The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  John Henry hated the fact that it was he who was going to deliver a death blow to the old man’s dreams of glory.

  “The president believes that establishing provenance in regard to any vessel we may find on that summit will be enough to not only prove your theory, Professor, but give you the lead on any legal expedition to the mountain. The world would have to acknowledge your rights in that regard.”

  Ollafson looked as if he had been poleaxed with an ax handle. His eyes went blank as he took in what the colonel was saying.

  “What of the artifact?” Ollafson asked as even Taylor saw the hurt and sorrow in the old man’s face.

  “The president explains that since it would take a massive engineering effort to remove your Ark from the mountain, he has given you permission to bring back any viable evidence that is easily recovered. Like the smaller petrified items you recovered on your previous expedition.”

  “In other words, we are allowed to bring back any trash we find up there and leave the real find where it sits?”

  “That’s the way I read it, Professor. I’m sorry. The realized threat from other nations and their interest in this expedition is forcing the president’s hand on this. We just don’t have the available engineers to do it. Most importantly, we also don’t have the time it would take to accomplish what you want most, full recovery. That will take peace and a whole lot of money this nation does not currently have.”

  Ollafson started to say something, then he saw Taylor look at him and lightly shake his head. He patted the professor on the leg in sympathy.

  “Don’t worry, Doc. If I find the Ark and if it’s viable, I’ll bring her back for you.”

  John Henry knew that Jessy was just trying to placate the old man, and for the first time since their reunion Thomas saw a little of the old Taylor inside the burned-out colonel.

  The deflation of Ollafson was complete. He knew he was backed into a corner and there was no way out. He would have to do what he could once on Ararat.

  “This talk of curses has to end here, in this car, right now.” John Henry surprised them all with this short comment. “If word of this reaches the men, and I don’t care what uniform they wear, it will frighten them, and there is nothing worse than a soldier frightened of something he can’t see to fight. So”—he looked right at Claire—“this stops now.”

  They could all see the logic in the argument so no one reacted. The door then opened and Dugan returned and nodded at Thomas.

  “Done, sir.”

  “We suspect that Chesapeake is now docking at the Black Sea village of Trabzon. From there they will board the Black Sea Line to our debarkation point, Talise. From there, Lieutenant”—he looked at the young band leader who was still wide-eyed with all the talk about presidents and curses—“if you and your cavalry are needed, you will be sent instructions. It’s fifty-six miles to Ararat from Talise. It should take you a hard day of riding to get to us. Hopefully you won’t be needed.”

  “Hopefully,” Taylor laughed and then winked at the frightened lieutenant. “If you are called on, this could very well be another battle of the Crimean.”

  The lieutenant really lost his color as again Dugan had to snicker at the boy’s discomfort.

  John Henry nodded. “Which is the point I would like to make. The Crimean War could be this mission’s salvation. You see, Russia, one of our only friends in the world, lost their war to a combined allied force of British, French, and Turkish troops. The Russians are still a little put out, to put it mildly. We can exploit that little European disagreement between the Czar and his cousins if the need arises, for escape purposes, or maybe a little sea interference. The Russians really do not care for the Ottoman Empire or her fair-weather friends.”

  “Okay, we may have Russians on our side. Is there anyone else crazy enough to see this mission as anything other than what it really is? A way to show the world that we can throw away lives without conscious thought like Europe. Will that make us a legitimate nation?” Jessy asked with interest.

  “We can discuss the shortcomings of the world powers, both ours and theirs, at a later time, Colonel.”

  “Of course. Excuse my little observation.” Taylor’s eyes were serious.

  “Lieutenant Parnell.”

  “Sir,” the marine lieutenant started to rise but was stopped when John Henry made a sitting gesture with his hand. The lieutenant relaxed.

  “You, sir, are our main defense. You and Colonel Taylor will run defensive and offensive operations if the need arises. You will be in overall command, with Colonel Taylor as the field commander and tactician. Is that clear?”

