The Jefferson Key cm-7

by Steve Berry

  Two columns of printing appeared on each page along with a header.

  OF DEBATES IN CONGRESS And a date.

  February 9, 1793 He scanned one of the pages until he found Mr. Madison. The subject of the proposition laid before the House will now, I presume, Mr. Chairman, recur for our deliberation. I imagine it to be of the greatest magnitude, a subject, sir, that requires our first attention and our united exertion. In drafting our Constitution this Congress was bestowed the specific power to grant letters of marque, as the current policy of nations so sanctions throughout the world. Indeed, our victory over England would not have occurred but for the courageous efforts of entrepreneurs possessed of both ships and the ability to make appropriate use of them. Happy it is for us that such a grant was, and remains, within our power. We are all painfully aware that we do not, as yet, possess sufficient men and ships to float an adequate navy in our common defense, so I concur in the proposal for the grant of these letters of marque to Archibald Hale, Richard Surcouf, Henry Cogburn, and Samuel Bolton, in perpetuity, so that they might continue a robust and continuous attack on our enemies. The motion was put by the Chairman, and was agreed upon by all in attendance. The said letters of marque were directed to be forwarded to the Senate for action. The House adjourned.

  He examined the other sheet and saw that its wording was similar, only from the Senate journal where the letters were also unanimously approved, the last line of that entry making clear “that the said enactment be forwarded to Mr. Washington for signature.”

  Here was what the Commonwealth had sought. What men had died for. These two documents meant nothing but trouble. Their reemergence would cause only problems.

  Good agents solved problems.

  He tore both sheets into confetti and scattered the pieces across the water on the floor. He watched as they dissolved away.

  Done.

  He retreated to the rope, passing Knox one last time.

  “You died for nothing,” he told the corpse.

  He climbed back to ground level. Time to leave this lonely outpost. Birds cooed all around him, their movement constant on the wall walks.

  He retrieved the rope from the hole and decided, enough. He called out, “Why don’t you come out and let’s talk?”

  He’d sensed from the moment he returned to the fort that he was not alone. At the far end of the collapsed hall, Cotton Malone appeared.

  “I thought you were gone,” Wyatt said.

  “I came back to retrieve the pages, but then I was told you were coming for them, too.”

  “I assumed the Canadian authorities would be involved at some point.”

  “We waited as long as we could. What happened down there?”

  “The Commonwealth is minus a quartermaster.”

  He noticed Malone carried no weapon, but there was no need. Six armed men appeared on the wall walks above him.

  There’d be no fighting today.

  “And the pages?” Malone asked.

  He shook his head. “An empty receptacle.”

  Malone apprized him with a tight gaze. “I guess that ends the Commonwealth.”

  “And no president will have to deal with it again.”

  “Lucky them.”

  “Whether you believe it or not, I would have never sold those pages to Hale.”

  “Actually, I do believe it.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Still the self-righteous ass?”

  “Old habit. The president says this is your one freebie, as thanks for what you did in New York, and what you did here with Carbonell.” Malone paused. “I guess he owes you one more thanks now, too.”

  The silence between them confirmed what he’d done.

  “And you can keep NIA’s money.”

  “I planned to anyway.”

  “Still defiant to authority?”

  “At least neither one of us will ever change.”

  Malone motioned to the gaping hole in the floor. “Both bodies down there?”

  “No sign of the she-devil.”

  “You think she swam out?”

  He shrugged. “Those chutes weren’t like when you and I went through them. She’d better have good lungs.”

  “As I recall, she did.”

  Wyatt smiled. “That she did.”

  Malone stepped aside. Wyatt asked, “Does my free pass extend to leaving Canada unmolested?”

  “All the way home to Florida. I’d offer you a ride, but that would be too much togetherness for us both.”

  Probably so, he thought.

  He started to leave.

  “You never answered me last night,” Malone said. “We even?”

  He stopped but did not turn back. “For now.”

  And he left.

