He stared at the one still on the floor, studying the stylized lettering on the black cover: The Holy Bible, written in shiny gold. He remembered his conversation with the bookseller that morning. The last word. It made him smirk.
Mazorca set it back on the floor. He collected the items he had purchased that morning from Calthrop and laid them beside the book. Then he lifted the cover and turned in about hundred pages, partway through Exodus. He positioned the revolver on the open page, with the barrel running parallel to the spine and aiming upward, toward the top of the page. He looked at the gun for a moment, adjusted it slightly, and then looked at it some more. When he was satisfied, he marked the page in several places, removed the gun, and picked up one of the miniature bookbinder knives.
Just as his blade began to touch the page, a few words from the book caught his eye: “Let my people go.” They stung him, but he was not sure why. He removed the gun, flipped a few more pages, and set it down again. This time he read a different line: “There was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead.” It struck him as possibly appropriate, but he really did not know what to make of it. The Bible was not something he had ever studied. He did not know its stories or its characters. He certainly did not believe they were anything more than fables. At least, he did not want to believe that they were. Whenever the topic of religion entered his mind, he tried to change the subject-and he always succeeded.
He read nothing more from that page or any other page that afternoon. Instead, he cut.
Working at his books under a gas lamp all day made Calthrop unaware of the night falling outside. Twilight had faded to black before he realized the lateness of the hour.
It was not unusual for the bookbinder to lose track of time, and so he was hardly surprised that he had missed the sun’s disappearance a few minutes before seven p.m. The incident reminded him, once more, of how much he enjoyed his trade. He might have been old and he might have slowed down, but he would not give up what he did until he could do it no more.
Calthrop looked over what he had to do in the morning. He arranged a few items on his desk and rose to leave. He closed the door to his shop, locked it, and descended the staircase. He stepped onto the sidewalk and bolted another door. Light still glowed from the establishment on his immediate left, the one that sat directly below his own little shop. Calthrop knew it would shine for several more hours. The business of Madame Costello, a professional astrologist, began late in the afternoon and ran into the evening. “Reader of the Stars,” said the words painted on her window. “Consultations of Past, Present, and Future Events.”
Calthrop looked to the sky. There were no stars to read. Clouds obscured his view of the heavens.
He walked a block to a small pub and ate a light dinner. By the time he was heading home, the streets were desolate. Parts of the city remained alive well into the night, but he did not pass through them. Once he was away from the pub, he did not see anybody else except for a couple of soldiers who passed him and a man walking in the same direction he was going, but about a block behind him. It was a lonely scene. Only a few of the homes in his neighborhood had their lights on. In the others, people already had gone to bed or nobody was home because the occupants had fled the city.
On the doorstep of his home, on B Street just south of the Capitol, Calthrop struggled with his key. He had to wiggle it around before it finally released the lock. It had been causing too much trouble lately. He would have to get it fixed.
Calthrop opened the door to his home and stepped inside. Before he could close the door, he was pushed into the unlit hallway. He fell down and heard the door shut. Someone was in the house with him, but he could not see anything in the blackness.
“Good evening, Mr. Calthrop.”
“What do you want? Is this a robbery?”
“No, I’m afraid it’s something else entirely.”
“Who are you?”
“You disappoint me. A man with your keen ear and you don’t know who I am?”
“You’re the fellow with the Schiller book. I can tell by your voice.”
“How perceptive. It’s a remarkable ability you possess. A little too remarkable, unfortunately.”
“I don’t understand. If it’s money you want-”
“Money is the last thing I need from you, old man.”
“What do you want, then? I’ve done nothing to you.”
“That’s not quite true. You have done something to me. You learned a piece of information about who I am. It may not sound like much, but we can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I really did enjoy our time together this morning. You were quite helpful. Everything was going well for both of us until you made that remark about Cuba.”
“What are you talking about? You said you weren’t from Cuba.”
“I did say that. Did you believe me? It hardly matters. The fact is you know too much.”
“How can I know too much? I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m called Mazorca.”
Calthrop paused for a moment. It was an odd name. “You didn’t have to tell me that,” he said. “Please, sir, I mean you no harm. What do you want with me?”
“I’ve come to give you a piece of advice.”
“What’s that?”
“You should have stayed in the music business.”
In the dark, Calthrop could discern only the outline of a figure moving toward him. Then he saw a flicker of light in the man’s hand. It was the glint of a knife. It was the last thing Calthrop saw.
“So you say Scott held an emergency meeting Sunday night?” asked Violet Grenier. She thought the pleasantries had gone on for long enough. Now it was time to get down to her business before she let her guest get down to his.
“It was called in a great hurry. Fortunately, I was able to make it.”
“Well, you are one of the sharpest men in town,” said Grenier, staring wide-eyed at the man in the facing seat of the tete-a-tete in her parlor. “What did General Scott discuss?”
“He’s in a panic over what happened in Baltimore, and especially over losing the telegraph wires. The general devoted most of the meeting to the defenses of Washington. He ordered the perimeter of the city strengthened and the major buildings barricaded. You’ve probably already seen the result of that.”
“It’s hideous. They’re turning the city into a fort.”
“It’s for everybody’s protection. If we’re attacked, these preparations will be vital to our defense.”
“But people are supposed to live here too. It won’t be long before there’s nothing left to defend-everyone will have gone away.”
“You’re right, Violet. That’s a big problem. Too many people are evacuating the city.”
“What else did General Scott talk about?” she pressed, trying to sound like an excited schoolgirl-inquisitive, but innocent.
“He’s desperate for more troops to arrive-specifically, the New York Seventh. There was also some discussion of what to do with the president in the event of a Southern attack on the city.”
“Was anything decided?”
Grenier’s visitor hesitated. She put her hand on top of his and began to rub gently.
“There is a whole plan,” he said at last.
“A whole plan? To protect the life of the president?”
“We’ve tried to consider every contingency.”
“What is the plan? What will happen to Mr. Lincoln if the city is attacked?”
Again her guest seemed reluctant to answer. Grenier pulled her hand away from his and pouted. “You’re distant tonight,” she said. “It’s not like you.”
“I’m sorry, Violet. It’s just that this is privileged information. We don’t disclose everything to the public, in the interests of security. You must understand.”
“Am I the public? Are you and I together in the public? No, we are not, my love. We are private-very private. This is a discreet relationship. I certainly privilege you. Why won’t you privilege me in return?”