Freedom

by David Wood

  Inside, a stone staircase led upward. Dane counted the risers—thirteen steps. Fitting. When he reached the top step, he froze, awestruck.

  They had found the secret headquarters of the Sons of Liberty!

  CHAPTER 16

  “I can’t believe we found it,” Dane whispered. The lantern light shone on high, vaulted ceilings and cast shadows in the empty shelves that lined the walls on either side. Directly in front of them stood a long, wooden table, its surface coated with dust and mold. Chairs were scattered about, some broken. Lanterns identical to the ones he and Bones held hung from hooks in the corners, and a huge chandelier dangled from a chain in the room’s center, the remains of candles still evident.

  “I’ll bet it was something to see in its day.” Bones’ eyes were filled with wonder. “Did anybody bring a camera?”

  Neither Dane nor Jillian answered. Both were mesmerized by what lay at the far end of the room. As if in a trance, Dane crossed the floor, eyes locked on the fantastic sight.

  Looking down upon them from atop a high pedestal sat George Washington. Rendered in white marble, the first President of the United States gazed serenely into the distance.

  “This doesn’t make sense.” Jillian stared wide-eyed at the memorial. “Washington wasn’t one of the Boston Sons of Liberty, and by the time he rose to prominence, the organization wouldn’t have needed a secret headquarters. Why would they build a memorial to him down here?”

  Dane tried to reply, but he couldn’t speak. He had just read the inscription on the base of the pedestal.

  Here lies

  His Excellency, George Washington

  Commander In-Chief of the Continental Army

  First President of the United States

  Father of His Country

  February 22, 1732- July 4, 1791

  May God Forgive Us

  “What... what does this mean?” Jillian stammered.

  “This is weird,” Bones agreed.

  They were right. Washington hadn’t died in 1791. In fact, he’d served as president until 1797 and passed away in 1799. Dane gazed up at George Washington’s face, as if understanding lay in those cold, stone eyes.

  “What’s this on the floor?” Bone asked.

  Dane looked down. Beneath a layer of dust lay a bronze plaque. He knelt, brushed it clean, and read aloud.

  “On July 4, 1791, His Excellency, George Washington, President of these United States, died as he had lived, in service to his country. Believing the bonds that unite our thirteen states too fragile to survive the news that the Father of our infant nation had fallen to an assassin’s bullet, we chose the honorable Charles Washington to serve in his stead. May God forgive us for our deception. It is our fervent prayer that, some day, the citizens of this great nation shall know the truth and understand that what we did, we did for our country.”

  “Who the hell is Charles Washington?” Bones asked.

  “George Washington’s brother.” Dane racked his brain, trying to remember all he knew about Washington’s family. “Charles was only a couple of years younger, but he...” Dane fell silent.

  “He what?” Jillian’s hands trembled as she shone her light on the plaque.

  “He died in 1799, right around the same time as George.”

  “This is freaking crazy.” Bones dropped to one knee alongside Dane and read the plaque again. “So Washington was assassinated in 1791? Why would they think the country couldn’t handle it?”

  Dane felt numb. The revelation did seem too crazy to be true, but here lay the proof. “Like it says here, the nation was fragile. There was strong sentiment that the thirteen colonies should be independently governed-- more of a loose alliance for mutual defense than a true nation. Washington was the most important symbol of our new country, and a strong force for unity. He was respected both in the North and the South. People trusted him; some practically worshiped him.”

  “So his brother stepped into his shoes as president? How could he pull that off?” Bones sounded as shocked as Dane.

  “It’s not like they had television back then. How many people actually saw Washington up close, or saw him at all? And he was an old man by the standards of his day, and few men have gone through what he did. If someone noticed subtle differences in his appearance, they’d likely chalk it up to the ravages of time and the stress of his office. As long as he and Charles looked somewhat alike, and those in his inner circle were in on the deception, they could have gotten away with it.”

  “This isn’t a monument,” Bones said. “This is a tomb.”

