Robert removed his glasses and pinched the aching bridge of his nose. “No, there wasn’t. Our talk was completely unrelated.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Positive,” he said, slipping his spectacles back on.
“Sure enough to risk Bob Taft’s life?” Wilkie pressed.
Robert turned his exhausted eyes to the chief. “John, as a national authority on the subject, I can assure you that my father’s assassination had absolutely nothing to do with the events of this evening.”
There were two rapid knocks on the door. “Chief Wilkie?” a voice inquired.
“What do you want?” the chief snapped.
Secret Service Agent Frank Burke peeked through the doors. “Sir, we found something.”
Wilkie raised his eyebrows and Robert turned his head.
“Well, aren’t you the son of a bitch I’ve been waiting for all evening!” Wilkie grinned at the agent.
* * *
Major Butt whisked the emotionally crippled president back into the Treaty Room.
“What is it, John?” Taft asked wearily.
The president saw Chief Wilkie, Robert Todd Lincoln, and Arthur Brooks huddled around the silver skull. There was a toolbox on the Resolute desk and Wilkie was seated in the president’s chair. He was carefully examining the skull with the blade of his puukko knife.
“John…” Taft winced. “What are you doing to that thing?”
“It’s definitely not a bomb,” Wilkie puffed as he worked. “If it was, it would be heavier, even with its silver plating. We also didn’t find any explosives when we examined its, uh…”
“Its foramen magnum,” Robert explained to the president. “The large opening in the occipital bone where the spinal cord extends.”
“What he said,” Wilkie confirmed. “However, while this poor bonehead is as brainless as the Prohibition movement, it looks like he has one or two secrets worth sharing. There’s something foreign lodged in here that we can’t extract. Also, this skull sports a feature quite unusual to the normal noggin.”
“What is it?” asked Taft.
“There’re hinges on this thing,” said Wilkie, tapping the skull with his knife.
The president’s eyes widened. “Hinges!”
“Yup. Just like a jack-in-the-box. Its top lid was sealed shut, but Mr. Brooks and I were able to jimmy it without difficulty.”
“Have you opened it?”
“We’re about to. You want to watch?” Wilkie smirked.
The president stared nervously at the shining skull. “May I … examine it?” he asked uneasily.
“Be my guest,” said Wilkie. “There’re no fingerprints on it, and I think its former owner would have been delighted to meet the president in the White House.”
Taft stepped forward and, with a hesitant hand, lifted the skull from the Resolute desk. As he studied it closely, his eyes awoke with recognition.
“Mr. Brooks, please notify Mrs. Taft about our progress.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” Nellie’s aide left the room.
“You’re sure this thing’s not explosive?” Taft asked the chief.
“Mr. President, I just spent the last few minutes hitting it with a hammer.”
Satisfied, the president rubbed his fingers together and dug his thumbnail into its lid. It wouldn’t open, so Taft knocked the skull against his desk a couple of times.
“What’d I tell you?” Wilkie smiled. “That son of a bitch is adamantine!”
When at last the lid lifted, President Taft felt inside and removed a folded piece of paper from the skull. He flattened the document across the Resolute desk as Robert, Wilkie, and Major Butt huddled around to read it.
Mr. President:
You will enter the Skull and Bones tomb on Wednesday, June 21, at 10:00 P.M. You will come alone with no escort, no Secret Service, and no military within twenty miles of New Haven.
If you fail to appear at the appointed time, you will never see your son again. If you alert Yale University about your meeting, every single person on its campus will be killed. If you make any attempt to interfere with our arrangements by force, every single inhabitant in New Haven will die.
Please do not underestimate the forces you are up against. They are in possession of a weapon more powerful than anything the world has seen. It is far beyond your comprehension.
Yours most respectfully,
The Gentleman from Paris
“What kind of a ransom note is this?” asked the president, trembling. “They’re not requesting anything!”
The four men exchanged uneasy looks across the Resolute desk.
“They’re asking for you,” said Wilkie. “And I’m pretty sure they’re not inviting you over for tea.”
