by Steve Berry
“You a lawyer?”
“Hell, no, they’re useless. I’m just a guy who’s read an awful lot on one subject. Read several hundred books on the same thing and you’ll get a feel for how much the so-called experts don’t know.”
“So what’s the way to win the fight?”
“Let me tell you what I found in Tennessee.”
He listened as Howell told him about a trip to Knoxville that a friend of his made about a month ago, to the state archives. They picked the state at random, one of 42 that supposedly ratified the 16th Amendment. In his certification declaration of 1913, Secretary of State Philander Knox noted that Tennessee approved the 16th Amendment on April 7, 1911. Records showed that the amendment itself was transmitted for action to the governor on January 13, 1911. On January 25 a ratification resolution was introduced in the state senate.
“Right there,” Howell said, “we found a problem. A provision of the Tennessee Constitution specifically said that no constitutional amendment could be introduced for ratification unless the legislature in office at the time was elected after the amendment had been submitted. Don’t ask me why they have that rule. It’s weird, I know. But it was state law at the time. In their constitution, no less. But they just ignored it and plowed ahead.”
Howell then explained how the Tennessee legislature violated its own procedural rules, which provided that bills be read once, on three different days, in the House, then if passed submitted to the Senate for consideration.
And vice versa.
“That wasn’t done with this ratification resolution. Even more serious, the Tennessee Constitution at the time forbade the legislature from conveying any new taxing powers on anyone that affected the people of the state. Yet they did it anyway, giving Congress the power to tax income without appropriation. That was definitely new. Then, to cap it off, there’s no record that the state senate ever voted on ratification. Zero. Not a thing. So how did it get approved? And how did the U.S. secretary of state notch Tennessee in the yes column?”
The lawyer inside Malone searched for a loophole, some straw to grasp that might explain those errors, but there were none. Legislation had to be passed precisely according to law. To omit or ignore any part of the process would be absolutely fatal. And with a proposed constitutional amendment? “Almost” would never be good enough.
“And get this,” Howell said. “There’s not a single sheet of original documentation about any of that anywhere in the Tennessee archives. It’s all gone. My friend pieced this together from secondary sources, and a real helpful clerk who knew her way around those old records.”
“So none of that does you a bit of good.”
Howell shook his head. “Not a drop. I need evidence. I think that other memo, the one Larks could not find, is my ticket to freedom. Before I was indicted, I made fifty-plus Freedom of Information requests to the feds. Most of the stuff they gave me was useless, but every once in a while I’d get a tidbit here and there. That friend of mine, he’s since made trips to four other state capitols, searched their archives and found the same thing. Sometimes there’d be original paperwork, but most times it was gone. As if someone came along and cleaned it out. In some of the records you could see where pages had been razor-cut out of minute books.”
He shifted the information into context and allowed it to float loosely through his mind.
Things were beginning to make sense.
And his problem had grown.
* * *
Kim read the memorandum that Paul Larks had provided to the American Treasury secretary.
I have made a careful examination of all documents relative to any claim of moneys owed to the heirs of Haym Salomon. It appears that documentation of the debts was in fact turned over, by Salomon’s widow, to the Pennsylvania treasurer in 1785. That documentation ultimately made its way to Alexander Hamilton, who seems to have taken no action relative to it. Those papers remained in the national archives until the latter part of the 19th century, when they were returned to the Treasury Department, along with several thousand other records. But they are no longer contained within Treasury archives, whether classified or not. Without the actual commercial instruments, signed by the requisite parties, there is no way to properly evaluate whether any claim of repayment to the heirs of Haym Salomon is valid.
Contained, though, within the scant few documents that do mention the Salomon claim was some disturbing information relative to the 16th Amendment to the Constitution. Of particular note was a memorandum from the then solicitor general to the then secretary of state, Philander Knox, which specifically states that there were concerns associated with the ratification process. There was a specific reference to the state of Kentucky. So, in an effort to test the validity of what was written, I personally traveled to Frankfort and examined what records existed in the Kentucky archives. That investigation revealed that the resolution for ratification of the 16th Amendment passed in the state house (first on January 26, 1910, then again on February 10, 1910) and the one considered in the state senate (first on February 9, 1910, then again on February 11, 1910) were different in wording. Even more disturbing, the actual vote for ratification in the state senate (which occurred for the last time on February 11, 1910) was 9 for and 22 against. But the transmittal memorandum from Kentucky to the secretary of state indicated that the vote for ratification in the state senate was 27 for and 2 against. Incredibly, though rejected, the ratification measure actually made its way out of the state senate and to the governor’s desk. But the measure was vetoed (on February 11, 1910). Never again was ratification considered by the Kentucky legislature. No override of that veto occurred. Yet Kentucky is noted as having ratified the 16th Amendment on February 8, 1910. My visit to the state archives also brought to light one other disturbing fact. Many of the original records are missing. House and senate journal entries, the actual ratification resolution, and the governor’s veto message are no longer there. What I learned came from unofficial secondary sources.
