The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (46 page)

“What in the hell is this?” Jackson asked as even Taylor was showing a great amount of curiosity.

Thomas ignored the question from Jackson.

“Why should we not chuck Mr. McDonald into the night air?” John Henry asked instead.

“Because he may know how the Crown will act if we discover the provenance of anything we find up there. I believe he and the British may overreact.”

“What makes you believe that?” Jackson asked.

“Because, gentlemen, they ae terrified of what our nation can become in later years. It’s that simple.”

“I noticed you said
our
nation,” Jessy stated flatly as his eyes caught Thomas’s.

“Relax, Miss Richelieu, if that is your name. The president does not believe wholeheartedly in sending men off totally blindfolded.”

Claire looked at John Henry and knew then that this army officer had known all along who her employer was.

“It is Claire, but not Richelieu. In Paris and London, yes, but my real name is Anderson. Claire Anderson.”

“How long have you worked for Mr. Lincoln?” Thomas asked as Taylor and Jackson sat stunned.

Claire slowly sipped her whiskey this time. She heard the clickity-clack of the train wheels striking steel as she realized that the hard thumping was her heart, because for the first time in her professional career she had been found out and she didn’t know how to take that.

“For the president, one, almost two years, or ever since this plan of Ollafson’s started to come together after Gettysburg. For Mr. Allan Pinkerton, I have worked for four years. I started training under him in 1859 in preparation for the war he saw coming. Later I was transferred from the war department to this … this mission.”

“A woman spy. What a marvelous and advanced age we live in,” Jessy said as he reached for the crystal decanter and poured himself a drink.

“I gather information from men who are a little weak in the area of security.”

“Meaning your talents were learned for operations against the South,” Jessy said as a statement, not a question.

Claire drank her whiskey and smiled. “Exactly, Colonel.”

“As I said, what an age.” He drank his drink and stared at the woman with a newfound respect and dislike.

“Now, why the fear behind this so-called curse? Was that a play, or are you concerned?” John Henry asked as he now got to the point of his questioning. He knew before Lincoln had explained things that Claire was not the person she said she was. Her reactions and her eyes betrayed her.

“Renaud is not just any French agent; he was and is their best. The man never takes a life without the need for it. The killing of the student was not like him. Why kill the boy when he was just a ruse and not carrying the artifacts with him? No, that is not his style,” she said as she finally slid her empty glass away. “After his attempt to get the petrified items from the professor he became like a man possessed.”

“So, you are what we call a double agent?” Jackson asked as he finally shied away completely from drinking his glass of fiery whiskey. This was not unfolding the way he had expected.

“A triple agent is more accurate,” she said as her hand reached slowly into her bodice. The eyes of every man went wide for a moment as she sent her small fingers into the area of her breasts. She pulled out a small envelope. “My official orders from the War Department.”

John Henry reached for the envelope but didn’t read it.

“Miss Anderson, I knew about your credentials long before we left the docks in Baltimore.” He gave the envelope back to her. “I don’t care what this says. From this point onward you are working directly for me and me alone. Is this in anyway unclear?”

She looked at John Henry as she replaced her orders into her bodice. “Yes, Colonel Thomas, it is very clear. But if you don’t heed my warning about those artifacts we will run into trouble. The kind of trouble you read about in the book of Genesis. Is
this
clear?”

John Henry saw the determination in the woman’s face but kept his skepticism to a minimum for the time being.

“I will give you your way when it comes to McDonald for now. But if he does anything to corrupt our mission he will be left in the wilderness. The last I heard, you cannot be blamed for a man falling off a train.”

“Understood. He will be valuable when the time comes in figuring out what the British will do if and when we come up with the evidence.”

“Gray Dog,” Thomas said, turning to face the seated Comanche. “What was it you saw in the brig onboard
Yorktown
?”

Gray Dog finally stood, much to the surprise of Claire who never knew the Indian was even in the same car.

