ABRAHAM LINCOLN
1809–1865
THIS STATUE WAS ERECTED BY THE CITIZENS OF THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA APRIL 15 1868
RE-ERECTED APRIL 15 1923 UNDER ACT OF CONGRESS OF JUNE 21 1922
“You’re right, Maddock. 1868 would fit the timeline perfectly. And if Acie’s ancestor, Lee’s descendant, was gripped with Lincoln fever after the assassination that could explain why he wanted the journal put in a monument to Lincoln instead of Washington.”
“True. He might even have seen it as forging a link between two great leaders. I’d imagine the Grand Army thought of it that way.”
“But what about this last line? Re-erected? That’s not good.”
It was a measure of Bones’ seriousness that he didn’t make a bad pun out of the word. Maddock considered this. If the statue had been taken down and placed on a new pedestal, the journal might be lost. But he didn’t want to give up so easily.
“Bones, can you create a diversion?”
“How big?”
“Don’t get yourself arrested.”
“Crap. I was ready to get naked.” Bones looked around at the few pedestrians and grinned. “I’ll come up with something.” He moved out in front of the statue, cleared his throat, and boomed, “Who will emancipate the red man?”
Maddock grinned and hurried away. Bones was frequently full of crap, but he could get serious about the plight of Native Americans when he wanted to. As his friend launched into his impromptu speech, Maddock headed back to the sidewalk and found the nearest manhole. Traffic was light and the pedestrians were all looking up at Bones, so he slipped his fingers through the holes of the manhole cover and lifted the heavy circle, climbed in, and slipped it back into place. The fetid odor of stagnant water and decay assaulted his nostrils as he climbed down into the darkness. When he hit the bottom, he turned on his MagLite and moved through the low tunnel, heading in the direction of the statue.
He soon hit paydirt. In one section, the circular tunnel gave way to a square room constructed of crumbling bricks. Up above, he could just make out the muffled sound of Bones pontificating. Smiling, he shone his light up and down the cracked walls.
“Beneath the foundation,” he said to himself. In one corner, he noticed a brick that was double the size of all the others. His heart began to race as he drew his Recon knife and chipped away at the mortar. It crumbled like sand beneath the sharp metal until, finally, the brick came free. He let out a small whoop of triumph and shone his light into the space where the brick had been.
Nothing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He reached in and felt around the empty space, but there was nothing there, save a bit of dust and one desiccated spider. Muttering a few choice obscenities, he hefted the brick and made to replace it when something thudded to the floor.
He froze and turned his light downward. The beam fell on a dried out oilcloth bag.
“It’s a hollow brick, genius,” he chided himself. Hope rising anew, he replaced the brick and then carefully opened the bag and peered inside.
The bag held a small, cracked, leather bound journal. He closed the bag, tucked it inside his shirt, and headed back the way he had come.
When he climbed back up to the manhole he paused to listen, but heard nothing. He doubted he would be able to hear approaching footsteps anyway. He raised the manhole cover an inch and peered out.
The few pedestrians were still looking toward the statue, but Bones was no longer making a speech.
As Maddock’s eyes fell on his friend, Bones drove his fist into the chin of a thickset man, sending the attacker to the ground on rubbery legs. A second man stepped back and raised a pistol. Before Maddock could call out a warning, Bones lashed out with his foot, kicked the gun to the side, and bore the man to the ground. He slammed his attacker’s head into the pavement and sprang to his feet.
“Bones! This way!” Maddock shouted.
Bones spotted him and took off at a dead run. Behind him, the first man he’d taken down had pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked with bleary eyes at Bones’ retreating form.
“Why not just run away?” Bones gasped as he reached the manhole.
“In case there are more of them. Come on!”
Maddock dropped to the ground and then moved out of his friend’s way. Bones landed heavily on his feet and they took off at a trot.
“Holy crap, these ceilings are low,” Bones growled.
“I don’t know if you can call the top of a sewer drain a ‘ceiling’, but whatever,” Maddock said.
“Did you find anything?”
“Not much. Just Washington’s journal.”
“Did I ever tell you you’re awesome? Well, no because it’s not true, but you do find more nuts than the average blind squirrel.”
Maddock laughed. “Thanks, Bones.”
They passed through the chamber where Maddock had found the journal and then back into another low passageway. Maddock kept his eyes open for a way out, but saw nothing. After a few minutes, he held up a hand and they stopped.
“Do you think anyone’s following us?” Bones whispered.
“That’s what I’m wondering.” He strained to listen, and finally heard the sound of footsteps moving in the distance. “No idea how far away they are, but they’re definitely after us.”
“I should have grabbed that dude’s gun.”
“It’s better if we get out of this with no killing. Come on.”
They set off again, trying to move silently. Maddock could move almost silently, but next to Bones, his every movement sounded like thunder to his ears. Finally, they came to a cross-tunnel.
“Which way?” Bones asked.
Maddock chose a direction at random and hurried along. Behind them, the faint sounds of pursuit continued unabated. He picked up the pace, grimacing as they splashed through chill puddles of mud and stagnant water and slipped on detritus.
“Running hunched over like this is bad for my back,” Bones grumbled.
“I could make a joke about you being accustomed to bending over, but that would be too easy,” Maddock jibed.
“Screw you, Maddock.”
A few minutes later Maddock came to a sudden halt.
“What is it?” Bones had the good sense to keep his voice down.
“Look over here.” Maddock shone his light into a wide fracture in the side of the passageway. “There’s something back there. An old cellar, maybe. Think you can squeeze your giant butt through?”
“If that swollen head of yours will fit, I should have no problem.” Bones slipped out of his leather jacket, took a deep breath, forced the air out of his lungs in a whoosh, and squeezed sideways into the narrow passageway.
Maddock watched his friend fade slowly into the darkness. The footsteps were coming closer. “Are you almost there?”
Bones let out a grunt and, with a dull scraping sound, forced his bulk out of the crevice. “Come on.”
Maddock followed quickly, though his muscular frame made things difficult for him, too. When both were on the other side, they shone their lights around, looking for a way out.
They were in some sort of old cellar, forgotten by the looks of it. Dust and cobwebs coated the ancient brick walls, and black mold clung to the beams above their head.
“We need to find a way out, and quick,” Maddock said. “If the Sons catch up with us, and we’re waving these flashlights around, our side passage here is useless.”
Bones quickly spotted a trapdoor in the ceiling at the far corner of the room. “There’s no way up.” He shone his beam down on a crumbling pile of wood that might have once been stairs.
“We’ll have to do this in proper military fashion,” Maddock said.
Bones grinned. “Just like the obstacle course. Let’s do it.”
They quickly positioned themselves beneath the trapdoor. Bones knelt and Maddock climbed onto his friend’s shoulders. Maddock wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but Bones had no trouble lifting the smaller man up.