"A treacherous affair, this new republic." A voice spoke from the shadows. "Who knows where it will end?"
Washington grew very still, then slowly turned his head.
Several feet away, beneath a doorway, stood a mountainous silhouette. He was a bull of a man, with a ruddy face and white, curly hair. His eyes were black and soulless. The man drew a pistol from his coat and aimed the barrel directly at Washington. "You should not have tried to fool the Alignment." His voice, though familiar, was not easy to place. "Now tell me where your copy of the treaty is."
"There on the table," Washington said warily. "I came to pick it up."
"Liar." The man emerged from the shadows.
"You!" Washington said, staring at one of his most loyal officers through the years. The man was a former Son of Liberty. A Patriot. One of the original members of the Culper Spy Ring who helped Washington beat the British in New York. His top assassin.
"This is a forgery," the assassin said as he picked up a document from the table and waved it in Washington's face.
Washington felt a surge of dread. He knows. How does he know?
"The ranks of the Alignment are everywhere. Its destiny and America's are one." The assassin leveled his gun at Washington's chest. "Now sit down next to your friend."
Washington did as he was told. Dawn was still hours away, and the room was very dark. He removed his hat and coat and set them on the table, revealing the ceremonial Masonic apron he was wearing, and sat down opposite the assassin.
"A lot of good your brotherhood of builders did you," the assassin sneered. "What match are they against the warriors of the Alignment?"
Washington watched as the assassin unfolded the forged document on the table and examined it by the light of the fire.
"Brilliant," said the assassin approvingly. "This looks exactly like the amended and updated treaty you are to sign and exchange with the Alignment for the original treaty. Except that you used that special ink that becomes invisible after a few days, rendering your signature meaningless because the articles of this treaty will, in effect, disappear. By the time the Alignment would have discovered your treachery, you would have no doubt destroyed the original treaty. Was old Livingston here your man in the Alignment?"
Washington said nothing.
"You always did like to play the double spy game." The assassin turned, holding the official treaty that Washington was supposed to sign. "And what did you intend to do with this?"
The assassin held up the amended treaty that Livingston had copied, the one that would have bound Washington and America to an unthinkable fate.
Washington stared at the fire wordlessly. That infernal treaty! he thought. I never should have signed the first one ten years ago.
"No matter," said the assassin. "Your game is nearly up. Our friends will be here soon. They will decide if you attend your ceremony tomorrow."
He was pointing to a flyer posted on the wall inviting all to join the president and members of Congress on a procession from Alexandria to the top of Jenkins Heights for the laying of the cornerstone of the new United States Capitol building.
Washington could feel a cold chill coming on, the life of the republic passing away.
"How about some ale?" Washington asked.
"Always the cipher, General," the assassin said. He reached for some glasses on a shelf and for a moment turned his back. "So what drink shall it be? Fate or free will? Destiny or liberty?"
"I choose freedom," Washington said, leaning back in his chair until his feet came up toward the table. "I can't help it."
Washington rammed the table with his feet into the assassin's back, driving him into the wall. Several glasses crashed to the floor. The assassin turned, his face a bloody mess as his arm swung up with his pistol. Washington rose from his chair, his left hand deflecting the pistol as his right knee came up into the assassin's groin. The assassin's head jerked forward, his leg hooking behind Washington's, sending them both crashing to the ground. As Washington went down with him, he reached for the wrist of the hand that held the pistol, smashing his fist into the side of the assassin's neck, aware of the pistol exploding between them.
There was the distinct smell of burning flesh and the assassin lay still, dead.
Washington got to his feet, picked up the official treaty and tossed it into the fire. He signed the forgery and slipped it into his overcoat. Then he paused.
The rain had stopped outside.
"Blast it," he cursed, realizing that he had to hurry for his rendezvous with the Alignment to exchange his forgery for their copy of the countersigned and amended treaty he first signed ten years ago. It was the only binding document left, and, God willing, would shortly be in his possession.
In the center of the Federal District was a hill known as Jenkins Heights. Washington had always known it as Rome, because a century earlier a Maryland landowner named Francis Pope had a dream that a mighty empire to eclipse ancient Rome would one day rise on the banks of the Potomac, which he called the Tiber.
Washington, steeped in the history of the land he surveyed as a youth, knew the hill's history stretched well before that, and he felt as if he were riding back in time as old Nelson climbed the hill for the exchange of treaties.
Long before Europeans colonized the New World, the Algonquin Indians held tribal grand councils at the foot of this hill. The Algonquin were linked by archaeology to the ancient Mayans and by legend to the descendents of Atlantis. The chiefs of their primary tribe, the Montauk Indians, were known as Pharaoh, like their ancient Egyptians cousins. And the word was spelled like it was in the old Arabic languages 10,000 years ago, meaning "Star Child" or "Children of the Stars."
Which was why Washington had chosen this hill as the heart of the new federal city, and why his hand-picked surveyors Ellicott and L'Enfant had oriented the proposed Congressional House to the star Regulus in the constellation of Leo-key to both Atlantis and Egypt-and the entire federal city to the constellation Virgo, like Rome.
Washington himself was ambivalent about astrology.
As a Mason, he felt it made sense that new cities and churches and public buildings be aligned to the stars, if only to acknowledge the necessity of heaven's blessings on so vast and corruptible an earthly enterprise as the founding of a new republic. And it made sense to him to cast astrological charts for the laying of cornerstones at the most opportunistic, astronomically favorable moments, such as the time set for the laying of the cornerstone of the U.S. Capitol on this very hill at 1 p.m. later that day. The stars, after all, were more permanent fixtures in the heavens than the passing politics of men.
The officers of the Alignment, however, were no builders like the Masons, but rather warriors who traced their origins to Atlantis and who had infiltrated and manipulated the armies of various empires throughout the ages. They used the stars to wage war and destroy those they considered their enemies. Moreover, their astrology was not elective, like his, employed only to make the most of a favorable astrological climate. No. Their astrology was fixed, fatalistic, and filled with doom-a self-fulfilling prophecy. They never considered the irony that they were merely using the stars to justify their actions.
At strategic points in history, the Illuminati, the Masons, and even the Church had served as ignorant hosts to the infernal ranks of the Alignment, who had now set their sights on the federal government of the new United States. During the Revolution, even Washington himself had gone so far as to rely on certain officers trained in their arts to turn the tide of battle.