  Parnell looked from John Henry to the smiling face of the Rebel colonel. He frowned. “Sir, I’m not so sure this man can be trusted.”

  “Neither am I, Lieutenant, believe me. But I am sure of one thing, if the colonel has a preference between a Turkish prisoner-of-war camp and a Union prison, he has not mentioned it yet. I’ll let you know if he does.”

  Taylor lost his smile.

  “Yes, sir. What are our rules of engagement?”

  “Right now they are simple. If fired upon, don’t shoot back.”

  “Sir?”

  Dugan spit into the brass spittoon once more as he too was shocked.

  “Although we are willing to bluff, the president is not willing to go into a world war if this thing goes to hell. We are to avoid all contact if possible. If they shoot first I will determine the cause and effect of any possible reaction by us. And yes, Colonel Taylor, a war with all of Europe, while assisting the cause of the Southern states in rebellion, will undoubtedly destroy what’s left of your Confederacy, and also all of the United States, and thus would defeat your very purpose, so I expect full cooperation. After all, you are under orders from Robert E. Lee himself.”

  Taylor remained silent with not so much as a snappy return salvo at Thomas.

  “It should take us two days to Ararat and another two to the summit. Foul-weather gear will be issued to all personnel. The weather at the base of Ararat will be no problem, but at the higher elevations we could come across moderate to severe weather patterns.”

  “My duties, sir?” asked the small, girlish man in the middle of the table.

  “Well Mr. Perlmutter, you have what I believe you call a camera. You will use it as much as possible, sir. And you will start with a command picture of this car when we arrive. I want our presence well documented.”

  “Yes, photographs may come in handy at our courts-martial.”

  “That we can agree on, Colonel.”

  John Henry remained looking at Taylor and then turned to the rest. “After our arrival I want the men and equipment on the trail in no more than two hours. The train will not be returning to the capital. We may need it to get out, and I’m not a trusting-enough soul to think that the sultan won’t change his mind about our so-called gift. He may make a run for us. As far as the other European powers are concerned, the only force available to them is what they have at sea. As formidable as that is, they can’t travel overland. So, the only opposition we may face is the empire’s, and that’s only if they have a change of heart. They can only do that if the British and the French gain the sultan’s ear.”

  “Which I suspect they will by the time we make the summit of Ararat,” Jessy said as a serious point.

  “Understood.”

  “Now, the questions you undoubtedly have can be covered in the next two days, so we’ll adjourn. Would Captain Jackson, Colonel Taylor, and Miss Richelieu stay behind, please?”

  The group got up to leave with McDonald paying particular attention to Claire. All noticed the silence of Ollafson as his dream of Ararat had come crashing down. Everyone gave him a clear path out of the car.

  Claire sat silently, wondering why she’d been asked to stay behind. She suspected that her recent hysteria over the artifacts was the main cause. She apprehensively looked over at a smiling Colonel Taylor. The handsome officer had no concern whatsoever abou
t facing Thomas. Jackson remained at the opposite end of the long table. He was also curious about what Thomas wanted to say.

  “I’ve noticed how uncomfortable you are around Professor’s Ollafson’s artifacts of late.”

  Claire looked up. She noticed that John Henry’s question was directed at her. She looked from him to the others, who watched and waited.

  “I think the murders have me thrown off a bit. They do make me uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.” John Henry stood and saw that Gray Dog was still sitting by the door and hadn’t moved, even after Dugan had tried to boot him from the car a moment before. He took a small bite of biscuit and watched. John Henry winked at the boy and then made his way around the table. “So, you’re telling me after a full year of study you have just now become a believer in ancient biblical curses?” John Henry asked as he poured four glasses of whiskey from the decanter on the sideboard. He placed glasses in front of each, Claire, Taylor, and Jackson. Then he returned to his chair and sat. “For a lecturer in Angelic Script and ancient languages, you seem to be very vulnerable to the foolishness of myths and legends—not very comforting for us novice biblical followers, would you say?”

