Chapter 77
They decided to take the boat downriver to pick up the equipment that Sean had ordered for their assault on Camp Peary. After that Sean led them on a detour to see South Freeman. Arch, Virginia, wasn’t on the river, so they had to dock the boat at an old pier and hike about a half-mile inland. Sean used Michelle’s cell phone to call ahead and although it was late they found South seated at his desk smoking a cigarette as usual, his hands flying over the keyboard. “Girl disappears from Babbage Town. It’s all over the place. Hot stuff. And even better it’s Monk Turing’s little girl. Gonna bring out a special edition. Make my whole life and please tell me it’s got something to do with the spooks across that river.”
“It has something to do with a little girl who might be dead,” Michelle said severely. “Do you journalists ever stop and think about that?” He stopped typing, wheeled around in his chair and scowled at her. “Hey, I got nothing against that child. I pray they find her safe and sound and arrest whoever took her. But news is news.”
Michelle looked away in disgust.
Sean said, “South, was there any talk of something valuable over at Camp Peary? I mean back when the Navy operated it during the Second World War?”
“Valuable? Not that I can recall. Except for the old neighborhoods and the CIA’s facilities, it’s just woods, mostly, and a few ponds. Why?”
Sean looked disappointed. “I was hoping you’d say there was buried treasure there, you know from a ship sinking or something.”
Freeman cracked a smile. “Well, now there is a legend about that, but trust me, it’s a load of bull.”
Horatio said, “Tell us about it, South.”
“Why? You sure as hell can’t get to it if it’s at Camp Peary.”
“Humor us,” Sean said.
Freeman leaned back in his chair and settled down to tell his tale. “Well, this takes us back, way back, into colonial times, in fact.”
“Can you just get to the point?” Michelle snapped impatiently.
He jerked up straight. “Hey, lady, I don’t have to tell you a damn thing!”
Sean held up a calming hand. “Just take your time, South.” He sat down in a chair across from Freeman and glared at Michelle, who reluctantly perched on the edge of the desk and gazed stonily at the journalist.
Freeman looked appeased, sat back and began again. “You remember me telling you about that Lord Dunmore character?”
“The last royal governor of Virginia, yes,” Sean said.
“Well, local legend has it the British sent over tons of gold to help finance the war. They were going to use it to pay for spies, for the German mercenaries fighting for the Brits and also to get the population on their side. And Dunmore was supposed to get the Indians riled up against the Americans so they’d have to fight them at the same time they had their hands full with the redcoats. A lot of people don’t realize it but back then most citizens kept flip-flopping on which side they wanted to win. Mostly, it was based on who’d won the last big battle and which army was in their backyard. So the gold Dunmore supposedly had could’ve caused a lot of damage.”
“But Dunmore was in Williamsburg,” Sean pointed out.
“But he got run out by the colonials,” Freeman countered. “And he had to hightail it to his hunting lodge, Porto Bello, the same lodge that’s on the National Register. It’s located pretty much smack in the middle of Camp Peary.” He stood and pointed to a map. “Right about there.” He resumed his seat.
“If the gold ended up in Porto Bello what could’ve happened to it?” Sean asked as he started pacing.
“Who knows? But it didn’t end up there, because it never existed.”
“You’re certain of that?” Sean said from across the room.
“Let’s be realistic here. If that treasure was at Camp Peary somebody would’ve found it, and they would’ve told somebody. You can’t keep something like that quiet.”
“What if no one has found it yet?” Sean replied.
“I doubt Dunmore was smart enough to hide a mountain of gold so well that nobody could find it.”
Michelle said, “Camp Peary is thousands of acres. There are probably some parts of it that to this day neither the Navy nor the CIA has even explored.”
Freeman looked extremely doubtful about that. “Yeah, well even if it is there ain’t nobody gonna be able to get to it now. So unless the spooks find it, it’s not gonna get found. Right?” He looked over at Sean, who was staring at something on the wall. “Am I right?” Freeman said again in a louder voice.
Sean’s gaze was fixed on a piece of paper tacked to the wall.
Michelle looked concerned. “Sean, what is it?”
Sean spun around. “South, this list of places in Virginia that no longer exist, the one you showed us before, is it accurate? You’re sure?”
Freeman rose and walked over to him. “Sure I’m sure. That list came right from the folks in Richmond. It’s the official list.”
“Damn, that’s it!” Sean exclaimed.
“What’s it?” Horatio cried out.
In answer Sean stabbed his finger at one name on the list. “There was a county in Virginia named Dunmore.”
“Yep,” Freeman said gleefully. “Only after they run the rascal out, they put an end to that. Now it’s called Shenandoah County. Real pretty area.”
Sean rushed out, the others following him. It wasn’t the damn musical notes, or the lyrics. It was the name of the song. Shenandoah. That was the key.
Freeman ran to the door and called after them. “What’s so important about Shenandoah County?” He fell silent and then yelled, “Don’t you forget our deal. I want a damn Pulitzer! You hear me!”
