The Denali Deception

by Ernest Dempsey

  "Same reason I was here before," Sean said.

  "Still looking for that lost Seward treasure?" Johnstone said with a mischievous grin.

  "Sort of. I mean, we still don't know what it is we're looking for in that regard, but there's definitely something out there."

  "We were hoping to take a look at any maps you might have on display, or even if you have a few in some archives that aren't available to the public," Tommy said.

  "Certainly," Johnstone said, beaming with pride. "Although I don't believe we have any maps tucked away in a secret place. Our archives are relatively small. I'd be happy to check our catalog, though. Follow me. I'll show you the ones we have on display, and while you're looking at those I'll see what else we have."

  "That would be great," Sean said. "Thank you so much."

  Johnstone led the two through the home and up the stairs near the foyer. When they reached the top, they turned left and walked down the hall, turning right into a small room that looked like it was once an office.

  "This is where Secretary Seward did most of his work. The desk and other furnishings are originals, as are the maps encased in glass over there, and there." He pointed at two display cases sitting next to each other. "You can see we had to block off the windows since sunlight would have faded everything on paper."

  Sean and Tommy noticed the window on the far wall had been covered with a solid sheet of wood and then disguised with a painting of the Appalachian Mountains.

  "Good thinking," Tommy said.

  "Make yourselves at home. I'll be back up as soon as I find anything...or not."

  "Thanks, Mr. Johnstone."

  "Please, call me Gary."

  The slim man strode out into the hallway with his blazer flapping behind him.

  "Nice guy," Tommy said.

  "Yeah, he's been very helpful. Let's take a look at these maps."

  They sidled over to the display cases against the interior wall. The maps inside were clearly originals, the paper brown with age. Some of the lettering had faded a bit but not so much that the words were illegible. One of the maps was of the United States as it existed during Seward's time. Sean and Tommy noted the date in the bottom corner: 1866.

  Next to the map of the country were three additional maps, all showing the Territory of Alaska.

  "It's amazing how detailed cartographers were so long ago. I have no idea how they got things so accurate," Sean said with admiration.

  "You're right about that. I've always thought that was an incredible talent."

  Sean pointed at the maps. "None of these would fit that note we found," he said with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

  Tommy shook his head. "Nope. They're all too big. Is this all of them?"

  There was one more display case in the corner. They stepped over to it and looked inside. It housed a map of Alaska, but it was much smaller than the others and too small to be the one to match the note.

  They searched the rest of the room, wandering from one corner to the other until they'd exhausted all possibilities.

  Tommy stared at the desk. "You don't think there's something hidden in this, do you?"

  "No," Sean said with a shake of the head. "I already checked it the last time I was here."

  "Johnstone opened it for you?"

  Sean's cheeks flooded with red. "Something like that."

  Tommy snorted. "You looked without his permission, didn't you?"

  "Maybe. Doesn't matter. The point is, none of these maps work. Let's hope Gary can find something. Otherwise, this trail is going to come to a sudden and disappointing end."

  "Not to mention a wasted long drive all the way to western New York."

  They hung out for another few minutes in the office, reading over some of the documents encased in glass and inspecting the desk to make sure they weren't missing a secret compartment.

  When the sound of Johnstone's shoes on the wood floor began tapping their way down the hall, the two friends moved away from the desk and back to the maps, pretending to inspect them.

  "Find what you were looking for, gentlemen?" Johnstone asked as he entered the room.

  "No, sir." Sean shook his head. "Any luck in your archives?"

  "Sadly, no. We don't have any maps tucked away in the vault. Do you know what it is you're looking for? Maybe you could give me some more details."

  "I wish we had details to give," Tommy said. "All we know is it's about the size of a standard letter, maybe eight by eleven."

  Johnstone thought for a minute, biting his lower lip as he looked up to the ceiling. After his momentary deliberation, he returned his eyes to the guests. "Sorry, I can't think of anything that size, and I've worked here for nearly ten years."

