The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  The second deputy stepped forward and presented a large sealed paper.

  “Captain Jackson?”

  Jackson didn’t respond; he only looked at the pistol the deputy never holstered. The man simply held out the paper.

  “This is to inform you of your cargo’s confiscation. It is to be locked up until federal marshals arrive to secure it.”

  Jackson finally accepted the warrant.

  Suddenly several men jumped onto the dock from the rigging. They all had rifles. John Henry quickly noted that it wasn’t only Rebel soldiers, but U.S. Marines in full uniform confronting the marshals.

  “We expected something like this. Brothers in arms and all of that,” Freeman said just as a hundred federal officers swarmed the dock from a warehouse nearby.

  John Henry, recovering too slowly from the shock at hearing of his friend’s murder, waved the men to lower their weapons. He returned his gaze not to the officers, but to Freeman and held it there. The man smiled, felt it fail, and then smiled again, this time giving up on it. The stare from the colonel had totally unnerved him.

  The marshal started walking Jessy down the dock toward the waiting carriage. It was John Henry who made the first move, just as a hundred crewmen and soldiers on the deck of Carpenter sprang into action by raising a hundred Henry rifles over the gunwale of the ship. Their aim was at the hundred deputized men of the marshal’s service.

  “This is madness,” one of the high-priced attorneys said loudly as his hands flew into the air.

  “As our own history says, sir, if there is to be war, let it begin here,” John Henry said to the U.S. marshals with a glint in his eye. Even Claire had her small Derringer out and at her side.

  “You will not dodge this, Colonel,” Freeman said as he took a menacing step forward.

  He jumped back in terror when an arrow struck the wooden dock only inches from his polished shoes.

  John Henry didn’t have to look up to know that Gray Dog was above them in the rigging.

  “Everyone, at ease and lower those weapons!” came a booming voice from the shadows.

  Every man froze but no one lowered anything. The standoff was real and no one was about to back away from this.

  “I said lower those weapons!”

  Freeman smirked. “I would do as they say, Colonel, or you’ll be responsible for more of your command’s deaths.”

  “The marshals’ also. Lower them damn weapons or suffer the wrath of the Lord!”

  Freeman’s eyes widened as he turned and saw United States Army soldiers break from the very same warehouse his men had come from.

  As they watched, a large, rotund man emerged. His cigar was glowing and he wore a giant bowler hat. The three-piece suit was rumpled, but expensive.

  “Do you want to force me to kill every one of you sons of bitches?”

  John Henry looked to his men aboard ship and on the docks. He nodded and they all followed orders.

  Claire smiled as she recognized the heavyset man. He looked at her and quickly shook his head for her to stay in place.

  “I have a signed warrant for the release of this man.”

  “We also have a warrant,” the marshal said as he finally holstered his weapon.

  “That right?” the man said as he clamped down hard on his cigar. “Well, my warrant is signed by the chief justice of the United States Supreme Court,” the man said as he leaned in to look at the warrant in the marshal’s hand. “You have a signature like that?” He saw the marshal’s face drop. “Yeah, I thought not.” He reached out and took Colonel Taylor by the arm and pulled him back. He reached into his pocket and brought out a duplicate key and unlocked the manacles.

  Jessy rubbed his wrists and then as he approached John Henry he pursed his lips and raised his dark brows as if saying, That was too close.

  “Now, gentlemen, run along. I’ll take it from here.”

  “This cannot be legal!” Freeman cried as his hatred flowed through his eyes as he watched Taylor walk free. The man was pulled away by the marshals as they and their men backed away in the direction they had come. The crazed eyes of a very insane Freeman never left Jessy’s face as the colonel blew the abolitionist a kiss, which infuriated the man even further as he struggled to shake free of the hands that held him.

  “Uncle Allan, I didn’t think you cared!” Claire said as she ran to the large man and swung her arms around his neck while still holding the Derringer pistol, forcing all the officers to duck as the man swung his niece in a circle.

  “Uncle Allan?” Jessy said as John Henry realized just who this man was.

  “He’s your uncle?” Thomas asked when the man set her down.

  The man sniffed and then tossed his cigar into the stagnant waters of the harbor. He held out his bear-claw hand.

  “Allan Pinkerton,” he said as John Henry shook his hand.

  “What happened to Mr. Lincoln?” he asked, not caring about anything else until he learned the truth, and all that entered his mind was the fact that he had forwarded the artifacts to the White House, and possibly the curse of Noah along with it.

  Pinkerton released the colonel’s hand and then removed his hat as he explained.

  “Yes, I understand from certain circles that you and the president were extremely close. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to prevent that madman from shooting him.”

  “What madman?” Jackson asked.

  “Name was John Wilkes Booth. He murdered the president while he watched a play at Ford’s Theatre, against my advice, I may add.” Pinkerton saw that the men before him weren’t asking to place blame. They actually needed to know about the man who had sent them to a world of mystery and death. “Troops cornered the coward in a barn not far from here, killed him.”

  “So what does that mean for us?” Claire asked.

  Pinkerton shook his head. “Well, that’s the real wrench in the old cog, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Jackson asked.

