Ernest Dempsey
The Denali Deception
Prologue
Mary wandered over to the window and pulled back the curtain to steal a peek outside. The streetlights flickered along the sidewalks, illuminating the road for the few carriages that were still out at this hour. Her eyes panned from one end of the street to the other, making sure there was no one loitering where they shouldn't.
Over the last few months, her guests had come to meet at the boarding house in secret. They'd taken precaution on top of precaution to ensure no one would know what they were up to or who was involved.
Even with all the safety measures in place, Mary couldn't keep her paranoia at bay. To say what they were doing was risky would have been the understatement of the nineteenth century.
Satisfied nothing out of the ordinary was going on outside, she turned away from the window and looked over at the men around the warm embrace of the fireplace.
She returned to the little meeting and sat down in her rocking chair a few feet away from the discussion.
"All clear," she said to the man to her left.
His name was John. He had thick black hair and a tight matching mustache. His clothes were fashionable for the time, and he carried himself with an air of distinction, even in the way he sat around the table with the other men. Mary figured it was from his acting background, but she had no way of knowing. He was the only actor she'd met as far as she knew.
The other three were rougher around the edges, though handsome in their own right.
"You're certain of this?" John asked one of the others.
Lewis, a young man with hair brushed to one side, nodded. "I've never been more sure of anything in my whole life." His accent was firmly rooted in the Deep South. A native of Alabama, he'd been a supporter of the Confederacy since the beginning of the war. The others at the table were likewise backers of the rebellion.
The war was all but over, though, and the South had lost.
Robert E. Lee had surrendered at Appomattox just days before. With military engagements officially ending, all hope had been lost… except in the eyes of those sitting in Mary Surratt's boarding house.
To them, the The War of Northern Aggression wasn't over until they'd taken one last desperate measure.
Originally, they'd plotted to kidnap the Union president, Abraham Lincoln. Six of the conspirators had planned the abduction in intricate detail. Lincoln was supposed to arrive at a specific location where the kidnappers waited in the shadows. Hours went by before the group had come to the conclusion that Lincoln wasn't coming.
None of them were sure why the president didn't show up that day, although they figured he might have been tipped off to their plan. By whom, none of them were certain.
They were going to take the president to Richmond, the current capital of the Confederacy. Now that Union forces were crawling all over Virginia, the plan would have to be modified.
John Wilkes Booth stared down at the sheet of paper Lewis Powell had put on the table. "If you're right about this, Lewis, we may have just found a way to tip the scales in our favor."
"Even though we already surrendered?" George asked. His accent had a strong hint of German upbringing.
"Countries surrender and strike again later on," John said. "Look at the Brits. They were defeated in the Revolution and then came back to invade this very city a few decades later."
"I'd rather not wait decades for it to happen," said the man closest to the fire. His name was David Herold. His hair was combed to one side atop a rustic, chiseled face.
He was the sixth of eleven children born to his parents and the only one who survived to adulthood. Being so close to so much death created a hardened demeanor in him. David was known for keeping his feelings to himself, except when it came to his sympathy for the rebellion. He'd made it known early on that he believed the president handled the situation with the south poorly. Upon meeting other like-minded individuals such as Booth, David found what he believed to be his true calling. With his family all gone, there was even less cause for worry. If he failed and was executed, no one would miss him. He was quite literally a man with nothing to lose.
"If what he's saying is true, we won't have to wait that long."
"It's real, all right," Lewis said. "My sources tell me that the secretary has been sending men all through this region to map it and find out all they can. Word is, he's planning on buying the entire territory."
George guffawed. "Pfft. Why would they do that? It's nothing but an icebox up there."
"That's what everyone else thinks, too. They believe the Alaska Territory is nothing but a bunch of snow and ice and wild animals. But this letter" — he tapped his finger on a piece of paper—"and this map prove what Seward and Lincoln are really up to. They found something in that frozen wilderness. And I'm willing to bet the Russians have no idea it's there."
John listened to his comrades, considering every element of the scheme.
A younger man stood in the corner of the kitchen, doing his best to appear as though he wasn't paying attention. His name was also John, named after his late father, John Surratt, who'd died from a stroke some years before.
John Jr. had been doing his part for the Confederacy for several months, working as an undercover courier delivering medical supplies, ammunition, and other important equipment to various drop spots all over the border between North and South.
He'd become so active that at one point the Union placed three hundred troops around the Surratt farm to keep an eye on their activities.
John Jr. shut things down for a short time to throw off the heat, but now he listened closely as the men in his mother's boarding house discussed their elaborate plan.
"It's hard for me to believe Seward's explorers found something so big in such a remote area," George said. "What if we're wrong? What if there's nothing there? That map doesn't even have a specific location marked on it."
"Yes," Lewis added. "George makes a good point. It's a vast wilderness. You could search for years and not find anything."
The look in Booth's eyes intensified. "If we're wrong, the worst we'll do is rid the world of a tyrant and his toadies. I'm not wrong about this, though. Three years ago, President Davis was getting ready to send a group of men west to Alaska. Rumor had it there was something big underground near the Denali Mountains. Locals and natives talked about it. Most of what came out was nothing but rumors and legends. A few bits of information, however, were legitimate enough that our president wanted to investigate."
"I guess he didn't find anything," George said. He took a sip of whiskey and set the little glass back on the table. "Nothing valuable anyway."
Booth shook his head. "Actually, his men never left. A group of Lincoln's spies infiltrated the operation's headquarters in Atlanta. The entire unit was killed in their sleep. Then the spies tried to escape by stealing a train and heading north."
"Wait a minute," Lewis interrupted. "You're not talking about the locomotive chase, are you?"
Booth nodded. "Indeed, I am. Their leader was a civilian scout, a volunteer for Lincoln's little secret mission. After they stole the information about the Alaskan objective and executed the men set to carry it out, they boarded the General and took off toward Chattanooga, Tennessee. From there, they planned on stealing another locomotive to carry them west where they could arrange passage to the Alaskan Territory.
"Their mission was twofold. General Mitchell — the one who put the entire operation together — would move his forces in and take Chattanooga. Andrews and his men would disable the railway and telegraph wires between Atlanta and Chattanooga so their military lines couldn't be reinforced. I have to admit the whole thing was pretty brilliant. Most people just thought it was a raid to destroy the Confederate railroads, but that was only one piece of the puzzle. The other motive behind the sabotage was to cover up whatever is in the Alaska Territory." He paused for a short breath. "And so they could take it for themselves."