“You prefer amigo, maybe? Kemosabe? Soul sister?”
“Partner is fine.”
In two minutes, Jillian had a translation. “It’s sort of a poem.”
“Um. Okay.” Bones scratched his head. “Is this, like, about God? You know, the Father?”
“I don’t think so.” Dane mulled it over. “Remember, the Sons of the Republic are looking for Washington’s Prophecy.”
“Yes!” Jillian’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Even in his lifetime, George Washington was known as the ‘Father of His Country.’ Adams would certainly have been familiar with that title, and would likely have used it.”
“You’re right. That should have been obvious. My bad.” Bones took the poem from Jillian and looked it over. “If I’m not mistaken, we’ve got the ‘twin beacons that kindled liberty’ right here in our backpacks. Now we need to figure out what the ‘beneath’ part means.”
Dane looked at Jillian and could tell they were thinking the same thing.
“I know exactly where we need to go.”
CHAPTER 15
Dane gazed up at the steeple of the Old North Church. Fitting that the search would end here at this 270 year-old house of worship where, in 1775, sexton Robert Newman hung two lanterns, thus warning the Charlestown patriots of the movements of British forces.
“One if by land, two if by sea,” he whispered.
“Talking to yourself?”
Dane jerked his head about, startled by Bones’ sudden appearance. “How did you manage to sneak up on me like that?” Dane prided himself on his acute hearing and vision, and sharp instincts. Seldom could someone do to him what Bones had just done.
“I’m your worst nightmare: a SEAL-trained Indian. You ought to see me up in the mountains. Of course, that’s impossible.”
“Do you see Jillian anywhere?”
“She should be here any minute. I kept an eye on her most of the way, but don’t let her know that. She looked so proud of herself, getting all sneaky.”
They had split up before making their way back up the Freedom Trail to the church, figuring they stood a better chance of eluding O’Meara that way. Dane hoped the police officer and Son of the Republic had gone to work on deciphering the journal, and would leave them in peace, at least long enough for them to find the Gates of Freedom and whatever lay beyond them. He caught a glimpse of a shadow moving toward them, and relaxed. Jillian had made it.
“Here she comes,” Bones whispered.
“I see her.”
“Maglites on three. One… two…”
On three, they spun and shone their lights in Jillian’s face.
“Fine, I suck at sneaking. Now turn those things off.”
“So, how do we get in?” Dane asked. “Bones, could you pick the lock?”
“Probably, but I’ll bet the door is alarmed. Let me take a quick look around.”
They circled the old church, Bones scrutinizing every window. Finally, when they reached the back, he stopped. “I don’t see alarms on any of these windows. I hate to do it, but I think our best bet is to pop out one of the small panes of glass,” he indicated the window just to the right of the back door, “and raise the sash.”
“Do it quietly.” Dane looked around, still expecting O’Meara to appear at any moment. He watched as Bones took out a handkerchief, wrapped it around his hand, and knocked out the pane above the window latch. The tinkling of shattering glass sounded like gunfire in the quiet night. Still using the handkerchief to cover his hands, Bones reached inside, opened the latch, and forced the window upward. It rose with a shrill squeak, and Dane stole a glance around the side of the building to see if anyone was on the street, but they were still alone. So far, so good.
Minutes later, they were inside the church. Bones closed the window, expressing regret that, if he’d only had the proper tools, he could have removed the glass without shattering it.
“How many burglaries did you commit when you were a kid?” Jillian asked.
“More than seven, less than a thousand. That’s all you need to know.”
“So, where do we begin our search?” Dane asked Jillian. “Downstairs, I assume.”
“Most people don’t realize there’s a crypt beneath Old North Church. Thirty-seven tombs and over a thousand bodies. I think it will be down there.”
She led the way into the basement. They descended a winding, narrow staircase, their footsteps echoing loudly off the wooden steps. At the bottom, a door on the left opened into the crypt.
Here, the walls were rough brick, some tombs sealed with doors of wood or slate, others covered in plaster. Above them were gray slate nameplates memorializing those entombed beneath the historical church.
“What are we looking for?” Bones whispered.
“Anything that catches your eye. The crossed circle, something related to the Sons of Liberty. Go with your gut.”
As they moved through the crypt, the weight of history seemed to settle on Dane. His eyes passed across name after name, the dates driving home the significance of this place. The longer they searched, however, the less hopeful he felt.
“It has to be here,” Jillian whispered.
“Keep looking.” His voice rang hollow. The dark, twisting passageway ended up ahead, and nothing looked promising.
Bones held his light up to the nameplate above the last tomb. “Here lies Culper Ring. That’s a weird name. No birth and death dates.” He turned back to face Dane and Jillian. “Guess we’ve hit a dead end.”
“I don’t think so.” Dane brushed past Bones and began a careful examination of the tomb and the surrounding wall.
“What do you mean?” Jillian’s hopeful voice held a measure of doubt, as if reluctant to believe they hadn’t failed.
“It’s not a person’s name. The Culper Ring was one of George Washington’s spy rings during the war.”
“You’re sure it’s not just a coincidence?” Bones asked.
“Nope, but I’ve got a feeling.” He lowered the beam of his light to the floor and his heart leapt. “Now I’m sure.”
On either side of the tomb, shallow indentations in the shape of the lantern bases were carved in the stone. Metal bands formed the lines of the cross.
“That’s got to be where the lanterns go!” Bones exclaimed.
Dane and Jillian removed the lanterns from their backpacks and carefully set them in place.
“Any day now,” Bones muttered.
The tomb remained sealed.
Dane tried switching the lanterns, then turning them as if they were keys, but met with no success. He removed one and touched the recessed area in the floor. The metal bands seemed out of place. The crossed circle could have been carved into the stone, so why the metal? He ran a finger across the smooth, cold surface of one strip.
Cold!
Inspiration struck in a flash. Could it be?
“Maybe the lanterns need to be lit!”
“If they do, we’re screwed,” Bones said. “I doubt there’s still oil in these babies after two hundred years.”
Dane cursed and pounded his fist into his open palm. Could they escape unseen, find a store open and selling lamp oil on Independence Day, and sneak back down here without getting caught or once again running afoul of the Sons of the Republic? Would their quest be thwarted by something so mundane?
“Actually, we’re good to go.” Jillian pulled a small can out of her pack and handed it to Dane. “I know it’s dumb, but I thought it would be cool to explore the Gates of Freedom using Paul Revere’s lanterns, so I replaced the wicks and brought a little lamp oil.” “You might have saved the day.” In short order, he had filled the lanterns. Jillian offered him a disposable lighter, but Bones objected.