by David Wood
Dane didn’t know this man from Adam, but he found himself nodding. How could he deny the request of a dying man? “Of course, anything.” He didn’t know why he had said it but, at his words, the man smiled.
“Thank you,” he wheezed. “You must... find... the lantern. The lantern... is the key... to everything.”
“Lantern?” Dane didn’t understand.
The man reached into his coat pocket, wincing with the effort, and pulled out a cream-colored rectangle. “This... is the name of... a colleague.” He pressed the square into Dane’s hand. “Was expecting me. Must find it... Open the gates of freedom.”
“What do you mean?”
The man’s eyes glazed over and he seemed to be drifting out of consciousness.
“Sir?”
“The British... are... coming.” With that odd declaration, he fell silent, and breathed no more.
Dane stood and backed away. A crowd had gathered around, and he worked his way through the throng to where he saw Bones’ head sticking up over the others. Bones raised an eyebrow when he saw what Dane held: a small business card. He held it out for Bones to see.
Beneath the dead man’s bloody thumbprint, the card read: Prof. Gregory Remillard, American History, Boston University.
Dane took a deep breath and slipped the card into his pocket as soon the sirens drew closer. A police cruiser arrived a few seconds later.
An officer climbed out and approached the cab driver. A few minutes later, he approached Dane and Bones.
“I’m officer MacDougal.” Dane and Bones gave their names and MacDougal nodded. “You gave him first aid?” he asked.
“We would have,” Dane said, “but his injuries seemed to be internal. We just stayed with him until he died.”
“Cabbie says the guy just ran right out in front of his cab. Any idea why?”
Dane shook his head. “We heard the accident, but didn’t see it.”
Just then, a second patrol car came to a screeching halt alongside MacDougal’s car. A thickset blond man piled out and stalked over to where they stood. His nameplate read “O’Meara.”
“I got this, MacDougal.”
“Quick response time, Lieutenant.” Something about MacDougal’s tone gave Dane pause. “I’m surprised to see you out here.”
“It’s your lucky day. I just happened to be in the area when I heard the call. I’ll take over from here.”
“I can take their statements. No need for you to waste your time.”
“It’s all right.” O’Meara’s smile revealed coffee-stained teeth. “I like to do some real police work here and there. You can get back on patrol. It’s not like we’ve got a shortage of crime in the city.”
MacDougal seemed reluctant, but he finally gave a single nod and headed back to his vehicle.
In an instant, O’Meara’s genial tone turned serious.
“What happened here?”
“We’re not sure. The cabbie said the old man ran out in front of him. We got here too late to help.”
“Did the victim say anything to you? I mean, did he tell you why he ran out into the road like that?”
Dane looked to Bones for half a second before he returned his gaze to O’Meara. “I think he might have been having a mental breakdown or something. All he said was, ‘The British are coming.’”
The officer barked a laugh. “Perfect. Probably thought he had to get to the Old North Church in a hurry. “You gave your names to MacDougal?” Dane and Bones said they had. O’Meara told them they were free to go, turned on his heel, and headed over to speak to the cabbie.
Bones sidled up to Dane. “That’s not all the old dude said. I can tell by the look in your eye,” he whispered. “You just lied to a cop.”
Dane didn’t smirk or show any indication that his face held any emotion. He pocketed the officer’s business card along with the one the dying man had given him. “Surprised?”
“Just a little bit. But I’m proud of you. I might turn you into a normal human being yet.”
“He said,” Dane continued, watching as O’Meara stood by the body, “something about finding a lantern.” He paused and swallowed. “I have no idea what he means, but he gave me the name of someone to contact. He might have been crazy, but he made me promise I’d find this lantern for him.”
“Let me guess, you’ve got some weird family slogan, like, A Maddock always keeps his promises.”
Dane motioned for Bones to follow him further away from the scene and the possible prying ears of the Boston Police. “Not exactly a slogan, but I do try to keep my word.” Their footsteps clopped on the asphalt until they reached the stairs leading back to the subway.
“It’s cool with me if you want to follow up on this. I’m kind of curious about the whole thing. The dude might have been out of his mind from shock, but maybe not. What do you want to do about it?”
“I think I’d like to scratch that Colonial American History tour off the on-leave bucket list.” Dane took the stairs two at a time. “Something more interesting has just come up.”
CHAPTER 4
“Where are all the hot chicks?” Bones put his hands on his hips and scowled.
“It’s Boston University in the middle of summer semester. It’s not like the place is bustling with coeds right about now.”
“That’s the only thing I liked about college.”
“You went to college?” Dane immediately regretted the question. He didn’t think Bones was stupid, just annoying.
“I got a two-year degree. That’s all I could stand. The classroom isn’t for me, bro.”
They crossed Commonwealth Avenue at a trot and entered a tan, sandstone building. The sign on the door read, Warren Towers. The moment they stepped inside. Dane tugged at his damp collar and shivered as a wave of cool air engulfed him.
“Where do you think we’ll find this professor?”
“Good question. I’m hoping that someone in one of these offices can point us in the right direction. I’d rather take the time to ask around than wander aimlessly from building to building, not knowing where we’re going.”
