Suddenly, Caleb screamed, “There, going up the escalator. That’s the man who kidnapped me. Foxworth!”
“And Trent!” Milton added.
They all looked upward. At the sound of his alias Seagraves glanced over his shoulder, and his hood fell away, giving them all a good look at him and Albert Trent, who was beside him.
“Damn,” Seagraves muttered. He maneuvered Trent through the crowd, and they raced out of the train station.
Up on the street Seagraves pushed Albert Trent into a cab and gave an address to the driver. He whispered to Trent, “I’ll meet you there later. I’ve got a private plane ready to take us out of the country. Here’re your travel papers and new ID pack. We’ll get your appearance altered.” He shoved a thick wad of documents and a passport into Trent’s hands.
Seagraves started to slam the cab door shut and then abruptly stopped. “Albert, give me your watch.”
“What?”
Seagraves didn’t ask again. He ripped the watch off Trent’s wrist and closed the cab door. It drove off, a panicked Trent looking back at him through the window. Seagraves planned to kill Trent later, and he had to have something belonging to him. He was very angry about having to leave his collection behind, because he couldn’t risk returning to his house. And Seagraves was also upset because he hadn’t been able to get any items from the two agents he’d killed in the Metro.
Well, I can always start a new collection.
He ran across the street to an alleyway, climbed into a van he’d parked there and changed his clothes. Then he waited for his pursuers to appear. And this time he wouldn’t miss.
CHAPTER 66
STONE AND THE OTHERS RODE the escalator out of the Metro along with hundreds of other panicked people. While sirens filled the air and a small army of police converged on the area to investigate the rampage, they walked down the street aimlessly.
“Thank goodness Caleb’s okay,” Milton said.
“Absolutely,” Reuben bellowed. He grabbed Caleb around the shoulders. “What the hell would we do without you to tease?”
“Caleb, how did you come to be abducted?” Stone asked curiously.
Caleb quickly explained about the man calling himself William Foxworth. “He said he had books for me to look at, and then the next thing I know, I’m unconscious.”
“Foxworth, that was the name he used?” Stone asked.
“Yes, it was on his library card, so he would’ve had to show some ID to get it.”
“Undoubtedly not his real name. At least we got a look at him.”
“What do we do now?” Annabelle asked.
“What I still don’t understand is how the chemical wash was put in the books,” Milton said. “Albert Trent works on the intelligence committee staff. He gets the secrets somehow and then passes them on to whom? And how do they end up in books at the reading room where Jewell English and presumably Norman Janklow see and write them down using their special glasses?”
While they were all mulling those questions, Stone used his cell phone to check in with Alex Ford. They were still looking for Trent, but Ford advised Stone and the others to pull back from the chase. “No sense in putting yourselves in more danger,” he said. “You’ve done enough.”
After Stone had told them that, Caleb said, “So where do we go? Home?”
Stone shook his head. “The Library of Congress is near here. I want to go there.”
Caleb wanted to know why.
“Because that’s where this all started, and a library is always a good place to get answers.”
Caleb was able to get them into the library but not the reading room because it was closed on Saturday. Wandering the halls, Stone said to the others, “What confuses me most of all is the timing of events.” He paused, marshaling his thoughts. “Jewell English came to the reading room two days ago, and the highlights were in the Beadle book. Later that night, when we had the book, the highlights vanished. That is a very tight time frame.”
Caleb said, “It is amazing, really, because most books in the vault sit unread for years, even decades. The highlighting would have to go on the letters, and Jewell would have to be contacted to come in with the name of the book to ask for. Then, like you said, that very same day the highlights disappear.”
Stone stopped walking and leaned against a marble banister. “Yet how could they be so sure the timing would work? You wouldn’t want the wash to remain on the pages very long in case the police got their hands on them. Indeed, if we’d acted a little sooner, we might have gotten the book to the FBI before the chemical evaporated. So logically, the highlighting had to have taken place close to the time English came in.”
Caleb said, “I’d been in and out of the vaults before Jewell came in that day. I didn’t see anyone in there other than some of the staff, and none stayed longer than ten or fifteen minutes. That wouldn’t have been nearly long enough to highlight all those letters. And they couldn’t have done it anywhere else, because that would require them taking the book home.” He jerked. “Wait a minute. If any of the staff had taken it home, I can check that. They’d have to fill out the four-part call slip. Come on! The reading room’s closed, but I can check from another place.”
He led them to the library’s main reference desk, talked to the woman there for a few moments and then stepped behind the counter, logged on the computer and started typing. A minute later he looked disappointed. “No Beadles have been checked out. In fact, no books at all have been checked out by library personnel in over four months.”
While they all were standing there, Rachel Jeffries walked by. She was the conservator Caleb had brought the Beadle dime novel containing the highlights to for repair.
She said, “Oh, hello, Caleb, I didn’t think you came in on weekends anymore.”
“Hi, Rachel, just doing some research.”
