by Nick Thacker
“Like sleeping next to a fish on a dock,” Reggie replied. He made a smacking motion with his hand, alternating it palm-up and palm-down on his other arm, miming the look of a fish flopping back-and-forth as it gasped for air.
“At least I don’t snore like you,” Joshua said.
“How would you know?”
“Good morning, Ben,” Derrick said, interrupting the jostling between the three men. “Hope you had a decent night’s sleep. GMA is about to start, but there’s breakfast over there if you want any.”
Ben looked over to the desk set next to Derrick’s bed and found a veritable feast spread out on the top of it. A pile of scrambled eggs, toast, and a ramekin of jam sat on one side, while a stack of pancakes and a bowl of syrup next to another ramekin of butter sat on the other. He walked over, noticing a slight spring in his step. Food made him happy, and he liked being happy.
“Don’t overeat,” Joshua said. “Keep it light, protein and a bit of toast.”
“Thanks again, Mom,” Ben said.
“Seriously,” Joshua continued. “Sounds like we might have a bit of hiking to do.”
“Hiking? Here? In downtown Philadelphia?”
Joshua shook his head. “No, we’d have to fly to get there.”
“What? Where? Flying?” Ben looked back at the rest of the group. “I wasn’t that late, and you’ve already had a whole meeting without me? When are you going to bring me up to speed?”
Julie opened her mouth to answer, but the television unmuted and a woman’s voice sprang out from the tinny speakers.
‘Good Morning, America,’ she started. ‘My name is Patricia Gonzales, and we have a special guest with us here today. But first, let’s catch you up on everything you missed!’
The bouncy, exaggerated joy the woman wore made her act seem even more faked, but Ben knew that was all part of the show. Reality television had stopped being anything close to actual reality about five minutes into its life, and he had little hope for the rest of the programming on most channels. He and Julie didn’t even have cable at the cabin; aside from the egregiously expensive cost of rural cable service, they simply didn’t spend enough time in front of the television to justify having it. They watched streaming shows every now and then, downloading them to a tablet or phone when they were in town at a coffee shop, then playing them before bed.
So it was all the more jarring to see the false happiness of thousands of Americans standing behind the woman and her cast members, everyone smiling and jumping and shouting and generally looking like giant marionette puppets that had been painted more terrifying than any clown.
They watched on in silence for a few minutes, until the first commercial break.
“When does Daris come on?” Julie asked.
“No idea,” Derrick responded. “But probably toward the end. Makes everyone wait for it, so they can show ads to you until then.”
Ben ate, choosing to sit in the armchair right next to Joshua’s out of spite, knowing Joshua was watching. He’d piled most of the eggs onto the plate, right on top of two of the pancakes and a piece of toast, then drizzled syrup over the entire monstrosity. He took three bites, each bigger than the last, and finally gulped down the whole mess at once.
Julie and Joshua looked away, horrified, while Reggie grinned.
“Anyone have coffee?” Ben asked.
“Right over there,” Julie said, pointing to the table above the mini fridge set up in an alcove near the entranceway.
Ben started to stand, but Reggie laughed and rose to his feet. “No, buddy, let me get it for you. These guys are watching you eat, and I think they like the show.”
Joshua made a disgusted face and turned back to the television. Derrick, to his credit, hadn’t even looked over at Ben.
The commercials ended and the woman was back, this time joined by a man to her left and Daris to her right. They were in the studio now, sitting in three chairs that looked about as comfortable as broken glass. The man shifted once, getting comfortable, and the woman crossed her legs beneath the chair. Daris sat straight up in her chair, her feet flat on the ground.
“God, she looks so uncomfortable. Completely different than yesterday.”
“Some people are cut out for TV, some aren't, I guess,” Joshua said.
‘Welcome back,’ the woman began. ‘We’re glad you’re with us this morning, and we are so glad our guest is with us as well. This is my friend, Daris Johansson. She is a museum curator and author, and she has recently completed a wonderful book called ‘The Jefferson Legacy.’
