Liberty

by David Wood

  He hadn’t expected to hear from Commander Hartford “Maxie” Maxwell until the next day, but apparently the man wanted a word with them now. Dane didn’t like the tone of the words his commander had uttered. Maxie wasn’t given to issuing petty demands, instead commanding respect with firmness and leading by example. The only time Dane could remember such a tone directed at him was a few months earlier when he and Bones had engaged in a no-holds-barred brawl. He traded a glance with Bones, who shrugged and headed for the door.

  Minutes later, they stood at attention in Maxie’s office. The office contained only a basic metal desk, chair and filing cabinet, reflective of the commander’s no-nonsense personality. The only personal touch was a framed photograph of Maxie’s sixteen-year old daughter.

  Dane expected Maxie to eventually say “At ease,” but instead he characteristically got straight to the point. “You boys have a good time in Philadelphia?”

  It was all Dane could do to keep his eyes trained on Maxie and not look over at Bones. Bones said, “Yes, sir! A fine trip.”

  “Anything happen that you think I should know about?”

  Dane and Bones remained silent.

  Maxie alternated his hard stare between them, finally letting out a long exhale. “Maddock and Bonebrake. First you hated each other so much I had to force you to spend time together. Now you’re working together to leave a trail of destruction. I suppose you figured that because the cops were clueless, word of your exploits would never reach me?”

  Bones opened his mouth. “Sir, I—”

  Maxie cut him off. “Sailor, you make damn sure what’s about to come out your mouth is going to improve your situation. I don’t know which of you is the leader and which is the sidekick, but this is the second trip in a row where a trail of bodies has followed you. I’m waiting for a reason why I shouldn’t kick your butts out for good.”

  Dane swallowed. “Sir, we stumbled onto something in Boston that reappeared in Philadelphia. We didn’t fire any shots that weren’t in response to being attacked.”

  Dane went on to explain the broad outlines of what had happened. By the time he was finished, a look of curiosity had replaced Maxie’s glare.

  “You expect me to believe all that?”

  Dane couldn’t think of a response and kept his mouth shut. Bones made the rare decision to do the same. Eventually Maxie chuckled.

  “Relax, I believe you. Who could make up a story like that? Lost documents? Secret groups? The mafia?”

  Bones said, “I know, right?”

  Maxie targeted him with a glare, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Bones, were you born this way, or do you have to work at being this annoying?” He held up his hand. “Don’t answer that.”

  Maxie put his hands on the desk. “For what it’s worth, you did the right thing by not going public. In most places, a squeaky wheel gets the grease. In the military, it gets replaced. Or worse. But I’m wondering why I haven’t heard anything in the news about the document or the lost Library of Congress.”

  Dane looked at Bones. They had discussed this very thing during the plane ride home. It hadn’t been a week yet, but somehow he had expected Marshall to have gotten the word out by now. Maybe it was just taking longer than expected. Or maybe something had happened to Marshall.

  Or maybe he had no intention of revealing it. Maybe he had his own agenda. Dane felt certain that Marshall was not a member of the Sons of the Republic. It just didn’t fit. But Bones had suggested something that Dane wanted to dismiss out of hand and couldn’t. Dane could still hear the conversation in his mind.

  “What if there’s another group out there? I’m not saying they were actively looking for the document, but maybe they can make use of it somehow.”

  “Bones, not everything is a conspiracy.”

  “How naive you are sometimes, Maddock. Did you see those guys with Marshall at the cemetery? Those weren’t mobbed up thugs, those were soldiers. Or professional killers.”

  Dane hadn’t answered. Bones was right that they didn’t know the whole picture. Maybe there was a simple explanation.

  Or maybe they’d stumbled on something else, another group set on grabbing power. Dane hoped not. Because these weren’t the Sons of the Republic. The Sons were somewhat dangerous yet only moderately competent. But a group with the skills displayed by Marshall and his men?

  They could do some serious damage.

