Chastened, Jamison handed them over. “I can tell you they are pages from a personal journal, written in a cipher. I decoded them.” He handed her a folded sheet of paper.
Wright looked it over. “This can’t be all of it.”
“Not even close. The person to whom Washington entrusted the journal must have only hidden the first two pages behind the painting and kept the remainder for himself. I hope what you’re looking for hasn’t already been found.”
Wright closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “I suppose it’s possible, but I doubt it. Something like that would be difficult to keep hidden. I’m certain it never reached Lafayette. I’ve exhausted the possibilities on that score.” She paused. “Now we need to figure out who, exactly, Washington considered the “most reliable man” he knew.
Outside the window, Maddock and Bones exchanged glances.
Sneaking onto the grounds of Wright’s home had been child’s play. Dressed in black and following Jamison’s car through the gate had ensured they would remain undetected. Eavesdropping on Wright and Jamison in the study was no challenge, either. Bones’ legendary stealth and the fact that the desk was tucked into a bay window alcove allowed them to creep within a few feet of the woman and hear everything that was said.
They waited to hear more, but Wright dismissed Jamison. She took a long look at the translation her agent had given her, and then deposited it along with the letter in her desk. She rose to her feet and turned her gaze toward a large painting that dominated the far wall. Joan of Arc!
“My lady,” she said, “I swear I will find it.” With that, the woman sat down at the center of the floor, assumed a lotus position, and began to meditate.
“I think,” Maddock whispered to Bones, “we should get busy.”
SEVEN
Melissa was waiting when they arrived back at their motel room. Maddock hadn’t wanted her to go home yet, just in case the Sons of the Republic wanted another go at the Mount Vernon staff. He wasn’t worried about being discovered, as Bones had booked their room under the name Elvis Lennon, for reasons known only to him.
“I’m so glad you’re all right!” she said as the two SEALs walked through the door. She threw her arms around Maddock, gave him a tight squeeze, and then quickly drew away. “What did you find out?”
“Right down to business, huh?” Maddock asked, a little disappointed she hadn’t greeted him with a kiss.
“This is a scary situation and I want to know what’s going on.”
“Fill her in, Maddock.” Bones dropped down on one of the queen beds, his size thirteen feet hanging off the end as they did nearly everywhere Maddock had seen him sleep.
Maddock quickly recounted what they had learned, omitting the part where a guy held a Desert Eagle in his face.
“It’s obviously the mysterious journal they’re looking for,” she said. “That must be what Washington wanted Lafayette to have.” She frowned. “But there’s something I don’t understand. Washington lived for several years after this letter was written, and he would have had opportunities to give the journal to Lafayette.”
“Wright is certain it didn’t get to Lafayette,” Bones said quickly. He glanced at Maddock, who knew what his friend was thinking. Avoid the subject of Washington’s death. Not for the first time, Maddock wondered if he’d always be forced to keep secrets from the people he cared about.
“Let’s assume he went ahead and handed the journal off to this ‘most reliable man.’ Any idea who that would be?” Maddock asked.
A knock at the door cut off Melissa’s reply.
Bones and Maddock sprang to their feet. Had the Sons found them?
“It’s Sterling,” a familiar voice said from the other side of the door.
“How did she find us?” Bones muttered as he headed for the door.
Sterling pushed the door open as soon as Bones had cracked it, forcing him to jump out of the way and back into the motel bathroom. She showed no signs of the brief detente from the previous day.
“You two haven’t reported back to me,” she said, closing the door behind her and locking it.
“We decided to stake out Edmonia Jennings Wright’s house. We questioned one of her men, a guy named Guter, and he pointed us in the right direction.”
Sterling crossed her arms. “And he just willingly shared the information with you?”
Bones stepped in front of her. “We can be very persuasive. Don’t you want to hear what happened next?”
“I sure as hell don’t want to hear what you did to get him to talk, but I doubt I’m going to like what happened next any better.”
Maddock said, “No, you won’t. You asked for our aid, so we took action. We got some information and we might need you to grease the rails as we move forward. So either head on back to Virginia or stop busting our chops and start working with us.”
Sterling didn’t back down, but some fire had left her voice. “You know I have the power to arrest you.”
“Sure. But you already told us your pursuit is unofficial. My guess is that actually arresting us is the last thing you want to do.”
She stared at Maddock for a long moment before lowering herself into a chair next to the room’s small desk and lamp. “I’m not going to apologize, but I’ll admit you have a point. Tell me what you know.”
Maddock and Bones told her everything Guter had said, as well as the subsequent events at Wright’s house, including the presence of the man from the security video at Mount Vernon.
Sterling considered this. “So, any idea who Washington’s trusted man was?”
“That’s what we were talking about when you arrived,” Maddock paused, a sudden thought hitting him. “You know what? I’ve been overthinking this!”
“No! Not you!” Bones jibed.
“Bite me. Anyway, I think I know who the person is.”
EIGHT
The Smithsonian National Museum of American History stood on Constitution Avenue on the north side of the National Mall in Washington, DC. As they mounted the steps, Maddock stole a glance over his shoulder at the Washington Monument jutting up over the thin tree line. No matter how many times he visited the nation’s capital, he found himself mesmerized by the history represented here.
“Not much to look at, is it?” Bones’ sweeping gesture took in the museum’s gray façade.
“It gets better on the inside. At least, it does if you like history.”
“I hear they’ve got one of Elvis’ outfits from his Vegas days in here.”
“They’ve got a little bit of everything,” Sterling said.
Maddock held the glass door for the others and the group proceeded inside. Five minutes later they were ushered into a tiny office with the name LISA ACIE etched on a nameplate beside the door.
Lisa Acie, a woman of medium height with light brown skin and long, lustrous black hair, greeted them with a warm, friendly smile and shook hands with each of them. Maddock didn’t miss the way her gaze lingered on Bones as she invited them to sit.
“I have to say, I don’t get many interview requests,” she began, taking off her glasses and laying them on her desk. “What exactly can I help you with?”
“We’re interested in Billy Lee,” Maddock said. “We understand you’re a descendant.”
“That’s correct.” She was speaking to Maddock, but her eyes kept drifting to Bones. “His life is fairly well documented. I’m not sure how I can help you.”
That was true. William “Billy” Lee was George Washington’s slave and personal valet. One of the most trusted people in Washington’s circle, he attended to Washington’s personal needs and filled a variety of roles. An expert horseman, he became Washington’s huntsman, the man in charge of the hounds, on Washington’s frequent hunting trips, and served him throughout the Revolutionary War and until his passing.