“Does anyone buy that crap?” Ben said between mouthfuls of food. “A museum curator? Really?”
“Well anyone can be an author these days,” Reggie said. “Maybe they think everyone will think the same about museum curators.”
‘Daris, you’ve written numerous articles and pieces before, but now you’ve released an entire book. Why did you decide to publish a book?’
Daris sat up even straighter somehow, her back now almost at the front of the chair. ‘Well, I decided that my message needed to get out to the masses. I want everyone to know what really happened back then, and a book is the perfect way to do that.’
‘Of course,’ the woman replied, barely giving Daris enough time to breathe after she’d answered. ‘And what a fine book it is. Can you tell us, briefly, what it’s about?’
‘Well it’s about Thomas Jefferson, and his legacy.’
The studio audience burst into laughter, and the hostess and the host next to her laughed as well. Daris looked frightened, then blushed, apparently not understanding what was so funny.
‘Of course,’ the man said, jumping in. He leaned closer to Daris as if about to reveal a secret. ‘And I feel that most people have no idea what Jefferson’s legacy really is. Or, for that matter, what he was really like. Would you say that’s true?’
‘Yes, absolutely. Jefferson was known as a great president, and a founder of our nation. But he also had a dark side.’
‘A dark side? Really? What do you mean by that?’ the woman asked.
‘Well, for one, Jefferson was a slaveowner.’
The man and woman onscreen shook their heads, solemnly, as if this was not only the first time either of them had ever heard such an accusation but also something that was completely unique for the time.
“This is trash,” Ben said. “Everyone knows that.”
“It’s American television,” Derrick said. “Don’t rush off and assume anyone knows anything.”
‘But that’s not all,’ Daris said. ‘Jefferson also stole money from the Spanish to pay for the Louisiana Territory.’
‘You mean the Louisiana Purchase?’ the man asked, once again acting shocked. ‘That Jefferson bought from Napoleon for pennies on the dollar?’
‘Yes, one and the same,’ Daris said. ‘He used Spanish gold, taken from shipwrecks, and paid for the territory with that money.’
Chapter THIRTY-FOUR
‘BUT IT’S WELL-DOCUMENTED THAT Jefferson had the approval of Congress to make the purchase. Why would he need to purchase the Territory using anything other than the money that was in Congress’ coffers?’
Derrick was shaking his head, fuming. “She’s lying, through her teeth.”
“…American television,” Reggie said. “What’d you expect?”
“Integrity, intelligence, good acting? At least one of those.”
‘Jefferson did use some of Congress’ money — after all, it was considered good for the young nation. Doubling their land with one simple purchase? And for that price…. But still, he did it because he could. He had Spanish money, and it didn’t cost him a thing, so he used it.’
‘Still, Daris, it does seem a bit far-fetched. Why not hold onto the money? Why not save it, let it grow in value, or —’
‘You don’t understand,’ Daris said, this time nearly jumping out of her chair and standing up. ‘Jefferson used the money to taunt the Spanish — and the rest of the world. He w
anted them to know he had it, that he had more of it. By using some of it to purchase the Territory from Napolean, he got their attention. He told them America wasn’t something to mess with, that he had access to things no one else on Earth had access to.’
‘Are you saying he —’
For the second time, Daris interrupted the woman. She didn’t seem terribly excited about it, but she stopped talking and allowed the on-air interruption once again.
‘Yes, I am saying that. It’s all in my book. Jefferson had access to Spanish treasure that had been found by someone Jefferson trusted, and he held it privately, in the Office of the President. But it wasn’t just treasure — it was extremely valuable to the Spanish for other reasons, namely that they had been looking for this treasure for some time.’
‘Since the year 1715?’
Daris looked proud that the man knew the details of her book, and she turned and addressed him directly.
