The Denali Deception

by Ernest Dempsey

  Underneath the awning, Sean opened the door and let his friend pass through first. The smell of onions, garlic, broccoli, and meat filled the air and wafted by the visitors in a steamy cloud, dissipating in the freezing cold outside.

  Inside, the kitchen was situated behind a counter. Two cooks stirred various ingredients in giant steel woks. Fire flashed around the pans, rising up toward the ventilation fans overhead before disappearing just as fast as the flames appeared.

  A young Asian woman stood at a cash register behind the counter. She wore a polite smile and gave a welcoming nod to the two men as they entered.

  "Welcome to Wok and Roll. How can I help you?" she said in a thick accent.

  Sean cleared his throat and stepped to the counter. "Hello. My name is Sean, and this is Tommy. We work for a historical agency in Atlanta and were wondering if you could help us with an investigation."

  The young woman's face scrunched into a frown. "You're police?"

  "No, no. Not police," Tommy corrected. "We're doing some research on the Abraham Lincoln assassination and were wondering if we could have a look around your building."

  The moment the words came out of Tommy's mouth, he realized the poor girl probably had dozens of similar requests every single day.

  "So, you're not police?"

  "No," Sean said.

  "Upstairs is a private residence. You're not allowed up there." She was clearly offended by the request. At least it sounded like she was.

  "We're really sorry," Sean said in an attempt to smooth things over. "The research we're doing is extremely important. You're sure we can't just have a quick look?"

  An older man walked up to the register from a doorway in the back corner. From the potbelly and the sagging face, Sean and Tommy figured him to be in his late fifties or early sixties.

  "What's the problem here?" he said in a booming voice that startled the other two customers in the room.

  "They were asking to see the rooms upstairs," the girl explained.

  "No." He wagged a finger. "Do you have any idea how many people we get in here every week who want to see the Surratt boarding house?"

  "No, but I'm betting it's more than a few," Sean whispered, mostly to himself.

  "If you want to know more about the building, read the plaque the government posted outside."

  "We've read the plaque," Tommy said. He wasn't lying. They read it online before coming to visit the building in person. "But we think it's possible there is a key piece of evidence for our project somewhere in here. We'd just like to look around and see what we can find."

  The older guy—who Sean and Tommy figured was the manager—shook his head. "This building was stripped apart several times over the last hundred years. Anything that may have been hidden here is long gone. I'm sorry, but it appears you've wasted your time."

  Sean and Tommy exchanged a forlorn glance.

  "Would you like something to eat while you're here?" the girl asked.

  Tommy started to say he wasn't hungry when Sean spoke up first. "I'll try the lo mein and General Tso's tofu."

  "Your friend want anything?"

  Tommy relented. "Fine. I'll get the tofu as well with a side of white rice."

  A few minutes later, the two were sitting in a booth near the back of the building, spinning noodles around chopsticks and shoveling rice into their mouths.

  "What should we do?" Tommy asked, looking around at the employees. "Come back later when they're closed?"

  Sean surveyed the room. "And what," he whispered, "break in? You heard them. They live upstairs. And besides, the manager said that the place was torn apart multiple times over the last hundred years. It's highly unlikely that something would still be here after all that."

  It wasn't like Tommy to offer the brazen option. Tommy's nature wasn't necessarily timid. It's just that he usually chose to do things by the book, follow the rules, rarely step out of line.

  In certain circumstances, Sean would have agreed to a little breaking and entering of the old Surratt boarding house. In this instance, he wasn't sure that was the best course of action.

  "Then what do you suggest we do?" Tommy asked.

  "Excuse me," a new voice interrupted their quiet conversation.

  The two turned and saw an older man in the booth behind them. His thick gray hair was combed to one side. Even though the restaurant was warm, he wore a beige trench coat. The skin under his eyes sagged, showing dark circles beneath weary blue eyes. He had the appearance of someone who'd been working in politics for most of his life—the sort of rugged yet refined handsomeness voters loved.