  THE END

  From the Authors- Fact vs Fiction

  As with most Dane and Bones adventures, Liberty contains quite a few real historical references interspersed with the fiction. Some of you may be wondering what is fact and what is the product of our imaginations.

  The U.S. Constitution was signed on September 17, 1987. Edmund Randolph, George Mason, and Elbridge Gerry did refuse to sign, each with concerns about the role of the states. Randolph changed his mind soon thereafter and helped convince the legislature of his native Virginia to ratify it. Gerry later became a U.S. Representative from Massachusetts, serving a district with borders so brazenly based on political considerations that the term gerrymandering is derived from his name.

  The clandestine meeting on September 16th between Ben Franklin and the others, all of whom were real historical characters, is entirely invented. But early on September 17th, five hundred copies of the proposed Constitution were printed and then scrapped, to be replaced with another run of five hundred later in the day. We know this because a bill for this initial print run was submitted. This makes it less likely that the replacement was due to printer error, although a government contractor billing for its own errors is not unheard of. In any case, no copy of this abandoned effort has ever come to light, nor does the historical record contain any explanation for it.

  The battle at Gettysburg is one of the most well-known events in U.S. history. Josiah Hawthorne and the late night meeting in the latrine with Lee are fiction, but the rest of the story is true. General Robert E. Lee was quite ill the night before the unsuccessful assault known as Pickett's Charge. That attack was one of the few moves Lee ever made which was both a tactical and strategic error. The result was a retreat with massive casualties and possibly the turning point in the war. No consensus exists among historians regarding how such a brilliant general made this key mistake. As mentioned in the story, West Virginia was about to join the Union, but there is no evidence that this impacted Lee's decision.

  The Marshall family was in fact one of the biggest landowners in the town of Hamiltonban, Pennsylvania at the time of the Civil War. But the characters and descendants from that family in this story are invented, as is the burned out house and the hint of scandal.

  The original Library of Congress was indeed lost during the war of 1812. By most accounts, it was burned by the British, but several pieces of testimony suggest that some if it was removed to a hidden location before the British flames consumed the rest. No trace of it has ever been found.

  The Zoo Balloon is one of the Philadelphia Zoo's best known attractions, although to best server the story we took some minor liberties with the specifics of its setup. Both the Christ Church Burial Ground and Wissahickon Valley Park are real. Wissahickon was a popular area for both mystics and grist mills during the eighteenth century, and today is a key piece of the vast Fairmount Park system. It was also the subject of the Poe short story “The Elk.” All the places mentioned in Wissahickon are real, including the Rosicrucian cave. The lost Library of Congress is not located there as far as we know.

  The Celtic Cross is a real symbol dating to the first millennium, although its origins are unknown. It has been associated with various groups and conspiracies, including neo-Nazis and the Zodiac killer.

  The Society of Cincinnatus was founded during the American Revolution and counted George Washington and Ben Franklin, among others, as members. Both Franklin and Washington developed doubts about the organization, which at one point proposed to serve as a hereditary nobility which could steer the country in the proper dire
ction. The national symbol of the eagle has part of its origins in the logo of this society. It is also true that Ben Franklin once called the turkey a more noble bird than the eagle.

  As for the lost Ben Franklin document, that is pure fiction. If such a document were to be discovered, though, we have no doubt that the disruption it would cause more than two centuries later would be very real.

  About the Authors

  David Wood is the author of the popular action-adventure series, The Dane Maddock Adventures, as well as several stand-alone works and two series for young adults. Under his David Debord pen name he is the author of the Absent Gods fantasy series. When not writing, he co-hosts the Authorcast podcast. David and his family live in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Visit him online at www.davidwoodweb.com.

  Edward G. Talbot is the pen name for two authors. Ed Parrot lives in Massachusetts and has long been fascinated with turning ideas into written words. Jason Derrig lives in Maine and likes to tell stories, especially about conspiracies. The two authors have collaborated to create a brand of thriller that keeps the stakes high while not taking itself too seriously.

