The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (27 page)

The sounds inside the warehouse were suddenly no opposition to the new sound of laughter coming from Colonel Jessy Taylor as he slapped John Henry on the back before joining his men.

The lieutenant watched the strange officer leave and then turned to John Henry with a smile. “As I said, Colonel, we have worked with the president many times. Mostly at the White House, but I’m sure we can handle anything or play anywhere you want us to perform.” The smile was wide as the boy, who looked no more than eighteen, waited for the accolades on how lucky the expedition was to have such qualified men along.

The laughter of Taylor echoed in the emptiness of the warehouse.

“Well, I guess the guest list for this little shindig is now complete. I feel so much more confident that the Army has sent its absolute best to help us.” Dugan cursed, spit, and then walked off.

As the laughter of Taylor continued, John Henry was sorely tempted to pull out his revolver and shoot his old friend and brother-in-law in the back to shut him up.

*   *   *

The three warships sat at anchor as the early-morning fog rolled in. Crowded into a whaling boat, the passengers traveling with the expedition sat looking at the three older ships. The first, U.S.S.
Carpenter
, was already moving through the fog as she was off to rendezvous at Cape Hatteras with the U.S.S.
Argo
carrying the bulk of the railroading supplies and Ericsson’s gift to the expedition. She glided past and was soon swallowed up by fog. John Henry had met briefly with her young captain, Lieutenant Chauncey Abernathy. The lad had been no older than the young naval officer, Commander Jackson, who was in total command of the naval element of sailors and marines. He understood his orders. He would lay to the
Argo
, tie on, rig her sails, and hopefully by then the other two ships would have joined them.

The second ship was carrying horses, supplies, and cold-weather gear. This ship, the U.S.S.
Chesapeake
, would also carry the armaments intended for the expedition inside her large hull. Thomas had decided early on that only the marine guard would have access to sidearms during the voyage. Thomas knew Taylor, or should now that his old friend had tried to escape, and would never allow him the chance to do so again.

As they approached the third warship they saw her clean lines. It wasn’t like Stanton or Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles to give up a brand-new warship without what must have been immense pressure from Lincoln. So, with two older, thinner-hulled vessels they tossed in a sweetener, the U.S.S.
Yorktown
. She was so new that as the whaleboat tied up to her boarding ramp, her brass fittings sparkled in the weak oil lamps of the deck watch. The prisoners, with the exception of Colonel Taylor, were all aboard and already ensconced below.

First up the ramp to be greeted by the ship’s first officer was Claire Richelieu. The lieutenant held her gloved hand and assisted her down from the ramp. He saluted and half-bowed as he gestured for her to step behind him, where she was again greeted by the young man she had seen walking into the warehouse, Lieutenant Commander Jackson. He bowed with no real enthusiasm. Next was the man posing as Ollafson’s assistant, Steven McDonald. Claire watched the man vigorously jump the last three steps of the small ladder. He landed and then shook each of the two officers’ hands. He nudged up against Claire, who moved easily away from the Englishman. Assisting the professor down from the ladder was the Frenchman Renaud in his guise as student translator Benton Cromwell. To Claire, the man could not have chosen more ridiculous cover name for himself, as if the English name would lend credence to his tale of deceit. Pleasantries were exchanged as Sergeant Major Dugan gruffly made his way past the reception line and went to the railing and watched.

The last three were Gray Dog, Taylor, and finally John Henry Thomas. The two naval officers saluted John Henry and gestured for him to follow. The others all fell in line as they made their way belowdecks.

“Colonel, you will of course take my cabin,” Jackson said. “I expect you have ample business to cover during the voyage. The sergeant major and your … your”—he stumbled as he turned to look at Gray Dog—“your Indian can bunk next to him.”

“Gray Dog will sleep wherever he is comfortable, which may mean five or six places during the night,” Dugan said, cutting in abruptly as he and Gray Dog exchanged looks.