  “Oh my God!” Jillian cried.

  Dane and Bones sprang to their feet and looked up at the wall where the circle of light from her Maglite wavered. They had missed the words carved above the tomb.

  The Last Words of His Excellency, George Washington

  I heard a voice saying, `Son of the Republic, look and learn,’ I beheld a dark, shadowy being, like an angel, floating in mid-air, between Europe and America. Dipping water out of the ocean in the hollow of each hand, he sprinkled some upon America with his right hand, while with his left hand he cast some on Europe. Immediately a cloud rose from these countries, and moved slowly westward, until it enveloped America in its murky folds. Sharp flashes of lightning gleamed through it at intervals, and I heard the smothered groans and cries of the American people. I cast my eyes upon America, saw our beloved flag raised, and the cloud was driven back, and I beheld villages and towns and cities springing up one after another until the whole land from the Atlantic to the Pacific was dotted with them.

  Again, I heard the voice say, `Son of the Republic, look and learn.’ At this the dark shadowy angel turned his face southward, and from Africa I saw an ill omened specter approach our land and a dark cloud arose in the South. As I continued looking I saw a bright angel, on whose brow rested a crown of light, on which was traced the word `Union,’ bearing the American flag which he placed between the divided nation, and said, `Remember ye are brethren.’ Instantly, the inhabitants, casting from them their weapons united around the National Standard.

  A third time, the voice said, `Son of the Republic, look and learn.’ And now rose up, from within America itself, many people bearing a flag, and cloaked in zeal, and they cried “Return! Return!” And a dark cloud rose from their lips and blinded our eyes, so we could not see that theirs was a black flag, and they tore at the bonds that held us as one. But our flag pierced the black cloud, and the sun shone down, and once more I beheld the villages, towns and cities springing up where I had seen them before, while the bright angel, planting the standard he had brought in the midst of them, cried with a loud voice: `While the stars remain, and the heavens send down dew upon the earth, so long shall the Union last.’

  July 4, 1791

  “That’s not the prophecy,” Jillian snapped. “The first trials are almost the same, but the last one is totally wrong.” Quaking with rage, she backed away from the tomb.

  “It’s better,” Dane said. “It sounds like the third trial is caused by false patriots, but they’ll lose in the end.”

  “I guess we’ll have to do something about that.”

  Dane whirled around. There, in the doorway, stood O’Meara.

  CHAPTER 17

  “We’ll have to make sure nobody ever hears these words, or finds out this place even exists.” O’Meara rounded the long meeting table, his revolver in one hand, a flashlight in the other. “Either one of you moves, you die. Now, put the lanterns down and your hands in the air. Nice and slow.”

  Dane complied, and Bones followed suit a moment later. He calculated the distance between himself and O’Meara, wondering if he could get to the officer before he fired, but the distance was too great. If Dane charged him, O’Meara would get off at least two shots. He might miss, but it wasn’t likely. If the situation didn’t improve, and quickly, Dane would have to risk it. His eyes darted to Jillian, who stood with her back to the wall. She clutched her backpack to her chest as if it
might stop a bullet.

  “Let her go.” Dane knew his request was futile. The Sons of the Republic would want to keep this place, and the prophecy, a secret, and Jillian was a witness. They’d want to silence her.

  O’Meara barked a laugh. “Are you kidding? She’s one of us. You two were just too stupid to figure it out.”

  “The hell she is.” Bones clenched his fists.

  “How do you think I knew you were going to Old North Church?”

  “She couldn’t have gotten word to you, we were together...” Bones lapsed into shocked silence.

  “Except for when we split up to go to the church.” Dane looked at Jillian. “Is that why you fell behind?”

  “I stopped at a pay phone and paged O’Meara.” Her features relaxed and she sauntered over to stand beside the officer. “Where should we do it?” she asked O’Meara.

  “Right here. We’ll leave them down here, destroy the lanterns, and no one will ever find them.”