  In addition to Liberty, their work includes the conspiracy thriller novelsNew World Orders and 2012: The Fifth World. Their most recent books are the terrorism thriller short novels Alive from New York and Alive From America. Click here for a sample of Alive from New York.

  Visit Edward G. Talbot on the web at www.edwardgtalbot.com

  Books by David Wood

  The Dane Maddock Adventures

  Dourado

  Cibola

  Quest

  Icefall

  Buccaneer

  Atlantis

  Ark (forthcoming)

  Dane and Bones Origins

  Freedom (with Sean Sweeney)

  Hell Ship (with Sean Ellis)

  Splashdown (with Rick Chesler)

  Dead Ice (with Steven Savile)

  Liberty (with Edward G. Talbot)

  Electra (with Rick Chesler- forthcoming)

  The Jade Ihara Adventures

  Oracle (with Sean Ellis-forthcoming)

  Changeling (with Sean Ellis- forthcoming)

  Stand-Alone Works

  Into the Woods (with David S. Wood)

  Callsign: Queen (with Jeremy Robinson)

  Dark Rite (with Alan Baxter)

  The Zombie-Driven Life

  Arena of Souls (forthcoming)

  The Dunn Kelly Mysteries

  You Suck

  Bite Me (forthcoming)

  Writing as David Debord

  The Silver Serpent

  Keeper of the Mists

  The Gates of Iron (forthcoming)

  The Impostor Prince (with Ryan A. Span- forthcoming)

  Books by Edward G. Talbot

  Alive From New York (Terrorist Chronicles Book One)

  Alive From America (Terrorist Chronicles Book Two)

  2012: The Fifth World

  New World Orders

  Rook (with Jeremy Robinson)

  Liberty (with David Wood)

  Enjoy this preview of

  Arena of Souls- A Brock Stone Adventure

  By David Wood

  “He’s just a kid,” Stumpy muttered. “If he’s seen thirty, I’ll eat my hat.” His hand drifted to his hip, and the solid comfort of the Colt .45 secreted under his jacket. Once he got close enough to his mark, he’d fill the wheat with air. There was no question the guy was a wheat: no hat, no jacket, no belt, loose-fitting shirt worn open at the neck. He was as out of place in the big city as anyone Stumpy had ever seen.

  He lowered his head, tipped his hat forward, and moved with the crowd that scurried along B Street. He’d heard tell the government was going to rename it Constitution Avenue, but it would always be B Street to him. He liked things simple. The people around him seemed intent on their business and none would have any reason to take notice of one more plainly dressed man in a group of many, and that suited him just fine. Hide in plain sight, that was the ticket.

  The sky turned gray and thunder rumbled in the distance. The scent of rain lay heavy on the cool breeze, and the people around Stumpy quickened their pace. But not his mark. He strolled along as if he hadn’t a worry in the world, his blond head and broad shoulders sticking up above the throng of humanity. His size might pose a problem in a tussle, though Stumpy could handle himself all right, but the convincer on his hip rendered the point moot.

  “Brock Stone,” Stumpy muttered. “Rich orphan, football hero, army washout. Where have you been the past two years?”

  Stone suddenly left the sidewalk and headed across the Mall in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial. Stumpy had to double-time it to keep pace, so long were Stone’s legs and so great was the distance eaten up with each long stride. He uttered a curse. Of the many types of people he despised, tall men were, fittingly, at the top of the list. The next time a dame in a gin mil told him, “Sorry, you’re too short,” he was going to burn the place down.

  Stone navigated the throngs of tourists and climbed the steps up to the gleaming marble monument without breaking a stride. Stumpy found a spot in the shelter of a nearby tree where he could keep an eye on Stone. On the steps, he might be noticed, and that was no good. His orders were clear: follow him, learn what you can, then ice him when the time is right. Besides, why climb all those steps if he didn’t have to?

