As Heisman had been relating this story, Gray kept studying the drawing on the page, nagged by something that seemed amiss. The sketch was plainly crude, with cryptic notations along the sides and bottom, but as he stared closer, he realized what had been troubling him about this early rendition of the Great Seal.
“There are fourteen arrows on this drawing,” he said.
Heisman leaned over. “What?”
Gray pointed. “Count. There are fourteen arrows clutched by the eagle in this drawing. Not thirteen.”
The others stood and gathered closer around.
“He’s right,” Sharyn said.
“Surely this drawing is just a draft,” Heisman said. “An approximate representation of what was intended.”
Seichan crossed her arms. “Or maybe it’s not. Didn’t Franklin’s letter mention something about a fourteenth colony? What was he talking about?”
A thought formed as Gray stared at the eagle. “The letter also hints at some secret meeting between Thomas Jefferson and the Iroquois nation’s leaders.” He stared over at Heisman. “Could Jefferson and Franklin have been contemplating the formation of a new colony, a fourteenth one, one made up of Native Americans?”
“A Devil Colony,” Monk said, using the other name Franklin employed in the letter. “As in red devils.”
Gray nodded. “Maybe that extra arrow in this early drawing represents the colony that never was.”
Heisman’s eyes glazed a bit as he pondered that possibility. “If so, this may be the single most important historical letter unearthed in decades. But why is there no corroborating evidence?”
Gray put himself in the shoes of Franklin and Jefferson. “Because their efforts failed, and something frightened them badly enough to wipe out all record of the matter, leaving behind only a few clues.”
“But if you’re right, what were they hiding?”
Gray shook his head. “Any answers—or at least clues to the truth—may lie in further correspondence between Franklin and Fortescue. We need to start searching—”
The jangle of Gray’s cell phone cut him off. It was loud in the quiet space. He slipped the phone from his coat pocket and checked the caller ID. He sighed softly.
“I have to take this.” He stood and turned away.
As he answered the call, the frantic voice of his mother trembled out, distraught and full of fear. “Gray, I . . . I need your help!” A loud crash sounded in the background, followed by a bullish bellow.
Then the line went dead.
Chapter 10
May 30, 10:01 P.M.
High Uintas Wilderness
Utah
Major Ashley Ryan was guarding the gateway to hell.
Fifty yards from his command post, the site of the day’s explosion continued to rumble, belching out jets of boiling water and gobbets of bubbling mud. Steam turned the chasm into a burning, sulfurous sauna. In just half a day, the circumference of the blast zone had doubled in size, eroding into the neighboring mountainside. At sunset, a large slab of the neighboring cliff had broken away, like a glacier calving an iceberg. The boulder had crashed into the widening pit. Then as night fell, clouds hid the moon and stars, leaving the valley as dark as any cave.
Now a worrisome, ruddy glow shone from the heart of the pit.
Whatever was happening in there wasn’t over.
Because of the danger and instability of the site, the National Guard had cleared all nonessential personnel from the chasm, cordoning off the valley for a full three miles, with men patrolling on foot and a pair of military helicopters circling overhead. Ryan kept a small squad posted on the valley floor. The soldiers all had a background in firefighting and were turned out in yellow Nomex flame-retardant suits, equipped with helmets and rebreathing masks should the air get any worse down here.
Ryan faced the newcomer as he climbed into similar gear. “You think you can tell us what’s going on here?” he asked.
The geologist—who had brusquely introduced himself as Ronald Chin—straightened, cradling a helmet under one arm. “That’s why I’m here.”
Ryan eyed the scientist skeptically. The man had arrived fifteen minutes ago by helicopter, flown in from Washington, D.C. While Ryan had little respect for government bureaucrats who stuck their noses where they didn’t belong, he sensed there was more to this geologist. From the no-nonsense way the man carried himself, along with his shaved head, Ryan suspected the geologist had a military background. After reaching the chasm floor, the government scientist had taken in his surroundings with a single hard-edged glance and began donning firefighting gear even before Ryan could insist that he suit up.