by Phil Swann
“We've coordinated with the Virginia and Maryland state police,” Greenfield said, looking around the room himself, “and we’ve set up roadblocks on the north, south, east, and west sides of the beltway."
Fowler rubbed his forehead. “Any idea what Petrovic’s in?"
"We found the police cruiser in a ravine about five miles north of here. Witnesses at a local burger place up the road, where the real trooper stopped for dinner, said they saw him talking to a man in a white car. Nobody got a make or model, much less a license plate. Petrovic must have had the Peterson woman in the trunk.”
Fowler nodded. “A white car. That narrows it down."
“You all right?” Greenfield asked his friend.
“Yeah,” Fowler replied, his shoulders slouching. But he wasn’t all right. He was far from all right. His brain physically hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. The adrenaline rush he'd experienced in New Jersey had only left him spent. Now his mind refused to focus, and his legs were like jelly. He desperately needed sleep—a long sleep. But he knew that was impossible, even if it were possible. He needed to call his wife. He hadn't talked to her since four thirty that morning. One of his daughters was coming in tonight for a visit—would he get to see her? How could he? As long as the animal named Victor Petrovic was breathing, how could his life return to any normalcy? And there was the punishing self-doubt. Is this my fault? Should this be it for me? Maybe I should retire. Would a younger mind have let this happen? The questions to himself caused him to rise from the chair. He walked to the back of the room totally ignorant of Kathryn and Greenfield's stare.
When he spoke, it was a combination of rage and helplessness. "How could anyone be so bold as to walk into a federal protection facility, kill federal agents, and abduct three people?" His hand trembled as he rubbed it through his oily gray hair. "Who is this maniac? Where did he come from? Men like him aren’t born—they're created."
“Is he going to kill them?” Kathryn asked, her voice shaking.
Her question was met with a moment of silence before Fowler answered. “If he wanted to kill them, he would have done it here. No, he’s got what he wants. My stupid little plan worked, may God forgive me. He thinks they know where the Mozart is.”
“Do they?” Greenfield interjected.
Fowler looked at the assistant director. He hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know. David did say they were onto something weird after Dani talked…” Fowler stopped cold and looked at Greenfield and Kathryn. He quickly moved back across the room and picked up the phone beside Marcus’s computer.
“Who are you calling?” Greenfield asked, confused.
“I hope Dani Parsons’s father.” Fowler pushed redial and waited. The call was answered on the first ring.
“Y’hello.”
“Yes, Mr. Parsons, please.”
“Speaking, who’s this?”
Fowler nodded to the assistant director.
“Mr. Parsons, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Agent Tom Fowler. I’m with the FBI. Your daughter is helping us on a case.”
“Oh, sure, Mr. Fowler,” the robust and happy voice replied. “Dan told me all about it. Sounds like you folks are on a big one. You’re very smart to have my daughter assist you. She’s a sharp one, that girl.”
Fowler was sure that Dani hadn’t told her father the details of the case, otherwise he wouldn’t be so keen on his child being used as bait to catch a cold-blooded killer. “Yes, sir, she is. And we’re very grateful for her help.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Fowler? I talked to Dani a couple of hours ago.”
“Yes, sir, I know.” Fowler paused briefly. “Uh…it’s just…another agent needed your daughter’s assistance, and she’s gone now. I wasn’t able to get with her before she left. You see, she was going to fill me in on your conversation but didn’t get the chance. I was wondering if you’d tell me what you told her?”
Fowler held his breath, hoping the man had bought the lie.
“Well…I guess it’d be okay, you being with the FBI and all.”
Fowler released the breath.
“From the way Dan described the symbols, I’d say they’re of the craft.”
“The craft?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You mean…witchcraft?”
The man on the other end of the line let out a bellowing laugh. “No, not witchcraft. Good lord, what has my daughter been telling you? The craft, the Brotherhood—”
“You mean the—”
“Yes, of course, the lodge, the Freemasons. I’ve been a Shriner for thirty-one years—grand master of my lodge for the last eight.”
“So, Dani thinks the scribbles on the music are Masonic symbols?”
“Yes. And I think she’s right too, as best as I can decipher without seeing them. Dan knows Freemason trivia is one of my little hobbies, so—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Parsons, but do you know what they mean?”
“Well, now you know I’m not supposed to reveal the secret symbols of the brotherhood to strangers. I took an oath, and I’m just—”
“Sir, this is very important. Your daughter would want you to tell me.”
There was a slight pause.
“Well okay, I mean, it’s nothing really. Despite what you might have heard, we Masons aren’t trying to overthrow democracy. We build hospitals for children, for cryin’ out loud. Wheelchairs and things like that.”
“Yes, sir, the Masons do fine work. But about the symbols—”
“Well, let’s see, she described several symbols to me. One was a couple of triangles, one right side up and the other upside down. She said they were kind of laying over one another. That sounded to me like the compass and the square. An ancient Freemason symbol for the craft and one of the great lights of Freemasonry, it’s the centerpiece of almost everything connected to the craft. It’s on our signs, our letterhead, the apron—”
“The apron?”
