The Lincoln Myth (33 page)

But now he understood.

Did this book hold the key?

The moment he’d read Brigham Young’s note he knew where he had to look.
Two months after our bargain was sealed Lincoln sent me a telegram that said Samuel, the Lamanite, stood guard over our secret, among the Word, which gave me great comfort
. Three words—
among the Word
—had made him immediately think of the book kept safe in the Library of Congress, the one Lincoln himself had read.

He opened to the first few pages and studied the tiny print. Nothing unusual had appeared on the front endpapers, so he checked the back ones.

All blank.

He could thumb through every page, but there were hundreds and that would take time. So he allowed the tissue-thin pages to slip past his thumb as he rifled through in rapid succession, his eyes scanning for anything unusual.

He saw something.

He stopped and found the page.

Part of the Book of Helaman. More precisely, chapter 13. The prophecy of Samuel, the Lamanite, to the Nephites. He knew the story, from around five hundred years before the coming of Christ.
It told of the righteousness of the Lamanites and the wickedness of the Nephites. In no uncertain terms Samuel predicted the destruction of the Nephites, unless they repented.

Atop the type on the page, penned in ink, was a drawing.

He found the copy of the map from the temple cornerstone, which Snow had provided to him. They were the same, except this one had writing.

He noticed the printed passages that lay beneath the drawing.

19 For I will, saith the Lord, that they shall hide up their treasures unto me; and cursed be they who hide not up their treasures unto me; for none hideth up their treasures unto me save it be the righteous; and he that hideth not up his treasures unto me, cursed is he, and also the treasure, and none shall redeem it because of the curse of the land.

20 And the day shall come that they shall hide up their treasures, because they have set their hearts upon riches; and because they have set their hearts upon their riches, and will hide up their treasures when they shall flee before their enemies; because they will not hide them up unto me, cursed be they and also their treasures; and in that day shall they be smitten, saith the Lord.

21 Behold ye, the people of this great city, and hearken unto my words; yea, hearken unto the words which the Lord saith; for behold, he saith that ye are cursed because of your riches, and also are your riches cursed because ye have set your hearts upon them, and have not hearkened unto the words of him who gave them unto you.

He smiled.

Lincoln had chosen his page with care.

The Nephites rejected Samuel and ultimately stoned the prophets.

A warning?

Perhaps.

But he had no choice. He had to move forward.

He noticed that something was missing from the map. One location unidentified. That could be problematic. He’d already recognized some of the locales. They were in the mountains northeast of Salt Lake, in an area long suspected of holding secrets. But the area contained thousands of miles of wilderness, with few or no markers, and the omitted reference seemed to be an end point.

Lincoln had hedged his bets and not revealed all.

At the bottom of the page was scrawled
Romans 13:11
. He could not recall the gist of the passage.

Why had it been included?

He stared past the open blinds, out the window, at the illuminated Capitol dome. He needed time to think and could not leave this evidence.

Heavenly Father forgive him.

Never had he defaced the scriptures.

But he carefully tore the page from the book.

FORTY-FOUR

3:50
A.M
.

L
UKE HAD FLED
M
ONTPELIER QUICKLY, FINDING THE HIGHWAY
and speeding north out of Virginia to Washington, D.C. Katie had sat in the backseat, quiet for the most part, only occasionally engaging in conversation. She’d kept the gun, but obviously knew little about it. He wasn’t stupid enough to leave a loaded weapon around for anyone to get hold of. He kept the magazine beneath the driver’s seat, easy to get, if you knew where to look. Which she didn’t. He’d checked and was comforted to discover it was still hidden away.

They were now off the highway, headed into the city, the streets devoid of cars at this godforsaken hour. Luckily he’d always been a night person, so his mind was alert.

“You ever watch
The Andy Griffith Show
?” he asked her.

“Sure. Who hasn’t?”

“Remember how Barney wanted to carry a gun. Made a big thing out of it. But Andy made him keep the bullets in his pocket.”

Katie said nothing.

“The gun’s not loaded,” he told her.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Pull the trigger.”

He watched her in the rearview mirror.

She did nothing.

“You said you knew how to use one. So use it.”

He heard a click. Then another. And another.

Damn. She actually did it.

She tossed the gun over the seat. It thumped to the floorboard on the passenger side. “You think you’re so damn smart.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know about that. You with your master’s degree, working on your doctorate. I thought maybe you might figure it out on your own.”

He stopped for a red light. “And you really gave me the sheriff department’s number as your own?”

“I thought maybe you might turn yourself in.”

“That just wasn’t nice. I was so looking forward to calling you back.”

