He switched the light back on and surveyed the interior. The red beam shone only a short stretch, and everything was swathed in gray, so he risked it and switched to white. Hard to say how many bricks surrounded him. Certainly in the thousands, their color faded, a yellow moss encrusting the joints and crevices. Impossible to prevent given the porous soil and the length of time the pit had existed. But overall, the walls were relatively clean. Being sealed had certainly helped.
The beam caught something.
He swung back and focused on the brick face.
Faint.
But there.
He stepped closer and glanced upward, focusing through the dimness.
“It’s friggin’ letters,” he whispered.
XIII.
He began a careful survey with the light.
Letters etched on more bricks appeared.
XIX. LXX. XV. LIX. XCIX.
He was no student of Latin. Sure, he knew the obvious Roman numerals. The Super Bowls had taught him that. He’d never figured out why the NFL chose to use those over good old-fashioned American numbers. Maybe it classed things up?
He continued his scan and noticed that there were duplicates scattered about. He quickly counted five LXXs. Eight XVs. He recalled what Stephanie had showed him from Madison’s note. Scrawled at the bottom was IV. He searched, whipping the light around the cylindrical walls.
And found it.
IV.
Near the top, maybe six feet down from the opening.
He decided to see if his hunch was correct. A further scan revealed not another IV anywhere.
Good enough for him.
He would need the crowbar for further investigation. But it lay up at ground level. He switched off the light, gripped the rope, and climbed. At the top he pulled himself up through the hatch and was just about to retrieve the tool when something caught his attention.
In the distance.
Beyond the mansion.
The night broken by the rhythmic flashing of blue lights and the wail of sirens. Then he saw two more sets of flashing blue lights.
All coming his way.
“Ah, crap,” he whispered. “That can’t be good.”
FORTY-ONE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
1:40 A.M.
ROWAN STEPPED FROM THE CAB. ACROSS 1ST STREET THE WHITE façade of the Capitol was lit bright. He’d worked through the night many times when Congress was in session, especially years ago during his first two terms. Not so much anymore, though occasionally some issue of importance mandated the show of a national legislature that refused to sleep.
But that’s all it was.
Show.
The real work never happened on the legislative floor. That was accomplished in closed offices, or at restaurant tables, or during a walk on the National Mall. The federal government was fatally flawed and had been for a long time. It no longer possessed the ability to actually do anything constructive. Instead, what it did best was suck away resources from both the people and the states. It could do little to solve any problem, and refused to allow anyone or anything else to do so, either. What he’d read yesterday morning from the Texas petition on secession had stuck in his mind. Given that the state of Texas maintains a balanced budget and is the 15th largest economy in the world, it is practically feasible for Texas to withdraw from the union , and to do so would protect its citizens’ standard of living and re-secure their rights and liberties in accordance with the original ideas and beliefs of our founding fathers which are no longer being reflected by the federal government.
Perfectly said.
He could not recall the precise moment when he became a secessionist, but he was utterly convinced that his position was correct. Whenever any form of government becomes destructive, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. Thomas Jefferson and the fifty-five other patriots who signed the Declaration of Independence were right. Interesting how those men supposedly possessed the natural and inalienable right to violently rebel against an oppressive England. Yet if their descendants tried to do the same against the United States of America, myriad federal statutes would be brought to bear against their every act. When did Americans lose those “natural and inalienable rights”?
He knew.
1861.
With Abraham Lincoln.
But he intended to reclaim them.
The entrance of Stephanie Nelle into the fray was unexpected. One of his legislative aides had briefed him about the swirling rumors. Nothing definitive, only that questions had arisen about her, and the White House was trying to handle the problem in secret. No one wanted any scandal this late in the term. Had his requests for information accelerated things? Or was he actually responsible? Hard to say. All he knew was that Nelle had appeared, knew he’d been searching for classified records, then offered to provide exactly what he was after.