‘Exactly. The Spanish Treasure Fleet of 1715, departing from Cuba, ran into a hurricane somewhere around the Florida coast. All eleven ships were lost.’
‘But they found the fleet, right? The shipwrecks?’
On screen, Daris shook her head. ‘No, in fact. They haven’t found any of the ships. Every now and then, reports of Spanish gold washing up on the coast come up in treasure hunting circles, but nothing noteworthy.’
The woman next to Daris jumped back in. ‘But you’re implying that the fleet has already been found, correct? By Jefferson?’
Daris laughed, and it was obvious she was now purposefully trying to make Patricia Gonzales look silly. ‘Well, not by Jefferson himself, of course. But someone he employed.’
‘And who was that?’
‘We don’t know, but at some point the Spanish gold and silver, identified as the same treasure that was on board one of the ships, began to appear around the world, placed back into circulation by Jefferson himself, upon paying for the Louisiana Territory.’
The man smiled, a genuine, if naive, smile, as if he were discussing the universe with a toddler. ‘Well, that’s quite a yarn you’ve strung there, Daris. Thank you for discussing it with us, and of course — you all can read more about Daris’ theory in her book, The —’
‘It’s not a theory,’ Daris said, interrupting yet again. ‘It’s based in hard evidence, evidence I’ve seen with my own two —’
The screen cut to black for brief moment, then a commercial — its volume gained hard up and taking everyone in the room by surprise — jolted from the television.
“Wow,” Reggie said.
“Wow is right,” Julie replied. “That was probably the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I didn’t know they just cut to commercial like that,” Joshua said. “I figured they’d, you know, ask her stop or something.”
“They put her segment there,” Derrick said, “right before a commercial break, so they could get away with it if they had to. They’re probably still listening to her rant on the set, and no one there has a clue they’re not live anymore.”
Ben’s eyebrows rose. “Man, that was awful. It’s like she walked into a trap. Why would she do that?”
“She’s maneuvering,” Derrick said. “It’s about the treasure, I know that now. She believes it exists, and she intends to find it. Now she’ll have support.”
“Support? I can’t possibly see how. She just went and got herself absolutely hammered on live TV,” Joshua said, shaking his head. “They made a laughingstock out of her.”
Derrick stepped in front of them, blocking their view of the television. “If Daris Johansson is anything, it’s cunning. She’s whip-smart, and you’d be best off acknowledging that. She’s thought this through, played all the angles, and — while it may be hard to believe — I’d bet this was absolutely best decision for her to make. To get the American people to feel sorry for her, to feel like she had something great to say, but never got to say it because of the media or whatever.
“She’s studied this, orchestrated it all, and she’s now conducting. Acting it out, whatever her plan is. Going on television was all part of it, and she’s undoubtedly been working on getting her little show just right for quite some time, now.”
Julie stood up and walked toward the pot of coffee. “Yeah, well she pulled it off well, then. I feel sorry for her.”
“Don't,” Derrick said, harshly. “She’s a professional, and she’s got more tricks up her sleeve.”
“How’d she even land that deal, anyway?” she asked. “Hawking her book on Good Morning America? She must have friends in high places.”
“She does, like I said last night. She’s well-connected, and she’s leading an organization — at least half of one — that wants her message to succeed.”
Ben stood up and walked over to where Julie was standing. He took the pot from Julie’s hands and began pouring them both another cup of coffee. He wore a slight frown, a physical expression signifying the deep thought he was engaged in. He liked puzzles, but this woman was one that seemed unsolvable. He couldn’t figure out why the leader of an organization — a secret organization, for that matter — would publicly announce her book and her whack-job theory.
“Why tell the world? Why does she need their support?” Ben asked.
Derrick shrugged. “Could be as simple as transparency. She might want to have plausible deniability in case things go south for her. If someone ends up killed, she can claim her GMA appearance as proof that she was always on the right side, aligned with the public’s interest.”