  Jillian gave them a speculative look. “Let’s not get blood on Washington’s tomb, though. That just seems disrespectful. How about over there?” She pointed to O’Meara’s left.

  O’Meara turned his head and a loud bang echoed through the chamber. O’Meara slumped to the ground, a gaping wound in the back of his head. Jillian stood looking down at him, a Beretta in her hand.

  “Nice one.” Bones nodded approvingly. “You had me believing you were on his side.”

  “I’m not on his side.” Jillian turned her eyes back toward them. She looked different. Where there had been trepidation in her eyes, they now brimmed with confidence. “But I am a member of the Sons of the Republic.” She raised the Beretta and aimed it at Dane. “I paged O’Meara because he was a loose end I needed to tie up. Now it’s time to sort you two out.”

  Dane grimaced. He wondered what exactly had been going through Jillian’s mind the past two days.

  “I don’t get it,” Bones said.

  “What don’t you get? My father was an enigma. He kept his research top-secret. Never told me a thing. So, when he was killed running away from O’Meara...”

  “Wait! O’Meara killed your father?” Dane’s stomach lurched. Andrews’ own daughter.

  “Technically, it was the car that killed him. You know, the one that ran him over. We wanted to find out who was helping him. O’Meara, being the idiot that he was, couldn’t do as he was told and just follow my father to his meeting. He thought he could intimidate Dad into revealing what he knew. Dad ran for it.”

  “That’s why O’Meara got to the scene so quickly.” Anger boiled inside Dane. “You act like you don’t even care. He was your father.”

  “Professor Nick Andrews wasn’t much of a father.” Jillian twisted her features into a dark scowl. “He cared only about his work. Everything else was an afterthought: me, my mother, his country. I ran away when I was sixteen and I’ve been on my own ever since. He’s my only living relative and he never once looked for me. I only returned to my father’s house because I needed his knowledge. The Sons of the Republic are my family now.”

  “Some family,” Bones scoffed.

  “You don’t know anything about it. It’s my cause. It’s who I am. The rest of the world doesn’t know me and doesn’t care about me. I’m a phantom. I’m the crazy cat lady who moves every time her lease expires, never puts down roots, and spends all her time at the library. I don’t think anyone outside the Sons even knows my name.”

  “If you’re such a loner, why did you involve us?” Dane looked into her eyes and wondered how he’d ever found her attractive.

  “You came to me, remember? I was going through his things and wasn’t getting anywhere. You’d spoken to Remillard, so you were already ahead of me. Plus, you were a little extra muscle. A meat shield against the other members of my organization.”

  Dane considered this. “When those guys came after us out in front of Faneuil Hall, you didn’t recognize them because they had come to the house; you knew them as members of the Sons of the Republic.”

  Her predatory grin was all the answer he needed.

  “That’s also why you were so eager to let Drinkel go. You were afraid he’d break down and tell the authorities about your little game.” Dane kept a close eye on the Beretta. Jillian held it steady, her finger ready on the trigger. He needed a distraction.

  “What’s up with you people” Bones subtly shifted his weight. Dane could tell he was about to do something reckless. “Aren’t you guys on the same side?”

  “In the big picture, yes, but those of us who wish to lead are... competitive. Only the strongest survive. I wanted to be the one to deliver the true prophecy. Instead, I’ll be the one who discovered and dealt with the threat it posed. Either way...”

  “Either way, you’re a psychotic freak.” Bones leapt toward Jillian, who whirled the gun in his direction.

  Dane acted instantly. One of the lanterns still lay at his feet, and he kicked it at her with all his might. He’d played a little soccer as a kid and studied a lot of martial arts over the years, and it flew true—a burning missile hurtling toward her head.

  Jillian flinched and pulled the trigger, but Bones moved too quickly for her. The bullet missed him. He rolled into Jillian’s legs and she stumbled, giving Dane the opening he needed.

