“Put that crap away.” He produced a Zippo and handed it to Dane. “Only the best.”
“I’ve never seen you smoke.”
“I don’t. I just think Zippos are cool. You can’t deny it came in handy.”
“True. Now, let’s see if I’m right.” Dane set the lanterns back in place, lit the first, then held his breath and lit the second. He was out of ideas. If this didn’t work…
He hadn’t needed to worry. The lanterns blazed brightly and, with a hollow clack, the doorway to the arched tomb slid sideways into the wall.
“Yes!” Bones raised his arms in exultation. “You are the man!”
Stale, damp air wafted forth, causing the lanterns to flicker. Dane shone his Maglite through the opening, revealing a downward sloping tunnel. The Liberty Tree was engraved in the stone floor beneath the words, “The Gates of Freedom.”
Here was the passage they had sought- the hidden entrance to the secret headquarters of the Sons of Liberty.
“Let’s move, Maddock. Think we should take the lanterns with us?”
“I do. Maybe we can find something to wedge the door open, though. We don’t want to be trapped inside.
Bones pried a few of the loose bricks out of the wall and set them in place.
“All right.” Dane handed one lantern to Bones and hefted the other. “Let’s see where she leads.” Heart racing, he took a step inside.
A sense of exhilaration surged through him at the knowledge that he followed a path no one alive had taken. He felt the same heady sensation that came over him whenever he dove on a sunken ship, or into an underwater cave, but more intense.
Behind them the door began to slide back into place until, with a loud thump, it ground to a halt halfway across.
“I wonder if it’s still under warranty?” Bones mused. “I guess we didn’t need to wedge it open after all.”
Dane led the way down into the darkness. Bones’ and Jillian’s footsteps echoed, one heavy, one light, as they followed. Constructed of the same brick as the crypt, the tunnel peaked in an arch about six feet high — just enough clearance for Dane to pass without ducking. Bones wasn’t so fortunate, and he complained vociferously as they descended.
“Shut up, Bones. You’re ruining the mood,” Jillian scolded.
The tunnel curved to the left and then, straight ahead, ended at a set of double doors.
“Oh my God, we’ve found it.” Jillian’s voice trembled. She quickened her pace, hurrying past Dane.
“Stop!” Dane called, taking her by the arm and pulling her back.
“What’s up?” Bones poked his head over Danes shoulder.
“Look.” Dane raised his lantern high. Here, the sloping passage leveled out, and the walls and ceiling were perfectly square. Up above, a single, gray slab hung with no visible means of support. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
“A booby trap?” Bones sounded doubtful. “I think you’ve seen too many movies, Maddock.”
“Why else would they square off just this part of the passageway, when everything else, even the doorway, is arched? And check that out.”
He pointed to the floor, where the coppery scales and onyx eye of giant, segmented rattlesnake gleamed in the lamplight.
“Creepy.” Bones shifted his weight from foot to foot, evidently discomfited by the sight. “Why use a chopped up snake? Some weird cult?”
“No, it’s from Benjamin Franklin’s Join or Die cartoon. It symbolized the need for the colonies to be united against the British.”
“You think those are the steps?” Bones asked.
“The opposite, I believe. Do you remember your American history?”
“Don’t Tread on Me.” Jillian squeezed Dane’s arm. “I think you’re right.”
“Fifty-fifty chance, then.” Bones ran his fingers through his hair. “Is it really worth it? I mean, I want to see this through, but do we want to take the chance of getting squashed just to see this headquarters, or whatever is back there?”
“I’m going.” Before they could stop her, Jillian stepped over the snake’s rattle and onto the slate floor. She froze, looking up, but the ceiling held fast. “Come on, chickens,” she called, carefully making her way to the other side.
Dane and Bones followed along. Bones’ feet were so large, and some of the places they could safely step were so small, that Dane worried they wouldn’t make it across without a misstep, but Bones proved to be more than agile enough to safely navigate the passageway.
“It wasn’t any worse than the obstacle courses we’ve run through in training.” Bones saw the relief in Dane’s eyes. “Quit worrying about me and open these doors.”
Carved in the face of the two doors, the Liberty Tree spread its branches before them. Dane reached out and twisted the handles, and was pleased to find they turned easily. He pushed the doors open and damp air, heavy with the smell of mold, assaulted his nostrils.
Inside, a stone staircase led upward. Dane counted the risers — thirteen steps. Fitting. When he reached the top step, he froze, awestruck.
They had found the secret headquarters of the Sons of Liberty!
CHAPTER 16
“I can’t believe we found it,” Dane whispered. The lantern light shone on high, vaulted ceilings and cast shadows in the empty shelves that lined the walls on either side. Directly in front of them stood a long, wooden table, its surface coated with dust and mold. Chairs were scattered about, some broken. Lanterns identical to the ones he and Bones held hung from hooks in the corners, and a huge chandelier dangled from a chain in the room’s center, the remains of candles still evident.
“I’ll bet it was something to see in its day.” Bones’ eyes were filled with wonder. “Did anybody bring a camera?”
Neither Dane nor Jillian answered. Both were mesmerized by what lay at the far end of the room. As if in a trance, Dane crossed the floor, eyes locked on the fantastic sight.
Looking down upon them from atop a high pedestal sat George Washington. Rendered in white marble, the first President of the United States gazed serenely into the distance.
“This doesn’t make sense.” Jillian stared wide-eyed at the memorial. “Washington wasn’t one of the Boston Sons of Liberty, and by the time he rose to prominence, the organization wouldn’t have needed a secret headquarters. Why would they build a memorial to him down here?”
Dane tried to reply, but he couldn’t speak. He had just read the inscription on the base of the pedestal.
Here lies
His Excellency, George Washington
Commander In-Chief of the Continental Army
First President of the United States
Father of His Country
February 22, 1732- July 4, 1791
May God Forgive Us
“What… what does this mean?” Jillian stammered.
“This is weird,” Bones agreed.
They were right. Washington hadn’t died in 1791. In fact, he’d served as president until 1797 and passed away in 1799. Dane gazed up at George Washington’s face, as if understanding lay in those cold, stone eyes.
“What’s this on the floor?” Bone asked.
Dane looked down. Beneath a layer of dust lay a bronze plaque. He knelt, brushed it clean, and read aloud.
“On July 4, 1791, His Excellency, George Washington, President of these United States, died as he had lived, in service to his country. Believing the bonds that unite our thirteen states too fragile to survive the news that the Father of our infant nation had fallen to an assassin’s bullet, we chose the honorable Charles Washington to serve in his stead. May God forgive us for our deception. It is our fervent prayer that, some day, the citizens of this great nation shall know the truth and understand that what we did, we did for our country.”