  "Don't apologize," Sean said, pushing aside the disappointment lumping in his throat. "It's not your fault."

  "Will you be needing anything else right now? I have a phone call to make."

  "No, sir. Thank you," Tommy said.

  "Happy to help. Wish I had what you were looking for."

  Johnstone spun around and stepped out into the hall. Sean and Tommy followed, dragging their feet along the way.

  They passed paintings of Seward family members down through history hanging from the walls. There were women in beautiful dresses, smartly dressed men in pristine suits and hats, and even a few of children. As the three neared the staircase, Sean caught something out of the corner of his eye and stopped.

  He turned and looked at a painting that was different than all the others.

  It depicted a man running out of the house, looking back over his shoulder as if afraid someone was chasing him. The home was clearly the Seward house, but the man was unidentified.

  "Gary?" Sean said, stopping the curator before he took the first step down the stairs. "What's this painting?"

  Johnstone did a pivot, keeping one hand on the banister. "Oh, that's a painting of the night Secretary Seward was nearly killed."

  Sean took one step closer to the painting to where he stood within an arm's length of it. Tommy was next to him now, also mesmerized by the picture.

  "I didn't really notice this on the way in," Tommy said.

  "Me, either," Sean agreed.

  "I'm sure both of you are familiar with the assassination attempt on the secretary's life the same night Lincoln was shot," Johnstone said, keeping his place on the top step.

  "I know the story," Tommy said. "It was crazy how well planned the entire thing was. So many moving parts, the timing had to be perfect, and then there was the problem of security."

  "Yes. The secretary actually had more security on hand than usual that night. He was in his bed recovering from a carriage accident. The would-be assassin severely hurt some of his guards and scared his wife half to death. It's a miracle Secretary Seward survived."

  "Stabbed in the neck, right?" Sean asked, already knowing the answer.

  "Correct. They said the knife barely missed the arteries and veins. Difficult to believe back then, with the lack of medical knowledge and technology, he was able to survive. Perhaps that's a tribute to the way people were back then. They were tougher, hardier."

  "Survivors," Sean said.

  "Exactly."

  Johnstone turned to continue his descent with Tommy right behind him when Sean stopped them both again.

  "I'm sorry, Gary. But what's this in the painting?"

  "What's what?"

  Sean leaned in close to the image to stare at something in the fleeing man's hand. It looked like a rolled-up piece of paper.

  "That," Sean said, putting his finger an inch from the canvas. He was careful not to touch it.

  Johnstone stepped back up onto the second floor and wedged between the two visitors. He leaned in like Sean was doing and narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that. Yes. That night, witnesses said that the assassin stole something from Seward's study. No one is really sure what it was. We assume it was valuable, perhaps some bonds or a property deed. It's all conjecture at this point. Anyone wh
o knew any details about it has been dead for a long time."

  Sean straightened up and twisted his head, facing the other two. "Seems a little strange, doesn't it?"

  "Strange?" Johnstone asked.

  "Yeah. I mean, this guy came up here to western New York, all the way from Washington, to kill Seward. Just seems a bit odd that during what must have been a pretty rushed getaway that he'd take the time to swing by the study and steal something."

  Tommy nodded. "That is weird."

  Johnstone was the last to put the pieces together. "Are you thinking that piece of paper in the assassin's hand is the map you're looking for?"

  "It's just an odd piece to the story. These guys plan out the assassination to a T. They get all the details, know where their mark will be and when. Then one of them goes in, doesn't manage to kill a bedridden guy, hurts some of his guards, and then you would imagine flees into the night in a panic. But no, he stops on his way out and grabs something."

  "Or maybe after he took out the guy at the door, he went to the study first and then attempted to kill Seward," Tommy said.

  "Either way, it's fishy." Sean turned his head and faced Johnstone. He was so close he could smell the cheap aftershave on the guy's skin. "And you have no way to know for sure what that was?" he asked, pointing a finger at the painting.

