The Willard

by LeAnne Burnett Morse

  She was still staring at him without comprehension.

  “Don’t you see Catherine? That was the tear. Without your interference, the flag bunting would have been smooth and Booth would have achieved his daring leap unscathed. It was his boot that ultimately gave him away. Think back to your history. Because of the broken leg, Booth sought care from Dr. Samuel Mudd during his escape. Eventually the boot, with his name inside for all to see, was discovered by authorities and led them to Booth and helped unravel the conspiracy. If he had not snagged his foot on the fabric and broken the leg he might have gotten away with murder and possibly built support for his goal of restarting the war. Your actions made sure he wasn’t able to make a clean break of it, so to speak.”

  Catherine was in disbelief and started firing off questions in what seemed to be an attempt to continue to pin the blame on her own actions. At every turn, Chase was able to reassure her that her role had been much different than she thought. She was beginning to cry again, but this time the tears were of a different type. “Are you saying you’re absolutely sure I’m not responsible for the president’s death?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, my dear. You most certainly are not. You are, however, responsible for the broken leg that led to the discovery of the assassin.”

  Catherine was finally crying with full force, but the relief in her eyes was palpable. She and Chase talked for another hour going over all the facts he knew about the situation. They stopped briefly while he had the lady’s maid come and help her get cleaned up and into a comfortable lounging dress and robe. He returned a few minutes later with a tray of food and more tea. She was in much higher spirits.

  “Mr. Chase, I’m sorry I took my anger out on you. I was so torn about what I thought I had caused. I’m still not sure how I feel about my decision to try and influence Mrs. Grant, but I’m so relieved to know that wasn’t the deciding factor,” she told him.

  “Ms. Parker, (they were back to formalities again it seemed), these things are never easy. And you cannot blame yourself for doing what you thought you had to do in an impossible situation. We are only human after all,” he reassured her.

  “Are you, Mr. Chase? Are you only human?”

  “Indeed, Ms. Parker. I won’t trouble you with the specifics of my strange existence, but I assure you, I am only human. Now, you must be famished and I’ve brought you some of the chef’s most delightful creations. Do sit and have something to eat,” he urged.

  “Thank you for bringing this. It looks delicious, but what I need more than anything right now is some rest. I think I’ll relax for a little while and then I’ll find you and you can tell me what happens next. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. I’m utterly exhausted,” she responded.

  “Of course, Ms. Parker.” Chase reached for the door, but turned to face Catherine once more. “It has been a pleasure getting to know you. You are an extraordinary woman with a bright future ahead of you,” he said with genuine emotion.

  “Thank you, Mr. Chase. I do, of course, hope that future involves motor vehicles and the Internet. I’ll see you in a couple of hours and you can tell me where I might find 2016.”

  “Sleep well, Ms. Parker.” He closed the door.

  Catherine put the chain on the door and laid her robe across the chair. She crawled between the cotton sheets and snuggled her weary head into the feather pillow. Two nights without sleep and the spectacular events she had experienced had drained all her energy. Her last thought before falling asleep was of Laura Keene.

  I hope you’re okay. I’ll find you tomorrow and make sure.

  And with her friend’s wellbeing considered, Catherine fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER 72

  TOM KELLY

  1962

  When Ethan returned from delivering the latest message to the White House, Tom was nowhere to be found. It was almost dinner time and the sun was hanging low in the sky. Ethan waited outside the door of Tom’s suite for a few minutes and then went to find Edward Chase. The concierge knew where Tom was, but didn’t think he should share the information with Ethan in case the boy felt obligated to tell others.

  At that same time, Tom was getting out of a taxi at National Airport. Chase had arranged a flight for him and he had just minutes to make it before the plane left the gate. An hour later, he felt the wheels touch down and he sprinted down the jetway as soon as the plane door was opened. After another cab ride he stood on the sidewalk and pushed a button to gain entrance to an apartment building two blocks from the vaunted university. He pushed the buttons for residents on the third floor and below so he wouldn’t alert those on the upper floors. Someone buzzed him inside and he took the elevator to the fifth floor. When he arrived at apartment 512, he gave three short knocks, paused, and gave four more short knocks in a distinctive pattern. There was no answer. He made a second attempt and when he still got no answer he put his shoulder into the door with all the force he had in him until it broke open.

  The professor’s apartment was just as he had imagined it would be. There were books everywhere. They were on shelves and tables and in stacks on the floor. A lingering smell of pipe smoke hung in the air along with the musty smell of the books. Everything was neat and orderly except for a hastily arranged pile of discarded papers on a table by the radiator. To anyone else the letters and numbers on them could have been anything or nothing at all. To Tom they were proof that he was in the right place. He was standing in the private home of Professor Anatoly Volkov. Only he wasn’t in New Haven, Connecticut. He was on 115th street in New York City, just blocks from Columbia University. A trash can on the floor held remnants of burned papers and Tom was sure Volkov would have burned the rest if he hadn’t left in a hurry. Where was the professor? Better yet, who was the professor? To Tom he had been friend, but now he feared that all along he had actually been foe.