“Yes, the apron…you know, like something that’s worn around your waist. It’s one of our most symbolic articles. It’s supposed to represent the type of apron worn by the actual stonemasons and artisans from whom the craft originated. It’s very ceremonial, you understand?”
“Uh…I believe so,” Fowler replied, taking out a pen and note pad.
“She also described something resembling a sword, and she said it looked like it was pointing at something. I asked her if it could be a heart, and she said yes. Now if it is, then that’s a symbol that demonstrates that justice will sooner or later overtake us, and that although our thoughts, words, and deeds may be hidden from the eyes of man, they are not hidden from the all-seeing eye. Which, by the way, she also described to me.”
“And the all-seeing eye would be…?”
“God, of course.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, and this one I had to go back to my books for. She described something that sounded to me very much like a coffin.”
“A coffin? You mean like a casket for the dead.”
“Yes. Now that’s an old one, goes all the way back to the beginning of Masonry in the eighteenth century. It always symbolizes death, but she said the coffin had the Sprig of Acacia drawn on it—now I’d never heard of that.”
“The what?” Fowler asked, not catching the last word.
“The Sprig of Acacia, well she didn’t call it that, but that’s what it sounded like. The acacia tree is the shittah wood of the Old Testament. It has long been used to symbolize immortality, which is why it’s odd that it’s on a coffin.”
“Uh-huh,” Fowler replied, writing as fast as he could.
“Let’s see, there was another symbol—sounded like the nine-layered wall.”
“The wall?”
“Yes sir, the nine-layered brick wall, actually. That’s an old one too. It’s popped up now and again in eighteenth century Masonic writings, but no one really knows what it symbolizes. The best anyone can guess is it’s the pl
ace in the old lodges where the altar sits. The Bible, the square, the compass, and the Master’s apron would have rested upon it. To give it meaning is just speculation.”
“Sir, would you please speculate?”
Mr. Parsons hemmed. “Well, there are some who think it’s meant to represent the Ark of the Covenant.”
“Like in the Ten Commandments?”
“Yes.” Parsons chuckled. “Must sound pretty strange to you, huh? Yeah, it did to me at first too. You see, Mr. Fowler, much of this symbolism in Masonry is based upon the myths and legends surrounding Solomon’s temple in Israel. We have stories and rites that coincide with these symbols. But it’s all completely allegorical, you know, just good, moral life-lessons, nothing more. So, as for the nine-layered wall for instance, you could take it to mean the place in the lodge that houses the great symbols of faith—literally or figuratively.”
“I see. Is that all?”
“Yes sir, that’s all the symbols she mentioned. Was it any help to you?”
“Yes, sir, maybe. I thank you very much.”
“Oh, there was one other thing, but I don’t know if it’s important or not.”
“What?” Fowler asked quickly.
“She asked me if I’d ever heard of any black lodges before the civil war.”
“Have you?”
“Oh sure, the Freemasons were very much against slavery and helped form many lodges for free blacks living in the North. As far back as the Revolutionary War, free black Masons were holding meetings and ceremonies in their very homes. In fact, many Masons, both white and black, were very involved in the Underground Railroad. That’s something we Masons are very proud of. Then she asked me the easiest question of all.”
“What was that?”
“If Benjamin Franklin and Mozart meant anything to a Mason?”
“And?”
“Well of course. Every good Mason knows Mozart and Franklin were two of the most famous Freemasons of all time.”
Fowler nodded. This was the connection David was talking about. “Mr. Parsons, thank you. You’ve been a great help. Good night, sir.”
“Good night, and tell Dan her daddy loves her.”
Fowler’s heart fell. “I will, sir. I most certainly will.”
Fowler hung up the phone and turned to Kathryn and Greenfield.
“Freemasons, that’s the connection. Mozart and Franklin were both Freemasons, and the sketch that David had was filled with Masonic symbols.”
“Meaning what?” Kathryn begged.
“I don’t know, but I’d bet those symbols tell anyone who knows how to read them where the full piece is.”
“Do you think Dani and David figured it out?”
Fowler fell into Marcus’s chair again. “I hope so. For their sake.” Fowler rested his arm on the desk and accidentally hit the mouse of the computer. The screen saver went off, and the screen turned into a large panel that looked like the front of a cassette tape deck. He looked at the screen but didn’t notice it at first. Then the numbers in the lower corner got his attention. He looked at the screen and the numbers again—it was running.
He took the mouse in his hand and moved the cursor over the stop button. He clicked the mouse and looked at the numbers. They stopped. He then moved the cursor over to the rewind button and clicked the mouse. After a couple of seconds, he clicked the stop button again. Then he moved to the play button and clicked.
“Freemasons, that’s the connection. Mozart and Franklin were both freemasons, and the sketch that David had was filled with Masonic symbols.”
“Meaning what?”
“I don’t know, but I’d bet those symbols tell anyone who knows how to read them where the full piece is.”
“Do you think Dani and David figured it out?”
“For their sake, I hope so.”
Fowler, Kathryn, and Greenfield all looked at each other.
“It’s been recording us the entire time,” Greenfield said.
It hit all three at once. No one asked it, but Fowler answered the question anyway. “I don’t know, let’s find out.”