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  WHITE HOUSE

  4:40 PM

  CASSIOPEIA WAITED INSIDE THE BLUE ROOM, THE SAME BEDROOM she’d occupied yesterday to change, the same one where she and Danny Daniels had talked. Shirley Kaiser was with her.

  “How’s the finger?” she asked.

  “Hurts like hell.”

  Once plucked from the Atlantic, she, Cotton, Stephanie, and Shirley had been brought to Washington. Shirley had received medical attention for the amputation, but the Commonwealth’s doctor had done an admirable job of suturing her wound. Some medication for pain and a shot for infection was all she’d needed.

  “That swim hurt worse,” Shirley said. “Salt water. But it beat the hell out of staying on board.”

  Adventure’s crew had also been retrieved by a Coast Guard cutter, which arrived at the scene within minutes of the sloop’s destruction. The crew had been advised by radio to abandon ship or go down with it. All of them chose to leave. Only Quentin Hale sank with her. But he was long dead by then. Stephanie had told her about what Cotton had started and Shirley had finished.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  They were both worn out, their bodies sore.

  “I’m glad I got to shoot him. It cost me a finger, but I think it was worth it.”

  She had to say, “You shouldn’t have gone there.”

  “Really? If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have come. And then who knows where we, or Stephanie, would be right now.”

  The cocky attitude had returned.

  “At least it’s over,” Shirley said.

  That it was.

  Secret Service and FBI had raided the Commonwealth compound and arrested the other three captains and all of the crew. They were busy now searching every square centimeter of all four estates.

  A soft knock came at the door, then it opened and in walked Danny Daniels. She knew it had been a tough afternoon for him, too. On their return, Edwin Davis had told the president everything. Their talk had been private, then had included Pauline Daniels, the three of them, for the past hour, together behind closed doors a few rooms down the hall.

  “Pauline would like to see you,” Daniels said to Shirley.

  She rose to leave, but stopped in front of the president and asked him, “You okay?”

  He smiled. “Coming from a woman with nine fingers? I’m fine.”

  They all knew what had been discussed behind those closed doors. No sense pretending anymore.

  “It’s okay, Danny,” Shirley said. “You’re going to be a man long after being president.”

  “I thought you hated me?”

  Shirley touched his shoulder. “I do. But thanks for what you did for us out there.”

  Daniels had been the one to order the choppers dispatched. He hadn’t wanted to trust any local law enforcement so, when Davis radioed the problem, he’d given the army at Fort Bragg a direct command. He’d also been on the line, directing the pilots as to what to do, personally taking responsibility for the ship’s sinking.

  “We simply stopped some presidential assassins from fleeing the country,” he said.

  “You did good, Danny.”

  “That’s quite a compliment. Coming from you.”

  And
Shirley left.

  Daniels closed the door.

  “You stopped more than some fleeing assassins today,” she said to him.

  He sat on the bed opposite her. “Tell me about it. Who would have thought? Edwin and Pauline.”

  She knew that had to be tough.

  “But I’m glad,” he said. “I really am. I don’t think either one of us knew how to end this marriage.”

  The attitude surprised her.

  “Pauline and I have been together a long time,” he said in a low voice. “But we haven’t been happy in years. We both miss Mary. Her death drove a wedge between us that could never be removed.”

  She caught the break in his voice as he said his daughter’s name.

  “There’s not a day that goes by I don’t think of her. I wake up at night and hear her calling for me through that fire. It’s haunted me in ways I never understood.” He paused. “Until today.”

  She saw the pain in his eyes. Clear. Deep. Unmistakable. She could only imagine the anguish.

  “If Pauline can find peace, and some happiness with Edwin, then I wish her well. I truly do.”

  He stared at her with a withdrawn look of fatigue.

  “Edwin told me through the radio that Shirley and Stephanie had jumped off. Once I knew she was okay, I have to say, my anger took over. I gave the crew a chance to leave, but I didn’t know Hale was already dead.”

  “And what do you plan to do about Stephanie?”

  Daniels stayed silent a moment, then said, “I don’t know. Pauline said to me the same thing I just said to you. She wants me to be happy. I think we can both move on if we know the other is going to be okay.”

