by Alex Myers
Kady was the first to see Jack. She jumped up, ran over, and kissed him hard on the mouth. He was bleeding, barefoot, and dripping wet, and yet his first thought was to look over to the two fathers sitting at the table. Instead of protesting though, they were on their feet and giving Jack a group hug.
“We thought you were dead,” Ken Barnett said.
“So did I,” Jack said.
“But how could you survive that crash?” Frank Sanger asked.
“I jumped off the back before the impact. I was ten feet underwater when the bomb exploded.” Jack looked around. “Where’s Hercules?”
“In my room, crying. He said he was a free man for three days and they were the best three days of his life,” Frank said.
“Is this supposed to be my wake?” Jack asked. Frank and Ken looked especially mournful. Kady was the exception, she was radiant and staring unabashedly at Jack.
“We need to get to Williamsburg,” Ken said.
“I appreciate you coming to help me get my friend,” Jack said.
“It’s more than just about Kazmer. Tell him, Ken,” Frank said.
Ken looked to Kady for confirmation. “When we left today to come here, Abner Adkins and Miles cleaned out the medical facility.”
“What’s the big deal? You said you didn’t have that much going on there anyway?”
Ken Barnett said, “I said we didn’t have much in the way of medical care, but I didn’t mean to imply that there wasn’t much going on there. Let me put it like this: in your medical center, you were trying to cure disease and suffering. In ours, they were trying to cause it.”
“This is sounding pretty bad,” Jack said.
“It is. They were working on biological weapons.”
“This is different from the toxins and poisons they are working on in Williamsburg? Is it stuff like yellow fever and maybe anthrax?”
“Yes, but how did you know?”
Jack remembered that it had always been implied that the confederates used yellow fever in the civil war; this he would keep to himself. “The British used it against the American Indians in the Revolutionary War. It was just a logical jump. How were they going to spread it?”
“One way was infecting freed negroes, so a focus point had to be the Underground Railroad for sure. The Fire-eaters and Wigfall curse that thing. The Fire-eaters are gathering for a meeting in Williamsburg in three days.”
“They’ll be doing it without their boy Winston Creed. Creed, by the way, took his last boat ride tonight, he’s fish food. Plus, did you all see that little steamboat I lit up out there? Miles Drake was driving that boat.”
“We’ve used that little steamboat in the past to get from my place up to the plant in Williamsburg. You can do it in about two and a half hours. Abner wasn’t on that boat?”
“Or Frances?” Frank asked.
“No, just Miles. I bet he was just getting back from taking Abner and Frances up there. Probably coming back to get Creed.” Turning to Ken, Jack asked, “What’s the fastest way to get to Williamsburg?”
“Boat. Just sail right up the James River.”
“I know this might feel like déjà vu, but where can we get a boat?” Jack looked at the clock; it was eleven-thirty at night.
“We can try to hire one in the morning,” Ken said.
“I have a boat,” Frank Sanger said, wincing as he said it. Jack and Ken turned in his direction, eyebrows raised. “It’s true. When I bought the Lady Maryland, I also bought her twin-sister ship, the Lady Baltimore.”
Surprised, Jack asked, “Where is it? I promise not to torch and crash it.”
Everyone chuckled.
“It’s docked a block away from where the Lady Maryland was docked. Remember when I read that message from Captain Sturgis, well it was also signed by Captain Kent. Captain Kent was captain of the Lady Baltimore.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about it last night?” Jack asked.
“You already owe me $4200 for the last ship I let you borrow.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be ramming anybody again soon.”
“You never can tell,” Ken Barnett said and no one laughed.
Hercules started crying again after he was convinced that Jack wasn’t a ghost. “But I saws you blow up, wit my own eyes.”
“Trust me Hercules, if I was a ghost I’d let you know. I could use your help in Williamsburg if you’re willing to go.”
Kady had to be persuaded not to come. After urging from everyone, it finally took a special heartfelt plea from her father to get her to acquiesce. He booked her a room in the Atlantic Hotel and everyone left for the boat.
They arrived at the Lady Baltimore at one in the morning and started loading. The entire cargo consisted of one twenty-shot repeater rifle with no extra ammo, one semi-automatic .45 caliber pistol with a box of fifty shells. There was also one more limpet mine with an ordinary match fuse and the disassembled hang glider and tarp.
The night was brightly lit with the near full moon, but Jack struggled to keep them on track.
Once they cleared Lambert’s Point, Ken Barnett stepped to the wheel to help Jack. “See the light there, that’s Old Comfort Point on Fort Monroe, the one to the right is Fort Wool.”
“That means the James River is over there?” Jack pointed ninety degrees left.
“Yes, first head to White Shoals Lighthouse over there by Newport News, then Point of Shoals Lighthouse in Burwell Bay, and from there we’ll see the Deep Water Shoals Light at Williamsburg. That’s right where the SAC Plant is located.”
The trip took nearly four hours and they all took turns at the wheel, including Hercules, who was scared stiff the entire time. No one went inside to sleep; instead, they all took turns dozing with their backs up against the outside of the pilothouse.