“My loss,” she said. “I think I’ll leave now.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“ ’Cause you’re going to miss out on somethin’ really cool. Might even help that education of yours along.”

She made no attempt to open her door and he accelerated through the intersection. It was an easy matter to cut across town, find Pennsylvania Avenue, and approach the guard gate for the White House. Before he’d left for Virginia hours ago, Stephanie had called and told him to come here when he was done.

He wasn’t looking forward to the family reunion.

“What the crap?” Katie muttered.

He rolled down his window and prepared to identify himself. “I told you it would blow your mind.”

They entered through the visitor entrance, a Secret Service agent waiting inside. Katie still carried the hunk of glass, her eyes alight with anticipation.

“I’ve never been here before,” she said.

“Neither have I,” he said.

“You really are an agent?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

Their escort led them through a marble hall. Cut-glass chandeliers lit everything in a daylight glow. They passed a portrait of Eisenhower. More presidential images hung at the far end. Kennedy. Johnson. Ford. Carter. Like a recent greatest hits parade.

They stayed on the ground floor and entered a room with walls sheathed in a red twill fabric. Gold scroll formed a border. The furniture was all upholstered in the same red shade with patterns of gold medallions and more scrolls. The carpet was beige, red, and gold. Another chandelier burned bright. Waiting there were Stephanie and good ol’ Uncle Danny. He hadn’t seen him in thirteen years, not since his father’s funeral. He told himself to be respectful and mind his manners. His boss would want that, no matter what he might feel.

“Who is this?” Stephanie immediately asked.

He realized that protocol was being waived tonight. Usually, no one came close to the president without being vetted.

But this situation was anything but usual.

Katie, though, seemed remarkably composed, as if she met the president of the United States every day.

“A problem that occurred too quickly for me to solve, so I brought it along. This is Katie—”

He suddenly realized he did not know her last name.

“Bishop,” she said. “Katie Bishop.”

And she extended her hand for the president to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Daniels said. “Now could you answer the lady’s question and tell me what you’re doing here?”

“Show him,” Luke said, motioning to what she held.

Katie handed over the hunk of glass.

“That came out of the ice pit,” Luke said. “Hidden behind a brick with
IV
marked on it. I got it out, but Katie here managed to call the locals on me. They were closing in, so I had no choice but to bring her along.”

“She one-upped you?” the president asked.

“I know it may be a little hard to believe. I’m having trouble with it myself. But stuff happens. As you certainly know.”

“I see you still have that smart mouth,” the president said.

“Probably a family trait. You think?” He caught Stephanie’s glare. “Okay. I’ll stop. Look, I didn’t have a lot of choice. I also thought she might be helpful. She tells me that she has a master’s in American history, and she also knows a lot about Madison. It was either that or get caught, so I took the lesser of two evils.”

“Okay,” the president said, “Katie Bishop, with your degrees in American history, where are we standing?”

“The Red Room. Dolley Madison used to have her fashionable Wednesday-night receptions here. That was the place to be in those days. Since then it’s been a parlor, sitting room, music room. Unfortunately, the walls are reproductions, done when Truman gutted the White House. Hillary Clinton changed things to pretty much what you see now. This furniture, if I remember right, is from Madison’s time. What’s really cool is what happened during U. S. Grant’s term. He was afraid there’d be a problem with Rutherford B. Hayes’ inauguration, since he was elected after a trumped-up commission awarded him twenty disputed electoral votes, so he had him sworn in right here the night before.”

“You know about the Compromise of 1877?”

Katie smiled. “Now you’re being silly. One of the great backroom deals of all time. Hayes lost the popular vote in the 1876 election to Samuel Tilden, and neither one of them had enough electoral votes. So southern Democrats allowed those twenty disputed votes to go to the Republican, Hayes, in return for all troops being withdrawn from the South, a railroad built west through the South, and legislation to help rebuild what the war destroyed. Finally, they had a bargaining tool and they used it to its max. Grant immediately honored the deal and withdrew some of the troops. Hayes got rid of the rest. With them gone, the Democrats took total control of the South, which they kept until the late 20th century.”

“Not bad. Pretty good, in fact.” The president motioned with what he held. “Now tell me what this is?”

“We’ve known about symbols on the bricks in the ice pit for a long time. No one ever figured out their implications. We thought it was just something Madison did. Decorative. Or an idiosyncrasy.”

“Is that why there are no pictures of the pit on the Internet?” Stephanie asked.

Katie nodded. “The curators didn’t want any of that
Da Vinci Code
kind of press, so they sealed it up.”

“And it’s a good thing they did,” Daniels said. “But you haven’t answered my question. What is it I’m holding?”

“I’ve been considering that all the way from Virginia. And I think I know the answer.”