  With a quickness borne of intense training and mind-numbing repetition, he grabbed her wrist in a vise grip, forcing her gun hand up and away from him and Bones. Screaming with impotent rage, she clawed at his face with her free hand and pulled the trigger of her Beretta again and again, sending a harmless fusillade of lead into the ceiling. When her magazine ran dry, she clicked the trigger a few more times, then released the Beretta and began raining punches on Dane’s head and chest. Dane yanked her toward him, spun her about, and pinned her elbows together behind her back.

  “Calm down,” he snapped. “I’m not going to hit you, but I won’t let you hit me either.”

  Her screams grew louder as she thrashed about. She stamped on his foot, then threw her head back, cracking him across the nose, which still pained him.

  “Seriously?” He winced as hot pain lanced through him, but he held on.

  A gunshot rang out and Jillian fell silent. Bones had retrieved O’Meara’s weapon and fired a warning shot.

  “Enough!” Illuminated by flickering lantern light, Bones loomed over Jillian, looking every inch of his nearly six and-a-half feet. Dane had to admit it made for an imposing sight. “I won’t hit a woman either, but if you don’t chill, I’ll turn you over my knee. And I promise you won’t like it.”

  Jillian no longer screamed, but her breath came in gasps and she shook like a palm frond in a hurricane. “You’re going to tell the world about this place, aren’t you?” she panted.

  “Of course we are.” Dane couldn’t believe she would want to hide such a thing. “It’s part of our history. People should know the truth.”

  “You can’t. Washington is too important. So are the Sons of Liberty. You’ll besmirch their memories. People already lack faith in America. This news would be a terrible blow.” She still trembled, and Dane felt cold sweat trickle down her arms.

  Bones brushed her concerns away. “People will just have to get over it.”

  “And what are you going to do to me?” Her voice had fallen to a mere whimper.

  “We’re going to turn you in to the police. They can’t all be corrupt.” Dane looked at O’Meara’s fallen form.

  “I’ll tell them I’m the victim. You brought me down here and O’Meara tried to save me.”

  “The bullet that killed him came from the Beretta. You know, the gun that only has your prints on it. Then there’s the gunshot residue, and the testimony of two service men with exemplary records.”

  “Well, not quite exemplary,” Bones added.

  The last of Jillian’s resistance crumbled. Her legs wobbled and she fell to the floor with a whimper, her sweat-slick arms slipping from Dane’s grasp.

  “Got
anything we can use to bind her wrists?” Dane asked, looking around.

  “Do we really need it? I think she’s played out.” They looked down at the young woman, who sat with her head buried in her hands, sobbing.

  “Let’s get her out of here,” Dane said.

  Without warning, Jillian lashed out at the one remaining lantern that still burned only feet from her. With a metallic clang and the sound of breaking glass, the room was plunged into darkness. Footsteps echoed through the room as Jillian fled. Chasing the sound of her footfalls, Dane dug the Maglite out of his pocket and flicked it on to see her stumble over a fallen chair.

  Dane closed the distance, but Jillian reached the stairs first and hurtled down them.

  “Jillian!” he shouted. “Don’t!”

  At the foot of the steps, Jillian looked back over her shoulder as she ran, and he saw the panic in her eyes. He could tell she was thinking of nothing but escape.

  “The snake!” he cried, but Jillian didn’t seem to hear.

  She plunged through the double doors and stepped directly onto the rattlesnake’s head, which sank into the bedrock, causing her to lose her footing. Jillian cried out in surprise as she fell, but her cry turned to a scream of pure terror as a solid block of stone came crashing down on top of her.

  The boom of falling stone reverberated through the chamber and the impact rocked the floor. Dane wobbled and felt Bones put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

  “Is she...” Bones didn’t finish the question.

  “Yes. I saw it happen.”

  “And now we’re blocked in.”

  Dane shone his light all around the chamber, looking for another way out, but all he saw were cracks in the ceiling.

  Cracks that hadn’t been there before, radiating out from above the stairwell, and expanding. The first chunk of ceiling came crashing down, exploding at their feet and spraying them in a shower of rock and mortar.