The livery near the docks opened an hour after they got there. They rented a horse for Jack, and a horse and wagonette for the rest of them. The wagonette had a wide padded seat across the front and two long wooden benches along both sides of the back. There were leather coverings on the seats, steps at both front and back, a sun and rain cover, headlamps, and a brake for the driver. Hercules insisted on driving and Ken and Frank sat in the back. It took an hour to cover the three miles to Williamsburg. They pulled into the College Inn at eight o’clock in the morning.
Hercules stayed with the horses and wagon while Jack, Frank, and Ken went inside and found Murphy McCord, Allan Pinkerton, and Senator Steven Brinkley having breakfast. Introductions were made and they moved to a larger table.
“Pinkerton has been here less than a week and it doesn’t take him long to look at a horseshoe. Fill these folks in,” Murphy said.
“Kazmer and Sam are alive and being held captive at the SAC Plant.”
“And this is good information? As of when?” Jack asked.
“As of yesterday at noon, I can even tell you in what room they are holding them. Plus, they have not done any experimentation on Sam yet. Kazmer, I’m not sure. Some kind of new poison or such was going to be coming in this weekend, they were going to use that.”
“I bet it was the yellow fever virus. I bet they were going to infect them and let him come back to our complex,” Jack said.
“You know they are going to do something like that with the negroes, right?” Pinkerton asked.
“Where are you getting your information?”
“Foreman at the prison quit yesterday, after he was attacked for the third time in three days.”
“How are you getting him to talk?” Ken asked.
“He’s talking to anyone that’ll listen, right now. I figure that’ll change when Creed gets back.”
“Creed’s dead, he not coming back.” Pinkerton was going to ask a question and Jack held up a hand, “I’m sure. I killed him.”
“Killed him? How?” Pinkerton asked.
“He ran over him.” Ken tried to hide a smile.
“With horses?” Pinkerton asked.
“With my new
boat, thank you very much.” Frank Sanger smirked.
They told the others of the events leading up to Creed’s demise.
“Has anyone seen Frances?” Frank Sanger asked.
Pinkerton looked to Murphy, who shook his head.
Frank gave him a somber frown.
“No, we haven’t, should we have?”
“She left Norfolk yesterday with Abner Adkins. They would have arrived yesterday afternoon.”
“That’d be her ex-husband, right, Mr. Sanger?” Pinkerton asked.
Frank nodded again.
“We’ve seen Adkins some in the last week. I did see him at the train station late yesterday afternoon. He very well could have been dropping off Miss Sanger, but I assumed he was picking up one of those men from that group.”
“The Fire-eaters?” Jack asked.
“Fire-eaters? No, the Knights of the Golden Circle,” Pinkerton said.
“Do you know anything about this?” Jack said to Ken.
“I’ve never even heard of them,” Ken said.
“They are essentially the same group of people,” Senator Stephen Brinkley said. “General George Bickley, a doctor and adventurer, established the group right here in this room in 1851. It was exactly seven years ago yesterday, at that table over yonder.”
“And you are a member?” Frank Sanger asked.
“Was. Right, Senator?” Jack said.
“You are correct,” Senator Brinkley said. “This meeting in two days hence will be an amalgamation of the Knights of the Golden Circle, the Fire-eaters, and a third group called the Copperheads. These groups have all formed and are the fungus of the corrupt womb of bigotry and fanaticism. And all three have been supported financially by the SAC.”
Pinkerton looked gravely serious. “They are running experiments, which basically amount to torture, on men serving life sentences in prison, stolen slaves, and here’s one for you—they are getting patients from the mental hospital.”
“These men are dangerous and I believe a few are plain evil—Creed, Bickley, Wigfall, and this Abner Adkins. They, and their radical ideas, are why I renounced my association.”
“I need to just ask the question,” Jack said. “Can’t we just call the cops, sheriff or constable, militia or something to help us?”
Everyone at the table looked at Jack as if he was crazy. He held up his hands in defense. “Okay, okay, I just had to ask.”
“These men are doctors, lawyers, politicians, and such—these are not common ruffians. As a Senator, I don’t have as much influence as these men.”
“Well, now that we know what we’re up against, what are we up against?” Jack asked.
“Here is a crude rendering of the facilities based on the recollections of Senator Brinkley.” Pinkerton had two rolls of architectural-type drawings. “The prison side of these have been verified by Leroy Massingale, the foreman from the plant.”
“Let me take a look at those,” Ken Barnett said. “I’ve seen bits and pieces of both sides over the last year and a half. I never was a member, so I didn’t have complete unfettered access, but I have been in both buildings. I designed the locking system for the cells that we’ve since sold to other facilities.”
“When is the meeting?” Jack asked.
“Tuesday at noon. How many are already here?” Ken Barnett added.
“Three or four?” Pinkerton looked at the Senator and Murphy. “That we know of, possibly another six or seven coming.”
“Who can we turn against them, against the violence? There have to be others that feel the direction is wrong.”
“What I think you should do is stick us in, people that have skin in the game, the actual investors or board members. That would be Dale Dudley—I know him from Washington, as do you, Murphy. Robert Rhett would be a good candidate.”
“I know him and like him,” Ken Barnett said.
