“That could be dangerous work,” Wilkie cautioned. “If you believe the IMM is a front for some massive illegal operation, you’re going to have a lot more to worry about on the high seas than pirates.”
“I know. That’s why I modified some records at J. P. Morgan and Company to give myself a new name and identity.”
“Again? Your current one is just a few months old! Besides, I thought you liked the name ‘Rose.’”
“I took care of everything, Mr. Wilkie. The IMM already has me listed as an employee under my new identity. The necessary paperwork is in your pocket.”
The Secret Service chief furrowed his brow and looked down at his black coat. He patted one of his supposedly empty pockets and could feel paper inside it. “How did you do that?” he demanded.
“Do what?”
“Nobody can sneak up on me like that. Not you, not Houdini!”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all! In fact, I’ve never been more proud of you!”
Miss Knox laughed and bowed her head.
Wilkie extended his hand. “May I?” The two skaters waltzed across the ice to the brass band’s Christmas tunes like a father dancing with his daughter on her wedding day. Although there were no cameras to preserve the memory, both Wilkie and Miss Knox knew this might be their last moment together. “Will you at least be spending Christmas with your family?” he asked.
“No. I leave the city tomorrow. I already explained everything to my parents. They understand my line of work.”
The Secret Service chief was misty eyed, but it was probably because of the cold. Probably. “Well, don’t forget to write.”
“I’ll contact you the moment there’s a new development.”
Wilkie smiled. “I was referring to your parents, but— Oh! You just reminded me! I’m sorry I did not tell you this when it happened, but Robert Todd Lincoln is off the Alaska case.”
“He is?”
“Yes. He’s been in exile in his mansion since he failed to bring anything new to the investigation.”
“I don’t see why the president would do that.”
“He didn’t. It was Mr. Lincoln’s decision, and frankly…” Wilkie paused to light a new cigar. He offered one to Miss Knox, but she declined. “Frankly, I think Mr. Lincoln is making a big mistake by sitting this out. There’s no way we would have known about this activity in Alaska had it not been for him, even if we intercepted the Tesla transmission.” Wilkie blew a thick, frustrated cloud of smoke. “And I’d give anything to know how his pocket watch is tied in to this.”
“Has the president made any mention of the pocket watch to you?”
“No. Whatever Robert told him about the timepiece, he hasn’t shared it with anyone. And it’s not like I can approach either of them for more information about something I’m not supposed to know about.” Wilkie puffed his cigar in deep thought, at which point he spied a worried Captain Butt watching the skaters. “Anyway, you should go back to your bodyguard. Have a very merry Christmas.” The chief bowed, removing his top hat.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilkie. And a happy new year to you.”
“Well, here’s hoping.” The Secret Service chief stuck his cigar in his mouth and disappeared into the crowd while Miss Knox skated back to her escort. The captain looked mortified.
“Are you all right?” Butt stammered. “That took much longer than I was expecting!” He continued voicing concerns with his arm extended so Miss Knox could take off her skates.
As she considered how this might be her last evening with the captain, Miss Knox decided to make it as pleasant as possible for him. “Can you tell me more about your mother?” she asked.
The captain’s eyes brightened. “Oh! What would you like to know?”
“Everything,” she emphasized, looping her arm around the tall officer’s.
“Well,” he began proudly, “as I’m sure you gathered, she wasn’t born Mrs. Butt.”
The two walked off together into the snow-covered park. They were both smiling.
A clock chimed.
Chapter XVII
Reunion
“Bob?” inquired a familiar voice.
Robert Todd Lincoln stepped away from his window beneath the North Portico. He was smoking a cigar and had been staring at a carriage outside. “I’m coming,” he murmured.
Robert moved across the smoke-filled bedroom in a drowsy, almost dreamlike state. After enduring two of the most decisive weeks of the Civil War alongside General Grant, the twenty-one-year-old Union Army captain could barely stand. He saw American cities reduced to ruins and Virginia meadows transformed into killing fields. He had witnessed the ravages of war and the beatitudes of peace. He had not bathed or even changed out of his uniform for weeks, could barely think straight, and went so long without sleeping that the soft bed next to him seemed like a distant, foreign object.
Robert opened his bedroom door to find his well-dressed father looming behind it. He was wearing his greatcoat and had his stovepipe hat in his hand.
He smiled warmly at his son. “We’re going to the theater, Bob. Don’t you want to go?” Abraham had a sparkle in his eyes and a hopeful hint in his voice.
Robert shook his head. “Not tonight. If it’s just the same to you, Father, I’d a whole lot rather turn in early. I haven’t been sleeping well these last couple days.”
“Oh…” his father voiced with concern. “Is it anything serious?”
“I don’t think so. I have some medicine for it.”
“Oh, good. That means I can come in.” Abraham scurried into the room before his son could close the door on him.
“Father…” his son groaned wearily.
“May I sit down?” Before Robert could explain how exhausted he was, his father had already taken off his greatcoat, folded it, and set it on his son’s bed. Abraham moved with such eagerness that the coat appeared to get caught on something. After a quick tug, a small object fell onto his shoe and rolled over to Robert.
