The guy seemed to understand.
Though it was pushing three AM the front desk was manned and ready. A room was available but, before he headed up, a twenty-dollar tip bought him entrance to the locked business center. Inside, with the door closed, he rubbed his temples, closed his eyes, and tried to empty his mind. His body was drained with fatigue but, even though he understood the risk he was about to take, he had to do it.
He tapped the keyboard and found the email he’d sent to himself.
HALE STARED AT THE ACCUSED TRAITOR. ONE OF ADVENTURE’S crew, a man who’d been with the company for only eight years. Not one of the generationals, but a trusted associate nonetheless. A trial had been immediately convened-presided over, as specified in the Articles, by the quartermaster. Hale, along with the rest of Adventure’s crew, served as jury.
“My contact in the NIA bragged they had a spy among us,” Knox said. “He knew all about today’s execution aboard Adventure.”
“Exactly what do they know?” Hale asked.
“That your accountant is at the bottom of the Atlantic. The names of the crewmen who tossed him, and all the others on board. All of them, yourself included, being guilty of willful murder.”
He saw how those words sent a shiver through the jury, each one of them now implicated. This was justice at its purest. Men who lived, fought, died, and sat in judgment together.
“What say you?” Knox asked the accused. “Do you deny this?”
The man said nothing. But this was not a court of law. No Fifth Amendment privileges existed. Silence could, and would, be used against him.
Knox explained how the prisoner’s marriage was in trouble and he’d turned to another woman who’d become pregnant. He’d offered her money for an abortion, which she refused, telling him she intended on having the baby. She also threatened to inform the wife if he did not support her.
“The NIA offered cash for information,” Knox said. “And this man took it.”
“How do you know that?” one of the crewmen asked.
Questions were encouraged and could be offered at will.
“Because I killed the man who made the deal.” Knox faced the accused. “Scott Parrott. A NIA agent. He’s dead.”
The accused stood stoic.
“I spoke to Parrott at length,” Knox said. “He was gloating about how he knew exactly what we were doing. That’s how he was ready today to stop the attempt on President Daniels’ life. He knew exactly where and when. He was planning on killing me as well, which is why he was so free with information. Fortunately, he failed.”
Hale stared straight at the accused and wanted to know, “Did you sell us out?”
The man bolted for the door.
Two men cut off his escape and tackled him to the floor, where he struggled to get free.
Knox faced the jurors. “Have you seen and heard enough?”
They each nodded.
“The judgment is guilty,” one of them shouted.
Knox asked, “Does anyone object?”
None did.
The prisoner kept struggling, screaming, “No way. This is wrong.”
Hale knew what the Articles provided. To betray the crew, desert, or abandon a battle is punished as the Quartermaster or Majority shall think fit.
“Bring him,” Hale ordered.
The man was yanked to his feet.
This sorry no-good had placed him in an untenable position with Andrea Carbonell. No wonder she’d been so damn smug. She knew it all. Everything he’d anticipated might now be compromised. This man’s death would be excruciating. An example to everyone.
Knox produced a gun.
“What are you doing?” he asked the quartermaster.
“Meting out punishment.”
A panic came over the accused’s face as he realized his fate. He renewed his struggle against the two men restraining him.
“It’s as the quartermaster, or majority, shall think fit,” Hale said, quoting the Articles. “What say the majority?”
He watched as Adventure’s crew took their cue from him and, to a man, echoed, “Whatever you want, Captain,” each grateful that it wasn’t him about to die. Normally, a captain never questioned the quartermaster in front of the crew or vice versa. But this was wartime, when the captain’s word went unquestioned.
“He’ll die at seven AM, with the entire company present.”
THIRTY-SIX
3:14 AM
CASSIOPEIA DROVE AWAY FROM SHIRLEY KAISER’S NEIGHBORHOOD, found an empty shopping mall parking lot, and called the White House.
“You’re not going to like this,” she said to Edwin Davis.
And she told him everything, holding back only the last thing she and Kaiser had discussed.
“This has potential, though,” she said. “We could draw Hale out, if played right.”
“I see that.”
There was a lot more to say, but she was tired, and it could wait. “I’m going to get some sleep. We can talk in the morning.”
A moment of silence passed before Davis said, “I’ll be here.”
She ended the call.
Before she could restart the motorcycle and find a motel the phone dinged again. She checked the display. Cotton. About time.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Just another fun night. I need the Secret Service to run a license plate. But I think I already know who the car belongs to.”
He gave her information for a Maryland tag.
“But there’s a bright spot,” he said.
She could use one of those.
“The cipher’s been broken. I now know the message Andrew Jackson left for the Commonwealth.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Richmond. At a lovely hotel called The Jefferson.”
“I’m in Fredericksburg. Is that nearby?”
“About an hour away.”
“I’ll join you.”
D URING MY PRELIMINARY RESEARCH IN THE N ATIONAL A RCHIVES, I
found correspondence that Robert Patterson, a mathematics professor at the University of Pennsylvania, wrote to Thomas Jefferson in December 1801. By then, Jefferson was president of the United States. Both Patterson and Jefferson were officials at the American Philosophical Society, a group that promoted scholarly research in the sciences and humanities. Both were also enthusiasts of ciphers and codes, regularly exchanging