“There’s Augie Overstreet, he and Louis Wigfall are the only other real investors,” the Senator said.
“I know Augie, real well. I’ll talk to him,” Murphy said.
“Amazing how the people that really have money invested, with the exception of Wigfall, are all extremely moderate? That seems to be the case more often than not,” Frank Sanger said.
“Where do these people stay when they come to town?” Jack asked the Senator.
“Meetings were never really our thing. Creed and Bickley have places here in town, several people stayed at Creed’s Estate. The rest of the people just stayed at lodgings here in town.”
“Abner Adkins has moved into Creed’s Estate,” Pinkerton said.
“Did Creed have a family?”
“None.”
“Let’s find these men,” Jack said. “They can’t all be murderers, but be careful, because some of them are.”
CHAPTER 24
Sunday, July 5, 1857
Eastern Lunatic Asylum
They all checked into the College Inn. Jack, Ken, and Frank all got their own rooms. When it was suggested that Hercules stay in the slave quarters in the stable building, Murphy McCord would have none of it. Murphy declared to the hotel staff that Hercules was his personal servant, and that not only would he stay in the room, he could come and go as he pleased.
Jack and Pinkerton went to scope out the SAC Plant and Winston Creed’s residence, which Abner Adkins was now occupying. Frank Sanger was trying his best to determine if Frances truly left town. He also sent a number of telegrams. Ken Barnett and Senator Brinkley tried to find Robert Rhett, Dale Dudley, or Augie Overstreet.
Hercules and Murphy McCord entered into the strangest of relationships; the two men, of nearly the same age, had an instant friendship. A friendship that was cursed to end too soon.
“Every day, including yesterday, a Saturday, they’ve brought a patient here from the Eastern Lunatic Asylum at exactly at one o’clock.”
“That’s really what they call it? A lunatic asylum?” Jack asked.
“That’s what it is,” Allan Pinkerton said. “Same wagon, same driver, one patient, always at one o’clock. Leroy Massingale, the disgruntled foreman, said they have about thirty patients in the plant, all extremely violent. Not all men, I might add.”
“It’s been my experience that those female lunatics are worse.”
“Really?”
“Pink, I’m just kidding,” Jack said.
Pinkerton didn’t smile. “There are about three hundred lunatics at any one time at the asylum, and that number seems to be constant. The asylum has been shipping their most violent patients here, even before this new section was built.” He gestured at the prison part of the plant.
“And no one ever comes out, no one ever leaves?”
“Not one lunatic, not one prisoner, not one slave.”
“Like they used to say about the Hotel California,” Jack said.
Pinkerton shook his head and looked back toward the plant.
They were on the high ring of land that surrounded three sides of the prison like a horseshoe. The height of the ridge ranged from fifty to seventy-five feet high, and its inside cliff of granite fell to within a mere fifty feet of the building. It was the highest piece of land on the Peninsula.
Each of the three sides had a guard positioned at the inside corner and two guards manned the gate. The gate was in between the two wings and had an interior courtyard that served as a loading dock for both buildings. There was a covered walkway between the second floor of the factory and the top floor of the prison. Underneath the walkway was an enclosed storage area and stables.
They hid their positions on top of the ridge by ducking from one giant boulder to another. The guards down below never once looked up, having resigned themselves that the cliff was an impenetrable barrier. There was one door where a stairwell exited to the rooftop. One more guard, one that appeared rather fat and rather sleepy, sat unmoving, staring down at the gate section.
“I think he’s snoozing,” Jack said.
“Um-hum. And do you have
a way to get from here to there and there to here?”
“Yep, and funny things are everywhere.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s Dr. Seuss, from One Fish, Two Fish.”
“I don’t really see how a Doctor and fish are going to help,” Pinkerton said.
“It’s just a joke, I’m trying to lighten things up. I killed people yesterday; this is a prison where they are experimenting on lifers, slaves, and psychopaths. I think I might be having an allergic reaction.”
“Does this have anything to do with where you’re from?”
Jack stopped cold in his tracks. “Where I’m from? What do you mean, where I’m from?”
“Let’s don’t kid each other. My job is to observe. Am I just supposed to ignore all the little odd things about you, your vernacular, your gestures, to say nothing about your revolutionary ideas and inventions. I just don’t know why you try to hide it.”
Jack turned his head and looked at Pinkerton. “Really?”
“Really, it seems like you would shout it from the rooftops.”
The Dr. Seuss comment had to be what gave it away. He completely trusted Allan; maybe it was time to come clean. It would make some things easier. Like explaining the Rogallo Wing could carry more weight. “Okay, I’m going to get to that rooftop by flying over there with a flying wing I developed.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Wow, Jack thought, this was a lot easier. “Not surprised because of where I’m—“
“From, yes, because of where you’re from.”
He should have told Pinkerton a long time ago. He couldn’t wait to tell him about the future…
“Because you are an alien.”
What! Pinkerton thinks that I’m a spaceman?
“I just can’t figure out if you’re from Europe or Scandinavia.”
Relief. Wrong kind of alien. Darn.
“Pink, I’m from here in Virginia. I’m just an American.”
“If you’re being honest, okay, but I thought I was on to something.”