It is clear to me that Kentucky may have never validly ratified the 16th Amendment. This fact was brought to the attention of Secretary of State Knox, who, in 1913, apparently made no attempt to investigate the matter. Knox seems to have ignored a previous communication from the solicitor general that outlined even more concerns. That particular memorandum, which would be dated February 13, 1913, could not be located in our archives. I recommend that this entire question be given a full and complete inquiry.
He glanced up at Hana. “It seems, my dear, that we may have some of what we came for.”
He found the only original page among all of the copies.
A single mangled sheet.
In his conversations with Larks, before he was apparently perceived as a threat, Larks had told him about a crumpled piece of paper with numbers. Some kind of code that Anan Wayne Howell thought had been given to the American president Franklin Roosevelt by Andrew Mellon. Was what he now held that same piece of paper? The key? That’s how Larks had said Howell described it. What else could it be?
“Have you given thought to our exit from this boat?” he asked her.
She nodded.
He listened as she explained.
The woman named Jelena lay on the bed, still half dazed from the drugs Hana had administered.
But he’d brought some stimuli along, too.
“Wake her up enough that we can lead her,” he said. “We’ll take her with us. She could come in handy.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Malone ticked off his options, deciding on the best course. He imagined Kim was ensconced within one of the ferry’s many cabins. It wouldn’t be hard to determine which one. A hundred euros to one of the stewards should garner the information. He doubted the booking was under Kim’s real name, but how many fifty-plus-year-old Koreans could there be on board? Someone had seen him or maybe helped with luggage. He’d find that someone. If not, he’d just wait at the gangway.
“Larks got into a lot
of trouble,” Howell was saying. “That memo from 1913, where the secretary of state was told by the solicitor general of concerns, is compelling. Kentucky was specifically mentioned. Larks went to Kentucky and found problems, just like my friend discovered in Tennessee. He also found missing originals. When he reported this, Larks was ordered to forget everything he saw and knew. But the old man wouldn’t let it go. Finally they made him sign a nondisclosure agreement and retired him out. He had no choice—it was either that or lose his pension.”
“But Larks told you everything.”
Howell nodded. “And he was bringing the proof so I could do something about it.”
The drone of the engines dulled and the ship slowed. He’d already noticed Croatia out the windows, a few miles away, indicating that they were approaching their destination.
“We’ll be docking soon,” he said.
“What do you plan to do?”
That was a good question, but he wanted Howell to know, “If what you’re saying is true, I’ll make sure it doesn’t get buried.”
“And that should make me feel better?”
He debated whether to tell Howell about a presidential pardon, then decided to hold that piece of information a little longer.
Klaxon horns dinned out an alarm.
A low murmur of concern swept through the room.
The harsh shout of a technical voice echoed through the ship.
“Fuoco. Fuoco.”
Fire.
* * *
Kim led the way, Hana behind him helping along the dazed woman, who could barely walk. They’d decided to leave their luggage to the flames. Personal belongings were the least of his concerns. Getting off this ferry before it docked—that was what mattered—and with the black satchel, which he cradled in his arms along with another carry bag for his laptop and a few essentials.
Hana had reconnoitered the decks in Venice after they’d boarded, preparing in case a hasty retreat became necessary. Before leaving the cabin, they’d set fire to the bedsheets, towels, furniture, and their extra clothing. The blaze had quickly gathered strength. He admired her ingenuity. What a perfect distraction.
They’d made their way up two decks to where the ship’s lifeboats hung from davits. Compact and modular, each vessel was about five meters long, totally enclosed, painted a bright orange and white. Winches controlled their release, the controls at deck level, easily accessible.
Fire alarms sounded throughout the ship.
He stared out toward shore. A storm was brewing. Thick clouds had begun to leak rain and an easterly breeze, cold and cutting like a scythe, kicked up whitecaps. They were several kilometers west from Zadar, just past a series of archipelagoes that shielded the harbor from open sea. He approached one of the control panels where lights flashed, the switches surely activated by the alarm. They were labeled in Italian and English. People rushed past him on the deck, no one giving him any pause. He flicked one of the toggles labeled LOADING. The davit pivoted out, then its winches lowered the boat to deck level. Hana led the woman inside the enclosed cabin. He followed. He assumed there were controls inside for deployment—and there were, a set nearly identical to the outside control panel.
The ferry had slowed to a near stop.
He activated DROP and the lifeboat lowered quickly.
The moment the keel struck the turbulent water he flicked RELEASE, and they were free of the ferry.
Hana laid the woman on one of the shiny, high-backed benches. The interior was roomy, able to hold maybe twenty or more people. He watched as Hana pressed a button and the engines fired. She then threw open the throttle and spun the wheel.
And they were away.
* * *
Malone sprang to his feet and motioned for Howell to come, too. No way that a fire alarm had just happened to go off. The entire ferry shuddered as the screws changed tempo and reversed. Raised voices came from some of the crew who ordered everyone to stay calm. He made his way outside. One of the deckhands rushed by and he asked in Italian, “What’s happening?”
