Holy City (Jack Francis Novel)

by M Murphy

  “Does Trenholm have a security team?” Colin asked.

  “Not that I know of. If it was Trenholm, I think he would have simply sent Makem again. Someone else has gotten involved or else I’m completely missing something.”

  “Tidwell is out of the picture, so doesn’t that only leave Trenholm?”

  “Not necessarily. I have no idea if the KGC and The Charleston Club are one and the same, but even if they’re not each would have plenty of members to support Trenholm.”

  “If Trenholm is any indication of the membership then the rest of the members must have some pretty powerful sway too.”

  Colin had a point, but what had I done to attract new attention? If anything, we should have been off the radar a little bit after the events at Tidwell’s plantation and Trenholm recovering the urn.

  “I still need to figure out how to get a closer look at that tree.”

  “Telescopic lens.” Colin said. “You might not be able to get every detail but you’ll sure as hell be able to see if anything is carved on that tree trunk.”

  “Not a bad idea. Do you want to take care of that for me?”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a bike cop in that neighborhood who kind of has my number.”

  “Alright, but this is really starting to cut into my vacation. By the way, my search for the KGC turned out to be a dead end. The FBI didn’t exist during their heyday so we don’t have any records, and the government’s official status for them is that they disbanded in 1916. The Southern Poverty Law Center isn’t tracking them as a hate group because they don’t officially exist, so I’ve got nothing.”

  “I’m not surprised, but it was worth a shot.”

  Colin was staring out the window of the restaurant and I thought he was watching a group of college girls window shop, but he hadn’t been.

  “You don’t think that the two men in the SUV were the same two that took a shot at you and Hannah from the boat?”

  “I actually hadn’t thought of that, but they could have been. I didn’t get a good look at either of them while hanging from the rocks.”

  “Maybe they aren’t a security team, but hired thugs.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “Trenholm has his personal muscle in Makem and then hires out corporate muscle for situations that are slightly more delicate, or because he has a known relationship to Makem he uses these two guys for more subtle matters.”

  “It makes sense. We know Trenholm has his hands spread out all over the place so he would need help, and Makem isn’t exactly polished in getting things done quietly.”

  “That actually worries me more. If Trenholm has stopped sending Makem to deal with me then everything just got really serious.”

  “Hannah may be right.” Colin said. “There may be more here than lost Confederate gold.”

  Chapter 76

  I was honestly perplexed. My mind couldn’t grasp what was so important that it needed to be so well hidden, and I wasn’t talking about any gold left over from the Confederacy. The gold now appeared to be only a symbol of a deeper secret and I was stumped as to what that was. Hannah was having no better luck trying to unlock the clues of the urn and she was becoming increasingly frustrated. It didn’t help that she felt captive in her hospital room. The doctor was holding on to her for a few more days, but I feared she would break herself out at any moment.

  Relying on Colin to continue looking into the Liberty Tree location, I now had time on my hands but no idea what to do with it. There was no way I was going to stay out of sight or constantly look over my shoulder for whatever muscle Trenholm was going to throw my way, so I decided to go for a walk with my morning coffee.

  Wandering aimlessly often brings you to places that you intended to go all along, or a place that your subconscious knew you needed to go. I found myself walking the Battery and staring out across the water to Fort Sumter. Only half the size of its former self, the island fort was a representation of the whole Confederacy, the ugly war that followed, and the destruction it

  brought to the South. From where I stood I could picture the guns firing on the fort. The constant bombardment slowly breaking its thick walls into rubble, as chaos ruled those trapped inside. The city of Charleston was no different than the fort, having suffered through constant bombardment during the war too, and for what…it had to be more than just slavery.

  I looked around. My surroundings were beautiful, flowers in full bloom, massive oaks dripping with Spanish moss, and luxurious homes overlooking the park and harbor. No, the Southerners didn’t start a war over just slavery. Slavery was a symbol. To the South it was a symbol of a way of life that was being threatened. A right to govern and rule themselves, to keep a promise of government for the people by the people. They feared that the North had taken hold of the Federal Government and that the South would be engulfed by the northern industrial machine. For the North, and for Lincoln, slavery was a symbol to be used for propaganda. It was used to position the Union on the side of good and the South as evil. It is the oldest story ever told, good versus evil, and slavery was a way for the North to sell that story to the world. In the end, both the North and the South came out of the war more powerful than ever, tied together as one nation, and yet the purpose of the war, those slaves, were quickly tossed to the side and returned their less than human status.

