“Mr. Bennett,” he said. “May I have a quick word with you?”
“Certainly.”
“Big Joe isn’t here,” Tate said in a low voice.
Bennett stopped in his tracks, about fifty or sixty feet away from the cabins and the assembly of slaves. Lucius ordered the cart to halt. “Really?”
“That’s right. I heard this morning that he hadn’t shown up where he was expected. I didn’t think too much on it-this is Big Joe, after all, and he’s never given us any trouble. I figured on seeing him here with the others. Well, he’s not here. I’ve asked around, and nobody seems to know where he is.”
“That’s odd. You don’t suppose…” Bennett’s voice trailed off.
“It’s not like him,” said Tate. “But you just never know who’s going to get the notion in his head.”
Lucius knew that if he was going to intervene at all, this was the time. He hardly knew what he was going to say when he spoke up. “Excuse me,” he said. Bennett and Tate snapped their heads in his direction. They were not accustomed to being interrupted by a slave, even if it was Lucius.
“I woke up early,” he continued, speaking slowly and choosing his words with care. He was making this up as he went along. “I saw Big Joe walk by the house and waved to him. He came up to me and said a tool had broken and he needed to borrow one from the Wilson farm. So I suppose that’s where he is. He’s probably on his way back now. I guess I assumed he’d gotten a pass from you, Mr. Tate.”
Lucius could not tell whether he had convinced them. He worried that he was not a very good liar.
“He definitely didn’t speak to me,” Tate said, “and he knows the rules. If he wants to leave the plantation for any reason-even if it’s to fetch a tool from down the way-he needs to talk to me first. He didn’t do that and he certainly didn’t get a pass. He knows better than this. Besides, we can fix tools here.”
Tate spoke as if he were accusing Lucius. The old slave shrugged his shoulders.
“What tool did he say was broken?”
“I don’t think he said which one. He just said a tool. That’s what I remember. We talked about other things.”
“What other things?”
“The weather. His family. Things like that.”
Tate looked at Bennett. “I’m not so sure about this.”
“Well, if Lucius says he saw him, then he must have seen him. Don’t worry about it now, Mr. Tate. Give him a little while longer. He’ll probably be back soon,” said Bennett, starting to walk again toward the slaves. “You can speak to him then about the rules and handle this situation however you please.”
“Oh, I’ll handle it,” said Tate, casting a look at Lucius and tapping his whip. “I’ll definitely handle it.”
Rook studied the exterior of Violet Grenier’s home. He wanted to be inside listening to these men who called themselves Davis and Stephens as they talked to a lady about whom he felt he needed to know much more as soon as possible.
“Why would a couple of fellows who seem to be up to no good want to meet Grenier?” It was a rhetorical question. Neither Clark nor Springfield tried to answer it.
They backed away from H Street to a place in the park where they could keep an eye on Grenier’s front door without making themselves obvious.
“The first step in figuring out why they would want to see Grenier is to figure out why they’re in Washington in the first place,” said Rook. He briefed Springfield on how he and Clark had followed the men from Brown’s to the Capitol and then to here.
“The most peculiar thing is their interest in the Capitol’s basement,” said Springfield.
“Yes, and it worries me,” said Rook. He was silent for a moment. “Have either of you heard of Guy Fawkes?”
The two men looked at each other. They did not know the name.
“Let me give you a little history lesson,” said Rook. He described the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, in which Fawkes tried to pack explosives into the cellar of the British Parliament and blow it up on a date when the king was scheduled to visit. Before Fawkes could commit his crime, however, he was betrayed: the authorities arrested, tortured, and killed him.
“Do you really think these guys want to destroy the Capitol?” asked Springfield.
“I have no idea what to think,” said Rook. “But I don’t want to rule out anything either. Davis and Stephens concern me. They have come to Washington with assumed names, we have overheard them say provocative things, and they’ve traveled through a part of the Capitol that would have interested Guy Fawkes if he were a secessionist today. Now they’re meeting with Violet Grenier, whose antipathy toward the Union is well known. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to suspect that trouble may be afoot.”
They discussed the possibility that Davis and Stephens were targeting the Capitol. How many explosives would it take? Where would they have to be placed? What could they possibly hope to achieve?
“If they actually bombed the Capitol,” said Clark, “it would wipe out any sympathy there is in the North for the South.”
Rook considered this. It seemed plausible. “They would probably ignite a war,” he said. “But maybe a war is what they want, for whatever foolish reason.”
The door to Grenier’s home opened. Davis and Stephens emerged and walked in the direction of Brown’s and the Capitol.
The soldiers had discussed what they would do when Davis and Stephens reappeared. Springfield stayed put. His job was to monitor Grenier’s home for further activity. Clark walked briskly to Brown’s, ahead of Davis and Stephens, on the assumption that this was where they were going. Rook waited for them to pass. When they were a couple hundred feet ahead of him, he followed.
Davis and Stephens walked down Fifteenth Street and turned left on Pennsylvania Avenue. They seemed unaware of the fact that anybody might be tracking their movements, which made Rook think that they were possibly overconfident. Or perhaps, he thought, they really are not plotting anything at all. They could be visitors from out of town who wanted to see the Capitol and an old friend. Rook knew that he lacked any real evidence against them. All he had were a few vague suspicions and wild speculations. Was he too rash to think of Guy Fawkes? He could hear General Scott berating him for wasting his time in this pursuit and Locke snickering in the background.
But Rook did not intend to tell Scott about today’s activities. He would not include it in his next briefing at the Winder Building. He would mention other things: troop positions, activity on the bridges, reports from Virginia-anything but this.
Rook knew he could not spend many more days tracking the likes of Davis and Stephens. If he did, Scott would find out somehow. Easley already had recognized him at the Capitol. Rook doubted that he could survive the general’s wrath, not after the explicit order to quit surveillance. He would have to do something quickly to learn more about Davis and Stephens, or to force their hand in some way.
Two blocks from Brown’s, Rook paused. As he had expected, Davis and Stephens walked straight to the hotel. By now, he figured, Clark would be there. He could take over observations for a few minutes.
Meanwhile, Rook examined the storefronts on his side of the Avenue. He was standing almost directly in front of what he was looking for: Brady’s National Photographic Art Gallery. In addition to serving as a studio for Mathew Brady, the up-and-coming photographer, it sold small pictures of famous people. Rook wanted to buy one of the president. Then he would have a chat with Davis and Stephens.
With help from Lucius, Bennett stepped onto the cart. “Greetings,” he said, with outstretched arms and a big smile. The slaves erupted in approval. Their noise energized Bennett, who now laughed with joy at the reception they gave him. “It’s good to be here.” More cheers. Someone in the front replied, “Welcome back, Mr. Bennett.”