  "Sorry, Sean," he said, shaking his head.

  Sean sighed.

  "Another dead end," Tommy said.

  "Unless..." Johnstone let the word linger in the hallway. The other two looked at him as if their gaze could pull the words out of his mouth.

  "Unless what?" Sean asked.

  The two visitors could see the wheels turning from the look in the curator's eyes. "Unless he took it back to Washington."

  Chapter 19

  Auburn

  "Back to Washington?" Sean asked.

  "Yes," Johnstone said with a nod. "After Lewis Powell tried to kill the secretary of state, he took off on foot since his partner got scared and left with the horses. Somehow, Powell found a way back to Washington to their rendezvous point at Mary Surratt's boarding house. That's where he was arrested the next day. It's possible that whatever he took from here might—I reiterate, might—be hidden somewhere in Washington. Possibly even in the Surratt house."

  Sean and Tommy exchanged a knowing glance.

  "Yeah, except the Surratt house is a Chinese restaurant now," Sean said.

  "Yes." Johnstone hung his head. "Sadly, not every historically significant building can be saved from being destroyed or turned into a sweet-and-sour palace."

  The two friends chuckled.

  "Most buildings like that have already been torn down or repurposed. Such a shame."

  "That doesn't mean Powell didn't hide something there," Tommy said. He had a tone of hope in his voice. "If it was hidden well enough, maybe it's never been found. There's got to be a chance, right?"

  Sean shrugged. "I guess so. Normally, I wouldn't have a problem with going down to DC and probing someone's restaurant for a hidden map. In this instance, though, it's going to be tricky."

  "Tricky?" Johnstone asked.

  "Because," Tommy quickly jumped in, "we've driven so far and haven't really slept. It's several hours back down to Washington."

  "Oh. Well, in that case, you two should get a room at the inn nearby. I'm sure they'll have vacancies during this time of year. We don't get too many tourists in the dead of winter."

  "Thanks," Sean said. "We'll look into it. And thank you for all your help, Gary. We really appreciate it."

  "Not a problem, fellas. I need to get going. Don't hesitate to drop by again if you need." The curator started back down the steps but once more stopped and looked back at the two visitors. "You know, it's weird us talking about the Seward and Lincoln assassination, seeing what happened yesterday and all."

  Tommy and Sean exchanged puzzled glances.

  "What do you mean?" Sean asked.

  Johnstone searched both men's faces to make sure they weren't messing with him. "The assassination attempt on President Dawkins. Everyone's talking about it. Surely, you heard."

  "Someone tried to kill the president?" Tommy asked, a sudden fleck of concern seeping into his voice.

  "You two really don't know?"

  They shook their heads at the same time.

  "We were on the road," Sean said. "Took a while to get here."

  Johnstone's eyes went from one to the other and back again like he was watching the fastest tennis match ever played. "You don't listen to the radio?"

  "Satellite. No commercials. No interruptions."

  The curator sighed. "Well, apparently someone set up a gun in the ballroom where the president was to give a speech. They used some kind of mechanism to fire the weapon remotely. The police found a suspect in an alley not far from the hotel where it went down. Seems he was trying to get away, shot a cop, and then the other police took him down."

  "He's dead?" Tommy asked.

  Johnstone nodded. "Yep. He shot a cop. They took him down. Sounds like that was their guy. They found evidence on the scene that linked him to the attempted assassination along with more evidence in his apartment."

  "What about President Dawkins?"

  "It was the wildest thing. He was rushed out of there unscathed. Didn't even get a scratch. Some brunette charged the stage and tackled him. She saved his life. There's video footage of it on the internet. Everyone's talking about it, and no one knows who she is or where she went."