The Comanche looked at the woman and then at the men. “Great Spirit does not wish for men to travel to his black mountain. His mystery
is
mystery and the dark ones watch and wait. The black one is here now and has awakened since we travel. Black medicine is working in this place.”

“What did you see, boy?” Taylor asked as he lost patience with one of the race of men who murdered his sister, regardless of what John Henry said. His prejudice he kept close to his heart, and he lashed out at anything related to it.

“The dark ones live in the shadows of this world and they grow strong once again. It will protect the mountain and what lies buried there.”

“Women spies and Indian superstition. This is a wonderful combination, John Henry. All of this combined should make for excellent planning.” Taylor had lost all of his humor.

Thomas looked from his young friend to Claire.

“Report anything unusual from our British army friend immediately or you may find yourself off this train also.”

“I will,” was her curt and angry reply.

“Good, dismissed.” John Henry watched them leave and then turned to Gray Dog. “You’re reverting back to old ways. I need you to speak in terms I can understand.”

“There is no understanding of this, John Henry. Men will die if we continue.”

“Ask Sergeant Major Dugan to bring in the artifacts before he beds down.”

“John Henry, we must not go to this black place.”

Thomas watched Gray Dog leave and wondered if every person he knew had gone off the proverbial cliff as far as reality was concerned. With the country killing itself in a war that should have been fought a hundred years before, he didn’t need fairy tales to keep him busy.

He would discover the truth behind those ancient petrified wooden relics.

16

Jessy sat at the wood-burning stove, allowing his feet to feel the warmth they had been seeking since the winter of 1862. The second year of the war had seen one of the coldest winters on record and his feet did not come out of the conflict well at all. Taylor was well aware of a soldier’s right to complain about his feet, and he utilized that right by making his men keep constant vigil on the stove. He sat in his stocking feet as he propped them as close as possible to the stove without actually setting them on fire.

Mess steward Grandee was moving through the car with a tray of coffee and his version of a sweet bun most of the men had never eaten before. Both marine guard and Rebel soldier had been pleased to get the treat from the giant black man. Even Taylor accepted the coffee.

Inside the car there were twenty-two prisoners and ten marines. Thus far they had kept separate company with only an occasional glance that relayed the men’s distrust of one another. Most of the Rebels were gathered near the back of the car around a single table, leaving their wooden bunk areas for the marines. The accommodations supplied by the Turks had surprised both Union and Confederate soldiers.

The soft melody of “Bonnie Blue Flag” permeated the train car. The harmonica was slow and bold. The song was normally an upbeat and rollicking tune sung by the troops in the South. The chorus would usually be a blaring
Hurrah, hurrah, the boys are home
,
hurrah
, but instead it was just the harmonica playing a sad refrain instead of the patriotic, inspired verse. Taylor was hearing the sadness as the tune came home to roost.

As the car moved along into the night, a single note sounded from the area where the marines sat. Then another was sent into the sad refrain of the Rebel contingent. It was a slow start to the tune “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It was another harmonica, only this was used by a marine corporal. The music got louder, interfering with the Rebel tune. In turn the Confederates became louder. Soon a few words to both songs sounded and Taylor grimaced as he foresaw what was coming.

“Shit,” he said as he sat up and started pulling on his boots as the harmonicas gave way to pounding and louder lyrics from both sides.

Suddenly Taylor was saved the bad experience of breaking up a fight between factions when a louder tune started filtering through the other two. It was loud and played with spirit. It was another harmonica, and as the men all stood their words and rhetoric started to dwindle down to nothing. They saw the man who had come into the middle of their songs with one of his own. It was Grandee and the steward was playing the old tune that all American men knew—“Yankee Doodle.”

Taylor had to smile as the men, both marines and Rebels, didn’t know what to do or say. It was Corporal Jenks who started singing the words to the old American folk tune. Soon others joined. Both marine and Reb started caterwauling to the song as loudly as they could.

