The Collectors

the truth.

A man had been posted in the basement halon storage room waiting for DeHaven to draw into the kill zone. On the second day he unfortunately had, and his life ended before he told anyone what he’d seen. Chambers had admitted to having gone into the vault later and retrieving the camera.

Milton had given the coded letters to representatives from the NSA, and they had already decrypted it. From the little Stone and the others learned, the code was based on a centuries-old encryption formula. It was easily breakable by modern-day decryption techniques with their massive computing power, but Seagraves had no doubt assumed that no one would ever suspect Monty Chambers, Norman Janklow and Jewell English of being spies. And modern-day ciphertexts were all electronically generated, requiring keys consisting of massively long numbers to remain secure against brute-force assaults and other attacks by computers, which would have been impossible to replicate in an old book.

Trent had recovered from his wounds and was busily talking, especially when he learned that the government was trying mightily to pin the death penalty on him. This information included Roger Seagraves’ prominent role as the head of the spy ring. Now that they knew of Seagraves’ involvement, the FBI was investigating everyone remotely connected to him; other arrests seemed imminent.

They’d also searched Seagraves’ house and found his “collection” room. While they hadn’t quite figured out what these items represented yet, when they eventually did, things would really get complicated, since many of them belonged to victims killed by Seagraves as part of his past CIA duties.

Stone had met at length with Ford, members of the FBI and the same two D.C. detectives who’d confronted Caleb at the library.

An FBI agent said, “We knew there was a spy ring operating in the city, but we could never run it down to its source. We certainly never figured the Library of Congress to be involved.”

Stone said, “Well, we had an asset you didn’t.”

The agent looked surprised. “What was that?”

Alex Ford answered, “A highly skilled librarian named Caleb Shaw, that’s who.”

One of the D.C. detectives’ eyes twinkled. “Right, Shaw. Good, is he? He struck me as a little, uh, nervous.”

Stone replied, “Let’s just say his lack of personal courage is more than outweighed by his—”

The detective cut in, “Dumb luck?”

“Attention to detail.”

They’d thanked Stone for his help and left the door open for future cooperation.

“You ever need any help, just let us know,” one of the FBI agents had said, handing Stone a card with a phone number on it.

Stone put the card in his pocket thinking, I hope to God I never need help that badly.

After things had calmed somewhat, they all met at Stone’s cottage. And that’s when Caleb had held up the Psalm Book and demanded that Annabelle tell him the truth.

She took a deep breath and started explaining. “I knew how much Jonathan loved books, and one day I asked him that if he could have any book in the world, which one would it be? He said the Bay Psalm Book. Well, I read up on it and found that all of them were in institutions, but one seemed the best choice to hit.”

“Let me guess, Old South Church in Boston?” Caleb prompted.

“How’d you know?”

“Easier to crack than the Library of Congress or Yale, at least I hope.”

“Anyway, I went up there with a friend of mine and told them we were college students doing a paper on famous books.”

“And they let you look at it,” Caleb said.

“Yes. And take pictures of it, all that. Then I had another friend who was really good at making bad pa—I mean, good at making things.”

“So he forged a Bay Psalm Book?” Caleb exclaimed.

“It was great, you couldn’t tell them apart.” Annabelle’s excitement faded when she saw the furious look on his face. “Well, anyway, we went back up there and did a little switcheroo.”

“You did a little switcheroo?” Caleb said, his face turning very red. “With one of the rarest books in the history of this country you did a little switcheroo?”

“Why didn’t you just give DeHaven the excellent copy?” Stone asked.

“Give a fake book to the man I loved? I don’t think so.”

Caleb collapsed into a chair. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Before he got more wound up, she hurried on with her story. “When I gave him the book, Jonathan was stunned. But of course, I told him it was just a copy I’d had made for him. I don’t know if he believed that or not. I think he might have called around to different places to check. And I believe he’d concluded that what I did for a living wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up.”

“Really? What a stunner that must’ve been,” Caleb snapped.

She ignored him. “But since the church didn’t know their book was a fake and no Psalm Books were missing, I guess Jonathan finally assumed I was telling the truth. It made him so happy. And it was just an old book.”