  “What Mr. Pinkerton means, gentlemen, and lady, is that you cannot exist. Your cargo cannot exist; therefore, you must vanish.”

  They all turned and saw an aged, drawn face they immediately recognized as Secretary of State William Seward. The man was literally being held up by three burly men. The secretary stepped into the light to show the returning officers the results of the night the president was murdered. The cuts were evident on his facial features. The hands were covered in cotton gloves and it looked as if the secretary had risen from his deathbed to meet them. John Henry and Jackson walked forward and assisted in getting the secretary to a piling, where he gratefully sat down. The blanket was pulled tight around his gaunt frame.

  “I told him he shouldn’t come, but he insisted,” Pinkerton said as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small bottle of laudanum. Claire recognized the strong painkiller the moment she saw it. “The same bastards that conspired to kill the president also targeted Mr. Seward and Vice President Johnson.” He held the bottle to the secretary’s lips and he swallowed the pain-killing dose. “They took a knife to the secretary and his wife.”

  “Has the world gone totally mad?” Claire asked.

  Seward waved everyone to silence. He gestured to Allan Pinkerton and waved for a package. The spy removed a large envelope from his coat and then passed it to Jessy Taylor.

  “What is this?” he asked, expecting more bad news.

  “A new start. Since you are now wanted for murder, and since we cannot very well allow you to take the witness stand to defend yourself, we are therefore creating a new you, Colonel.” Pinkerton slapped the envelope. “Use it well.”

  Jessy looked at John Henry, who nodded that it was his only option.

  “What of my men?” he asked.

  “Their discharge papers are awaiting them. Back pay based on our Union scale for each man below the rank of sergeant will be allotted—the sum of fifty-six dollars and forty-two cents.”

  “So, that’s the going rate for what we did?” John
Henry asked angrily.

  “Yes, that and the fact you completed the mission as ordered should serve you well when it comes to the question, “‘What did you do in the great uprising of 1861, Granddad?’”

  The angry eyes turned to Pinkerton, who didn’t make any excuses for his harsh words. Thomas knew he had a point. Why would he expect any consideration from people who just didn’t care?

  Seward coughed. “I was never in favor of this stunt, but you men … actually pulled it off. Now I’m sorry to say the Ark and all of its records must be destroyed.”

  “What?”

  “Why?”

  The questions were venomous as they were spoken.

  “Since we lost Mr. Lincoln, we lost all credibility on what is right and what is wrong. The order of the day is punishment.” He coughed again and then pushed one of the large men’s hands away as he continued. “If it now became public knowledge, we would lose the legacy of the man who led us through this disaster, and as his friend, I cannot allow that.” He looked directly at John Henry. “As I’m sure you will agree. History is never fact until it’s written down.”

  “Captain Jackson, your last set of orders, sir,” Pinkerton said as he sadly handed over a thin sheet of paper. “From Secretary of the Navy Welles.”

  Jackson read the order and then he exhaled as he found he couldn’t catch his breath.

  “Accident?” he asked, directing his question at the sickly Seward.

  “Yes, you are to set the Carpenter adrift and she will succumb to an onboard explosion of her powder magazine. The accident will remain a mystery. Is that clear?” Seward asked with his gray eyes boring in on the young naval officer. “The portion of the Ark you have gallantly returned to our shores is to be sent to the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay.”

  The three men gathered Secretary Seward into their arms and lifted him free of the dock. He paused and turned to face the men he had hurt beyond measure.

  “I am truly sorry. Colonel, your reputation will be tarnished. You will be held responsible for the damage to two American warships and thus far, the disappearance of another, the Yorktown. That we cannot cover up, sir. I’m sorry. That little weasel Freeman will see to it you are embroiled in controversy the rest of your life. And we couldn’t very well kill off the entire abolitionist front, now could we?”

  Pinkerton leaned over and kissed his niece on the cheek and then faced a stunned John Henry. He slapped a large envelope into Jessy’s hands.

  “There are two complete sets of identification papers inside. Use them, Colonel. You owe the nation nothing.”

  The three officers and Claire watched the men vanish into the darkness along with their futures.

  * * *

  The New York Herald reported the bizarre accident that happened inside the Chesapeake Bay area of Baltimore. It seemed an old and damaged warship, the Carpenter, exploded with no hands aboard killed. It was said by the Navy Department that an unsecured storage locker and an unattended lamp were the cause. The ship and its cargo of newly designed uniforms gifted to the United States Army from the sultan of the Ottoman Empire sank in deep water and recovery of the cargo was ruled out. When asked to comment on the accident, Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles was quoted as saying, “They were godawful uniforms anyway.” Congress was not so quick to laugh.

  NEW YORK CITY

  APRIL 30, 1865

  The rowboat eased out into the harbor. At the oars was a large man with black hair and a recently purchased suit. The man pulled as he looked at the woman and the two men sitting against the transom of the boat as they easily made their way through the fog. One of the men was dressed as always in his bright, stiff naval uniform, the other in a new suit like himself.

  Bertram T. Bartles eased up the oars when he heard the soft chime of the ship’s bell.

  “I hope you didn’t take us to the wrong ship, Bertram?”

  Jessy looked at John Henry and made a sour face.