  “Colonel, I have noticed that instead of coming directly to a point you skirt the tactful way of asking and go with an approach that will allow a subject to say more than they were willing to say. That may work on some, but not all.”

  Taylor raised his brow at the quick way Claire defended herself.

  “If you have a question, sir, by all means ask it.”

  John Henry smiled. “All right, Madame, I will.” Thomas leaned forward, smiling. “How long did you know that your Mr. Cromwell was none other than Paul Renaud, French Intelligence?”

  Claire’s breath caught in her throat.

  “And what makes you think I knew he wasn’t who he said he was?”

  “For the same reason you’re not telling us why you and Professor Ollafson have a British spy on your academic team as well.”

  Jackson slowly stood and walked around, nudging past Gray Dog, and silently locked the door. They were now isolated. He returned to his seat and faced a stunned and silent Claire Richelieu.

  Claire refused to say anything at first, at least until she found out how much the colonel knew, or guessed. Thus far, if he were guessing, she figured him to be at the very least clairvoyant.

  “Now, this is at least interesting,” Jessy said as he placed his hands behind his head and waited on Claire to answer John Henry.

  “And your sudden fear of something that you claim to be knowledgeable about, well, it’s a little too unbelievable. How long did it take you to learn Angelic Script?” Thomas asked as he stood and then poured himself a drink. That was when he noticed that Jackson had a Colt revolver placed in his lap as he courteously waited for the woman to speak.

  Finally Claire stood suddenly and this brought Jackson’s Colt into the open.

  “Whoa, take it easy there,” Taylor said as he came fully awake as Claire didn’t even look at the weapon as she moved past John Henry, and as she did she drained the small glass of whiskey and then she lifted the decanter and poured another. As she did she eyed Captain Jackson.

  “Don’t be so melodramatic, Captain, really.” She swallowed the second drink and then poured another and then returned to her seat with the glass and the decanter. She sat and then watched as John Henry returned to his seat. Captain Jackson lowered the Colt as Thomas sat down.

  “McDonald is not to be touched or molested in any way. Is this clear to all of you?” she asked as she toyed with the top of the glass. She then looked at each face one at a time.

  “Clear? Yes, that’s clear, but who in the hell are you to be giving orders?” Jackson asked as he smirked and looked from Claire to the colonel. “Especially as you are about to be thrown off this train.”

  “No, I am not,” she said as she downed her third glass of whiskey. She hid a small burp behind her elegant hand and then smiled as she poured a fourth.

  “You’re not?” Jackson enquired.

  “No.”

  Thomas smiled as he sat back and relaxed. “I’ll ask again, Miss Richelieu, how long did it take you to study a crash course in Angelic Script?”

  Claire smiled sadly at Thomas. “A full year of the most boring lectures you could ever imagine.”

  “After hearing Professor Ollafson’s oratory abilities, I cannot imagine that particular hell,” John Henry said as he saw the confused looks on the faces of Taylor and Jackson. The latter finally lowered the hammer on the Colt pistol and then placed it fully exposed on the tabletop.

  “What in the hell is this?” Jackson asked as even Taylor was showing a great amount of curiosity.

  Thomas ignored the question from Jackson.

  “Why should we not chuck Mr. McDonald into the night air?” John Henry asked instead.

  “Because he may know how the Crown will act if we discover the provenance of anything we find up there. I believe he and the British may overreact.”

  “What makes you believe that?” Jackson asked.

  “Because, gentlemen, they ae terrified of what our nation can become in later years. It’s that simple.”

  “I noticed you said our nation,” Jessy stated flatly as his eyes caught Thomas’s.

  “Relax, Miss Richelieu, if that is your name. The president does not believe wholeheartedly in sending men off totally blindfolded.”