Chapter 78
The next night the boat crept along the river at under five knots, just enough to maintain steerage. Its running lights were on and a solitary figure stood at the wheel. Horatio Barnes zipped up his windbreaker as a wind from an approaching low pressure front chilled the air. A light chop, pushed by the wind, jostled the slow-moving Formula. Horatio had boated around the Chesapeake Bay for decades, so the York, even at night, wasn’t much of a challenge for the man.
As he sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup Horatio knew he had the easy job tonight, just moseying down the river. But Human and electronic eyes were, without doubt, watching him and his vessel. But these were public waters and so long as he didn’t stray too close to the opposite shore the CIA was powerless to stop him.
Then Horatio recalled that someone had taken a shot at Sean when the man was on private land. He immediately plopped down in his captain’s chair and hunched forward. No reason to give the bastards too big a target. Then his thoughts turned to the fates of two people he’d grown to care about very much. “Be safe,” he said in the face of the cold, raw wind. Then he looked to the sky. “And if we get caught, God, can you make it a minimum security prison?”
On the shore opposite Camp Peary, Sean and Michelle were in their wet suits and checking their gear.
Sean took a deep breath. “No mistakes, Michelle. One wrong move over there, we’re dead.”
She didn’t answer him.
He glanced at her. “Michelle, you ready?”
Every time in her life that Michelle had heard that question the answer had been an immediate “Yes!” Now, she hesitated. The images suddenly flowing through her head were powerful ones. And they all pointed to potential disaster, to her freezing at some crucial time or suffering an overwhelming suicidal impulse that would result in her death. But far more terrifying was the mental picture of Sean King lying dead because of something she had done or failed to do.
“Michelle?” he touched her on the arm and she jumped. “Hey, are you okay?”
She couldn’t meet his eye as she began to shake.
“Michelle, what is it?”
“Sean,” she gasped. “I… I can’t do it.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “I am so sorry, but I just can’t go with you. I know you must think I’
m the biggest coward in the world. But it’s not that. It’s not. It’s just…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“Stop that,” he said, firmly. “Stop that. You’re the bravest person I know. And it’s my fault. Because I never had the right to allow you to do this in the first place. Never!”
She grabbed his shoulder. “Sean, you can’t go, not by yourself. You can’t. They’ll… they’ll kill you.”
Sean sat back on his haunches and fiddled with his mask, not meeting her gaze.
“I have to go, Michelle. For a lot of reasons.”
“But it’s too dangerous.”
“So are most things in life worth dying for.” He glanced across the river. “Something bad is going on over there. And I need to find out what it is. And I need to stop it.”
“Sean, please,” she said, holding tight to him.
He slipped on his mask and readied his other gear. “If I’m not back by morning, get ahold of Hayes and tell him what happened.” He gently removed her hands. “It’ll be okay, Michelle. I’ll see you in a while.”
He slid into the river and was gone. Michelle sat there on the red-clay shore staring at the ripples of water until the surface grew calm. She had never felt more alone. And she had never felt more ashamed. Michelle slowly lay back on the wet earth, stared at the overcast sky and felt the tears trickle down her face.
In the clouds Michelle saw things, terrifying things from years ago. They took the shape of creatures dredged up from nightmares she’d had for years and could never understand or hope to explain. In those shapes she saw a little girl, scared beyond belief, reaching out to someone for help, but getting nothing in return. She had been a loner all her life, mostly because she could not bring herself to trust anyone, not completely. And yet there had been one person who had earned her respect, her absolute trust above all others. Who had proved to Michelle that he would never let her down, who had literally sacrificed everything he had to help her. And she had just allowed that man to slip into the waters of the York alone. To go off on what amounted to a suicide mission. Alone.
She could not let that happen. Screw whatever was going on inside her head. Sean was not going to face this without her. If they went down, they’d go down together.
The images in the clouds suddenly dissipated, returning to a grayish white of harmless puff. Michelle grabbed her gear and slipped into the water.
Chapter 79
A few feet below the surface of the York, Sean moved through the water easily with the aid of a diver’s propulsion unit while his flippers made efficient strokes. His oxygen came from a miniature air tank wrapped around the lower part of his face. He also carried a waterproof bag tied to his ankle. The assault tonight on Camp Peary had come together in a whirlwind of seat-of-their-pants improvisation. There were a million ways it could all go wrong, and very few ways for it to turn out all right.
The revelation about the title of the song “Shenandoah” had told Sean that he was on the right track. Shenandoah County used to be Dunmore County. It had been a subtle clue but once uncovered it pointed in one direction only: Dunmore’s hunting lodge on the grounds of Camp Peary, Porto Bello. That must have been where Monk Turing had gone. The only way he would find out why was to follow the man’s path. A path that had led to his death.
He reached shore, some distance down from where Monk Turing had made his own egress, even as Horatio’s late night boat ride hopefully drew the attention of Camp Peary’s perimeter security far away. However feeble, Sean was also counting on the notion that the Camp Peary folks probably wouldn’t believe someone else would be so stupid as to try and breach their security so soon after Turing had been killed.
A flashlight was out of the question, so he pulled NV goggles from his bag, slid them on and fired them up. His line of vision instantly turned to an amorphous green, but at least he could see in the absence of virtually any ambient light.