The door opened at the back of the car and Taylor turned and saw John Henry with a drawn Colt as he stood in the doorway after hearing the loud voices erupt. Jessy smiled as he once more kicked off his boots. He looked at Thomas and then his smile grew and he shook his head. John Henry holstered his weapon and then nodded, leaving the car as it erupted with both sides singing the same song.

For both Taylor and Thomas, that was a start—again.

*   *   *

John Henry closed the door with a mild sigh of relief. The men were not brawling as he’d suspected they would. He smiled and shook his head as he started back to the private car at the back of the train.

“Is everything all right?” came the voice from behind him.

John Henry turned and saw that Claire had left her sleeping berth, the only occupied one in this car, to see what the shouting and singing were about. She was in a white dressing gown and her long, flowing red hair cascaded around her shoulders. Thomas looked down and the dressing gown was not the only item to catch his eye. Claire was holding a small Derringer in her right hand. John Henry looked from it to the woman’s green eyes.

“Expect to bring down many a Rebel with just that?”

“No, just you for exposing my cover story. We could have discussed my orders in private.”

“Well, you can put that away for now. I’ll answer your challenge after this is all said and done.” He started to turn and then thought better of it. He smiled. “If you really want satisfaction, of course?”

Claire grimaced and then she lowered the Derringer. She half-smiled and then looked at the colonel in his long-underwear top and blue pants.

“Are you going to tell me what that is all about?” she asked as she nodded toward the forward train cars.

“Just a few men remembering who they are.” He shook his head and turned away. “Or were.”

Claire listened to the rousing tune coming from the men who had been joined by others, both naval personnel and Confederate, as they came together to remember something from their shared past. She understood why that was significant.

“Sometimes it’s the simplest solutions that stump you, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” John Henry said as he opened the door and without looking back he stepped inside the private car.

Claire stood and watched the closed door for the longest time. Then she jumped as she felt someone behind her. When she turned she saw it was the Comanche, Gray Dog. He nodded and stepped past her to Thomas’s closed door, where he sat. He watched her until she turned back to her berthing area.

When she climbed inside and pulled the thin curtain, her thoughts turned to Thomas and she wondered what made a man so resentful of being alive. She got a strange sensation that the colonel would rather be laid low in a grave than be among the living. She suspected she knew why, but for some reason could not understand why it was she cared.

Her thoughts were still on John Henry as she closed her eyes for sleep.

*   *   *

In the dim lamplight Thomas once more unfolded the waterproof cloth covering the two artifacts. The strange symbols were highlighted as darker etchings as the lamp did not fully expose them to light. He ran his fingers over the deep-cut etchings and then he felt the coldness of the petrified wood. He removed his fingers and rubbed them together. He could almost feel the frost as he wanted nothing more than for the feel of the wood to leave his skin.

John Henry reached out and swallowed the last of his whiskey, and then as he reached for the decanter found that it was empty. He pushed both the decanter and empty glass away from him as he felt his eyes growing heavy. His attention was again drawn to the two pieces of artifact and the strange symbols on the one. His fingers almost touched it again and then he pulled them back. His eyelids drooped as he again rubbed the tips of his fingers together. It was as if the cold was extending outward now and he could feel it without actually touching the stone. Finally his eyes closed and he felt the gentle touch of sleep as it claimed his conscious mind.

Outside the door, Gray Dog’s eyes also closed, but not before he pulled the blanket given him by Grandee up around his shoulders as subconsciously he felt the cold as it claimed the car.

Claire was deep asleep in her berth but still managed to pull her quilts and blankets more securely around her.

The two small lamps inside the railcar started to dim as John Henry embraced the sounds of the train as even they fell distant inside his sleeping mind. The soft tinkling of the whiskey glasses and decanter settled to a mournful tune that only added to his deepness of sleep.

Just before the lamps expired to nothing, a large shadow detached itself from the rear section of the car. As the light died it took a giant’s form as its wings spread wide and engulfed John Henry Thomas. The entity spread and then after feeling the thoughts of the American, the shadow slowly dispersed.