“Fire below.”
“Jelena,” Howell muttered.
He agreed. This most likely involved her. Then he noticed something aft. One of the lifeboats was dropping on its winch lines to the water. No command to abandon the ship had been given. He raced that way and arrived just as the boat freed itself and motored away. Its side hatch lay open and a face appeared, just for an instant, before an arm reached out and closed the portal.
Kim Yong Jin.
“I thought you told me there was nowhere for him to go,” Howell said.
“I was wrong.”
His eyes studied the remaining lifeboats. Why not? Worked once.
Howell seemed to read his mind. “Not without Jelena. I’m not leaving her.”
He was not in the mood. “You can either come the easy way or come the hard way.”
And he meant it. He’d beat this man unconscious and throw him on the boat if he had to. Howell seemed to sense there was no choice and nodded.
He pushed the younger man ahead of him and they rushed to a panel that controlled another of the lifeboats. Smoke had begun to bellow from the bow of the ship. People rushed back and forth, panicked at the threatening sight. A uniformed crew member appeared and yelled in Italian for him to get away from the controls. He ignored the command and lowered the boat to deck level, motioning for Howell to hop inside. The crew member pushed his way through the crowd and wrapped an arm around Malone’s neck, yanking him back.
He had no time for this, and jabbed an elbow into his attacker’s ribs.
Once. Twice.
The neck hold released.
He spun and slammed his right fist into the crewman’s jaw, sending the man to the deck. A few of the passengers bent down to help. He used that moment to hop into the lifeboat and slam the hatch shut, locking it from the inside. He found the interior controls and hit the DROP button.
They fell fast and settled in the pitching surf.
He released the winch lines and started the engines.
* * *
Isabella exited the taxi, while Luke Daniels paid the driver. They’d made the short trip along traffic-clogged streets in just under twenty minutes. Their travel bags, along with Malone’s, had been left in lockers at the airport. They’d worry about them later. Right now, that ferry was their primary concern.
Zadar seemed a study in contrast. The suburbs were more modern with industrial parks and commercial zones, the old town filled with churches, monuments, and Roman ruins. Its historical center, a matrix of red-tiled low-slung buildings surrounded by thick stone walls, occupied a rectangular-shaped peninsula about three miles long and a mile wide, which jutted into the bay. A causeway connected it to the mainland. On the landing approach to the airport she’d noticed that the harbor was sheltered from the open sea by a series of islands, arranged in rows parallel to the coastline. The crenulated outlines of deep coves and inlets marred their shores. They stood outside the old town walls, at the peninsula’s tip, where ships docked. That storm she’d feared had arrived, a cold, gray murk enveloping. The bare limbs of nearby trees shivered in a stiff breeze. Out in the bay, a mile or so away, she spotted the ferry and heard a siren.
“That’s an alarm,” Daniels said.
Smoke seeped from the ship’s forward section, quickly seized by the wind. Something was wrong. They spotted a lifeboat drop to the water and motor off.
“I’ll give you two-to-one odds who’s in that boat,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“My bet is that’s Kim’s escape. He had to get the hell off that thing before it docked.”
“How did he manage to steal a boat? That should not have been possible.”
“Are you that naïve? Or just stupid? It’s everybody for themselves out here. You do what you gotta do.”
“I don’t work that way. Never have. Never will.”
He shook his head in seeming disgust.
Another
lifeboat dropped to the water.
“And I know who stole that one,” Daniels said.
He found his cell phone and dialed.
Wind swirled the misty rain across the bay like ghosts. Cold stung her face. They should find shelter, but Luke Daniels did not move, his attention locked on the two orange boats as they distanced themselves from the ferry, headed north, away from town. When the call was answered she could hear thanks to Daniels activating the speaker.
“Pappy, is that you in one of those boats?”
“It’s me. Kim’s ahead of us.”
“We’re on shore,” Daniels said. “At the dock. I got Wonder Woman here with me.”
She resented his condescending attitude and the insult she knew some of her co-workers at Treasury used for her.
“Kim’s got the documents,” Malone said. “We can’t let him get away. There’s an original in there we have to get back.”
She caught the significance of what Malone had managed to learn, which amplified her containment problem.
“I may not be able to catch up to him,” Malone said. “These tubs are not rigged for speed. Can you pace him from dry land?”
Daniels’ gaze drifted from the dancing waves to the shoreline on their right, which ran in a jagged course northward where buildings and pinewoods strung close. A sheltered marina was visible, maybe two miles away.
But she saw it, too.
A highway rimmed the coast for as far she could see, sandy beaches between it and the water.
“I got it, Pappy. We’ll be right with you.”
THIRTY-FIVE
VIRGINIA
Stephanie drove the car away from Ed Tipton’s house. As requested, they’d shut off the house lights and locked the front door behind them. Danny had borrowed $20 from her and tucked it beneath Tipton’s phone to compensate for the overseas calls. She’d thought it strange, but typical. He didn’t like to owe anyone.