  “I want to meet the man who came up with that alias, let me tell you. At least you have a name that people won’t laugh at behind your back.”

  “Yes, I do like his new name,” Claire said as she placed her arm through the stiff-looking former colonel’s.

  “Okay Mr.—”

  “Don’t say it until I get used to the name,” John Henry said as they came through the dense fog and rounded the stern of a large ship. Claire looked up and smiled.

  Rising above them, the fog had parted to show the name emblazoned across the stern—U.S.S. Yorktown.

  Jessy laid to near the gangway and they were met by an officer who assisted the four aboard. As they stepped upon the deck they hadn’t seen since they’d parted ways in Constantinople, they saw the activity aboard as men went from station to station silently performing their last duties aboard Yorktown. The first face Jessy saw once on the main deck was Gray Dog, who had been hidden since the night in Baltimore when they tragically lost the Carpenter.

  They were greeted by none other than Lieutenant Ferguson, the man who had saved them in the unreported and highly secretive Battle of the Black Sea, as the men had dubbed it. He saluted Jackson as he was the only man in uniform.

  “Report?” Jackson said as he returned the salute.

  “We’re off-loading the last of the crates now.”

  John Henry, Jessy, and Claire, with a Comanche Indian at their side, watched the last of the crates being raised above the ship’s railing toward the open water.

  “The Ark was sent to rendezvous with the Yorktown in the Mediterranean along with the wagons you sent south, the long route, you sneaky bastard. We had nothing but rocks the whole time,” Taylor said as he watched the last of the giant crates as it teetered on the end of the long cables of the crane that held it in place. “You really didn’t trust me, did you?”

  John Henry smiled. “Not on your life. Besides, it wasn’t my fault you failed to notice what was going on which wagon.”

  “I say again: sneaky bastard.”

  All eyes watched as the last of the crates containing Noah’s magnificent vessel eased into the waters of New York Harbor where they would remain forever.

  “Think we’ll regret depriving the world of this knowledge?” Claire asked.

  “Why, so more people can kill each other over their religious beliefs instead of riches?” John Henry faced Claire and held her eyes. “They really don’t deserve to know the truth, because we haven’t changed all that much, nor was the lesson of what happened more than thirteen thousand years ago ever learned. No, the world doesn’t deserve to know.”

  “Only those we left on that godforsaken mountaintop,” Jessy said as he watched the top of the crate vanish beneath the soft swell of the harbor. He decided at that moment the misery of the past few months needed to be laid to rest.

  “That, as they say, is that,” Captain Jackson said. “I feel pretty splendid after our little act of treason. How about you folks? Mr. Bertram T. Bartles?”

  “Very funny … Steven,” Jessy said, but smiled anyway.

  “You know, there is a rumor going around about an agency tasked to go after antiquities, like the Ark,” Jackson said.

  “I’m sure. Besides curses, what in the hell could we ever learn from the past?”

  They all looked at Jessy and thought he was right. A government department such as that could never work.

  “Could you imagine the headaches involved?” Claire said.

  “It would take some extraordinary men to run something like that, and I believe we may not have the patience for it. So, if an agency ever does appear that travels the world looking for history, count me out,” Jessy said as he turned away to return to the small rowboat. He turned and faced John Henry.

  “Colonel?” Thomas said as he placed his arm around Claire. This elicited another rise of the brows of Gray Dog, who took a step back from the white woman.

  “We really did rattle the gates of heaven, though, didn’t we?”

  Jackson, Ferguson, and John Henr
y exchanged looks and then Thomas’s eyes and smile settled back on his old friend.

  “That we did, Mr. Bartles. We surely did.”

  EPILOGUE

  A FAMILY AFFAIR

  The gods want their entertainment.

  —Zeus, King of All the Gods

  31

  EVENT GROUP COMPLEX, NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

  PRESENT DAY

  Major Jack Collins lowered the journal and placed it on the chair next to him. He stood and paced to the vault’s prized exhibit—the Ark. He examined the damaged bow of the colossal ship and then made his way up the stairs of the permanent scaffolding to the top and looked down upon the reconstructed ship. The crisscross cracks that permeated the wreck had been meticulously rebuilt and aligned as they’d been before the sabotage of the British spy, Captain McDonald, more than a hundred and fifty years ago.

  He walked along the theater-style seating as he looked at the large Ark, actually seeing it for the first time. He had seen it before on his initial tour but now he looked more closely at the object that had cost many men their lives. Jack didn’t think about the curse mentioned in the colonel’s journal, but he realized that if Thomas had actually penned it in the journal, it must have been very real to the men on that voyage.

  Jack heard someone coming up the stairs and he turned to see Niles Compton. He was holding the journal Jack had left below. Niles was silent as he joined Collins by the railing. He leaned upon it and stared down into the cavity of the greatest archeological find in history.

  “Who raised the Ark from the harbor?” Jack asked as he saw the living quarters of the family of Noah and thought about Colonel Thomas, Claire, Jessy, Captain Jackson, and Gray Dog, as they sat inside many, many years ago.

  “Ah, 1961, a brash ex-senator from Maine decided to close the original Event File 00001.”