  Claire looked at John Henry and knew then that this army officer had known all along who her employer was.

  “It is Claire, but not Richelieu. In Paris and London, yes, but my real name is Anderson. Claire Anderson.”

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Lincoln?” Thomas asked as Taylor and Jackson sat stunned.

  Claire slowly sipped her whiskey this time. She heard the clickity-clack of the train wheels striking steel as she realized that the hard thumping was her heart, because for the first time in her professional career she had been found out and she didn’t know how to take that.

  “For the president, one, almost two years, or ever since this plan of Ollafson’s started to come together after Gettysburg. For Mr. Allan Pinkerton, I have worked for four years. I started training under him in 1859 in preparation for the war he saw coming. Later I was transferred from the war department to this … this mission.”

  “A woman spy. What a marvelous and advanced age we live in,” Jessy said as he reached for the crystal decanter and poured himself a drink.

  “I gather information from men who are a little weak in the area of security.”

  “Meaning your talents were learned for operations against the South,” Jessy said as a statement, not a question.

  Claire drank her whiskey and smiled. “Exactly, Colonel.”

  “As I said, what an age.” He drank his drink and stared at the woman with a newfound respect and dislike.

  “Now, why the fear behind this so-called curse? Was that a play, or are you concerned?” John Henry asked as he now got to the point of his questioning. He knew before Lincoln had explained things that Claire was not the person she said she was. Her reactions and her eyes betrayed her.

  “Renaud is not just any French agent; he was and is their best. The man never takes a life without the need for it. The killing of the student was not like him. Why kill the boy when he was just a ruse and not carrying the artifacts with him? No, that is not his style,” she said as she finally slid her empty glass away. “After his attempt to get the petrified items from the professor he became like a man possessed.”

  “So, you are what we call a double agent?” Jackson asked as he finally shied away completely from drinking his glass of fiery whiskey. This was not unfolding the way he had expected.

  “A triple agent is more accurate,” she said as her hand reached slowly into her bodice. The eyes of every man went wide for a moment as she sent her small fingers into the area of her breasts. She pulled out a small envelope. “My official orders
from the War Department.”

  John Henry reached for the envelope but didn’t read it.

  “Miss Anderson, I knew about your credentials long before we left the docks in Baltimore.” He gave the envelope back to her. “I don’t care what this says. From this point onward you are working directly for me and me alone. Is this in anyway unclear?”

  She looked at John Henry as she replaced her orders into her bodice. “Yes, Colonel Thomas, it is very clear. But if you don’t heed my warning about those artifacts we will run into trouble. The kind of trouble you read about in the book of Genesis. Is this clear?”

  John Henry saw the determination in the woman’s face but kept his skepticism to a minimum for the time being.

  “I will give you your way when it comes to McDonald for now. But if he does anything to corrupt our mission he will be left in the wilderness. The last I heard, you cannot be blamed for a man falling off a train.”

  “Understood. He will be valuable when the time comes in figuring out what the British will do if and when we come up with the evidence.”

  “Gray Dog,” Thomas said, turning to face the seated Comanche. “What was it you saw in the brig onboard Yorktown?”

  Gray Dog finally stood, much to the surprise of Claire who never knew the Indian was even in the same car.

  The Comanche looked at the woman and then at the men. “Great Spirit does not wish for men to travel to his black mountain. His mystery is mystery and the dark ones watch and wait. The black one is here now and has awakened since we travel. Black medicine is working in this place.”

  “What did you see, boy?” Taylor asked as he lost patience with one of the race of men who murdered his sister, regardless of what John Henry said. His prejudice he kept close to his heart, and he lashed out at anything related to it.

  “The dark ones live in the shadows of this world and they grow strong once again. It will protect the mountain and what lies buried there.”

  “Women spies and Indian superstition. This is a wonderful combination, John Henry. All of this combined should make for excellent planning.” Taylor had lost all of his humor.