The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (73 page)

*   *   *

Captain Jackson met the three men at the top of the companionway. He smiled and for the first time in recorded history Jackson seemed pleased with life.

“There’s been some snafu. The navy has no assigned men to offload the cargo, so it will have to stay aboard until tomorrow.”

“Then what for the navy?” Jessy asked the young officer he had come to respect.

“I think I’m going to accept the research-and-development position open with Mr. Ericsson.”

“Leave the navy?” Thomas asked, astounded that the career officer would even consider resigning his commission.

“There is a new science rising from the depths of the sea, gentlemen, called submarines, and I want in.”

“What in the hell is that?” Jessy asked.

“Why it’s the most exciting thing to come along in—”

“What it is, is beyond us,” John Henry said, cutting off Jackson’s enthusiastic answer.

*   *   *

The men were all on deck as the three officers and Gray Dog came up from below. The men all stood on the main deck and looked up at the men who had gotten them home. Many had been lost, but these men, from both sides of the war, had become used to the empty chair at the table when a comrade had fallen. This time there were quite a few empty chairs, but for the men who made it back that spring day in April, the smells of home were enough.

As one the men—all sailors, 317th band members, marines, and all civilian-dressed Confederate prisoners—stood to attention and then as one saluted the three men.

John Henry was the first to react. He did not return the salute, which shocked both Jessy and Jackson. Even Gray Dog raised a brow at the possible snub in courtesy. Claire came up, aware of what was happening.

“Gentlemen, lower your hands, please.”

The men didn’t know what to do at first as hands started down, then went back into salute, but then they all slowly lowered their right hands as they watched the army colonel.

“It is not we who deserve the respect you give us, but it is we who owe you everything. We had the honor of commanding the bravest men in any army in the world. It doesn’t matter how we started out, it is where we ended up—as friends and men we respect. Gentlemen, it has been our great honor.”

The men watched as Jackson and Taylor stepped up beside John Henry and all three saluted the men down below.

The men all saluted and then watched as John Henry, Jackson, Claire, and Jessy made for the gangway to greet the fat men with cigars.

*   *   *

The three men and one lady waited for the five men to transit from an ornate carriage to the long dock. Gray Dog had left, and where he was John Henry could not say.

The men stepped from shadow into light and the three officers froze and Claire actually gasped.

These weren’t representatives of the president. Three of the men had large stars pinned to their lapels and were carrying papers. The other three wore refined suits and flashed signs of wealth the men noticed immediately. It was the man in the middle who had their attention. He was no longer in uniform and looked quite smug.

“Colonel Jessop Taylor?” the large man in front asked. He had a large handlebar moustache and was armed, as his open coat clearly demonstrated.

“What is the meaning of this?” John Henry asked, cursing himself for not putting his holster onto his belt. All he had was his worthless sword. He looked at Jackson and he was in the same state of unreadiness.

“This is a signed warrant for the arrest of Colonel Jessop Taylor, prisoner number 59503476, Camp Lafayette. Charges are murder while attempting escape from federal custody.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jackson said as he reached for the warrant quickly enough that the two deputies beside the marshal drew their revolvers. The captain immediately shot a look of hatred at the men. John Henry lowered the captain’s hand and eased him back.

“I’m Colonel Taylor,” Jessy said as he stepped forward.

“Did you think I would brush this under the rug? Did you think I would allow a backwoods Rebel officer to ruin my military career without doing something about it? I told you that day I would get to you, Colonel, and now I have.”

Taylor didn’t flinch as he took in the small-framed man he had so embarrassed. The former major, Nelson Freeman, stood between two of his father’s expensive attorneys and smirked.

“We’ll see what the president has to say to your federal warrant.”

Nelson Freeman honestly looked taken aback. He looked from his companions to the lone woman in the group, Claire. He wondered what her story was in all of this.

“You don’t know, do you?” Freeman asked as he placed his hands on his hips as if he were lecturing.

“Know what?” Claire asked anxiously, not liking the smug look on the former prisoner-of-war-camp commandant.