  Moving on down the sea wall and into the neighborhood along Waterfront Park, I continued to try and piece together Trenholm’s motivation. Tidwell’s reasons were obvious. He was a deranged man haunted by his family’s dishonor. Simple revenge is often the easiest motivation. Trenholm was different or was it also pure revenge. Could someone still be that bitter towards the North, for losing a war fought over a lost cause, and the Reconstruction that followed? Were Trenholm and his cohorts simply pissed that the Civil War and Reconstruction had halted the South’s march towards a permanent aristocratic life? I looked around at my surroundings once again, canopies of lush green, multimillion dollar homes, and streets lined with luxury cars.

  Somehow I couldn’t imagine them doing much better than they already were, so why the animosity? Why still have the KGC?

  The steeple of St. Phillip’s was poking its head out over the trees and the buildings along East Bay Street, and it called to

  me as I ventured away from the water and down Queen Street. As I felt my body being pulled towards the church, I watched the people on the streets. There was a significant difference between how the tourists and the locals behaved. It wasn’t because one group was constantly taking pictures, but instead in the way they carried themselves. The locals had a confidence to them that was different and truly distinct. What made these people different from the rest of the world? What made them so unique in a country filled with individuals? Is it that the South takes its strength from their memory, loyalty to family, to ancestors that sacrificed so much for the Southern cause, and in the end their honor is exemplified through their own self-worth and complemented by those around them?

  Before I realized it, I found myself standing in front of the Calhoun monument in the eastern portion of St. Phillip’s cemetery. Once again, I looked at my surroundings. The grass that needed trimmed around broken stones was in sharp contrast to the family plots so well-manicured it seemed they were looked after on a daily basis. I could see the James family graves and the wisdom tree that started my trek through this ancient city. Suddenly, I found myself reading and rereading the bible quote at the bottom of Calhoun’s memorial, James 3. My mind clicked and I remember the quote from Isaiah that we had also found. Neither Hannah nor I had followed up on these verses having been so caught up in our little treasure hunt. What if we had missed something from the very beginning, something huge? It was time to re-evaluate what we were doing.

  Chapter 77

  “I don’t know.” Hannah said. “They just seem like words of wisdom to me.”

  I read over the three pieces of scripture we were looking at. James 3:1-5 was obviou
s, but we still weren’t sure whether we needed to be looking at Isaiah 8:12 or Isaiah 44:12.

  “What’s the distinctions between the two verses of Isaiah?” I asked her.

  “Okay, Isaiah 8:12 is about conspiracy. The people considered Isaiah a traitor because he said that Ahaz and his administration were wrong to rely on Assyria.”

  “So the verse uses the word confederacy for conspiracy?”

  “Correct.”

  “I still think this has to be it. The KGC were loyal to the confederacy and were hatching a conspiracy against the Union.” I read the verse again. “Say ye not, A confederacy, to all them to whom this people shall say, A confederacy; neither fear ye their fear, nor be afraid.”

  “Maybe, but Isaiah 44:12 basically translates to; an idol may be a work of art. But even the finest craftsman’s mortality is revealed in his hunger and thirst. Couldn’t the idol be the Federal Government, held up in such high regard because of the success of the nation in the years after the Civil War? At the turn of the

  century the country became an industrial giant, overcame the depression and fascism, and eventually a superpower. Is it too hard to think that we hold America up in a false light and that we often forget about its mortality? To me, this verse has the KGC written all over it.”

  “It does make sense. But what does it mean in correlation to the verse on Calhoun’s memorial, James 3:1-5?”

  “Let’s see.” Hannah thought for a moment and then studied her tablet. “It seems that the verses in the Book of James have a theme of humility, and basically tells us that you can control your actions by controlling your tongue. Therefore, one should work on one’s speech as much as other areas of behavior.”

  “I’m not seeing a connection.”

  “Neither am I.” Hannah said.

  “Maybe they are both telling us that we need to learn humility, it is something that all Americans could use a little more of.”

  “Could be, but if these are clues then to where?”

  “There’s something else. If these are clues then what were all those clues we were following before?”

  Hannah breathed out loudly. “I told you before that the KGC system was intricate. They’ve been known to put out false trails that lead people in a completely different direction than where they want to go.”

  “So maybe that’s what these verses are. Why else would Makem have been so eager to get his hands on that urn?”

  “To lead us to believe that we were on the right path.”

  “It’s depressing to think you might be right.”

  A knock came at the door of Hannah’s hospital room and Colin walked in.

  “What are you two up to?”

  “Dead end after dead end. Did you find anything at the Liberty Tree today?” I asked.

  “Dead end as well.”

  “Are you sure?” Hannah asked, seemingly rejected.

  “Positive. I looked over that tree from every angle I could. The lens worked so well I could see an ant climbing on a piece of bark, so trust me there weren’t any carvings.”

  “It was worth a shot.” I said. “Now we are left with either deciphering the urn or turning two bible verses into clues…if we’re going to get anywhere.”