  Tom had stood in this room before, two years ago. At the time he was meeting with an informant who was passing along information Tom would need while traveling in the Soviet Union posing as an Argentinian citizen. The man he had met was definitely not the same person he’d been speaking with on the telephone, not the man who called himself Volkov. His contact had told him this was his sister’s apartment that he used when he needed to have in-person meetings in the city. He said her husband was an administrator at Columbia and that she taught literature in a public high school. Now that Tom thought back on it he realized it should have seemed strange that a person in a covert organization would offer so much tangential information about his own family. At the time it didn’t strike him strangely because Tom was just a writer looking for a story he could make a movie about. He thought they were being honest with him—that they understood he was one of the good guys.

  How incredibly stupid I was. I thought this nice Russian spy was making small talk with me when he was really hiding his trail. And I bought every word.

  Everything had clicked when Ethan pulled the four messages from the table and put them aside in a group. Tom noticed something about the typeface of those four. There was something wrong with the letter “H.” Part of the upper left of the letter was missing and it looked sort of like a straight-backed chair against a right-hand wall. When he met with his contact, who had called himself Minsky, the written information he had been given had this identical problem with the letter. It had bugged Tom when he came across it on page after page so he had started drawing in the missing section whenever he saw one. In all the correspondence he had ever seen from Back Channel the deformed “H” had never reappeared, until today.

  Tom searched through closets until he found a loose board in the floor of the one in the hallway. He opened it and found two teletype machines. One was clearly newer and in better condition than the other. However, he realized quickly that particular machine had a space bar problem; it was jammed and couldn’t be used. That must have been the primary machine. The older machine had not been maintained well and he wasn’t sure it would even
work. Tom stuck the corner of a sheet of paper into the machine and typed an “H.” It was missing the upper left section just like he thought it would.

  Whoever was sending those messages was doing it with this machine, from this apartment. The knot that had been growing in his stomach since Ethan pulled the four messages was getting bigger and bigger. In his gut he knew who the sender was. But how did he know Tom was on to him and where had he gone?

  Tom heard footsteps in the hallway and knew the neighbors would have called the police by now having heard him break down the door. He slipped out the kitchen window and went down the fire escape. Before he left, he took the only possible clue he could find anywhere. It was a university identification card for Dr. Hamish McAdams, Department Chairman, Literature and Letters.

  When he hit the street he ducked through the rear alley and headed for the building that housed the English department. He hoped Dr. McAdams was working late because he was the only link Tom had to the elusive Anatoly Volkov.

  CHAPTER 73

  CALVIN WALKER

  1963

  Southeast Washington D.C.—the evening of the March on Washington, from the police blotter:

  Henry Dockins, aka Fish, was found dead of multiple gunshot wounds in an apartment believed to be the headquarters of a radical group known as Nyeupe Kifo (white death in Swahili) that planned to disrupt the events of the day at the Lincoln Memorial. The attempt was thwarted by police.

  When Fish left them at the event to save his own skin he signed his death warrant. They were brothers-in-arms. Foot soldiers for a cause. Warriors for freedom. They were willing to die for the cause. Their leader may not have been willing but, in the end, he died for it anyway.

  CHAPTER 74

  OLIVIA FORDHAM

  1913

  Olivia pushed and shoved her way through the crowd to the scene of the accident. When she got there she was pleased to see it was not nearly as bad as she’d feared. In fact, the float was still limping along to its place in front of the Treasury Building and the carriage driver had managed to back the horses out of the way. There was no sign of Victoria on top of the float and Olivia looked around frantically for her.

  They didn’t see her, but she saw them. Victoria was standing on the sidewalk supported by James. She was brushing off her dress, but seemed to be none the worse for wear. He was beside himself asking over and over if she was alright.

  Olivia reached them just as she heard Victoria answer his question.

  “Yes, James. I’m okay! Despite the fact that you have nearly run me over twice now!” The two young people laughed as their terrified granddaughter looked on.

  CHAPTER 75

  CATHERINE PARKER

  2016

  Catherine woke slowly, her sleep resisting the pull toward consciousness. She stretched and rubbed her eyes before sitting up in bed. She looked across the room and saw her blue interview suit hanging where she had placed it before her nap the day she arrived. She saw the flat-screen TV and the modern phone by the bed. A glance out the window showed her the Washington Monument was at its full height and surrounded by American flags, not grazing cows.

  It was a dream. The whole thing was just a dream.

  She sat there leaning against the headboard contemplating how it could have been a dream when it was so real. Just then the phone next to the bed rang. She picked it up.

  “Ms. Parker, this is your wake-up call. Your car will be ready to take you to your appointment at two o’clock as promised. Is there anything else I can do for you?” asked the efficient voice.

  “Yes, could you have Mr. Chase come up to my room please?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, whom did you wish to see?”

  “The concierge, Edward Chase,” she answered.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Parker. He’s helping a guest with an urgent matter down near the Treasury Building. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be down to meet the car at two.” She put the phone back in the cradle and grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand. She still had an uneasy feeling, but tried to shake it off as she dressed in her suit and heels and arranged her hair in a professional and flattering knot at the base of her neck. She grabbed her bag and went downstairs to the waiting Town Car.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Parker,” said the driver. “I have the address of your appointment. Traffic is a bit heavy this afternoon, but we’ll be there in plenty of time.”