“President Lincoln. He was assassinated three days ago in Washington.”

Taylor reached out and steadied John Henry as the news sank into the deepest part of his soul.

“Oh, my God,” Claire said as she brought her hands up to cover her mouth.

The federal marshal stepped forward and turned Jessy around and placed manacles on his wrists. He turned him around to face his accuser. Angered shouts rose from the deck of the
Carpenter
as the men watched one of their own being detained. Several curses were flung onto the dock.

“My lawyers have done some investigating of our own. It seems we may have uncovered a web of illegal activity. There will be a warrant issued in the morning, confiscating your cargo. Yes, we know all about the Ollafson expedition and know what it was you were after. Your cargo will be public knowledge by tomorrow, along with a full accounting of certain indiscretions when it comes to war department funds being funneled illegally through the Department of the Navy. Yes, I’m afraid there’s to be an accounting, gentlemen. And the proof we need to scar the president and hang you is currently in your hold. Your friends in office will run for cover on this one. I mean, with a new administration and all, what’s a few worthless old soldiers?”

The second deputy stepped forward and presented a large sealed paper.

“Captain Jackson?”

Jackson didn’t respond; he only looked at the pistol the deputy never holstered. The man simply held out the paper.

“This is to inform you of your cargo’s confiscation. It is to be locked up until federal marshals arrive to secure it.”

Jackson finally accepted the warrant.

Suddenly several men jumped onto the dock from the rigging. They all had rifles. John Henry quickly noted that it wasn’t only Rebel soldiers, but U.S. Marines in full uniform confronting the marshals.

“We expected something like this. Brothers in arms and all of that,” Freeman said just as a hundred federal officers swarmed the dock from a warehouse nearby.

John Henry, recovering too slowly from the shock at hearing of his friend’s murder, waved the men to lower their weapons. He returned his gaze not to the officers, but to Freeman and held it there. The man smiled, felt it fail, and then smiled again, this time giving up on it. The stare from the colonel had totally unnerved him.

The marshal started walking Jessy down the dock toward the waiting carriage. It was John Henry who made the first move, just as a hundred crewmen and soldiers on the deck of
Carpenter
sprang into action by raising a hundred Henry rifles over the gunwale of the ship. Their aim was at the hundred deputized men of the marshal’s service.

“This is madness,” one of the high-priced attorneys said loudly as his hands flew into the air.

“As our own history says, sir, if there is to be war, let it begin here,” John Henry said to the U.S. marshals with a glint in his eye. Even Claire had her small Derringer out and at her side.

“You will not dodge this, Colonel,” Freeman said as he took a menacing step forward.

He jumped back in terror when an arrow struck the wooden dock only inches from his polished shoes.

John Henry didn’t have to look up to know that Gray Dog was above them in the rigging.

“Everyone, at ease and lower those weapons!” came a booming voice from the shadows.

Every man froze but no one lowered anything. The standoff was real and no one was about to back away from this.

“I said lower those weapons!”

Freeman smirked. “I would do as they say, Colonel, or you’ll be responsible for more of your command’s deaths.”

“The marshals’ also. Lower them damn weapons or suffer the wrath of the Lord!”

Freeman’s eyes widened as he turned and saw United States Army soldiers break from the very same warehouse his men had come from.

As they watched, a large, rotund man emerged. His cigar was glowing and he wore a giant bowler hat. The three-piece suit was rumpled, but expensive.

“Do you want to force me to kill every one of you sons of bitches?”

John Henry looked to his men aboard ship and on the docks. He nodded and they all followed orders.

Claire smiled as she recognized the heavyset man. He looked at her and quickly shook his head for her to stay in place.

“I have a signed warrant for the release of this man.”

“We also have a warrant,” the marshal said as he finally holstered his weapon.

“That right?” the man said as he clamped down hard on his cigar. “Well, my warrant is signed by the chief justice of the United States Supreme Court,” the man said as he leaned in to look at the warrant in the marshal’s hand. “You have a signature like that?” He saw the marshal’s face drop. “Yeah, I thought not.” He reached out and took Colonel Taylor by the arm and pulled him back. He reached into his pocket and brought out a duplicate key and unlocked the manacles.