Joshua cut in. “And she’ll probably have support out in the field, too. You know, if she needs to look for that journal she lost, she can now show up to any museum on the planet and get let in, probably even get a staff of researchers working for her immediately.”
“Right, that makes sense,” Ben said. “But still, her story’s completely bogus, right?”
He looked around the room. Julie was next to him, looking back at Ben, but the others were all staring off in different directions. It meant they either thought Daris was lying about it all, or that they were considering that she may have been telling the truth.
“I think she’s lying,” Derrick said. “I know she’s lying, and I said that already. She’s morphing facts to fit her conspiracy theory. She wants Jefferson to be guilty, because it supports her claim in her book. And it makes her more powerful in the APS.”
“But it could be true, right?” Julie asked. “I mean conceptually. It could have some basis in reality?”
“All conspiracy theories have at least some basis in reality,” Derrick said. “But hers is one that’s been half-baked since it was put in the oven. Jefferson wasn’t without his flaws, to be sure, but stealing Spanish treasure and then giving it to Napoleon and then covering it all up wasn’t one of them.”
Reggie cocked his head sideways and stared at Derrick. Derrick saw Reggie, but neither man spoke for a moment. Ben watched on, knowing that Reggie had just realized something important.
Reggie frowned, then looked at the floor, then back at Derrick. “Why do you care about all this, Derrick? What’s in it for you?”
Derrick opened and closed his mouth once. “What do you mean? I’m FBI. This is my job. And I —”
“I get it,” Reggie said, holding up a hand. “And you want to do a good job, you’re a patriot, we know. But why care this much? You’ve obviously done your research, and you know your history. I’ve met a few of you bureau types, and you’re the first one I’ve come across who seems so invested in his job he’s done a bunch of proactive research.”
“You trying to say we don’t normally —”
“I’m not trying to say anything,” Reggie said. “And I like you, so let’s get that straight. I just feel like you’ve got more to say and you’re not saying it. Only time I’ve seen FBI or any of the other acronyms get this worked up about something was when there was a very clear threat. And Daris, while a bit loopy and not an actress, doesn’t seem
to be much of a threat.”
He looked at Julie and smirked. “But I guess if Ben was any slower, she’d have been a pretty big threat to you.”
Ben nodded. “Yeah, we were talking about that. She didn’t seem to know what was happening. Like she let things get out of control, so she tried to fire at Julie.”
“Could be,” Derrick said. “But again, I’m warning you not to underestimate her. She may have planned and orchestrated every move at the APS building, and she might be getting ready to make her next move as we speak.”
“Don’t change the subject, Derrick,” Joshua said. “Reggie thinks you’re holding back from us, and I’ve learned to trust the hell out of his gut when he gets a notion. But I get it. You’re not sure if you can trust us. That’s fair, but it needs to stop. If we weren’t who we said we were, you’d already know that. FBI and all, right?”
Derrick nodded.
“So if you’re really FBI, you’d have no reason not to trust us, which means you can start by telling us the truth now, or don’t, and then we’ll know you’re not who you say you are.”
Reggie seemed confused for a moment, and Ben didn’t blame him, but Derrick straightened and sighed.
He spoke. “I am FBI, I assure you of that. You’re welcome to call in to my boss, but it won’t do much good. We’re pretty good at pretending we’re not Bureau, so there’s going to be a lot of legwork needed in order to back up my claim.”
“Fair enough,” Reggie said. “But why are you working alone? I thought you boys never worked alone.”
“It’s pretty rare, admittedly. But the answer — to all your questions, I believe — is that this was a sort of passion project for me. I’m doing this on my time, mostly. My boss thinks it’s a waste of time, for the exact same reasons you do. ‘Daris isn’t a threat,’ ‘the APS is a hoax,’ you name it, I’ve heard it.”
“Yet you’re here.”
“And yet I’m here. I believe in what I’m trying to prevent, and Daris knows the clock’s ticking. I just need to find her —”
“Why? What are you trying to prevent?”