“You dropped this,” said the son, picking up a blue sleeve button with a gold “L” initial.
“Oh, thank you.” Abraham took the button and stuffed it into his pocket with disinterest as he made himself comfortable beside his greatcoat and hat.
Robert, thinking his father was behaving erratically, asked, “Are you well?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” his father assured him. “I was just hoping you and I could have a talk before I departed, since you won’t be joining us this evening.”
“But there’s a carriage waiting outside,” said Robert, pointing toward the window with his cigar. “It’s been there for a long time.”
“It can wait,” said Abraham, lifting his hand. “Bob, I’m sorry to interrupt you and even sorrier to leave your mother waiting like this, but the thing is … I’m in the most unusual quandary. This coat the Brooks Brothers made for me is just so goddamn inspirational!” he laughed heartily. “Every time I put it on, the more philosophical part of my being is treated to something I must show you. Look!”
Abraham opened his coat across his son’s bed as if unfolding a map. Stitched into the coat’s silky silver lining was a large, outstretched eagle bearing a ribbon with writing on it.
Abraham ran his long fingers under the words. “It reads, ‘One Country, One Destiny.’ I first noticed this just before I delivered my second inaugural. Ever since then, I’ve made an effort to reflect on this image whenever I put the coat on. Now, I’ve always known about the bird and its message, but these”—Abraham pointed to the four Union shields surrounding the eagle—“are completely new to me! I spotted them for the first time just a few minutes ago. At first, they made me think about the nation and the fourscore, some-odd years since our founding, but Bob, these shields mean something even more important to me that I must share with you.”
Robert, completely lost as to where his father was going with this, looked down at the eagle and then back up with confusion. “What am I looking for?” he
asked.
Like a teacher pointing to a passage in a schoolbook, Abraham directed his son to all four Union shields, moving clockwise. “This is me … your mother … your brother … and you.” Abraham emphasized this last shield beneath the eagle’s right wing. “Bob, with Willie and Eddie gone, we are now a family of four. As painful and torturous as that is, I accept it. However, just like our country, we must not let this bond be broken. No matter how much you and I disagreed these past four years, we need to unite. We need to heal and move forward, stronger, as a family.”
Robert, though moved by his father’s words, was still racked with disappointment and guilt. And, deep down, shame. Shame that he did not serve his country the way he wanted to during the war.
Robert wanted to make peace with his father, but he was not ready to.
Abraham sensed his son’s frustration and dug deeper into the subject. “Bob, do you remember when I called upon you to help me resolve the cabinet crisis? The one between Mr. Chase and Mr. Seward?”
Robert’s tired eyes awakened a bit. “I don’t think I was much help at all.” He laughed.
“Bob,” his father pressed, “I called upon you for your view of my conduct. Not merely for my guidance, but as a compass for you to carry in case you ever find yourself lost, as I was. Do you remember what kind of lesson I said it would be?”
Robert struggled to remember. “You said it was a lesson on morality, I think.”
Abraham shook his head. “No, Bob. I said it was a lesson on Machiavelli.”
Any clarity or understanding faded from Robert’s face. He looked a whole lot more than a little bit lost.
Abraham smiled and leaned forward a bit. In a soft, clear voice, the father retold the story. “When Mr. Chase sowed his seeds of discord after the disaster at Fredericksburg, I knew he aimed to rally the Radical Republicans against Mr. Seward and myself so he could run unopposed for the presidency. I couldn’t blame him. I felt like I was in a worse place than hell after Fredericksburg. However, even then I maintained that every man must skin his own skunk in this business. Mr. Chase, on the other hand, whipped those radicals into such a frenzy over how we conducted our cabinet meetings that Mr. Seward felt compelled to resign. Naturally, this put me in quite a bind. I needed both men in my cabinet, but I no longer knew if Mr. Chase could be trusted. How could I retain both their services while guaranteeing Mr. Chase’s loyalty? That’s the part of the story where Mr. Machiavelli came in.” Abraham smiled.
“Bob, Machiavelli believed that if you are unsure about a secretary or minister, you should examine where his loyalties lie: to you or himself. In this case, I subjected Mr. Chase to the most humiliating examination since the Galileo affair. I summoned my cabinet—sans Mr. Seward, of course—along with Mr. Chase’s congressional allies so they could personally see the lies in his charges. I explained how my cabinet had always been open, committed to unity, and then called on each one of my secretaries to express whether this was so. When the question eventually fell to Mr. Chase, he knew he had to choose his loyalty carefully. He chose me, which was wise, since at that point the radicals realized their once-trusted ally was out of manure to sell them. Senator Trumbell was furious!” Abraham laughed. “He said, ‘Somebody has lied like hell!’ ‘Not tonight,’ I responded. For the first time in a good while, Mr. Chase had spoken the truth.
“Naturally, the tables turned against Mr. Chase so quickly that—the poor devil—he offered to resign! But I wouldn’t accept it. When he handed me his resignation the next morning, I seized it and laughed to Mr. Welles: ‘This cuts the Gordian knot!’ The crisis was over and I reunited my men. Mr. Chase went back to his job, Mr. Seward to his, and I was able to ride the next two years with a pumpkin in each end of my bag.” The president grinned.