“I’m trying to catch up on some backlog at conservation. I popped over here to meet with someone on a project I’m doing. Oh, while I have you, I wanted to let you know that the Beadle you gave me to work on had just recently been returned to the vault after repairs.”
“What?” Caleb said, stunned.
“It had some back cover damage and a few loose pages. When I looked up its conservation history, I was really surprised because, like I said, it had just been brought back to the vault. Any idea how it was damaged again?”
“When exactly had it been brought back to the vault?” Caleb asked, ignoring her question.
“Why, the day before you gave it to me.”
“Rachel, hang on a minute.” Caleb started tapping on the computer keyboard again. He was looking for how many Beadles had been sent to conservation in the recent past. His answer came back quickly as the software churned through the data.
“Thirty-six Beadles repaired over the last two years,” he said to the others. Next he checked the records for books Jewell English and Norman Janklow had requested, together with all books that had gone to the conservation department over the last six months. He found that Jewell English had requested 70 percent of the Beadles that had been repaired in the last six months. And she’d requested them on the exact day they had come back from conservation. He found a similar pattern for Norman Janklow.
He told the others the results of his search. “The Beadles require a lot of preservation work because they were so cheaply made.”
Stone, whose mind had raced ahead of the others, looked at Rachel Jeffries. “Can you tell us which conservator repaired that particular Beadle?”
“Oh, sure, it was Monty Chambers.”
Stone and the others started running down the long corridor.
Caleb called back over his shoulder, “Rachel, I love you.”
She immediately blushed but managed to say, “Caleb, you know I’m married. But maybe we can have a drink sometime.”
“Do you know where Chambers lives?” Stone asked Caleb as they ran out onto the street.
Caleb nodded. “It’s actually not too fa
r from here.” They hailed two cabs and sped off. Fifteen minutes later the cabs slowed as they turned onto a quiet residential street lined with old row houses that were in good repair. Each had a small square of front yard enclosed by two-foot-high wrought-iron railings.
“This area looks familiar for some reason,” Stone said.
“There are a lot of neighborhoods just like this one around here,” Caleb explained.
They climbed out of the cabs, and Caleb led them up to one of the homes. The brick was painted blue and the shutters were coal black. Flowers sat in pots on the windowsill.
“You’ve been here before, obviously,” Stone said, and Caleb nodded.
“Monty has a workshop at home where he repairs books freelance. I’ve referred several people to him. He’s even repaired a couple of my books. I can’t believe he’d be mixed up in something like this. He’s the best conservator LOC has, been there for decades.”
“Everyone has their price, and a conservator would be the perfect person to doctor the books,” Stone remarked, looking cautiously at the front of the house. “I doubt that he’s hanging around here, but you never know. Reuben and I will knock on the door while you all stay back.”
The knock prompted no response. Stone glanced around. There was no one on the street. “Give me some cover, Reuben,” he said.
Reuben turned around and placed his wide body between Stone and the street. A minute later the lock clicked open. Stone went in first, followed by Reuben. The main floor revealed nothing of interest. The furniture was old, but hardly antique, the pictures on the walls were prints, the refrigerator had some old takeout in it, the dishwasher was empty. The two bedrooms upstairs yielded little of interest. Some slacks, shirts and jackets hung in one closet, underwear and socks in the small bureau. The bathroom held the usual items, though Stone picked up a couple objects with a puzzled look. The medicine cabinet held the typical assortment of prescriptions and toiletries. They found nothing that might indicate where Chambers had gone.
When they got back downstairs, the others were standing in the foyer.
“Anything?” Caleb asked anxiously.
Stone answered, “You mentioned a workshop?”
“Lower level.”
They trooped down and searched through Chambers’ work space. It had all the things one would expect to see in a book conservator’s arsenal and nothing else.
“Dead end,” Reuben proclaimed.
The lower level was a walk-out, and Stone glanced out the window. “Opens into an alleyway with a row of buildings on the other side.”
“So?” Reuben said irritably. “I doubt a fleeing traitor would be lurking in an alley waiting for the feds to show up.”
Stone opened the door, stepped out and looked up and down the alley. “Wait here!” He ran down the alley, turned the corner and disappeared from view. When he returned a few minutes later, his eyes were gleaming.
Reuben was watching his friend closely. “You remembered why this place looks familiar. You’ve been here before?”
“We’ve all been here before, Reuben.”
CHAPTER 67
STONE LED THEM AROUND THE corner and down the street along the front of the row houses that backed to the alley opposite Chambers’ home. Stone stopped in the middle of the block and motioned the others to stay put as he stared upward at something on the building they were in front of.
“Good Lord,” Caleb said, looking around and realizing where he was. “I didn’t recognize it in the daytime.”
“Caleb, ring the bell,” Stone instructed.
Caleb did so and a deep voice said, “Yes, who is it?”
Stone motioned to Caleb. “Oh, it’s me, Mr. Pearl, Caleb Shaw. I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about the Psalm Book.”
“I am not open. My hours are clearly posted on the sign.”