“We have a separate berth for Miss Richelieu. I hope she will find it accommodating. It’s an old tack room the boys made … well, they made it a bit more private,” Jackson said with an embarrassed smile. Taylor and John Henry exchanged looks that silently noted how very uncomfortable Jackson was around women, especially a woman onboard his ship. “Professor, we have a work area marked out for you and your assistants. You’ll be rather cramped, but it should do fine.” The naval officer stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the others. “Now, I have the main cabin set up for you to brief my officers and those of the marine force commander, Lieutenant Parnell.”

Jackson waited for his second-in-command to open the door and they proceeded inside. A large table with three maps spread out on its surface greeted them. Each had a chair. Coffee was served by a black steward as they seated themselves. Introductions were made to all. John Henry eyed the two new assistants for the professor with nothing other than mild curiosity as he’d been told the students would be a bit younger. McDonald and Cromwell looked to be well into an academic life rather than mere students.

As the steward placed a china cup in front of Jessy Taylor, the two exchanged looks of curiosity. The large black steward had graying hair and had been in the navy most of his life. He knew a secessionist uniform when he saw one. Taylor winked at the shocked look on the black man’s face. He took the coffee without thanks. The steward continued to eye the Rebel colonel long after the others had been served.

John Henry stood over the three maps and looked them over. They showed the seas into which the three ships were headed, their separate dangers made apparent by markings Jackson had placed on them. The man at the middle of the table sipped his coffee and then looked over at Gray Dog, who sat on the deck in a darkened corner of the main cabin. Ollafson saw the Indian look his way and hold eye contact for the longest moment before he turned away. It was as though the colonel’s man could see right into Ollafson’s soul. To the old man it was quite unnerving to say the least.

Jackson went to the door and then gave the orders to his second-in-command to get the
Yorktown
under way.

“Gentlemen,” John Henry started and then stopped and dipped his black-haired head at Claire. “And lady. This is our route to Turkey. Commander Jackson’s latest naval intelligence briefing conducted this morning indicates that we should not encounter any interference from here to Spain. To get past Gibraltar without the British getting their hackles up will be a challenge, but our navy has done that a few times before.”

The no-nonsense Jackson bowed his head. “Yes, we run a regular game with the Brits. They look to harass us, we dodge them, and slip from one corner of the world to the next with them always a day late and a dollar short, as it were. The British have not given us any concern.”

Thomas was looking at the young and very arrogant Jackson. He understood the boy was steeped in naval history. Could recite Nelson’s entire battle plan from Trafalgar, even noting where his lordship made more than just one crucial mistake during the battle that could have finished off the French a full year earlier than they had. His entire family worshipped the sea, and this was why Jackson was so bitter being torn away from a war in which he had yet to contribute anything other than this mission to babysit a professor and his ridiculous theory.

“Good. I’ll hold you to that prediction. I don’t mind if we get caught going in, it’s the getting out that has me concerned. Gibraltar is one hell of a choke point.”

“Not only Gibraltar, Colonel,” Jackson said as he leaned over the map. “You have the Aegean and then the Bosphorus Strait to contend with. Now those are choke points that will cause us trouble.”

Thomas looked at the map as Colonel Taylor joined him. The Rebel’s finger went to the map’s depiction of the Bosphorus Strait. It was the natural choke point that led from the Dardanelles and into the Black Sea. He knew the plan called for the two warships with the equipment to transit the strait while the third, the
Yorktown
, would anchor at Constantinople to be greeted by the sultan himself.

On deck came the shouts of men as they lowered sails. The loud noise of the ship’s anchor sounded through the thick wood. Claire exchanged looks with the two spies she had managed to get onboard. Each seemed pleased with himself after the large deceit to get on the ship. She wanted to tell the others during the briefing that the fools didn’t have to dodge the British or the French. The two nations were well represented right here.

John Henry watched Taylor glide his finger along the map as the
Yorktown
slowly started to move toward the mouth of the Chesapeake. Finally the colonel looked up and into the blue eyes of Thomas. “Why, I’d just place a twenty-pounder on either side of the strait at its narrowest point and blast any ship trying to transit. That is, if I were the Turks.” The smile widened as Taylor took his seat.