  “I’m going back to the house.” Colin said.

  “Holdup, I’ll go with you. I think Hannah and I’ve both had enough for one day.”

  “I agree, my brain is fried. Jack, can you be back here at eleven tomorrow morning?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “I’m getting out of this place, and I’ll need you to carry my bag.”

  “I thought the doctor was making you stay a little longer. You’re not breaking out, are you?” I thought it prudent to ask.

  “I brokered a deal with him. Now be on time. I can’t take another minute of this place.”

  Chapter 78

  With Hannah a free woman again, we began to pour our time into trying to decipher the hidden message in the Bible verses and the code on the urn. My biggest fear was that neither route had anything to actually decrypt. For two straight days we were holed up at my place as we watched Colin come and go from the beach and the golf course. I was jealous and frustrated. Part of me wanted to throw it all away and join him for an afternoon sipping beers at a bar on Folly Beach. Hannah was my motivation, as long as she was still in…then so was I.

  We had dinner at FIG, and afterwards, Colin headed off to find a sports bar that would show the Indians game. Hannah and I went south on Meeting Street and back towards my place for some more work. At the corner of Meeting and Cumberland we heard the sound of a car slowing down behind us and a curious glance over my shoulder was all I needed to see it was the same SUV that had stopped me near Marion Square the other day.

  “Speed up.” I said to Hannah, under my breath as we turned down Cumberland.

  I could hear car doors close behind us and the sound of footsteps coming in our directions. The soles of dress shoes make a distinct sound, and they clacked off of the cement as the pace quickened from whoever was behind us.

  Hannah made a subtle look behind her to see what I already knew. “Two men, two suits, and they're coming up fast.”

  It had to be Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum from the other day.

  “Alright, on the count of three we take off. Can you run with your leg?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Hannah said.

  “Make a bee-line for the nearest public spot. One, two three.”

  We took off running and I was surprised by Hannah’s quickness. She had recovered from her gunshot wound well. The moment we started running I could hear the two behind us do the same thing, but there was another distinct sound that I heard. One of them was talking into a radio as he ran.

  Hannah was outpacing me and it was a good thing. I wanted to stay in between her and our pursuers. She sprinted down Cumberland and crossed over the intersection of Church with me about ten feet behind her. I wondered why she didn’t turn on Church and head towards the Market, a place always full of people, but instead it looked like she was going to the busy restaurant district of East Bay Street.

  At full go, Hannah sprinted down the south side of Cumberland. I followed, occasionally looking over my shoulder at the two behind us. They weren’t gaining, but they were still there. Suddenly, I looked up and Hannah was gone. Somehow she vanished in the time it took me to turn my head. I hadn’t realized where she had gone until I almost passed by the entrance. Philadelphia Alley connected Cumberland with Queen Street and

  ran behind the St. Phillip’s Church grounds. The light at its entrance had been out, which is the reason I missed Hannah make

  the turn, maybe she thought our pursuers wouldn’t see either.

  At the moment it took me to acknowledge the alley entrance and realize that’s where Hannah went, I lost ground to the two men behind us. They were close now and weren’t going to be fooled by my sudden turn down the alleyway. I could hear one of them on the radio again, but it didn’t concern me. All I cared about was reaching the end of the alley and getting back out in the open again.

  The cobblestone path wasn’t the best surface to run on and I watched Hannah struggle in front of me a few times. The pack was beginning to bunch up. I was gaining on Hannah and the two men were gaining on me. Up ahead I could see Queen Street through the darkness, and Hannah was almost there. We pressed on and right as Hannah was about to turn onto the street she caught herself on a rounded edge of a cobblestone. Her ankle twisted and I could see her go down hard. Before I could even react a black SUV pulled up on Queen Street and blocked our exit from the alley. Two more men got out, picked Hannah up from the ground and pushed her inside the back of the vehicle. I was certain they were going to take off with her, but instead they simply stood there waiting for me.

  There was no place to fight what was about to happen, so I slowed my pace to a walk and got into the back of the SUV willingly to join Hannah. Hoods were placed on both of our heads as the sounds of the engin
e told me we were on the move.

  Chapter 79

  We were rustled from the vehicle with hoods on and led through a building of some sort. From the sounds made by our shoes, I gathered the floors were hardwood, and the echoes told me the space was large. Guided down a flight of stairs, I could feel the damp air of a cellar. Soon, two hands pushed down on my shoulders as I was forced into a stiff wooden chair. The hoods stayed on, and I could hear the sounds of our captures departing.

  “Hannah.” I said. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. Twisted my ankle a bit, but I’ll survive. Where do you think they’ve taken us?”

  “No idea. It seemed like we were in the car for at least a half-hour, but that could have been done on purpose.”