  "I couldn't help but hear you two talking to that manager about having a look upstairs," he said.

  Tommy and Sean stared at the guy, wondering what else he'd heard.

  "There's nothing up there," the man continued. "The manager's right. This place went through several renovations through the years."

  The stranger could tell the two friends were curious as to why they should listen to him, maybe even as to who he was.

  "Eli Stumper," he said. "I've been coming to this joint ever since I got elected."

  I knew it, Sean thought. A politician. "I'm Sean, and this is my friend Tommy."

  "Nice to meet you, sir," Tommy said, awkwardly twisting his body in the booth to reach over and shake the man's hand.

  "Are you a history buff like me?" Eli asked.

  Sean let a wry grin ease across his face. "I guess you could say that. We work for the International Archaeological Agency. He's the founder." Sean gave a nod at Tommy.

  "You don't say. I thought I recognized you."

  Tommy blushed. Sean's face reddened, too, but for a different reason. If this guy—a government official—knew who they were, there could be trouble if he relayed the message to a corrupt coworker. They were already taking a huge chance coming into DC. The last thing they needed was to have some guy start blabbing about them being here.

  "We're trying to keep a low profile," Sean said. "The project we're working on at the moment is...sensitive."

  Eli's eyes widened. "Oh, I see. Well, I won't trouble you anymore."

  The man started to turn around, but Sean stopped him. "That's not what I meant. Care to join us?"

  Eli looked at one and then the other as if the question required deliberation. "Sure," he said. "I'd love to."

  The older man slipped out of his seat as Tommy moved over. He brought his half-eaten plate of dumplings and set it on the table next to Tommy's.

  "So, you know a lot about this place, huh?" Tommy asked.

  "Yep," Eli said, shoving a forkful of the sweet and spicy food into his mouth.

  "When the renovations happened, did the construction crews find anything unusual?"

  Eli chewed and looked up to the ceiling as if the tiles above would somehow help him recall the answer. "Not that I remember. What is it you two are looking for, anyway?"

  "A document," Sean said quickly.

  Tommy's head swiveled. He surveyed the room, making sure no one else was paying attention. The cooks and the girl working the register were busy running the restaurant.

  When Tommy spoke, it was in a hushed tone. "Keep this hush-hush," he said.

  Eli nodded that he understood.

  "When Booth killed Lincoln, he came back here to get ammunition and food before heading to Doctor Mudd." Tommy shoved a pile of rice into his mouth.

  "You think Booth left something here?"

  "No, sir," Sean said. "Someone else did."

  Eli's forehead wrinkled. "Who?"

  "You're a history guy," Sean said. "So, you know Lewis Powell tried to assassinate William Seward that night, too."

  "That is correct. Powell also came here that night. He was arrested here the next day." Eli paused to reflect for a moment. "You think it was Powell that brought a document here?"

  "Maybe," Sean said. "But I guess we'll never know. We can't very well look upstairs. And this floor wasn't the main floor when Mary Surrat
t was running a boarding house here."

  Eli nodded. Sean was right. It wasn't until years later that the ground floor became the main entrance. By then, Mary Surratt's family was long gone.

  "Mary Surratt's family," Eli said.

  "Excuse me?" Tommy chirped. "What about her family?"

  "This is a long shot. I don't know if it will help or not. Mary had a son, John Jr. He hung around many of the nights Booth and the others conspired to take down the government. He was involved heavily with the Confederate cause in multiple instances, working from behind enemy lines to get them supplies or let them know about troop movements by the North."

  "John was arrested later and then let go. They said he didn't have anything to do with the conspiracy," Sean said.

  "That's correct. While his mother and three others were hanged for their crimes, John was not. I'm not sure if it was because he was younger or what. The other men they hanged were pretty young themselves. Anyway, the boarding house was operating at a loss and had to be sold to pay off the family debts. Their family farmhouse, on the other hand, is still standing today. There's a little museum inside it, complete with all the original furnishings, woodwork, everything."