“That is what the
Argo
is for,” Thomas said as he quickly moved on.

“All right John Henry, I’ll bite. Just what is the
Argo?
” Taylor asked as the other heads, with the exception of Ollafson and Claire, nodded in agreement.

John Henry smiled for the first time. “Since it probably won’t make the voyage without sinking straight to the bottom of the Atlantic or the Mediterranean, it really doesn’t matter. But if this crazy mission finds something on that little hill of a mountain, and we run into trouble on the high seas, without the
Argo
, we’ll be blown out of the water if our friends in Europe wish it so. But as I said, our secret weapon will more than likely sink long before she is needed.”

“Well thought out.” Taylor grinned facetiously and then slapped Ollafson on the knee. “Now that’s a Yankee plan if I ever heard one.”

“Gentlemen, we have gone over so much, but we have not touched on what it is we are after,” Ollafson said, rubbing his leg where Taylor had slapped it. He stood and located the map of Eastern Turkey.

“I thought we would cover that at another briefing, Professor,” Thomas said, eyeing the man, who refused to sit.

“In other words, Professor, old John Henry wants to go over it in private first, especially since he doesn’t believe in fairy tales, or your God any longer. Why cover something in a briefing the colonel refuses to believe is even there?”

John Henry looked at Taylor. The man was quickly learning the habit of pushing his former brother-in-law to the point of anger, where he knew John Henry became unreasonable. He wasn’t going to allow Taylor to get under his skin as he always had.

“Colonel Taylor, during the voyage you will drill your men. Get their weight and strength back. They are going to need it.” Thomas held eye contact with Taylor for the longest moment before the Reb nodded his head. The smile was still there.

“Mess Steward Grandee will be in charge of the prisoners’ supplementary meals. He has designed a heavy caloric intake for the duration of the voyage. The colonel’s men should be healthy for their little hike up a small mountain like Ararat.”

Taylor’s eyes went from Commander Jackson to the brown ones of the steward, who was in the process of winking at the Confederate colonel. Taylor suspected he should show the black man some respect since he could place anything into their meals. He would have to warn his men to keep social commentary to themselves while dining. He smiled again at the mess steward, who smiled back this time.

“Miss Richelieu, I expect you to keep belowdecks during any exercise time for the prisoners. I don’t know how much control Colonel Taylor has over his men after tonight, so we’ll just remove temptation from the equation.” He looked at Claire, who was not happy with the arrangement but understood the colonel’s chauvinistic ways. “And Commander, anytime our lady guest is out and about, she will require a two-man marine guard at all times.”

“May I ask when the shackles will be removed from my men?” Taylor asked, the smile no longer in place.

“As soon as we clear into deep water,” Thomas said as he looked over at Dugan, who stood beside the door at parade rest. “See to it, Sergeant Major.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Besides, if they cause trouble after that, they will be weighted down and thrown overboard.” He again looked at Taylor. “Is that perfectly clear?”

Jessy nodded. “I find it interesting that you named one of your ships the
Argo
,” Jessy said as the others rose to leave and to get some sleep.

“Yes? Why is that?” John Henry asked.

Taylor turned to others around the table as they stood. “John Henry wasn’t as astute in the classics as I was at the Point. I was always attentive to my studies while John was steeped in military affairs of studentship. But as you can see by my attire”—he gestured to his gray uniform—“I am a true romantic.”

“Your point, Colonel?” Ollafson said, wondering where the Rebel was going with this line of conversation. John Henry only waited with irritation as he retrieved his hat from the steward and walked toward the door. He stopped and turned.

“The point is, I’ve read Appollonius Rhodius. Have you?”

Ollafson shook his head.

“Well, Rhodius was a Greek poet. His
Argonautica
was required reading at the academy. I absorbed it.”

“Colonel, we are all tired,” Jackson said to hurry him along.

“What Colonel Taylor is trying to tell you is the fact that we will be traveling the very same route as the main character’s voyage in,” explained Thomas.

“Fascinating,” McDonald said, breaking his silence for the first time. “And who was this brave soul?”