PROFESSOR PIETER DEVRIES WAS turning the Jefferson file over in his mind as he waited in a reception area at the State Department’s Bureau of Near Eastern Affairs. He had read every line and found no inconsistencies.
The receptionist picked up the buzzing intercom phone and exchanged a few words with the person on the other end.
“Mr. Evans will see you now, Professor DeVries,” she said with a smile. “Third door on the right.”
“Thank you.” DeVries slipped his reading material into a file case, tucked it under his arm, and walked down the hallway. He knocked lightly, then opened the door and stepped into an office. A tall, long-jawed man in his late thirties was waiting to greet him with a hand shake.
“Good morning, Professor DeVries. My name is Joshua Evans. I’m an analyst with the bureau. Have a seat.”
DeVries sat down and said, “Thanks for seeing me.”
Evans settled his lanky frame behind a desk whose clinical orderliness suggested a compulsive personality. “It’s not every day that I get a visit from the NSA,” Evans said. “You folks usually keep to yourselves. What brings you to over to Foggy Bottom?”
“As I explained on the phone, I’m a code breaker with the agency. I’ve come across information that might be of interest to your bureau. I came directly to State rather than go through NSA channels. This is a matter of some delicacy.”
“You’ve got my interest,” Evans said.
The professor opened his file case and handed over the folder that held copies of the original Jefferson material and the deciphered version. He gave Evans a capsule account of the file and how he had acquired it.
“Quite a story,” Evans said with a lightness of tone that suggested he’d been listening to a Mother Goose tale. He eyed the professor’s baggy tweed suit and Vandyke beard. “I’m still not clear why you brought it to Near Eastern Affairs.”
The professor spread his hands apart. “Phoenicia was in the geographical area that is the responsibility of your bureau.”
“Phoenicia,” Evans said with a wan smile.
“That’s right. It was one of the greatest seafaring empires of all time. It spread from its original home to the shores of Spain and beyond the Pillars of Hercules.”
Evans sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. “That may be so, Dr. DeVries, but Phoenicia longer exists.”
“I understand that, but the descendents of the Phoenicians still inhabit the countries of Lebanon and Syria.”
“Unlike those two countries, Phoenicia was not a member of the United Nations, the last I knew,” Evans said with an indulgent chuckle.
DeVries pasted a grin on his face. The professor was a battle-scarred veteran of the bureaucratic process. He knew that he would have to work his way up the ladder through self-satisfied staff people like Evans.
“I’m a mathematician, not a diplomat like yourself,” DeVries said, using a bit of flattery. “But it seems to me that when we talk about such a volatile region, any development that shakes deeply held beliefs should be given serious consideration.”
“I apologize for seeming dismissive. But artichokes? Secret codes? A long-lost Jefferson file? You must admit that the story is a fantastic one.”
DeVries gave a short laugh. “I would be the first to agree.”
“And, besides, how do we know that any of this is true?”
“We can’t authenticate the content, but the translation of the enciphered message into clear text is accurate. The fact that the material you’re holding was produced by the third president of the United States and the author of the Declaration of Independence must give it some weight.”
Evans hefted the packet of papers as if they were on a scale. “You’ve authenticated Jefferson as the source of this material?”
“Some NSA handwriting experts looked at it. There is no doubt that Jefferson wrote it.”
A confused look came to Evans’s face. DeVries had seen the same panicked expression with bureaucrats who’d been asked to deviate from their normal function, which was to gum up the workings of government. Evans’s worst nightmare had come true. He might have to make a decision. The professor offered Evans a lifeline.
“I realize the material I’ve brought you seems far-fetched. That’s why I hoped for guidance from the State Department. Perhaps you could tell your superior about our discussion?”
Passing the buck was a strategy Evans could understand. A relieved look came to the young man’s face. “I’ll bring it up with my boss, Hank Douglas. He’s head of cultural affairs for the bureau. I’ll get in touch with you after I talk to him.”
“That’s very kind of you,” DeVries said. “Could you call Mr. Douglas while I’m still here so I won’t have to bother you later?”
Evans saw that DeVries was making no attempt to rise from his chair. He picked up his phone and punched out Douglas’s number. He was hoping Douglas was out and was chagrined when his colleague answered the phone.