  Sean and Tommy sat up a little straighter.

  "Let me see if I'm following your thought here. You think if Powell brought the document back here, John Surratt may have hidden it in his family home?" Tommy asked.

  Eli confirmed with a nod. "It's possible. I have no idea what you two are looking for or why, and frankly I'm fine with reading about it in the news when you make an announcement. But yes, if Powell did bring something back here, John Surratt may have hidden it at their farm."

  Sean listened intensely. He pointed a finger at Eli. "You might be onto something. The conspirators thought through pretty much everything. They'd have to believe that the authorities might connect the dots."

  "Right," Tommy said. "And those dots would have led straight back to here."

  "So, John Surratt took the document and fled back to the family homestead."

  "And if he did that, it's extremely likely he hid it somewhere in the house," Eli said. "Back in those days, people used to hide things in the ground along prominent roads or near local landmarks. If it's paper you're looking for, I doubt he would have done that. The elements would destroy it in no time. If that document still exists, and no one ever found it, it might be worth a look at the family house."

  "Where is that property?" Tommy asked.

  "Not too far from here. It's in Clinton, Maryland. Nothing but gas stations and strip malls around it, but the historical societies have managed to keep the Surratt farmhouse safe from destruction."

  "Thank you for your help," Sean said.

  "Happy to lend a hand," Eli said.

  He wiped his fingers clean on a couple of napkins and then dabbed one at the corner of his mouth to get a smudge of sauce still lingering on his lips. He stood up and picked up his tray. "It's been nice chatting with you, gentlemen. I have to get going. Perhaps I'll see you around again sometime. Best of luck on your adventure."

  "Thanks," the two said in tandem.

  Eli disposed of his tray and ventured out onto the cold Washington sidewalk.

  "What do you think?" Tommy asked, taking another big bite of his food.

  Sean was chewing his own food while searching for something on his phone's web browser. "He's right about the Surratt farmhouse not being far from here. We could shoot over there and have a look. It's definitely worth a shot."

  "What if we don't find anything?" A piece of rice dangled from the corner of Tommy's lips.

  "From the sound of it, we're not going to find what we're looking for here, either. May as well take a short drive out to the country and take a gander."

  "Gander?"

  "Yeah, you know, have a look around."

  "Sorry, I just didn't realize it was 1954."

  Sean shook his head and scooped up the last remains of his noodles. "I like old-school words. So?"

  Tommy pouted his lips and rolled his shoulders. "I'm not judging."

  "Really? It feels a little like you're judging."

  "Like all those times you told me to get in better shape?"

  Sean chuckled. "And don't you feel so good now that you are?"

  The door opened, ringing the bell over the frame.

  Tommy's eyes flashed to his left, taking note of the big man walking into the restaurant. He had long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and wore a heavy Gore-Tex coat.

  "That's not the point," Tommy said.

  "Look, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings when I brought up your health. It wasn't to make fun. Okay? It's because I care. I've known you longer than any of my other friends. You're like family to me. I apologize for wanting you to be around a while."

  The big man who'd just come in the door looked over at the two friends. They didn't see him staring, and they didn't notice when he started unzipping his coat, revealing Egyptian tattoos on his neck and upper chest.

  "Wow," Tommy said. He sat back against the booth and took in a deep breath. "A tender moment from Sean Wyatt. That doesn't happen often."

  Sean shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "Are you done eating? We should get going."

  "Aww. Did I hit a soft spot?"

  "No. But we need to get out of the city before traffic starts up again."

  "It's DC," Tommy said. "There's always traffic."

  Sean picked up his and Tommy's trays and spun toward the trashcan next to the door. Then he saw the tattooed man standing ten feet away. He was at least six-six and looked like a body builder. Then Sean saw the guy pulling two huge handguns out of shoulder holsters.

  "Get down!" Sean yelled.

  Chapter 25

  Washington

  The man whipped the pistols out.

