today, we now feel the symbols represent celestial counterparts to the U.S. Capitol, White House, and Washington Monument. Teams have already been dispatched to the White House and Washington Monument to search for their cornerstones.'
Packard nodded. 'And the number 763?'
'We confirmed it's the Major's code.'
'The Major's code?'
'Major Tallmadge,' Carson said. 'He was George Washington's spy chief during the Revolution, although by the time he created this alpha-numeric cipher system he was a colonel.'
Packard said, 'So Yeats is using a code more than 200 years old?'
'He's using, in effect, the DOD's very first code, Mr. Secretary.'
'And what exactly does 763 stand for?' Packard demanded. 'Should I be quaking in my boots like the president?'
The Pentagon's top intelligence chief said nothing, although the look in his eyes implied that, yes, they should all be quaking in their boots. 'In general terms, sir, 763 is the numeric code for headquarters. Specifically, in this context, it clearly means this.'
Carson wrote a name on a sheet of paper and slipped it to the SecDef. The SecDef picked it up and stared. 'Oh, gawd,' he groaned, and was about to crumple it up and toss it into his wastebasket until he thought better of it. 'You mean the president's paranoia might have some basis in fact?'
'General Yeats seemed to think so, sir.'
Seavers, unable to read the text on the paper Packard was holding, cleared his throat. 'The president is paranoid about what, Mr. Secretary? I'm afraid I'm lost here.'
'We all are if this prophecy is true.' Packard pulled out a lighter and touched it to the corner of the paper.
Seavers sat forward on the edge of his seat and watched the paper burn. This stage of the briefing was news to him. 'What prophecy?'
Packard said, 'Let's just say we think George Washington buried something under the Mall, and every U.S. president since Jefferson has been trying to dig it up, all under the guise of building or restoring monuments over the past three centuries.'
'Buried what?' Seavers pressed.
'Something very embarrassing,' Packard told him. 'Not just for this Administration, but for every president since Washington. Something that casts doubt on the American experiment itself, its origins and destiny. We have to stop it from coming to light.'
Seavers could feel Packard studying him, clearly conflicted. Packard had brought him to DARPA to develop new vaccines and create the perfect soldier, impervious to chemical and biological weapons. That was his reputation as one of the world's greatest minds in genetic research. Coded tombstones and buried artifacts were not his forte.
Unless he knows about my great-grandfather, Seavers thought, and suddenly wondered if there had been more to his appointment at DARPA than he had given Packard credit for.
'Mr. Secretary,' he said, breaking the silence, 'it would help me a great deal to know what exactly you think Washington buried.'
'A globe, Seavers.'
'A globe?'
'A celestial globe,' Packard said. 'Probably about two feet in diameter. The kind of floor globe you find on a stand in the library of lavish estates.'
'Like those Old World bar globes you open and inside you find liquor?'
Packard glared at him. 'This has nothing to do with the Old World, Seavers.'
Seavers could only shrug. 'But how important can this globe truly be?'
Packard was adamant. 'Nothing could be more important to the national security of the United States of America.'
Seavers nodded to show he understood the gravity of the situation. 'And you think Dr. Yeats has a shot at finding it?'
'He found the cornerstone of the U.S. Capitol, didn't he?' Packard began to pace back and forth behind his desk, obviously wrestling with some decision. 'Seavers, I want you to find this thing before Yeats does. Or let him lead you to it, I don't care. But if he does, he'll uncover a secret he's not authorized to know. Nobody is.'
Seavers glanced at Carson, who looked shocked that Packard had assigned him the task, and said, 'You'll give me what I need to do this job, Mr. Secretary?'
'The president has authorized me to have the entire resources of the federal government at your disposal,' Packard said. 'You've got the gizmos, I'll give you some muscle, your own black ops domestic response team.' Packard looked at Carson. 'Norm, your ass is covered. Just give Seavers whatever intel he needs to find Yeats. It's embarrassing that he's walking around D.C., which has more security cameras than galaxies in the heavens, and we still can't find him.'
'I'll track down Yeats and whatever it is he's looking for.' Seavers looked at Packard and Carson. 'And Dr. Yeats can take whatever he knows to the grave and join his father.'
'General Yeats may have been a four-star bastard, but I always tried to treat his son like my own. So I hope it doesn't come to that, gentlemen,' Packard said. 'But if it does, Conrad Yeats sure as hell isn't going to be buried at Arlington with full military honors.'
19
IT WAS SET for 6 p.m. However things went down at the Capitol, Serena was to rendezvous with Conrad in Montrose Park at the edge of the vast Rock Creek National Park north of Georgetown. But it was half past six already, and there was no sign of Conrad. She was worried sick.
Carrying a backpack and dressed like a college coed in a white tank top, sunglasses, shorts, and flip-flops, Serena strolled past the tennis courts, picnic tables, and playground in search of what Conrad told her would be 'an unmistakable celestial marker.'
And suddenly there it was: the Sarah Rittenhouse armillary, a sundial of sorts. Actually, on closer inspection, it was a classic Greek celestial sphere comprised of three interlocking rings that represented the motion of the stars encircling the Earth. The outermost band of the ecliptic featured the raised constellations of the zodiac. Piercing through the rings was an arrow that pointed to true north.
But still no Conrad.
She set her sunglasses atop her brushed back hair for a moment and adjusted the volume of her iPod as she waited, pretending to admire the armillary. It stood on a marble pedestal and according to the plaque was dedicated in 1956 in memory of some society woman named Sarah Rittenhouse.
'Sarah Rittenhouse was some matronly preservationist who saved this park from nasty developers back in the early 1900s,' said a voice from behind her. 'Reminds me of somebody I know.'
She turned to see Conrad in a dress shirt and suit pants, a hardcover book clutched in his hand. He looked like a university professor. 'So where's the globe?'
'I'm fine, thanks.' He stared at the celestial armillary. 'This is where I first saw Brooke after you disappeared on me. She was walking her dog.'
'We have all of three days to stop the Alignment,' Serena said, frustrated. 'Did you find the globe?'
'No, but I know where it is.'
She started walking briskly away from the armillary, where they might be seen if they stood together too long. 'You told me the globe was in the cornerstone of the Capitol.'
'It was,' he said, guiding them down a cobblestone walkway called 'Lovers Lane' to the ravines of Rock
