'Good mornin', suh. Can I hep you?'
Jay smiled and tipped his hat at the telegraph operator. 'Mornin', suh.'
Gridley wore the dress uniform of a Confederate captain, a soft gray wool unlike the butternut colors most of the enlisted men wore. A lot of officers had their own designs cut and sewed by their personal tailors, there being little real uniformity in officers' uniforms in the Confederacy. This early in the war, in 1862, the South was not only still in it, they had won major battles against the North. First Manassas — the Battle of Bull Run — had been a rout. The South had kicked some major Yankee ass. Things had already started downhill for the Rebs after Perryville, but right now most folks here felt pretty good about their chances of winning the War Between the States.
Jay said, 'Well, suh, I am Captain Jay Gridley, detached from General Lee's staff, and you could do a great service for your state and the Confederacy. We are seeking a Yankee spy, a Southerner who goes by the name of Platt. We do believe he might have been sending coded messages by wire to his Northern masters from this area.'
'Well, I do declare!' the telegrapher said. 'Can it be?'
'Yes, suh. Of course, we don't think he'd be so foolish as to do these treasonous acts under his own name, but perhaps he was. Could you check your records for us, suh?'
'I would be more than happy to, suh.'
Polite folks, the Southerners.
After a minute of thumbing through a stack of yellow paper, the telegrapher shook his head. 'Captain, I'm afraid I cannot find any messages sent or received under the name of Platt.'
'This is not unexpected, suh. However, let me describe the traitor for you, and show you a drawing we have of him. He might have used another name.'
Jay laid out the general description of Platt, then proffered a pen-and-ink sketch he withdrew from inside his coat.
The telegrapher frowned at the drawing. 'I am sorry to report that I do not recognize this man, from word or this representation. However, if you will wait a moment…?'
The telegrapher got up and walked to the back window, a barred affair with the glass portion closed against the chill. He raised the window and yelled out, 'Buford! Put down that broom and git yourself in here!'
A moment later a tall and gangly boy of thirteen or so, dressed in gray wool trousers held up by leather suspenders, a homespun gray shirt, and scuffed brown boots, appeared. 'Yessuh?'
'This is Captain Gridley, from General Lee's staff. He has something to ask you.' To Jay, the telegrapher said, 'Buford sometimes watches the office when I take supper. He's got a fair hand with the key for such a young age, although he'll be enlisting as soon as he turns fourteen.'
Jay wanted to shake his head. They did that, went off to war as young teenagers.
A lot of them never came back. Stupid thing, war. Stupid.
Jay repeated the description and showed the boy the drawing.
'Why, yessuh, Captain, suh. I do recall him. A large fellow, although he did not go under the name Platt, suh. I recollect that he called himself Rogers.' He glanced at the telegrapher, then back at Jay. 'I believe he was in just yesterday, suh.'
Jay caught a glimpse of something in the boy's face, though he wasn't sure what it meant. He said, 'And did this Mr. Rogers send or receive a message?'
The boy hesitated. 'I–I think so, suh. I'm not exactly sure. Last evening was passing busy, suh.'
The telegrapher, meanwhile, thumbed through the stack of telegrams for yesterday. 'I don't see one to or from Rogers here, boy. You did keep a copy, didn't you?'
The boy licked his lips, which seemed to have gone very dry all of a sudden. 'I–I don't remember, suh. I must have done, if he sent or got a wire.'
'I cannot find one here.'
Jay stared at the boy. 'Buford, you love your country, don't you?'
'Suh, yes, suh!'
'Then y'all better come clean. Something was unusual about this telegraphic event, wasn't it?'
The boy looked as if he was about to cry. His face clouded over, and tears welled.
'S-S-Suh. Mr. Rogers, he sent a message and — and he give me a nickel for the copy. He took it with him. Am I goin' to jail?'
'What? How could you do that, Buford? That's strictly against regularity!'
Jay held up one hand, asking for the telegrapher to keep silent. 'I'm not worried about the nickel or what you did, son. You can square that if you can answer one question for me. Do you remember who Mr. Rogers sent the wiregram to? The name? Or the station?'
'Y-Yes, suh, I remember the station.'
Jay grinned.
Jay thundered into Michaels's office, waving a hardcopy print out and yelling 'Boss! I got him, I got him!'
'Slow down, Jay. You got who?'
'Platt. Who he's working for! You're not gonna believe this!' He shoved the paper at Michaels, who took it.
'See, the thing is, the guy was smart enough not to use his own name, but not smart enough to change his appearance. I did a scan of all new phone service in Georgia — temporary lines, mobile units, new installations — crossed them with Platt's ID. I figured once he gave up the Platt name and ran, he'd want new com gear under a new name. I threw out female names and corporation names, then checked all the logs at phone stores and service companies in the state. It took a while, but I got it narrowed down to a few, and when I started running those, I came up with a security cam shot of him buying a new mobile!'
Michaels listened with half his attention. There were several numbers on the list Jay had handed him. Circled in red was a number and written in red next to it was a name:
Thomas Hughes.
It sounded familiar, but Michaels couldn't place it. He knew the name. Where did he know it from?
'So then I got the new number and ran a trace on the calls—'
'Jay,' Michaels broke in. 'Cut to the finish line. Who is this Hughes you have circled?'
Jay smiled and straightened himself up to his full height. 'He's chief of staff for a United States senator.'
Michaels made the connection. Of course. 'White? This guy is Robert
'Yes, sir. And isn't it funny that our thug computer guy is calling Hughes? What could the two of them possibly have in common, do you suppose?'
'Jesus,' Michaels said.
Toni met Alex and Jay in the conference room. She was on her fourth cup of coffee, but she wasn't fully awake yet. She hadn't slept that well, and the worry that had kept her awake wasn't about the job. She had relived that long passionate kiss in the Miata at least a hundred times. He wanted her, there was no question about that. The question was, was he going to let himself go with his feelings? Or was he going to suck it up and go stoic on her?
'Toni, what have we got?'
'Having a word with Hughes right now is going to be difficult. He's gone on a trip out of town with the senator.'
'To Africa?' Michaels asked. 'Ethiopia?'
She looked at him. 'How do you know that?'
'From his staff guy when he called to schedule me for a committee meeting.'
She shook her head. 'Yes, well, we've had somebody there check, and while the senator is making the rounds and giving speeches, Hughes isn't with him. We know he got that far, he talked to the press on the flight over and shortly after landing, but nobody has seen him since.'
Jay said, 'Well, we have his private number here, don't we? Doesn't matter exactly where on the Dark Continent he is. If he's got a virgil, he can't be out of signal range.'