“Bet you he’s on vacation. Why would you stay on campus when all the babes are gone and there’s no classes to teach? I’d be on a beach somewhere, partying.”
“I’m sure they have summer courses, just not as many as during the regular school year.”
“You sure you don’t want to call? His number’s on the card.”
“Not if we don’t have to. Our reason for visiting is weird enough as it is, and if the guy who gave us this card is a friend, that’s the sort of news that ought to be delivered in person.
“Okay, I got this. What’s the professor’s name again? Remillard?” Bones disappeared into an office and came out a few minutes later, with directions, plus a name and phone number.
“We already know his name and number. Why did you get it again?” Dane asked.
“What are you talking about? I got the secretary’s number. She wasn’t bad looking.” They stepped out into the summer heat and Bones shifted his leather jacket. “Actually, she wasn’t all that hot, but she had big hair. You know what they say about big-haired women.”
“No, and I don’t think I want to.”
They wandered along Commonwealth Avenue, taking in the sights, and Dane felt that he hadn’t entirely missed out on his Colonial sightseeing. They arrived at a five-story sandstone building with bow front columns, and the similar buildings on either side gave the impression of vertical rolling hills. Dane remembered reading that this style of architecture had been popular in the mid-1800s and had extended from Beacon Hill down to the brownstones of the Back Bay.
A red brick walkway bisected well-manicured green lawns, and climbed the three stairs up to a heavy wood and glass door. Bones open the door and waved Dane through. They found Remillard’s name and office number on a faculty directory posted on the wall.
“Second-floor.” Dane pointed to Remillard’s name. “Let’s go.”
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The clacking of a manual typewriter guided them down the hall to an open door. Dane knocked twice and stepped inside. A middle-aged woman with white, permed hair, a flowery blouse, and enough extra pounds to give her the appearance of lumpy dough, looked up and smiled.
“Can I help you?” The woman’s gravelly voice put her at about two packs a day, if Dane did not miss his guess.
“Yes, we are here to see professor Remillard.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The woman scowled at Bones in his ripped jeans and leather jacket.
“Not exactly,” Dane replied. “We are acquaintances of a colleague of his.”
“Which colleague?”
Dane hesitated. They had hit a wall of flesh, polyester, and hairspray. “Well, you see, the man didn’t actually say…”
“I’m not busy, Margaret. If I have visitors, send them in,” a voice called from the adjoining room.
Margaret shot an angry look at them and inclined her head toward a door to their right.
“We appreciate the help.” Bones smiled and winked at Margaret, who actually blushed. From the look in her eyes, Dane wouldn’t have been surprised if she giggled like a schoolgirl.
Professor Remillard, a tall, rail-thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and a silver-washed goatee, wore a red golf shirt, tan khaki pants, and little, round glasses that hung precariously on the tip of his thin nose. He welcomed them into an office stuffed with old, leather bound books on sagging shelves. The heavy scent of old paper permeated the air, reminding Dane of Fifteenth Street Books in Coral Gables, Florida, a favorite hangout in his early teen years. An IBM computer sat on one end of the professor’s cherry lacquered desk, and a tweed coat boasting the same elbow patches that the deceased man’s coat displayed, hung on the back of an office chair.
“Thank you for seeing us without an appointment, professor.” Dane hoped the man wouldn’t kick them out as quickly as he’d welcomed them.
“It’s all right.” Remillard waved the thanks aside. “It’s summer time, my course load is light, and there aren’t many students around who need help with their schedules for next semester.” He sat down and looked at them with interest. “How may I help you?”
“One of your colleagues gave us this.” Dane handed him the card.
Remillard saw the bloody thumbprint and frowned. “Who gave this to you?” Dane gave a brief description of the deceased, and Remillard nodded. “That sounds like Nick Andrews. He was supposed to meet me last night, but he never showed. Is something wrong?”
Dane thought it best to start at the beginning, so he first broke the news of the accident. Remillard’s eyes misted, and he invited them to take a seat, his voice hoarse with grief. Dane and Bones settled into matching, straight-backed wooden chairs, and Dane continued his story.
“He made me promise to find the lantern,” Dane finished lamely.
“Did he say anything else?”
“The British are coming.” Bones raised an eyebrow. “We figure he might have been losing it at the end, you know, from the shock of the accident.”
Remillard fixed them with an appraising look, as if he could and read their intentions. Leaning back and folding his arms across his chest, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Can I trust you gentlemen?” he asked, and then chuckled. “A foolish question, I know. An untrustworthy man would, by his very nature, assure me he could be trusted.”
“We’re Navy,” Bones answered, as if that were enough.
“In the SEAL program,” Dane added.
Remillard’s face crinkled in a wry smile. “I don’t suppose it matters. Nick put his trust in you, and it’s not my place to countermand his wishes. Besides, you know enough that you could easily find out the rest if you wanted to.” He cleared his throat, sat up straight, and rested his palms on the desktop. “How much do you know about Paul Revere?”
“I know he was a silversmith. And, of course, I know about the Midnight Ride.”
“One if by land, two if by sea,” Bones added.
“That’s it exactly.”