  Before he could fire, Sean flung one of the trays like a Frisbee, striking the big man square in the face.

  The blow stung and stunned the guy enough that his hands pointed up just enough that when he fired the weapons that the rounds flew through the wall over Tommy's head.

  Sean didn't wait for him to recover. He charged the shooter, jumping at the last second to hit him with a flying kick to the chest.

  The gunman was faster than he looked for a big, muscular guy. He stepped aside and swung the base of one of the pistols into Sean's back. As he spun around, he swung the other arm in Sean's direction and took aim at the back of his head.

  Sean hit the floor and slid into the counter as the cooks dove for cover. The girl yelled and dropped out of sight behind the register.

  The shooter's finger tensed, ready to put a .45-caliber bullet through the back of Sean's skull when something struck him on the back of the head. Fresh pain instantly throbbed from the blow, stunning him for a brief moment. A split second after, the ceramic plate that struck him crashed in a hundred pieces at his feet.

  He turned and saw Tommy racing for him, lowering his shoulder. The gunman tried to line up Tommy in his sights, but his aim was too slow. He fired the weapon, sending a round a foot to Tommy's right. The next second, Tommy's shoulder dug into the gunman's ribcage.

  Tommy pumped his legs as hard and fast as he could until he felt the gunman's bulk shudder when his body hit the counter.

  One of the guns fell to the ground a few feet away from Sean. The shooter winced but managed to wriggle free of Tommy's grasp. He spun his remaining weapon around and started to fire again, but Tommy chopped his right arm down on the guy's forearm. The pistol's muzzle erupted. Part of the cheap tile floor exploded as the bullet smashed into it.

  Sean grabbed the other weapon and scrambled to his feet. He tried to take aim but couldn't get a clear line of sight while Tommy was grappling with the shooter.

  The gunman chopped his elbow down on Tommy's back.

  Tommy grunted in pain and dropped to his knees, opening a shooting lane for Sean, whose fingers tightened on the trigger as he lined up the man's muscular chest with his sigh
ts.

  The shooter's foot kicked up much higher and faster than either Sean or Tommy would have thought possible. The tip of the man's heavy boot hit Sean's hand and knocked the weapon backward toward the rear exit.

  Sean's hand flew up. He corrected quickly and put himself into an attacking stance. In the blink of an eye, Sean swung his left arm in an arch, twisted his right foot, opened his hips, and kicked hard with his left.

  The gunman attempted a block, but he used the hand with his gun in it. The blow knocked the weapon across the room, just as he'd done to Sean.

  Tommy was on his hands and knees with his arms wrapped around the man's legs, still attempting to tackle the shooter.

  The gunman yelled and grabbed Tommy by the belt and shirt, hefting him off the floor and then dropping him hard to the tile.

  Sean used his friend as a step and lunged forward, vaulting himself into the air. The gunman twisted and clotheslined Sean with a forearm across the face.

  The blow sent a surge of pain through Sean's entire head as he crashed to the floor in a heap next to Tommy. He struggled to get up, but before he could, the gunman grabbed him by the neck and picked him up. He did the same to Tommy, wrapping his massive arm around Tommy's throat.

  Sean drove his elbow in the man's abs over and over again, desperate to free himself from the gunman's death grip. Tommy wriggled frantically, also trying to get away so he could breathe.

  Sean's vision blurred. He was certain his friend was in similar straits. In less than a minute, they would both black out. A few seconds more than that, and they'd be dead.

  His arms grew heavy, and the shots his elbows delivered to the gunman's midsection seemed to do nothing but piss him off, like a gnat flying around a bull.

  He couldn't get into a position to kick his heel into the man's groin. But there was one idea that popped into his head.

  "Tommy," Sean said through clenched teeth. He was barely able to make a sound. "Ears."

  Tommy heard his friend and knew what he meant.

  With a last-ditch effort, the two twisted their bodies as much as possible and swung their open hands at the gunman's head.