“Mr. President,” began the major, “whoever’s behind this villainy knew you would be at Yale on Wednesday. They planned their attack to coincide with your silver wedding and Commencement Day at the school. This dastardly plot must have been months in the making.”
“Years,” Wilkie corrected.
Taft rubbed his face with an unsteady hand. “They could have killed us all tonight. Half the government. My whole family. Everyone I’ve ever known.”
“On that subject, Mr. President, you know this fella, don’t you?” Wilkie pointed his puukko to the silver skull
“I do,” Taft nodded. “That’s the skull from the Skull and Bones tomb.”
“That’s the skull?” asked Robert. “The one John told us about?”
“Yes. Yorick. We used him as a ballot box. I’ve never seen him in silver, though. That must be some kind of sick joke.”
“You mind explaining whose skull it was before your Bonesmen acquired it?” asked Wilkie.
“I don’t know! It was there before I was born! It was probably stolen from the medical school.”
“Mr. President, no more bull. What goes on inside that tomb?” Chief Wilkie demanded.
“John, I can assure you it’s nothing but a private club for Yale chums. Nothing important goes on in there. It’s a crowded, cluttered building piled high with antiques, dust, and rubbish! I have no idea why they would want to meet me there.”
“Your father was cofounder,” began Robert. “And you said yourself several of your brothers are members. As are Secretaries MacVeagh and Stimson.”
“Yes. And so is Bob. My poor son…” Taft lamented. “What’s your point?”
“It sounds to me like these villains are trying to get inside your head,” said Wilkie, snapping the skull shut with his knife. “I suggest we get into theirs.”
“John, this isn’t a game of checkers. They have my son! I’d resign the presidency right now if it would bring him back!”
“Will, don’t say that,” said Robert.
“I’ll say whatever I damn well want, Bob! I never wanted this job! You know it! Everyone knows it!”
“Will,” Robert’s voice deepened, “the presidency is too precious to surrender like a chess pawn.”
“Bob, they have my son. MY SON!” Taft pounded the desk, shaking the skull. “My wife is weeping in her bed! My entire family has been crippled! I’d rather be assassinated on the spot than see any further harm befall those I love!”
Robert took off his glasses. “Mr. President,” he said in a clear voice, “you still have a pulse. You still breathe air. You are still very much alive, so do not trivialize the consequence of your death! You have been dealt a terrible blow, but believe me, my father came close to defeat countless times throughout the war. I saw with my own eyes moments when this nation hinged on how much pain one man can endure. My father forfeited everything for this country just so you and every president to follow would have a United States to govern. You owe him your allegiance to this office!”
Taft, whose mounting anger was held back only by his exhaustion, replied, “Bob, your father was the greatest man to ever assume the presidency. Maybe even the greatest American there ever was. I cannot be his equal. I am not
his equal.”
“You don’t need to be,” a woman’s voice spoke from the doorway.
The president turned to see his wife, supported by Arthur Books. “Nellie!” Taft rushed to her. “Are you unhurt?”
“Only physically,” she said, reeling as she spoke. “Will, these are the most painful hours of my life, but if I can stand them, so can you. We cannot allow the country to fall victim to this malice. No parent in the nation should suffer what we are going through right now. You must engage our enemies. You will meet them as they requested, find out who they are and what they’re plotting. And then, once you have rescued our son, you will make sure these villains never leave that tomb alive.”
“Nellie…” The first couple embraced. “What if I cannot stop them? What if I fail?”
“You won’t,” she assured. “You’re a fighter.”
Nellie’s words, like a bell, awoke the prizefighter in her husband. Renewed, restored, resurrected, Taft lifted his wife off the ground and kissed her with the same passion they had shared for twenty-five years. Everyone else in the room looked away until they were finished.
As Taft gently returned Nellie to her feet, he nodded to Brooks with gratitude. The aide returned in kind and, together, the three charged into the Treaty Room.