“You mean he was talking about the lantern from the Old North Church?” Dane shifted in his chair.
“The very one.”
“Seriously? I was just being a smartass.”
“But there were two lanterns. Like Bones said, one if by land, two if by sea.”
“Three if the British called in an airstrike,” Bones added.
Dane closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his temples. Would the guy never stop?
“A crew digging beneath the Central Artery, the freeway that cuts through downtown, recently uncovered one of the lanterns. I have a photograph somewhere.” He rummaged through his desk and came out with a Polaroid of an old lantern, unremarkable, save for its wide base. Dane and Bones looked it over while the professor went on. “The city’s excavating the tunnel for the new submerged highway as part of what the newspapers are calling the ‘Big Dig.’ Workers have found a myriad of things underneath: timbers from sunken ships, Colonial-era plates and silverware, children’s dolls. You name it, they found it.”
“Jimmy Hoffa?” Bones asked.
Dane ignored Bones. “How do you think the lantern got there?”
“We can only speculate. Back in January, 1919, there was an incident in the North End section called the Boston Molasses Disaster. Some old-timers refer to it as the Boston Molassacre.” Bones smiled at that. “A tank full of molasses exploded, due to a drastic change in air temperature, and sent a literal tidal wave of, forgive the pun, rapidly-moving molasses through the streets of the North End.”
“Sweet!” Bones exclaimed.
“It must have been.” Remillard opened a desk drawer and pulled out a manila folder full of yellowed newspaper clippings. He opened it and, right on the top, lay an article from the old Boston Post. It showed a street swamped with molasses. He passed it to Bones, who read the article with interest as Remillard continued. “Twenty-one people died, and one hundred-fifty were injured in the accident. Several buildings were swept off their foundations, and one of the elevated trains on Commercial Street went off the rails. The molasses traveled at about thirty-five miles per hour with two tons of pressure behind it. It decimated a good portion of that neighborhood.
“One of the buildings in the area was home to a descendant of Sexton Robert Newman, the man who, in April, 1775, hung the lanterns in the steeple of Old North Church, or Christ Church, and waited to see if the British would come by land or by sea. The church was ideal for the purpose, as it is highly visible, even sometimes serving as a lighthouse.”
“They came by sea, right?” Bones asked.
“Correct. This served to alert not only Revere, but also the militia in nearby Charlestown. If they let the lanterns burn too long, the British would see them, and all would be lost. Anyway, getting back to the molasses story, the lantern must have been in the man’s house until the molasses swept it, and perhaps all of the man’s possessions, away. Sometime during the excavation, a worker found it. Not knowing its value, but recognizing it as an antique, he took it home. Eventually, it found its way to the Old State House, where it’s now on display.”
“Where’s the second lantern?” Dane asked.
“Missing. No one has seen it since shortly after the Midnight Ride.”
“What does speculation say?”
Remillard smirked.
“History, not speculation, tells us that after the lanterns were extinguished that night, the redcoats caught the sexton carrying the second one down the stairs. They arrested him and seized the lantern, then brought it aboard H.M.S. Somerset, which lay at anchor nearby. Somerset took part in several important battles, but she was lost two and-a-half years later when she ran aground and foundered off the coast of Cape Cod.”
“So the lantern is somewhere on the bottom of the North Atlantic.” Bones chewed his lip, clearly mulling over the implications.
“It’s possible, but the people of Truro
and Provincetown divided up the spoils of the wreck.”
“So it could also be that someone has the second lantern and doesn’t even know it.” Bones sounded discouraged at the thought.
“What’s so important about finding this lantern?” Dane asked. “The historical significance?” His heart raced. Despite his skepticism, this mystery from Colonial times had him intrigued.
“Nick would have been the better person to answer that question.” Remillard stroked his goatee, his eyes downcast. “He hinted that Revere was sitting on important, perhaps even dangerous knowledge, and said the lanterns were the keys, with emphasis on the key.”
“Did either of you ever study the lantern that has been found?”
“Not yet. Nick applied for permission to study it, but hadn’t gotten approval. He wasn’t concerned—he said we needed both lanterns in order to solve the mystery. ”
Dane considered this. Remillard seemed like a level-headed man, not at all prone to wacko theories. And, if Dane were honest with himself, he had to admit he was dying to get to the bottom of this mystery. Besides, he had given his word.
“Can you tell us anything else? I know it’s not truly our mystery to solve, but I did give my word.”
“Only that he had been acting oddly the past few days. He seemed to think he was in danger. “
Dane glanced at Bones and could tell they were thinking the same thing. Had Andrews’ death truly been an accident?
“Otherwise,” Remillard continued, “Nick was secretive about his project. I suspect he planned to tell me more last night, had he made it to our meeting. He has a daughter who only recently came back into his life. She might know more than I.” He scribbled a name and phone number on a sheet of paper and handed it to Dane. “Please let me know if you find the lantern.” He shook hands first with Dane, then with Bones. “I’d like to see Nick’s work finished.”
They thanked him for his help and left the office.
“I need to find the university library, and then I’m going to call Andrews’ daughter. I know it’s not how you wanted to spend our leave time, but are you up for a little detective work?”