  They sat quietly for a few more moments.

  “Thank you,” the president finally said. “For all that you’ve done.”

  She knew what he meant. He’d needed someone to open up to-someone not too close, but someone he could trust.

  “I heard about how Cotton saved you. Diving off that yacht. That’s pretty special. Having a man who’ll lay down his life for you.”

  She agreed.

  “I hope I can find a woman like that.”

  “You will.”

  “That remains to be seen.” He stood from the bed. “Time for me to start acting like a president again.”

  She was curious. “Have we heard from Cotton?”

  He’d left North Carolina and flown straight back to Nova Scotia, but that had been early this morning.

  “He should be downstairs waiting for you.”

  He studied her with eyes that had softened. “Take care.”

  “You too, Mr. President.”

  MALONE SPOTTED CASSIOPEIA DESCENDING THE STAIRWAY from the White House’s upper floors. He’d arrived back from Canada half an hour ago and had been driven straight here by the Secret Service, talking to the president by phone on the way, reporting what happened at Fort Dominion. Stephanie had greeted him outside and now stood with him.

  “I was told about New York,” Stephanie said to him. “Do you always come running when I call?”

  “Only when you say it’s important.”

  “I’m glad you did. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to make it out of that cell. And nice move on the boat with that gibbet.”

  “There didn’t seem to be many options.”

  Stephanie smiled and pointed toward Cassiopeia. “I’d say she owes you one.”

  His gaze had not left the stairs. No, they were even.

  He faced Stephanie. “Any word on Andrea Carbonell?”

  She shook her head. “We’re watching. But, so far, nothing.”

  He and several Royal Canadian Mounted Police had searched the caverns beneath the fort until the tide changed, but no trace of Carbonell had been found. Both the bay and open Atlantic were also scoured on the chance that she’d been sucked from the caverns.

  Nothing there, either.

  “We’ll keep looking,” Stephanie said. “The body has to be somewhere. You don’t think she got out?”

  “I don’t see how. It was hard enough when the chutes were empty.”

  Cassiopeia approached.

  “Meeting privately with the president?” he asked her.

  “Some loose ends that needed tying up.”

  Across the foyer, a woman gestured toward them.

  “I think it’s my turn to speak with the man,” Stephanie said. “You two try and stay out of trouble.”

  He caught the look between the two women. He’d seen it before on Cassiopeia’s face. In Virginia. When they spoke to Edwin Davis, then again at Monticello when she insisted that she and Davis talk alone. As Stephanie departed, he said to Cassiopeia, “I assume, at some point, you’re going to tell me what it is you know.”

  “At some point.”

  “And what were you thinking, going into that compound alone? Crazy as hell, wasn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “What would you have done?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Lucky for me you finally came along.”

  He shook his head, then drew her attention to their luggage, which lay near the exit doors. “We’re packed and ready to go.”

  “Home?” she asked.

  “No way. We still have a date in New York that never happened. A show, then dinner. And there was the matter of a dress you went to buy that I never saw.”

  “A black one. Backless. You’ll like it.”

  That he would. But he had something else on his mind.

  “Before we fly home, I’d like to detour to Atlanta and see Gary. Maybe a couple of days.”

  He’d not seen his son since the summer, when Gary had spent several weeks with him in Copenhagen.

  She nodded. “I think you should.”

  He cleared his throat. “I think we should. He thinks you’re hot, you know.”

  She smiled and grasped his hand. “You saved my life out there,” she said. “How about I properly thank you in New York. I’ll get our room back at the St. Regis?”

  “Already done. It’s waiting for us, as is a Secret Service jet. They offered a free lift.”

  “You think of everything, Mr. Malone.”

  “Not everything. But I’m sure you can fill in the gaps.”

  WRITER’S NOTE

  This book is a departure from the six previous Cotton Malone adventures, as it’s set primarily in the United States. Elizabeth and I explored Washington, DC; New York City; Richmond, Virginia; Bath, North Carolina; and Monticello.

  Now it’s time to separate fact from fiction.