Jessy rubbed his wrists and then as he approached John Henry he pursed his lips and raised his dark brows as if saying,
That was too close
.

“Now, gentlemen, run along. I’ll take it from here.”

“This cannot be legal!” Freeman cried as his hatred flowed through his eyes as he watched Taylor walk free. The man was pulled away by the marshals as they and their men backed away in the direction they had come. The crazed eyes of a very insane Freeman never left Jessy’s face as the colonel blew the abolitionist a kiss, which infuriated the man even further as he struggled to shake free of the hands that held him.

“Uncle Allan, I didn’t think you cared!” Claire said as she ran to the large man and swung her arms around his neck while still holding the Derringer pistol, forcing all the officers to duck as the man swung his niece in a circle.

“Uncle Allan?” Jessy said as John Henry realized just who this man was.

“He’s your uncle?” Thomas asked when the man set her down.

The man sniffed and then tossed his cigar into the stagnant waters of the harbor. He held out his bear-claw hand.

“Allan Pinkerton,” he said as John Henry shook his hand.

“What happened to Mr. Lincoln?” he asked, not caring about anything else until he learned the truth, and all that entered his mind was the fact that he had forwarded the artifacts to the White House, and possibly the curse of Noah along with it.

Pinkerton released the colonel’s hand and then removed his hat as he explained.

“Yes, I understand from certain circles that you and the president were extremely close. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to prevent that madman from shooting him.”

“What madman?” Jackson asked.

“Name was John Wilkes Booth. He murdered the president while he watched a play at Ford’s Theatre, against my advice, I may add.” Pinkerton saw that the men before him weren’t asking to place blame. They actually needed to know about the man who had sent them to a world of mystery and death. “Troops cornered the coward in a barn not far from here, killed him.”

“So what does that mean for us?” Claire asked.

Pinkerton shook his head. “Well, that’s the real wrench in the old cog, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Jackson asked.

“What Mr. Pinkerton means, gentlemen, and lady, is that you cannot exist. Your cargo cannot exist; therefore, you must vanish.”

They all turned and saw an aged, drawn face they immediately recognized as Secretary of State William Seward. The man was literally being held up by three burly men. The secretary stepped into the light to show the returning officers the results of the night the president was murdered. The cuts were evident on his facial features. The hands were covered in cotton gloves and it looked as if the secretary had risen from his deathbed to meet them. John Henry and Jackson walked forward and assisted in getting the secretary to a piling, where he gratefully sat down. The blanket was pulled tight around his gaunt frame.

“I told him he shouldn’t come, but he insisted,” Pinkerton said as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small bottle of laudanum. Claire recognized the strong painkiller the moment she saw it. “The same bastards that conspired to kill the president also targeted Mr. Seward and Vice President Johnson.” He held the bottle to the secretary’s lips and he swallowed the pain-killing dose. “They took a knife to the secretary and his wife.”

“Has the world gone totally mad?” Claire asked.

Seward waved everyone to silence. He gestured to Allan Pinkerton and waved for a package. The spy removed a large envelope from his coat and then passed it to Jessy Taylor.

“What is this?” he asked, expecting more bad news.

“A new start. Since you are now wanted for murder, and since we cannot very well allow you to take the witness stand to defend yourself, we are therefore creating a new you, Colonel.” Pinkerton slapped the envelope. “Use it well.”

Jessy looked at John Henry, who nodded that it was his only option.

“What of my men?” he asked.

“Their discharge papers are awaiting them. Back pay based on our Union scale for each man below the rank of sergeant will be allotted—the sum of fifty-six dollars and forty-two cents.”

“So, that’s the going rate for what we did?” John Henry asked angrily.

“Yes, that and the fact you completed the mission as ordered should serve you well when it comes to the question, “‘What did you do in the great uprising of 1861, Granddad?’”