out two napkins flat on the surface.
Tommy eased the parchment down onto the makeshift tablecloth and let it go. He took another quick look around the room to make sure no one was watching before he picked up another napkin and pinched one corner of the parchment.
"I really need gloves for this," he said.
"I know, pal, but you're doing great."
Tommy had done this sort of thing hundreds of times. Usually, though, it was in a controlled, dry environment in their labs in Atlanta.
He ever-so-gently peeled back the first fold in the parchment, overly aware that the slightest mistake could tear the page or remove a layer that might contain valuable information. When the first fold was done, he sighed with relief and set to work on the next fold.
Tommy repeated the process two more times before the entire parchment was unfolded and laid out on the table.
The two friends stared at it in awe. The ink had faded to near invisibility over the years and was barely readable.
"It's a note," Tommy said. "Looks like some kind of journal entry."
"Without the journal."
"Hard to make out what it says. Cursive is hard enough to read when it hasn't gone through 150 years of fading."
Sean scooted his chair around so he wasn't attempting to read the parchment upside down. He leaned around the table corner, squeezing close to Tommy.
They read the note silently.
The rebs are on our trail, and we're running low on fuel. We have the map and the location of the thing the rebels were looking for. We will have to abandon the mission soon. I've given the map to Knight. Andrews asked Knight and me to split up since we're the fastest runners. I have the difficult task of going back to the South toward Atlanta. There I will attempt to blend in until I can secure transport back to Northern lines.
The plan is simple. Knight is to get the map to Secretary of State Seward. This note is for President Lincoln. If either of us fails, we are to hide our half somewhere safe.
The map Knight carries is useless without this note. Likewise, this note is useless without his map. We did this to ensure the rebs wouldn't easily find the location of the artifact.
I pray we are successful.
Sean and Tommy finished reading the main passage and then looked at a strange sequence of letters at the bottom.
C S E M N
D N L
"Code," Sean said.
"Two lines. Mostly consonants."
"What would you give to buy a vowel right now?" Sean joked.
"Right. Even if we moved all those letters around in a thousand different ways, it won't spell anything coherent."
"I guess that's what the writer meant when he said without the map this note is useless."
"Must be," Tommy agreed. "And what's with the hole here in the middle of the page?"
Offset by a few inches from the parchment's center was a little hole poked into the note.
"I guess it degraded with time. Weak spot in the material?"
"Maybe," Tommy said. "But usually when something deteriorates, it's a lot less uniform. This almost looks like it was done on purpose."
They stared at the parchment for another minute, analyzing every inch of it to make sure they hadn't missed anything. The espresso machine at the bar squealed as the barista made another cappuccino. The door swung open, letting a short burst of cold air into the warm shop. Sean's and Tommy's eyes shifted immediately to the entrance. A blonde woman in a parka stood in the doorway, looking up at the menu.
"This is great reading and all, but we still have nothing to go on," Sean said.
"I know. It would be helpful if we knew who this Knight person was."
Sean pulled out his phone and tapped his search engine app. The Wi-Fi in the coffee shop was free and anonymous. It was highly doubtful anyone would be tracing his search, especially from a temporary phone. That didn't mean he wasn't aware of everything going on around him. Every twitch, every sound, every subtle movement passed through Sean's sensory field.
He typed the keywords into the bar and then hit the search button. It only took a second for the first results to start filling his screen.
"Internet is so fast here," Tommy said. "I wish we had the gigabit fiber in Atlanta."
"Fastest in the world," Sean said with a hint of pride. He scrolled down until he saw a promising link and tapped it.
"So, you searched for Knight and Andrews' Raiders?"
"Mmhmm. Maybe we can see a list of the guys in his unit. If so, we should be able to track down this Knight character."
The website on the screen featured a historical account of the Great Locomotive Chase. It talked about how Andrews and his men infiltrated Atlanta, blending in with the Southerners until the day they stole the train. Sean skipped through all that until he found a chart with a list of several names. One of them was James Andrews.
"There," Tommy said, pointing at one name in the left column.
"That's gotta be him," Sean said. "William Knight."
"Says he was one of the ones who escaped."
"Yep. The question is, where did he go?"
"On it," Tommy said as he whipped out his phone and started searching while Sean continued to read.
"It's crazy how all this happened right in our backyard," Sean said. He hit the back button and tapped on one of the other links, continuing to search for more information about Knight and the Raiders.
"Yep. Lot of history around us from Atlanta to Chattanooga. Pretty amazing." Something caught Tommy's attention, and he held up his screen for Sean to see. "This says Knight is buried in Stryker, Ohio. Must be where he's from."
"Good. Keep looking into that. I'm trying to see if I can find anything about Seward and Knight."