Fowler moved the cursor over the rewind button again and clicked the mouse. This time he waited until the numbers rolled all the way back to zero.
“Come on, Marcus,” Fowler said in an intense whisper. “Be that brilliant.”
Fowler positioned the cursor over the play icon and clicked.
Chapter Forty-Five
Petrovic wasted no time. He grabbed Dani by the hair and threw her on the sofa beside David, making them sit back to back. "You two wait here," he said, taking out two sets of handcuffs and locking the two together. "Marcus and I will be right back."
"Oh, dude, don’t kill me, man," Marcus pleaded.
"Relax, we’re just going to the car for some tools." Petrovic looked at his captives and smiled. "Yes, I came prepared. And remember?" Petrovic sang, waving the cell phone in the air.
David began fussing with the cuffs the minute Petrovic was out of sight.
"No, David,” Dani said. “There's not time, and he wouldn't think twice about killing us or J.P."
David stopped and relaxed as much he could.
"Dani, are you sure about the fireplace?"
“It has to be the nine-layered wall, representing the Ark. And look at that painting—the sun—but it's not a sun, is it? It hit me when I talked to Daddy. It's the all-seeing eye of God looking down on the scene below. It's the Underground Railroad. Those people are being taken to freedom and why they have that expression of hope. After I realized what the painting was about, I went back and pulled the land records on this house. This place is a Georgetown landmark. It's been here since the late eighteenth century. Henry Cook, James’s father, remember how Wilbur said he was a free black and tobacco merchant? Well, he was also a noted Pennsylvania abolitionist and a leader in the Underground Railroad. And he was Grand Master of the local black Freemason lodge. David, this house was a lodge, and that fireplace was the altar."
"But how did Franklin—”
"Marcus learned that in the last years of Franklin's life he occupied his time by writing his autobiography and articles. Guess on what subject?"
"Slavery," David answered.
"Slavery. He abhorred it. The fact that this country, the country he helped give birth to, was practicing what he viewed as a barbaric act enraged him and broke his heart at the same time. His final public act before he died was to sign a memorial to the state legislature as president of the Pennsylvania Society for the abolition of black slavery."
"And Franklin was a Freemason. He knew Henry Cook."
"Yes."
"Then that also means that—”
Dani finished the loop. "That young James didn't learn the Mozart from Jefferson but the other way around; Jefferson learned it from young James.”
“My god, then that would mean—”
“—that James taught it to his former master long after Jefferson had sold him to George Beall, and Beall had in turn sold him to James’s father, Henry Cook, who freed him."
David added, “So James’s father, Henry Cook, learned the piece from Franklin, who got it from Mozart?”
“Yes, circle complete.”
“But, Dani, if it’s in this fireplace—or altar if that’s what it really is, then why did Franklin give it to Cook? By the end of the late 1780’s Mozart was famous. Why didn’t Franklin make it public?”
“I don’t know,” Dani answered. “I don’t have all the answers, but David, if it's not in this fireplace, I don't know where it is. And if we don’t know where it is, then we’re—”
“Having a nice chat?” Petrovic said reentering the room.
The bag clanked. Marcus stumbled into the room and dropped the duffel bag on the floor. The recording engineer looked like he’d just carried a boulder up the side of a hill.
Petrovic unlocked Dani’s and David’s cuffs. “All right, my friends, in the bag are two hammers and two chisels. I want that fireplac
e in bits and pieces in one hour or Peterson dies. And so do one of you.”
»»•««
"Oh God, J.P.. You son of a bitch!"
“David, no!”
There was indiscernible background noise.
“No one speaks unless told to. Speak and you die.”
A moment of silence.
“Do you know where it is?”
Silence—then a metallic clicking sound.
“I asked you a question. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes.” Dani’s voice. “In Georgetown. At a…”
David’s voice interrupting, “What have you done to her, you goddamn—”
“You spoke, David. That was dumb.” Another metallic click.
“Please don’t kill him!” Dani’s voice shouting.
Silence.
“If you don’t care about yourself, then maybe you care about her.”
The man laughed.
Silence.
“All I need to do is dial this number and boom. Understood?”
“It’s in a house…in Gertrude Sugarberry’s house.” Dani’s voice crying.
“Show me. Let’s go.”
David's voice. "J.P., it'll be okay. I'm so sorry, I'm so—”
Rustling footsteps, and then there was nothing.
Greenfield was already on the cell phone. “That’s right, two twelve-man teams. Code red, highest tactical, repeat highest tactical. Ground zero is the house of Gertrude Sugarberry in Georgetown—address is forthcoming. Target is white male, six-two, hair color unknown. He has three hostages. Most likely dressed as a Virginia state trooper. He’s heavily armed and should be considered lethal. Agent Fowler and I will be waiting.”
“Waiting my ass,” Fowler said, heading for the door.
Kathryn started out behind him.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Depriest, you have to stay here.”
Kathryn had no time to protest. Fowler and Greenfield were out the door.
»»•««
“Dani, I don’t think we’re going to find anything in here,” David whispered while knocking a piece of mortar free from between the red brick.