Sean slid forward on his belly after hiding his propulsion unit under some shore brush. The fence, the point of no return, was dead ahead. Sean pulled out a small device that did one thing and one thing only: It registered the presence of energy of any kind. He aimed it at the fence and waited for a green light to appear. It did. The fence was not electrified, nor was it covered by monitoring sensors.
Sean had learned that the outer perimeter of Camp Peary was so immense that the CIA had not wasted time or budget dollars putting in elaborate security there. The inner defenses that covered every square inch of the facilities, operations and training areas were another story. It was state-of-the-art in its lethality. Which was why Sean was counting on Heinrich Fuchs, who’d apparently been the only person ever to escape from what Sean assumed was a very secure federal military stockade in its own right.
However, right this instant it seemed ludicrous in the extreme to bet his freedom and more likely his life on something that had happened over sixty years ago. And suddenly an overwhelming sense of panic hit him as he lay in the wet red clay of the York’s shoreline preparing to break into one of the most heavily guarded facilities in the United States. Right now Sean wanted nothing more than to turn around, slip back into the inviting waters of the river and go home. Yet he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed.
He nearly screamed out when he felt it. On his shoulder. Next he heard the familiar voice whispering in his ear in a calm, reassuring voice.
“It’s okay, Sean. We can do this,” Michelle said.
He turned to find her kneeling over him, a look on her face that told him everything he needed to know. He squeezed her arm in return and nodded. What a fool he’d been to even consider for a second that she was not up to this. Hell, she was more up to it than he was. His panic and paralysis gone, Sean drew a deep breath and then moved forward quickly with Michelle right behind. They were now directly in front of the fence. While Michelle kept watch Sean cut out a small section of the chain link. They slipped through this opening with their gear, Sean leaned the cut section of fence back into place and they plunged into the forest.
A minute later they knelt down and Sean pulled out the document that Heinrich Fuchs had given Monk Turing. The paper was now full of new writing and calculations that Sean and Michelle had worked out. They had to chance a light as they peered at the map.
Fuchs had left no helpful marks on trees or an X on the ground to mark the entrance to his tunnel, not that those would have survived over the years anyway. Yet they didn’t have to rely on that because of Monk Turing. On the Fuchs document Monk had carefully noted directions, landmarks, compass points and, through his daughter, left one important clue as to their target. He also knew that Monk Turing had not braved death to cavalierly retrace the escape route of a German POW. Turing must’ve had another reason, a good one.
Following Turing’s directions they headed northwest and reached a small clearing completely surrounded by birch trees. This was it. Sean started marking off paces but Michelle stopped him.
“How tall was Turing?” she asked.
“Five-seven.”
“You’re seven inches taller,” she whispered. “Let me walk the paces.” She did, using shorter strides than she ordinarily would. Monk Turing must have had the most meticulous mind, Sean thought, because when Michelle stopped walking around trees, and through bushes and other forest clutter, he knew they’d found it. They were in a part of the woods that seemingly had had no human intervention for decades if not centuries; and yet if you knew what Sean knew, it had.
He knelt down and traced the letter with his hand. It had been done with a long vine of kudzu pulled from one of the trees and laid on the ground.
X didn’t mark the spot; the letter V did. V, Sean knew, for Viggie because Monk had written that on the document as well. The two of them dug their hands under what appeared to be the normal ground cover of deep forest. Yet their fingers finally found the edge of the weathered board and they pulled. A four-by-four square of wood rose up revealing the entrance to the tunnel.
> They lowered themselves through the opening and then let go of the edges, dropping a few feet and landing on the tunnel’s dirt floor. Standing on Sean’s shoulders, Michelle reached back through the opening and replaced the cover over the entrance.
As she did so, Michelle saw a bit of rope encircling the support board that held up the tunnel’s cover.
“Monk must have put a rope here before he got into the tunnel,” she said, pointing it out to Sean. “He’d have to use it to climb back out. The hatch is too far off the ground.”
“I brought some rope too,” he said. “On the way out, I’ll hoist you up and you can tie the rope up there. Then I’ll use it to climb out.”
With the hatch replaced, they risked turning on their lights. As they moved forward the tunnel wall sloped downward, forcing the tall people to bend over as they walked. The walls were solid red clay, dry and firm. Every two feet or so there were decaying timbers set into the ceiling and also wedged against the walls.
“Doesn’t look like it would pass your basic mine safety inspection,” Michelle said a little anxiously. “You think he built this all by himself? I mean that’s a lot of work for one guy.”
“I think other prisoners helped him, but he was the only one to actually use it.”
“Why?”
“I think the other prisoners were released after the war in Europe ended, maybe about the time the tunnel was finished. But Fuchs wasn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Like Horatio I did a little history reading. If Heinrich Fuchs was a signal operator on his ship he would’ve had to be familiar with the Enigma code. Back then the Allies didn’t release any prisoner with knowledge of that code. They kept them to exploit that information and also to keep them from returning to Germany.”
“But Germany was beaten.”
“Right, but there were still pockets of die-hard Nazis and German high command officers spread all over the world. The last thing the Allies wanted to do was give them back code operators who could help the Nazis develop another communications network.”
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