The Last Patriot

“You too, Susan,” he replied. “Thanks for coming in on your day off.”

“Well, you said it was urgent.” Ferguson’s voice trailed off as she noticed both of the well-built men Nichols was traveling with get out of the vehicle behind him. They had cop, or soldier, or something she couldn’t exactly describe written all over them. Though she didn’t see any weapons, she had a feeling that they were armed. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Nichols pointed to his companions and said, “Susan, I’d like to introduce you to Scot Harvath and Aydin Ozbek.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Harvath. Ozbek stood to the side and nodded politely.

Ferguson looked at Nichols and waited for a further explanation.

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Maybe we can talk on our way inside?”

The woman hesitated for a moment and then gave in. As they walked, Nichols gave her the short speech Harvath had rehearsed with him in the car about how he was working for a wealthy businessman who was obsessed with security. By the time they reached the library building, the woman seemed less tense about the armed men accompanying her friend and colleague.

Harvath reached over and helped hold the door open as everyone filed inside.

The main wing of the Jefferson Library was a dramatic two-story arcade punctuated by rows of polished bookcases and curved beams of matching wood across the ceiling capped off by a dramatic wall of mullioned glass at the far end.

Pointing to one of the library’s several work tables Ferguson said, “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Nichols removed the file folder from under his arm and produced the two yellowed documents. The curator pulled out one of the chairs, sat down, and removed a pair of glasses from her pocket. “You’re positive these are authentic Jefferson?” she asked as she put her glasses on.

“Positive,” replied Nichols.

She studied each of them for a few moments. “None of this writing makes any sense.”

“They’re encoded.”

“Have you been able to decipher any of it?” she asked.

The professor shook his head. “Only partially.”

“Interesting. Very interesting. Where did your client get these?”

“He has been a collector of Jefferson documents for many years,” replied Nichols. “He has resources most would kill for.”

“That must be nice,” said Ferguson, who then stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I want to gather a few reference materials. There’s something familiar about these drawings.”

The curator disappeared and came back a few minutes later with a stack of books and a handful of other items, including an oversized magnifying glass. Setting everything down on the table, she picked up the magnifying glass and returned to her investigation.

Harvath kept a watchful eye over her and Nichols while Ozbek kept an eye on the door.

Ferguson made notes on a small pad as she flipped back and forth through the pages of her reference books. Occasionally, she would stop to ask Nichols a question and then would return to studying the documents.

It went on like that for over half an hour until she removed her glasses and set them on the table.

Nichols stopped pacing and came over to the desk. “Well? What do you think?”

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the curator looked up at him. “This first set of drawings here,” she said, pointing at the paper, “is mechanical. They appear to be schematics of some sort.”

“I figured as much. Do you have any idea what for?”

Ferguson smiled. “With Jefferson, it could be anything. The man was constantly inventing things. The handwriting and drawing techniques definitely seem to be his, but this first page is odd.”

“How so?” asked the professor.

“This is a cutaway of some sort focusing on a very unique set of gears. In all of Jefferson’s mechanical drawings, I’ve never seen gears that look like this. Also, gears are normally housed out of sight. You don’t usually see them. Yet these gears are intricately stylized and decorated.

“Also the schematic seems more like a set of directions for switching out or maybe rebalancing the gears. Does that make sense?”

Nichols shook his head. “Not really.”

“There’s something else,” said Ferguson as she handed the professor her magnifying glass. “If you look very closely at this particular gear here, you can see that it’s different from the ones above it.”

“It is?” said Nichols as he took the magnifying glass from her and looked where she was pointing. “I thought they all looked the same.”

The curator shook her head. “For the most part, they do, but the decoration changes ever so slightly on this one and its shape seems a little different than the others.”

“You’re right,” replied the professor.

Harvath had been listening to the exchange and approached the table. “May I?” he asked.

Nichols handed him the magnifying glass.

Harvath had not seen either document until a couple of hours ago and even then-in the wake of the break-in, with what had happened to Gary and deciding to leave for Monticello-he had not studied them that extensively and certainly not with a magnifying glass.

After studying the drawing of the gears for a few more seconds he called Ozbek over. “Take a look at this,” he said as he handed him the magnifying glass.

“What do you think?” asked Harvath as Ozbek studied the drawing and more importantly the gear in question. “Is that a rendering of the Basmala?”

Susan Ferguson didn’t know who Harvath and Ozbek were, but they definitely weren’t just the bodyguards. Her curiosity, though, was piqued. “What’s a Basmala?”

“Every sura or chapter of the Koran except for the ninth,” explained Harvath, “begins with the phrase In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. In Arabic that phrase is known as the Basmala and it can be rendered artistically in different ways.”

“And that’s what’s on that gear?”

Harvath looked at Ozbek, who nodded.

“You said that the ninth chapter doesn’t start with ‘Allah the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.’ Why not?” asked Ferguson.

“It’s Mohammed’s next-to-last known revelation and contains the most violent passages in the Koran. The peaceful passages that Muslims point to as indications of how tolerant and gentle their religion is come from the early part of Mohammed’s prophetic career only to be abrogated by the verses in sura nine.”

“So Jefferson was sketching a set of gears with Arabic writing on them?” said the curator, more to herself than anyone else.

“Do you know if Jefferson owned any Arabic or Islamic instruments or objects?” asked Nichols.

Ferguson shook her head. “Just the Koran that the Library of Congress has now.”

“Are you aware of him being given anything by the Marines or more specifically by a Lieutenant Presley O’Bannon after the First Barbary War?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you know if Jefferson ever referenced an inventor from the Islamic Golden Age named al-Jazari?” asked Harvath.

Ferguson paused. “What the hell is this all about?”

There was silence around the table.

“Unless you answer the question,” said the curator, “I’m not going to be able to do anything else for you.”

This time it was Harvath who looked at Nichols for guidance. He knew the professor had a lengthy history with her, but what Harvath needed to know was if Susan Ferguson could be trusted.

When the professor nodded, Harvath began speaking.