They continued staring at their phones for the next 10 minutes, occasionally scrolling down a page or starting a new search. Patrons of the coffee shop came and went, none paying any attention to the two men buried in their devices.
"Any luck?" Tommy asked, rubbing his eyes.
"No," Sean said. "Nothing. You'd think that one of the heroes of the Civil War would have a picture with the president or something. I can understand maybe nothing with Seward, but come on. College football teams get to meet the president at the White House. You'd think there'd be something about Knight and his comrades with the president."
"Maybe it was too much of a hassle to get them there. Photographs were still in their infancy back then. If there was one taken, there's a good chance it's been lost for a long time. That or people who contribute to the internet haven't thought about putting it up yet." Tommy's theory was probably correct. The internet was full of useful information, but all of it was uploaded by human hands, which meant there were still tons of information out there just sitting around in archives, vaults, and probably waste bins.
"I doubt there are a lot of searches for William Knight with William Seward in the images function," Sean said.
The two continued looking through dozens of web pages for another twenty minutes before Tommy stopped and looked up from his phone.
"I can't find a thing. When you were in Auburn, you didn't see anything like a map in the museum, did you?"
Sean thought about it for a moment. He'd been to the Seward museum several times
while he was working on the project. And he'd seen lots of maps. There were a couple on display, but he hadn't thought anything of it at the time.
"Yes, there were a few."
"Any of Alaska?"
Sean lowered his head, giving Tommy a look of haughty derision. "Obviously. The Alaska Purchase was kind of his signature thing in history."
Tommy just stared at him.
"Sorry. Yes, there were maps of Alaska."
"And were any, say, the size of this parchment paper?"
Sean ran through his memory banks, searching for an image of a map that would have been that size. As strong as his memory was, he didn't recall enough details to warrant a firm answer.
He shook his head. "Sorry, man. I know there were some maps there in the museum, but I can't remember the sizes of them. I know there was one or two that probably could be that size. I just didn't pay enough attention to them to really remember. I guess I was too focused on other things." He eyed his friend with suspicion. "Why? What's in your head?"
Tommy moved the parchment around and stared at the center of the note. "I'm just wondering. This message says Knight took a map and was supposed to meet Seward with it. That's kind of a strange decision to make."
"Not if you assume those soldiers knew he was interested in Alaska. More likely, their orders were to deliver it to Seward in person."
"Right. So, for a second, let's assume that the map Knight took Seward had similar letters as these in the bottom corner."
"Would make sense," Sean said, following his friend's logic. "Then the letters could be combined to make a coherent message. I'm guessing there are more vowels on the map than on this thing."
Tommy agreed with a nod. "Yes, and I'm betting there's something else about this document and the Seward map."
"I'm enthralled."
Tommy ignored the barb. "What if this parchment fits over top of the map and that hole points to the exact location?"
He waited to hear his friend lambaste the notion, but the insults never came. Sean leaned back and crossed his arms, staring with new eyes at the parchment. Slowly, his head began to rock back and forth.
"Yes. I think that is exactly their intention," he said. "It makes perfect sense."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. That hole could be like the X that marks the spot on a treasure map. And the letters must be a name of a mountain, a river, some sort of way point they could identify."
The two went silent for a second.
They continued gazing at the parchment for a moment and then simultaneously looked up at each other.
"We need that map," they said together.
"How much cash you have on you?" Sean asked.
"Few hundred bucks. You?"
"About the same."
"That should be enough to get us up to New York, but after that we'll have to wash dishes to get anywhere else. Or shovel snow."
Sean raised an eyebrow. "Won't be a problem."
"Really? You don't mind doing a little manual labor to get some travel cash?"
A snort escaped Sean's nose. "No, dummy. I keep an extra stash of money, passports, that sort of thing in my condo here in the south side. I'll have more than enough to get us where we need to go. That is, if you can accept driving in a car all the way to western New York. I know you've grown accustomed to the plush life of flying around in your private jet."
"I never heard you complaining about it."
Sean laughed again. "Fair enough."
Tommy had another question. "About the car," he said. "Should we ditch it? I mean, those plates are probably on some kind of watch list."
"Not to worry. We can take my spare. I keep it in the garage at the condo."
"Yeah, but it's registered to you. We'll end up having the exact same problem."
Sean's head turned side to side. "Nope. I've got spare plates, too."
Tommy eyed his friend. "Sometimes I wonder if I even know who you are."
Sean's lips stretched to both sides. "I'm your buddy the spy, that's who."
The two packed up their few belongings and walked out the door onto the sidewalk. Main Street was full of busy people driving in both directions to their morning appointments and destinations. The sidewalks were less crowded, dotted with only a few pedestrians here and there, bundled in thick coats and scarves as they walked hurriedly along in the cold.