“Archie!” Taft hollered. “How long will it take for you to plan an attack on Yale campus?”
“I—”
“Speak, damn you!” Taft ordered.
Although this interruption was completely unnecessary, it snapped the major into unexplored heights of attention. “I can have one ready within twenty-four hours. It will have to be a nighttime raid, of course.”
“Oh? And how are you going to sneak your soldiers in without anyone noticing?” Wilkie put to the major. “It’s Commencement Day. Our enemies could have a thousand armed men on that campus without any of us knowing. Besides, the president’s going to be naked in that tomb without my agents—no offense,” he acknowledged to Nellie. “Whoever these villains are, they’ll be more prepared than Boy Scouts for an attack. Be it by land or by sea.”
But not from the air, Taft realized. “Archie,” said the president with glistening eyes, “use the zeppelin!”
Every face in the room froze except Nellie’s. Intrigued, she raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lincoln, how serviceable would Airship One be in combat?” she asked.
Robert was perplexed with this request, but after a thought: “Very well, actually. Bullets should pass through it quite harmlessly. It was built with defense in mind, but we could have the War Department refit it for assault. In fact…” A revived Robert looked straight at Major Butt. “The zeppelin is ideally suited for a nighttime raid. It’s silent, fast, and steady.”
Wilkie’s eyes lit up like gasoline. “Major, if you stationed sharpshooters on the zeppelin with searchlights, you’d be able to open fire on any enemy as if it was raining bullets!”
“That’s mustard, Wilkie! Archie, who can you put up there?” asked Taft.
The major rapped his fingers against his saber’s hilt, but then gripped it tightly. “We’ll use cavalrymen. Crack-shots. The kind who can shoot the neck off a bottle at full gallop.”
“Send in the Rough Riders!” shouted Wilkie, grinning his yellow teeth.
Everyone in the room looked at the Secret Service chief as if he were wearing the silver skull as a hat.
“Are you daft, man?” asked Taft.
“The Rough Riders were disbanded in 1898,” said the major. “They no longer exist.”
“We could reassemble them!” Wilkie continued. “I have no doubt Colonel Roosevelt will proudly join them on the battlefield.”
“No,” Nellie Taft said sternly. “No Roosevelts.”
The chief shut his mouth.
However, as Nellie reflected on the use of cavalry, she turned to her aide and asked, “Who were those other riders who fought so well at San Juan Hill? The ones the papers didn’t write about?” Because they were Negro units, Nellie did not need to explain.
“The Buffalo Soldiers,” Brooks responded.
“Yes, the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry Regiments,” Major Butt clarified. “I’m afraid we cannot use them. They’re stationed too far out west to bring them by train.”
“What about the West Point detachment?” Brooks countered.
The Georgia major looked Brooks in his brown eyes without smiling. “What about them?”
“There’s a detachment of one hundred of the Ninth Cavalry’s best riders stationed at the academy as instructors. The airship could pick them up en route to New Haven,” Brooks proposed to the president.
“I know the Ninth Cavalry,” said Taft, “and I know them to be good men. Archie, can these soldiers rescue my son?”
Major Butt, after mulling over some of his personal prejudices, buried them and responded, “Yes, Mr. President. They can, they will.”
The president smiled. “Good. Let’s use them.”
“Hold on just a minute,” Wilkie interrupted. “Even if Archie and his air cavalry ride in there like Galahad, they could end up as dead as Don Quixote if this superweapon these madmen are threatening New Haven with exists.”
“Mr. Lincoln, is such a device possible?” asked Nellie.
Robert, holding on to his father’s pocket watch in his coat, replied, “Undoubtedly.”
“Undoubtedly? Well, that sounds easy enough to identify,” Wilkie seethed with sarcasm. “How the hell are my men supposed to disable a weapon when we don’t even know what it looks like?”
“I’ll come with you,” Robert pledged.
Taft’s eyes wrinkled. “Bob? Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Mr. President, recent events have made me uniquely prepared for this mission. Please, let me help you.”