A tired Robert ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I remember that night,” he said. “You asked me to lay out writing materials for you. So you could pen your request that Mr. Chase remain in the cabinet.”
“That’s correct. Right over there, I believe.” Abraham pointed to a lonely-looking writing desk in the room. Robert could picture his father’s phantom at work over it, redeeming the man he would eventually make the nation’s next chief justice.
Robert blinked back to his senses. “What does the coat have to do with all this?”
With these words, Abraham stood tall and looked at his son with sincere, repenting eyes. “Bob, I know I stood in the way of how you wanted to live your own life. I know you wanted to serve in the Army, not as an officer, but as a soldier fighting alongside your fellow countrymen. My decision to stand against you strained our relationship throughout this whole war, and I am so sorry, but you must believe me when I say that I never doubted your loyalties. Mr. Chase’s loyalties were only to himself, and I fixed that. But Bob, you must not deny yourself the valor you demonstrated by standing up to your family so you could defend your country during its hour of need. That was the greatest sacrifice you could make in this fight, Bob, and you made it again and again. But the war is over. It’s time for the two of us to make peace so that our family can emerge from this war united, and so you and I can properly face the greater challenge ahead.”
The president’s son was silent. And listening.
His father started pacing the room. “Bob, winning a war will never be as important as winning the peace. You saw with your own eyes the brotherhood this nation is capable of when General Lee and General Grant sat down at Appomattox. Their peace is the peace we must strive for: unity. It is the bond that has guided us through every war and struggle since our independence. But reconstruction will be our greatest challenge, Bob. It is a test we cannot fail, lest the darker angels of our nature descend upon us again. I will do everything in my power to unite this land once more, but it cannot end with me. It will take more than one president, and possibly more than one Lincoln.”
Robert was mystified by his father’s choice of words. “What do you mean by that?”
Abraham grinned brightly and clasped his son by the shoulders. “Bob, you have already made me prouder than any father could hope for. Not even John Adams could boast that John Quincy witnessed the surrender at Yorktown. So please, get some rest. Do just what you feel most like, but please let us continue this conversation tomorrow. After a good night’s sleep, I want you to tell me what your plan is for our nation. Our destiny.”
Robert Todd Lincoln had never felt more understood by his father. For so long he felt coddled, denied the opportunity to decide his own future. At last, at long last, he felt truly at peace with his father. He felt ready, and welcome, to serve his nation the way he had always wanted to. “I look forward to it with all my heart,” he replied.
Abraham smiled and patted his son on the cheek. “All right, my boy. Well, I don’t want to keep your mother waiting.” Abraham picked up his coat and opened it wide, treating both father and son to one last look at the eagle inside. The president put on his coat, adjusted the ruffled gloves in his left coat pocket, and took his hat.
“Good night.” He smiled to Robert.
“Good night, Father.”
Abraham walked out of the room and shut the door.
Chapter XVIII
Wide Awake
“Bob?” inquired a familiar, fainter voice.
A sixty-seven-year-old Robert Todd Lincoln opened his heavily-lidded eyes.
“Are you coming to bed tonight?” asked Mary Harlan, Robert’s wife.
Robert sat up in his wooden chair and stretched. “In a moment, dear. I have some work I need to finish.”
An introvert herself, Mary rarely interrupted her husband during his frequent sleepless nights. Poring over papers and studying the stars until sunrise was the norm at Hildene, their Manchester mansion. However, tonight was different. “You know we have to leave for Washington tomorrow,” she reminded him.
“I know. Just let me put everything away.”
“That would take all summer,” Mary teased as her blue eyes ran ov
er Robert’s crowded, cluttered library.
“Just my desk, then.” He smiled sleepily. “And then I’m yours. I promise.”
Mary kissed her husband and left him to his work.
Robert put on his spectacles and raised his head. The brass clock on his mantelpiece showed it was well past midnight. The gold pocket watch on his desk, however, remained frozen at a different hour. Robert closed the silent timepiece and slipped it into his pocket.
Within his scarlet library, seven steamer trunks formed a fortress around Robert’s desk. Prepared by Charles Sweet, Robert’s Chicago secretary, the chests contained every correspondence, letter, and note then-Captain Robert T. Lincoln packed in Washington nearly fifty years ago. It was a treasure trove of history and one of the greatest private archives in the world: the presidential papers of Abraham Lincoln.
Among the many files scattered across Robert’s desk was an open folder. It was marked “A” for “assassination” by his father’s own hand. The file contained just a fraction of the more than ten thousand death threats his father received in his first term, not counting the innumerable jars of poisoned fruit sent to him by Southerners before his inauguration. Since Abraham never took any of these threats seriously, Robert imagined that Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton or Allan Pinkerton had urged his father to collect them for further investigation. He never could understand why his father was so convinced no one would ever harm him. It was a fatal mistake, thought Robert. He closed the folder and stowed it in its trunk, dejected that its contents brought him no closer to solving the mysteries of his enigmatic pocket watch.
The Great Abraham Lincoln Pocket Watch Conspiracy Page 14