  The assassination attempt on Andrew Jackson (prologue and chapter 13) occurred as depicted, including the presence of Davy Crockett, who helped subdue the assailant and supposedly uttered the precise words quoted in the text. Jackson did publicly blame Senator George Poindexter of Mississippi (chapters 13, 19), alleging a conspiracy, but Poindexter was exonerated by a congressional inquiry. I decided to keep the conspiracy theory alive, only involving my fictional Commonwealth.

  A great many actual locales are utilized. The Grand Hyatt ( chapters 1, 3, 5, 6), Plaza (chapter 24), St. Regis (chapter 9 ), and Helmsley Park (chapter 21) hotels in New York are all superb places to stay. The Strand is an outstanding used-book store (chapter 11), which I’ve been known to roam for research. All particulars of the White House and the Oval Office (chapter 56) are accurate. Grand Central Station is likewise described correctly (chapter 8), including the pedestrian bridge leading to the East 42nd Street exit and the narrow ledge that descends from it to ground level. The Jefferson (chapter 35) stands in Richmond, Virginia, a historic hotel straight out of Gone with the Wind.

  The Pamlico River and North Carolina coast are lovely (chapters 2 , 5, 13), as is Bath (chapter 15), which was once a hotbed of colonial politics and a haven for pirates. Now it’s a sleepy village of fewer than 300 residents. The Commonwealth’s compound would occupy the woods that stand west of town. The regional airport located in nearby Greenville (chapter 29) exists.

&nb
sp; The mention of how Black Beard died (chapter 77) at Ocracoke Inlet is true, as is what happened to his skull after. A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates, by Charles Johnson (chapters 18, 76), remains a vital sourcebook on pirate history, though no one knows who Charles Johnson actually was. Woodling (chapters 40, 42), dismemberment, forcing prisoners to eat their own ears (chapter 76), and the sweat (chapter 76) were tortures routinely utilized on pirate captives. The gibbet (chapters 2, 82, 83), though, was something pirates endured, once convicted of their crimes.

  Jefferson’s cipher (chapters 10, 22) existed and was created by Robert Patterson. Jefferson himself considered it unsolvable, and it remained so from 1804 until 2009 when it was finally cracked by Lawren Smithline, a New Jersey mathematician. How the cipher was solved in this story (chapter 36) mirrors Smithline’s efforts. Patterson’s son, also named Robert (chapter 23), was indeed appointed by Andrew Jackson as director of the U.S. Mint. This fortuitous coincidence seemed tailor-made for this tale. Jackson’s letter to Abner Hale, quoted in chapter 5, is my concoction, though it is written using many of Jackson’s words. The coded message, of course, is fiction.

  Mahone Bay is real (chapters 53, 55, 56, 58), as is the mysterious Oak Island. Paw Island is my creation, as is Fort Dominion, though the invasion of Nova Scotia during the Revolutionary War happened. The Oak Island slab with its strange markings (chapter 56) is part of the island’s legend, though no known person has ever seen this slab. Its translation is likewise real, though, again, no one knows who accomplished the feat.

  Ybor City exists (chapter 41). The financial crisis in Dubai ( chapter 18) happened, though I added a few elements. Adventure is based on several yachts of the same size and type, all amazing oceangoing vessels.

  There are, of course, no missing pages from the early House and Senate journals (chapter 19). The excerpt from Of Debates in Congress (chapter 84) is a composite of several entries from that time. The troubles and statistics quoted by Danny Daniels concerning the U.S. intelligence community (chapter 54) came from a 2010 Washington Post expose.

  Monticello is an amazing place. It is accurately described, as is its visitor center (chapters 43, 44, 45, 47, 49). The cipher wheel is real, too, and located on-site (chapters 44, 49) though not inside the house itself. A resin replica exists in the visitor center (chapter 52), but whether it is an exact copy of the original is unknown. Jefferson’s library (chapter 44) was sold to the United States after the War of 1812 and formed the basis of the modern Library of Congress. Many of Jefferson’s original volumes remain on display in Washington, at the library, in a special exhibit.