Rook knew this. He said nothing and let the general continue.
“The American general in command that day at Bladensburg was William Winder. This building, which now houses the headquarters of the United States Army, is named for him-the man who is more responsible than anyone else for our country’s most notorious military defeat.”
Scott let the story settle in Rook’s mind. Then he rammed home his point: “I may sit in a building named for Winder, but I will not follow in his footsteps. On my watch, Washington won’t fall.”
Rook said nothing when Scott was done. He thought that perhaps he should have paid more attention to his history professor at West Point.
“I knew about Winder and the Battle of Bladensburg,” offered Locke.
Rook balled his fists. He wished he could slug Locke.
“Let’s just make sure history doesn’t repeat itself,” said Scott. “That reminds me, how goes the conversion of the Old Capitol?”
The general was referring to the three-story brick structure just to the east of the actual Capitol. It had been built quickly as a place for Congress to meet after the fire in 1814. For a decade, lawmakers met within its walls on the corner of Maryland Avenue and First Street. Since their departure, the building had served as a school and a boardinghouse. The federal government had just repurchased it for use as a prison.
“It will be able to accept prisoners any day now.”
“Excellent. Now, tell me about the arrangements for the new soldiers from Pennsylvania.”
There was a shortage of places to put the troops-the government had mustered several federal buildings into service. The Pennsylvania soldiers would stay in the Capitol. The Patent Office and the Treasury were also available.
“I presume that putting soldiers at the Treasury won’t interfere with our other plans for that building,” said Scott.
“That’s correct,” said Rook. “The Treasury remains the place where we’ll send the president and his cabinet in the event of an attack on Washington. It’s quite a large structure. The basement has enormous storage capacity.”
“I wish we didn’t have to use the Capitol.”
“I agree, General. But you know we don’t have many locations to put soldiers on such short notice. I’m intending to put Jim Lane’s men at the White House when they arrive.”
“Very well. That ought to ease some of your concerns about security.”
“I certainly don’t think we will go the way of General Winder, sir. Our vulnerabilities are elsewhere.”
“Not this subject again,” sputtered Locke.
Scott held up his hand to silence Locke. “Colonel Rook, let me make myself perfectly clear: I do not want to discuss your conspiracy theories anymore. Do not raise them with me again.”
The man who called himself Jeff Davis looked groggy when he finally arrived in the lobby at Brown’s. It appeared as though he had just gotten up, run a comb through his hair, and stumbled downstairs. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, none of his companions was around. He took a table away from the hotel’s front door, in a corner.
Clark sat about a dozen feet away, sipping a cup of tea and pretending to study a newspaper whose entire contents he had already read twice. He avoided looking directly at Davis, who might become suspicious if he recognized Clark from the previous evening. At the moment, Davis’s powers of observation appeared to be dull. Judging from the way he kept rubbing his head, he was fighting a hangover.
Within half an hour, the men who had arrived with Davis wandered into the lobby and joined him at the table. Clark had trouble overhearing their conversation, partly because they were not saying a lot. They worked their way through a meal, mostly in silence. The food seemed to improve their disposition. By the time they were done eating, they looked more like the group that Clark originally had spied upon.
Davis was clearly the leader. He spoke the most and laughed the loudest, and the others appeared to defer to him. They talked about the fall of Fort Sumter and the possibility that Maryland might secede-it was obvious that they supported the attack in Charleston and hoped that legislators in Annapolis would withdraw from the Union. “That would leave Washington all by itself, like a peach that’s ripe for plucking,” said Davis. His gang roared its approval.
The men eventually rose from their chairs. As they shook hands, Clark could tell that the group was splitting up. Two of them made for the door, leaving behind Davis and Stephens. For a moment, Clark thought about following the men who had departed, but he decided it was smarter to remain near Davis. He was the one to watch.
Back in their seats, Davis and Stephens seemed to relax. They even ordered drinks. Clark began to wonder if they were going to waste their night. Yet the two men limited themselves to a single drink apiece. When these were gone, they stood and stretched.
“Tomorrow we scout,” said Davis. “But tonight is ours. I know how I want to spend it.”
Stephens chuckled. “Yeah, me too!”
They exited through the hotel’s front door. Clark waited a minute, set down his newspaper, and chased after them. The afternoon had passed more quickly than he had realized. The shadows were growing long, and dusk was preparing to settle onto the city.
On the curb of Pennsylvania Avenue, Clark watched a horse-drawn omnibus kick up a small cloud of dust as it pulled toward Georgetown. For a moment, he feared that Davis and Stephens had hopped on board and that he had lost them. He would not be able to catch up to the vehicle without calling attention to himself. Then he spotted the duo on the other side of the street, walking by the vendors outside of Central Market.
Clark immediately had a notion of where they were heading, but he wanted to be sure. He stayed on his side of the Avenue and kept pace. They passed Eighth Street, then Ninth Street. They paused at the corner of Tenth. Davis seemed to indicate a desire to turn. Stephens pointed up the Avenue but quickly relented. They went left, walking south, and soon dropped out of Clark’s sight.
This took them into the heart of Murder Bay, a section of Washington that was both built up and run-down. It was possibly the most dangerous part of the city-a lair of pickpockets, con men, and worse. Unlike other areas of the city, there were no wide-open spaces in Murder Bay. The streets were cramped by two-and three-story structures that stood in various states of disrepair. Many of them housed drinking establishments, though Clark was fairly certain that Davis and Stephens were not trying to quench a liquid thirst. They did not have to leave Brown’s for that. Murder Bay was also a popular destination for gamblers, so perhaps they would try their hands at a game of chance. Yet Clark suspected that they sought a different sort of recreation.
Clark hustled across Pennsylvania Avenue and stood on the same corner, at Tenth Street, where Davis and Stephens had had their quick debate. He spotted them half a block away. Davis removed a wallet from his pocket, opened it, counted his cash, and handed a few notes to Stephens. The two men looked at each other and grinned, then entered an establishment called Madam Russell’s Bake Oven.
With that, Clark knew how Davis and Stephens intended to spend their second night in Washington. He had never been inside Madam Russell’s Bake Oven, but he knew that nobody visited it for the cooking.
Beneath a clear sky full of stars and a moon that was nearly full, Portia slipped into the stables carrying a small sack. She saw nothing out of the ordinary. The only noises she heard came from the horses.
A moment later, another person shuffled into the stables. Portia dropped to a crouch. She rose again when she saw that it was her grandfather. Lucius saw her too. They quickly embraced.