The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [172]
“So the political consequences . . .”
“Very good. Were staggering,” Mary Beth explained. “You have the political bug too, eh? Have you ever been to Monticello? I’d be happy to show you around.”
That was always the problem with the message boards. The odds were good, but the goods were odd. “I’m sorry, I’m just in a bit of a rush—”
“Okay, I get it—you’re married. My apologies. I’m just not good at reading these things—”
“Yes, so, aheh—you were saying about Jefferson . . . that the political consequences of firing officers . . .”
“Of course, of course. The politics were tricky to say the least, so to avoid putting his foot in it, Jefferson asked Lewis to secretly rank the loyalty of each army officer. That way, they’d know who to fire and who to keep on board.”
“So those symbols,” Kassal said, looking down at the “those were . . .”
“. . . Lewis and Jefferson’s coded rating system to make sure none of the officers would ever find out what Jefferson’s opinion of them actually was: whether they were trustworthy, apathetic, or a political enemy. So when the War Department supplied Jefferson with the list of all the brigadier generals and lieutenants, Lewis took his secret symbols and put . . .”
“. . . a handwritten mark next to each name,” Kassal said, studying the exact same symbols two hundred years later on the crossword. “To everyone else, it looked like the random blots of a fountain pen . . .”
“. . . right again . . . but to Jefferson, it was a guide to which of his officers were honest Abes. In fact, if you ever do come h— We actually have the original list on display, plus the key that Jefferson used to decipher the codes. It’s beautiful to see up close—all the flourishes in the old script.”
“Certainly sounds tempting,” Kassal said, making the kind of face that usually goes with biting a lemon. “But . . . Mary Beth, is it?”
“Mary Beth,” she said proudly.
“If I could ask you one last favor, Mary Beth: Now that I have the signs—the four dots and the cross with the slash through it—can you just read me the cipher so I know what each of these stands for?”
103
You’re telling me you didn’t send him a note?” Rogo asked Boyle as he readjusted his shirt from where the guard had pulled it.
“Note? Why would I send him a note?” Boyle asked, sounding annoyed as his eyes flicked between Rogo and the guard.
“I said don’t move!” the guard shouted, his gun pointed at Boyle.
“You yell at me again, you’re gonna be picking that gun outta your teeth,” Boyle growled back. “Now I want my contact man, or at the very least, a supervisor, and I mean now.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Dreidel asked, his hands raised in the air, even though the gun wasn’t anywhere near him. “You said we were meeting at my hotel. Since when is Wes meeting at a graveyard?”
“Dreidel, this isn’t about you,” Rogo insisted. Turning to the guard, he added, “Listen, I know you don’t know me, but my friend’s life is in—”
“So is yours,” the guard said as he pointed his gun back at Rogo. Turning his attention to his walkie-talkie, he pushed a button and added, “Rags, we got a problem—I need you to find Loeb.”
“So wait . . . when Wes called . . . you both lied to me?” Dreidel asked, still putting the pieces together. “Now you have Wes not trusting me too?”
“Don’t you dare play victim,” Rogo warned. “Lisbeth spoke to your old girlfriend—the one with the crossword puzzle—”
Boyle turned at the words. “You found the puzzle?”
“Boyle, keep your mouth shut!” the guard warned.
“How’d she find Violet?” Dreidel asked, his face paste white as he slowly lowered his hands.
Rogo shook his head at Dreidel but knew enough to stay with the guard, who knew enough to stay with Boyle. Rogo shifted his weight anxiously, barely able to stand still. Every second they wasted here meant that