The two friends made their way over to the car and a moment later drove off, heading to Sean's condo three blocks away.
They never saw the blond Russian sitting in the corner of the coffee shop, listening to their conversation.
As they revved up the car, Yuri stepped outside and casually slipped into his vehicle near the curb. He started the engine and watched them drive away, turning left on the next street up.
Yuri wasn't in a rush. They weren't going far, and he'd be able to find the car again in the small south side area. While the two Americans were in Wyatt's condo, he'd place a homing device on both cars just to make sure they could be tracked no matter which vehicle they chose to use.
He stepped on the gas and merged into traffic, turning left on the same street Wyatt had taken.
Yuri's plan was working perfectly.
Chapter 17
Washington
Adriana stepped through the door of her hotel room. None of the lights were on, so the room was blanketed in near total darkness. The curtains covering the windows only let in the slightest glimpse of streetlights below.
She tossed her keys onto the chair at the corner near the bathroom and collapsed on the bed. Her lips flapped as she blew air through them.
It had been a crazy day.
The president had nearly been killed, and in the process so had she.
Then there was the issue in the alley with the dirty cops, the double homicide, and then her narrow escape that ended in another cop being killed, though how that one happened she still wasn't sure. Her best guess was a device implanted in Einhorn's skin released a poison into his body.
But who pressed the button to make that happen?
There were more questions than answers at this point, and she needed some rest. Traveling from Spain to the United States on top of all the other activity had worn her out.
Adriana stared at the ceiling and then closed her eyes. She needed to take a shower, a long hot one. Her eyelids, however, begged her to forgo the shower and just fall asleep right then and there.
The temptation along with the fatigue pulled on her consciousness.
She let out a long sigh and opened her eyes, deciding to get up and take the shower tonight rather than wait until the morning. She'd sleep better if she was cleaned up a bit.
She saw a shadow move across the room.
Fear surged through her. She shot up out of the bed, but it was already too late. Another shadow zipped by in the darkness.
"Who's there?" she asked as she jumped off the mattress.
The only answer she received was a black bag slipping over her head.
She struggled to pull it off, but the hands holding it were too strong.
"What do you want?" she shouted. "Let me go!"
Adriana remembered her training. She'd been in situations like this before going all the way back to when she learned to defend herself as a child. Her martial arts instructor had put her in a scenario much like this one, where she couldn't see anything and had to fight her way out.
She sensed the figure directly behind her and drove her elbow back. The bone dug into the man's abdomen, and he grunted in pain.
She felt someone approaching from her front and, as she felt the footsteps draw close, fired a jab at what she approximated was neck or face level.
Her fist landed on something smooth and hard—the other attacker's jaw. Another hand grabbed her right arm, and she whipped the left one around to strike the next assailant but someone else grabbed the wrist and jerked it behind her.
"Too afraid to fight a woman?" she spat.
"Ca
lm down, Miss Villa," a sinister masculine voice said. "You need to get some rest."
She heard something that sounded like the opening of a can of tennis balls, then everything started spinning. She couldn't see the room, but her equilibrium failed. Her eyelids immediately began dragging across her eyes, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Adriana started to fall back on the bed. She never felt the hands catch her in the darkness.
"Ah!" she said with a start. She woke up in a dimly lit room on a cot pressed up against the corner.
The concrete walls were painted a redundant gray, and a single fluorescent light stretched across the center of the ceiling. Her head ached, though she didn't feel a bump or bruise. It was more like a hangover from too much wine.
She winced as she rubbed her eyes. Sitting up in the cot, she took inventory of the sparse decor. The makeshift bed was the only furniture in the room. The metal door to her right looked like it was made for a prison, or an asylum. She hoped it wasn't either.
A camera hung from the far corner, pointing right at her position. She looked up at it with a disdainful scowl. "Where am I?" she asked.
The door unlocked and opened.
Four men in black suits, white shirts, black ties, and sunglasses walked in. Two stood by the door. The other two positioned themselves close to the cot, one on either end.
"You the guys who knocked me out and brought me here?" she asked. Her Spanish accent grew stronger when she was angry.
None of them answered.
She swung her legs off the bed, bracing herself with her hands pressed into the mattress. Even though her brain was still in a fog, she was ready to put a beatdown on these guys.
"Don't feel like talking? Fine. Maybe you're ready for a fair fight after all. Which one of you got the elbow to the midsection? I'll let you throw the first punch."
"Please don't hurt any of my men," a familiar voice said from the hallway. "They are some of the most highly trained and skilled fighters in the world, but I'm not sure they're ready for what you can do."
President Dawkins stepped around the corner and into the room. He flashed a warm smile at Adriana.
The Denali Deception Page 13