The president checked with his wife, and she nodded. “All right. Welcome back to the Army, Captain Lincoln. If your uniform no longer fits, believe me, I empathize!” The president did not need to pat his ample stomach, but he did anyway.
“Thank you, sir, but I think my civilian suit and rank will service me just fine.”
“As you wish,” said Taft. “Now there’s only one more matter we need to discuss.” The president rummaged through a stack of mail on his desk until he came to a Yale brochure he was sent for Commencement Day. He unfolded its map atop his desk and tapped his finger on the Skull and Bones tomb. “What’s our plan once I get in there?”
“Once we get in there, you mean.”
The president looked up at Wilkie. “What was that, John?”
“Mr. President, there’s no way in heaven, hell, or Washington you’re going inside that tomb without the Secret Service.”
“John, you saw the terms in that letter. We have no choice,” Taft conceded. “If we’re to get any information out of these villains, we need to make them think they have me beaten.”
“We can do more than that,” Nellie added. “Will, I want you to continue with our plans for a second party at the mansion tomorrow. One that’s open to the public. We must not let anything appear out of the ordinary.”
“Are you mad?” snapped Wilkie.
“Don’t speak to my wife like that,” Taft reprimanded.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, but we must be realistic! Do you have any idea how difficult it’s going to be to provide adequate security after what happened today?”
“I have no doubt it will be taxing,” Nellie continued. “That’s why you must do it. We need to make our enemies think it would be impossible for my husband to sabotage their meeting.”
“Madam President,” Wilkie stressed, “I am sorry, but this is too dangerous. For all we know, this could all be a trick to assassinate the president during Yale’s commencement.”
“If they wanted my husband dead, they would have killed him hours ago. Also, at no point in that letter did they threaten his life. I believe they need my husband alive.”
“Well, so does the United States!” Wilkie insisted.
�
�Excuse me,” Robert interrupted, “but I think I know a way we can ensure Secret Service protection within the Skull and Bones tomb.”
HAMMOND
WILL! THE MAJOR BRIEFED ME ON EVERYTHING. I AM SPEECHLESS. HOW CAN I HELP?
TAFT
JACK, HOW DID YOUR STUDENTS EAVESDROP ON SKULL AND BONES MEETINGS?
HAMMOND
WHAT?
TAFT
LAST YEAR, YOU SAID SOME STUDENTS FIGURED OUT HOW TO SNOOP ON ALL OF YALE’S SECRET SOCIETIES. HOW DID THEY DO THIS?
HAMMOND
DO YOU HAVE A MAP OF THE UNIVERSITY IN FRONT OF YOU?
TAFT
YES, WE HAVE SEVERAL.
HAMMOND
GOOD. THE FIRST THING YOU NEED TO DO IS ENTER THE STEAM DEPARTMENT. IT IS THE SMALL BUILDING TO THE WEST OF THE PEABODY MUSEUM.…
Chapter XXII
Commencement
June 20, 1911, went precisely as Nellie Taft planned. While the president greeted guests at the White House with the best fake smile of his career, his wife was upstairs quietly managing one of the most daring military operations in history. Major Butt was in frequent communication with the United States Military Academy at West Point, briefing its Ninth Cavalry soldiers on their upcoming mission. Robert Todd Lincoln was hard at work with the War Department modifying Airship One. Chief Wilkie patrolled the White House grounds with more than a thousand soldiers and every Secret Service agent in the city, pausing only once to check on Washington Asylum Hospital’s newest mental patient. Unfortunately, the lunatic ex-consul did not know anything about Yale University, silver skulls, or pocket watches. At sunset, Attorney General Wickersham was summoned to the White House along with Vice President James S. Sherman and Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson, who agreed to remain in Washington in the event of disaster.
And lastly, when chauffeur George Robinson was briefed on the role he might have to play in the upcoming operation, he laughed, said “I was raised on steam!” and went straight back to work in the White House garage.
June 21 was Commencement Day.
The Great Abraham Lincoln Pocket Watch Conspiracy Page 18