  Sean's immediate thoughts went to Adriana. It had to be her. Sean and Tommy knew about the threat. So far, they'd played the ignorant role perfectly with Johnstone. That was due, in part, to the fact that they really didn't know the attempt to take the president's life had already happened. Sean was surprised at the speed with which these men operated, in spite of years working on the inside of the government. Axis always took care of things with calculated speed. Not all the other pieces were so efficient.

  One thing was certain: whoever was running this operation knew exactly what they were doing.

  After saying their goodbyes, Sean and Tommy returned to the frigid outside. The sun was climbing into the clear blue sky, but it did little to warm the cold town.

  "Good one," Tommy said as they marched back to their car.

  "Yeah, I know. Happens to the best of us."

  "True, except your timing couldn't be worse."

  "It won't happen again," Sean reassured him.

  Tommy let the incident go. "So, the real question now is, what are we going to do? I don't exactly like the idea of going to Washington."

  "Into the lion's den."

  "That's what I was thinking. Seems like whoever erased all our money, our identities, whatever, is probably operating out of Washington.

  "And they're on the inside, which will make things even more difficult," Sean said.

  Back inside the car, the seats and steering wheel were freezing to the touch. Tommy couldn't turn on the engine fast enough.

  "It's our only lead," Sean said as he rubbed his hands together to fight off the cold in his fingers. "I really don't see what other choice we have."

  He took his phone out and pulled up Adriana's number. He tapped the call button and listened to the phone ringing.

  "Calling Adriana?" Tommy asked.

  Sean nodded. After twenty seconds, he got an automated message telling him the phone's user hadn't set up voice mail yet.

  "No answer," Sean said, his voice smothered in disappointment.

  "I'm sure she's fine," Tommy offered. "Sounds to me like she saved the president's life. Congratulations, buddy. Your girlfriend is a hero."

  The comment did little to cheer up Sean. "I hope she's all right."

  "Gary didn't say anything about her being hurt. I'm sure that would have been included in the news reports if the person who saved the president was injured."

  Sean relented and gave a subtle nod. "I guess you're right."

  "Of course I am." Tommy ru
bbed his hands together. "So, what are your thoughts on Washington?"

  "The Surratt House?"

  "Yep."

  "I don't see any other option. I guess we have to go down there and check it out. It's not exactly my first choice. But what else can we do?"

  Sean shifted the car into gear and looked back in the mirror to make sure no one was behind him. They hadn't seen many other cars since leaving the diner. Most of the town was busy at work so the streets were largely vacant. Sean started to ease the vehicle out of the parking spot and then stopped suddenly.

  Tommy's head bounced on the headrest. "What?" he asked, looking over at Sean with wide eyes. "Why'd you stop?"

  Sean narrowed his eyes as he stared into the mirror. His jaw clenched. "That car back there," he said. "It was there when we went in."

  Tommy leaned toward his friend and peeked into the mirror. He noticed the black sedan with a figure of a man inside. "So? There are lots of cars that were probably there when we went in. People are at work or eating a late breakfast."

  "No," Sean said with a shake of the head. "That guy has been sitting there longer than that. He was there when we were walking around. I noticed him in that same spot when we went to eat. He's been there all morning."

  Tommy bent toward the middle of the car and looked back again. "Maybe he's reading a really good book."

  Sean twisted his head, wearing the most derisive expression he could muster.

  Tommy did his best to look innocent. "What? Sometimes people get lost in books. I know I do."

  "For four hours in a car, in the freezing cold?"

  "Okay, you may have a point. But who is he?"

  Sean frowned. "That, I don't know. And I don't know why he's following us."

  "Strange he hasn't tried to engage."

  Sean turned his head slowly toward his friend again. "Engage?"

  "Yeah, you know. He hasn't tried to get in the way of what we're doing."

  "Since when did you start using words like that?"

  Tommy blushed. "I don't know. About ten seconds ago, I guess."

  Sean returned his gaze to the sedan. It was parked on one of the main streets. From their current vantage point, the vehicle was barely visible through the trees, bushes, and a wrought-iron fence along the property.