  She thanked him and settled into the leather seat. A few minutes later they arrived in front of the glass and steel building with the beautiful view of the Capitol. Cameron, Hanson and Smith read the elegant and understated sign above the massive doors.

  Cameron, Hanson and Smith. Lawrence Cameron. She sat there lost in thought while the driver held her door open. She took out her phone and pressed the contact number for their receptionist.

  “I need to reschedule,” she told the driver as she waited for the call to be answered. “Please take me to Ford’s Theatre.”

  CHAPTER 76

  TOM KELLY

  1962

  Tom asked some students where he could find the English department and from there he found a faculty directory that led him to the office of Dr. Hamish McAdams. Walking down the hall he could see the door was ajar and a light was on. From inside the office he heard the sounds of someone hastily moving things about and talking on the phone. Tom peeked through the crack in the doorway and saw a man packing an old valise with the handset of his office phone tucked under his chin as he spoke rapidly. The words were foreign to Tom, but the voice was not. He waited until the man hung up the phone before he pushed the door open and stood face to face with the man as he fastened the buckles on the bag. The man must have heard the creak of the door because he turned around and saw Tom standing there.

  “You don’t look like a Scotsman to me, Anatoly,” Tom calmly said.

  If Volkov was surprised to see Tom standing there he didn’t show it.

  “I’m anyone I need to be, Thomas. I always have been,” the old man said.

  He wasn’t what Tom had expected. Volkov, aka McAdams was short, not more than 5’4”, and he couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. He was stooped over with age and his hands shook slightly as they hung by his side. He looked to be decades older than he should have been, given the timeline of his defection to America. But it was his eyes that fascinated Tom. They were bright green and they nearly danced with life. It was easy to see there was much going on behind those eyes. Whatever his body was lacking he more than made up for with a sharp mind. That part Tom knew well.

  “I don’t know where you think you could run that would be safe, Anatoly. Or Hamish. Or whatever your name is. What you’ve set in motion will ensure that you can’t run far enough, fast enough to save yourself,” Tom said.

  “I’m not trying to save myself, Thomas. I’m too old to run and if you think that’s what this is you aren’t as bright as I thought you were. I’ve been here for forty-two years. I don’t see any reason to leave now.”

  Tom’s head was spinning with mathematical calculations. Something didn’t add up. The professor said he had come to America only fifteen years before, when he was old enough to take on the mantle of protecting the secret organization. The young son of Nicholas’ messenger couldn’t be a man of more than about fifty years of age, but the man before him was clearly much older. And he just said he had been here forty-two years? That means he would have to have come to the United States in 1920, just two years after the assassination of the Tsar.

  Volkov could see that Tom was struggling to make sense of things. Suddenly things began to fall into place. Tom raised his head to look the old man in the eye.

  “It was you. It was you all along,” he said incredulously.

  “Sit, Thomas. I’ll tell you everything. We have nothing to hide anymore and time is short.”

  CHAPTER 77

  CALVIN WALKER

  2016

  W
hen he opened his eyes he was afraid to move. He wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive, in this world or the next. As his surroundings came into focus he pushed himself upright and felt something fall from his chest. He picked up the papers that had fallen and looked at them. Columns and columns of data. Specs for the new software that Diagnosis Digital was having patent problems with.

  Calvin rubbed his eyes and stood up from the chair where he had fallen asleep while reviewing the data. He was standing in his room at the Willard, but he couldn’t understand how that was possible. Only moments earlier he had felt the life drain from his body as he lay on the ground at the Lincoln Memorial. He remembered the searing pain and the hands of strangers as they worked to assess his wounds. He remembered the sound of Dr. King’s voice as he began his iconic speech. Had it all been a dream?

  His cell phone rang from the nightstand where he had put it to charge the night before. He spoke briefly with an assistant back at his office who had a last minute addition for the meeting. She told him she had sent it to his e-mail. There wasn’t even time to change clothes.

  Calvin brushed his teeth and washed his face before stuffing the paperwork in his briefcase and heading for the door. He was still in a daze. As he approached the elevator he remembered his encounter the morning before. Quickly he turned and walked down the hall toward the suite where he had reviewed Dr. King’s speech. When he was several yards from the door of the suite it opened and a couple with two small children walked out. They were dressed for sightseeing and the kids were excitedly talking about going to the air and space museum. Calvin went back to the elevator and rode it down with the family. They were talking about all they had done the day before in the city. Clearly they had not just checked in.

  Edward Chase saw Calvin get off the elevator and he made a move to intercept him before he left the building. He could tell from the look on the man’s face that he was unsettled, but Calvin was so focused on getting outside that he didn’t see the concierge coming toward him and didn’t hear his name called. Chase thought it might be for the best. Calvin probably needed some time to himself to process everything he had seen. Chase would be waiting for him when he returned.