“It’s very urgent,” Caleb said. “Please? It won’t take long.”
A long moment passed and then they heard a click. Caleb pulled the door open and they all went inside. When Vincent Pearl appeared a moment later, he was not dressed in long robes, but in black pants, white shirt and a green work apron. His long hair was disheveled and his beard untidy. He appeared startled to see the others with Caleb and said angrily, “I’m very busy right now, Shaw. I cannot drop everything simply because you show up unannounced.”
Stone stepped forward. “Where’s Albert Trent? In the back room?”
Pearl gaped at him. “Excuse me? Who?”
Stone pushed past him, kicked open the door to the back room and went in. He came out a minute later. “Upstairs, then?”
“What the hell are you doing?” Pearl screamed. “I’ll call the police.”
Stone darted past him for the spiral stairs and motioned for Reuben to follow him upstairs. “Watch out, Foxworth might be with him.” The pair disappeared upstairs, and a minute later the others heard screams and a struggle. Then the noise abruptly stopped, and Stone and Reuben marched downstairs holding firmly to Albert Trent.
They threw the man in a chair, and Reuben stood next to him. The intelligence committee staffer looked thoroughly beaten, but Reuben still growled, “Just give me an excuse to snap your scrawny neck.”
Stone turned to face Pearl, who, unlike Trent, had lost none of his composure.
“I have no idea what you think you’re doing,” Pearl said as he lifted the apron over his shoulders. “This man is a friend of mine, and he’s here at my invitation.”
“Where’s Chambers?” Caleb blurted out. “Is he here at your invitation too?”
“Who?” Pearl said.
Caleb looked exasperated. “Monty Chambers.”
“He’s right here, Caleb,” Stone said. He reached over and tugged hard on Pearl’s beard. It started to come off. With his other hand Stone moved to grab a chunk of the bushy hair, but Pearl stopped him.
“Please allow me.” He pulled first the beard and then the wig off, revealing a smooth, bald head.
Stone said, “To really hide your identity, don’t leave a hairbrush and shampoo in the bathroom. Bald men rarely need those items.”
Pearl sat down heavily in a chair and ran his hand along the fake hair. “I’d wash this and my beard in the sink and then brush them out. It was a pain, but there you are. Much of life is a pain.”
Caleb was still staring at Vincent Pearl, who was now Monty Chambers.
“I can’t believe I never saw that you two were one and the same man.”
“The disguise was very effective, Caleb,” Stone said. “Hair and a beard, different type of glasses, the added weight, unusual clothes. It all adds up to a very unique look. And by your own admission you’d seen Pearl privately here at the shop only twice before. And only at night, and the lighting is not that good.”
Caleb nodded. “And you spoke very little at the library. And when you did, your voice was high and squeaky. So which came first,” he demanded, “Vincent Pearl or Monty Chambers?”
Pearl smiled weakly. “Monty Chambers is my real name. Vincent Pearl was simply my alter ego.”
“Why have one at all?” Stone asked.
At first Chambers appeared reluctant to answer. But finally, he shrugged and said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I used to be an actor, in my youth. I loved dressing up, playing the role. But my talent outstripped my opportunities, I guess you could say. My other passion was books. As a young man I apprenticed with an excellent conservator and learned the trade. I was hired by the library and had the beginnings of a good career. But I also wanted to collect books. And the salary at the library didn’t allow for that. So I became a rare book dealer. I certainly had the knowledge and experience. But who would engage a humble conservator at the library for that? Not the rich, which was the clientele I was aiming for. So I invented someone they would pursue with vigor: Vincent Pearl, theatrical, mysterious, infallible.”
“And whose shop was only open at night to accommodate his day job,” Stone added.
“I bought thi
s shop because it was across the alley from my home. I could put on my disguise and walk out the door and into my shop a new man. It worked very well. Over the years my reputation as a dealer flourished.”
“How do you go from book dealer to spy?” Caleb asked, his voice trembling. “How do you go from book conservator to someone who kills people?”
Trent spoke up. “Don’t say anything! They have nothing on us.”
“We have the codes,” Milton said.
“No, you don’t,” Trent sneered. “If you’d had them, you’d have gone to the police.”
“E, w, h, f, w, s, p, j, e, m, r, t, i, z. Shall I go on?” Milton asked politely.
They all looked at him, dumbfounded.
Caleb said, “Milton, why didn’t you tell us before?”
“I didn’t think it mattered, because we didn’t have the proof in the book. But I read the highlighted letters before they vanished. And once I see something, I never forget it,” he said helpfully to the stunned Trent. “Anyway, it just occurred to me that since I remembered all the letters, the authorities could try and decrypt it once I told them.”
Chambers looked at Trent and shrugged. “Albert’s father and I were friends, meaning friends with me as Monty Chambers. When he passed away, I became a father figure to Albert, I guess, or at least a mentor. This was years ago. Albert came back to Washington after he finished school, and joined the CIA. He and I had talks over the years about the spy world. Then he moved to the Hill. And we had more discussions. By this
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