chutes.
He stared up at the symbol in the ceiling.
He hoped Malone had been right and that the triangle did indeed mark the spot. He rolled one of the larger rocks close. The ceiling was low, maybe eight feet up, so not much of a boost would be needed. He removed the hammer and chisel he’d brought with him and chipped the joint that outlined the irregular-shaped block. Nearly two centuries of tidal action had hardened the mortar, but finally it gave way. He stepped back as the rock slammed to the floor, splashing water, cracking into several pieces.
He angled the flashlight upward into the niche.
A foot up from the ceiling line a shelf had been carved into the stone. Something gleamed back from the probe of his beam. Shiny. Reflective. Green-tinted. He laid the light down, angling it upward and grabbed hold of what he’d discovered.
Slick.
Then he realized.
Glass.
He slid it from its perch.
Not heavy, maybe three or four pounds. A solid chunk, perhaps a foot square, its surface and edges rounded smooth. He bent down closer to the flashlight and splashed water onto its surface, rinsing away a layer of filth.
Something was sealed inside.
Though blurred, the image was unmistakable.
Two sheets of browned paper.
He laid the container on top of the stone that had acted as his step. He found another smaller rock and, with two blows, shattered the glass.
For the first time in more than 175 years, the paper met fresh air.
Two columns of printing appeared on each page along with a header.
OF DEBATES IN CONGRESS And a date.
February 9, 1793 He scanned one of the pages until he found Mr. Madison. The subject of the proposition laid before the House will now, I presume, Mr. Chairman, recur for our deliberation. I imagine it to be of the greatest magnitude, a subject, sir, that requires our first attention and our united exertion. In drafting our Constitution this Congress was bestowed the specific power to grant letters of marque, as the current policy of nations so sanctions throughout the world. Indeed, our victory over England would not have occurred but for the courageous efforts of entrepreneurs possessed of both ships and the ability to make appropriate use of them. Happy it is for us that such a grant was, and remains, within our power. We are all painfully aware that we do not, as yet, possess sufficient men and ships to float an adequate navy in our common defense, so I concur in the proposal for the grant of these letters of marque to Archibald Hale, Richard Surcouf, Henry Cogburn, and Samuel Bolton, in perpetuity, so that they might continue a robust and continuous attack on our enemies. The motion was put by the Chairman, and was agreed upon by all in attendance. The said letters of marque were directed to be forwarded to the Senate for action. The House adjourned.
He examined the other sheet and saw that its wording was similar, only from the Senate journal where the letters were also unanimously approved, the last line of that entry making clear “that the said enactment be forwarded to Mr. Washington for signature.”
Here was what the Commonwealth had sought. What men had died for. These two documents meant nothing but trouble. Their reemergence would cause only problems.
Good agents solved problems.
He tore both sheets into confetti and scattered the pieces across the water on the floor. He watched as they dissolved away.
Done.
He retreated to the rope, passing Knox one last time.
“You died for nothing,” he told the corpse.
He climbed back to ground level. Time to leave this lonely outpost. Birds cooed all around him, their movement constant on the wall walks.
He retrieved the rope from the hole and decided, enough. He called out, “Why don’t you come out and let’s talk?”
He’d sensed from the moment he returned to the fort that he was not alone. At the far end of the collapsed hall, Cotton Malone appeared.
“I thought you were gone,” Wyatt said.
“I came back to retrieve the pages, but then I was told you were coming for them, too.”
“I assumed the Canadian authorities would be involved at some point.”
“We waited as long as we could. What happened down there?”
“The Commonwealth is minus a quartermaster.”
He noticed Malone carried no weapon, but there was no need. Six armed men appeared on the wall walks above him.
There’d be no fighting today.
“And the pages?” Malone asked.
He shook his head. “An empty receptacle.”
Malone apprized him with a tight gaze. “I guess that ends the Commonwealth.”
“And no president will have to deal with it again.”
“Lucky them.”
“Whether you believe it or not, I would have never sold those pages to Hale.”
“Actually, I do believe it.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Still the self-righteous ass?”
“Old habit. The president says this is your one freebie, as thanks for what you did in New York, and what you did here with Carbonell.” Malone paused. “I guess he owes you one more thanks now, too.”
The silence between them confirmed what he’d done.
“And you can keep NIA’s money.”
“I planned to anyway.”
“Still defiant to authority?”
“At least neither one of us will ever change.”
Malone motioned to the gaping hole in the floor. “Both bodies down there?”
“No sign of the she-devil.”
“You think she swam out?”
He shrugged. “Those chutes weren’t like when you and I went through them. She’d better have good lungs.”
“As I recall, she did.”
Wyatt smiled. “That she did.”
Malone stepped aside. Wyatt asked, “Does my free pass extend to leaving Canada unmolested?”
“All the way home to Florida. I’d offer you a ride, but that would be too much togetherness for us both.”
Probably so, he thought.
He started to leave.
“You never answered me last night,” Malone said. “We even?”
He stopped but did not turn back. “For now.”
And he left.
EIGHTY-FIVE