  He leaned back against the tree, drew a rolled newspaper from his inside jacket pocket, opened it to the front page, and held it just high enough that he could peer over the top. The headline screamed CAPONE PLEADS GUILTY, but the article held no interest for Stumpy. He had a feeling the judge wasn’t about to accept the slap on the wrist Capone had negotiated with prosecutors. No sir. Making and example of gangsters was a big thing these days.

  Stone didn’t remain at the top of the memorial for very long. He descended the steps and headed back toward B Street. Stumpy tossed his paper in a nearby bin and returned to stalking his quarry.

  Some men might feel conspicuous walking armed down a crowded street, following a man who would be dead by sunset, but not Stumpy. He was completely at home in this warren of crowded streets and tall buildings. The lion had its savanna, the tiger its jungle, and Stumpy had the city. At moments like this, he could almost imagine himself the angel of death.

  Except Stumpy got paid a lot better.

  A master of languages would have been baffled trying to name the tongue the man spoke. A profound student might have identified the dialect. The knowledge would be hard to believe, for the words were of a lost race, the language of a civilization long vanished!

  A forked tongue of lightning split the sky and thunder boomed like cannon fire. Everyone flinched at the sound. Everyone except Stumpy… and Stone.

  “Do you have nerves of steel, or are you just a twit?” Stumpy found himself growing more and more curious as he stalked his prey. Understanding the man you were going to kill was important— it helped you predict his actions, but for Stumpy, it was more than that. There was something about taking a life that bonded you with that person in a deep, personal way. It was the closest to spirituality he ever came, Christmas and Easter mass included.

  “I’ll know more about you once I put this baby in action.” He patted the flat, rectangular package tucked into his belt just to make sure it was there. He’d never used it before, but his employer had explained how it worked, and it seemed simple enough.

  The first drops of rain spattered the street, and a forest of umbrellas sprouted in response. Suddenly, Stone was not so easy to see. Stumpy quickened his pace, and caught sight of the big man as he disappeared into an office building. The sign on the front read Edgar Porter and Associates, Attorneys At Law. Stumpy had learned that Stone’s parents had passed away a few years back, while Stone was in the army, right about the time Stone seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth. Perhaps he was here about his inheritance.

  Stumpy hurried to the front door and paused. This would be a close thing. If Stone
spotted him, Stumpy would have to end things right there, and that meant a major cut in pay: half for the information, half to put an end to the big man. He caught the door with his heel, and leaned against the wall, pretending to take respite from the rain beneath the tiny awning, and strained his ears to listen.

  “May I help you?” a silky, feminine voice asked.

  “Brock Stone. I have an appointment.” Stone’s words were curt, but his tone was polite, if not friendly.

  “Yes, sir. Mister Porter will be meeting with you personally. Second floor. You’ll see his door when you reach the top of the stairs. He’s expecting you, so feel free to go right in.”

  Stumpy dared a glance inside. Stone was climbing the stairs and the secretary, a doll with chestnut hair and curves in all the right places, stared after him with a look akin to hunger in her brown eyes. No way he’d be able to slip past her. A quick glance up the stairs told him that Porter’s office was on the back side of the building. He’d try there first and see how it shook out.

  His feet clopped on the wet pavement as he ducked through an alley and circled around the building. Winded, he took a moment to catch hi breath as he scanned the back face of the law office. Unlike its marble facade, the back wall was red brick, with an iron fire escape running to the roof. Perfect!

  Stumpy took out the rectangular package, a leather case the size of a book, unsnapped the end flap, and withdrew a tiny box with an antenna and cuplike attachment, and flicked the switch on the bottom. A green light flickered to life, telling him the transmitter was live. Next, he withdrew an earpiece on a coiled wire, inserted it in his ear, and plugged it into the device inside the leather box. Finally, he flipped a switch on the device. Static crackled in his earpiece, and the recorder inside began to whir. Satisfied, he crept up the fire escape.