“I know it’s not polite to ask a lady’s age, but I was wondering how old she was.”
“Don’t worry about insulting the old girl, my friend. She knows she’s as beautiful as the day she was born in 1931.”
Austin ran his eyes over the craft’s sleek lines. “I’d guess she came out of the Stephens boatyard in California.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like more than a guess. Stephens built her for one of the lesser-known Vanderbilts. Would you like to come aboard for a closer look, Mr. Austin?”
Austin’s lips widened in a tight smile. It was no accident that Flagg had dropped him off near the boat. He walked up the short gangway onto the deck and shook hands with a man who introduced himself as Elwood Nickerson.
Nickerson was tall and wiry,
with the physique of a tennis player. His tanned face was relatively unlined, and he could have been in his sixties or seventies. He was dressed in beat-up, tan canvas shorts, weathered boat shoes, and a GEORGETOWNUNIVERSITY T-shirt that was one thread short of being a rag. His close-trimmed white hair and manicured fingernails, and the tinge of a prep school accent, suggested that he was no boat bum.
He regarded Austin with flinty gray eyes. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Austin. Thank you for coming by. Sorry about the cloak-and-dagger antics. I’d offer you a Barbancourt rum on the rocks, but it’s probably too early.”
Nickerson knew Austin’s current drink of choice. Either he’d been snooping in his liquor cabinet or he had access to government personnel files. “It’s never too early for good rum, but I’ll settle for a glass of water, and an explanation,” Austin said.
“The water I can provide immediately. The answer to your question will take a little longer.”
“I’ve got time.”
Nickerson called out to the boat’s captain and said they were ready to leave. The captain started the engines while his mate cast off the dock lines. As the boat pulled out into the river and cruised downstream, Nickerson ushered Austin into a spacious deck salon whose centerpiece was a rectangular mahogany table that had been polished to a mirror finish.
Nickerson offered Austin a seat at the table. Then he got a bottle of springwater from the refrigerator and poured Austin a glass.
“I’m with the Near East Section at the State Department, where I preside as chief mucky-muck and general factotum,” Nickerson said. “This outing has the blessing of my boss, the secretary of state. He thought it best that he not be involved at this time.”
“You’ve been digging around in my personnel file, which indicates clearance at a higher level than Foggy Bottom.”
Nickerson nodded. “When we brought this matter to the attention of the White House, Vice President Sandecker suggested that we go to your boss, Director Pitt. He said to dump this in your lap.”
“That was very generous of the director,” Austin said. Typical Pitt, he mused. Dirk liked decisions to be made by those most likely to be affected by their consequences.
Nickerson caught the irony in Austin’s voice. “Mr. Pitt was being sensitive to our wishes. He has the highest confidence in your abilities. It was my decision to do a background check on you. I have a reputation for being careful.”
“And mysterious as well.”
“Your file said you have little patience with small talk. I’ll get right to the point then. Two days ago, my office received a visit from Pieter DeVries of the NSA. DeVries is one of the most respected cryptanalysts in the world. He brought us information of a startling nature.”
For the next twenty minutes, Nickerson described in meticulous detail the discovery of the Jefferson file at the American Philosophical Society and the deciphering of the secret message it contained.
Nickerson wrapped up his presentation and waited for Austin’s reaction.
“Let me see if I understand,” Austin said. “A researcher at an organization started by Ben Franklin comes across a long-lost file containing a coded correspondence between Thomas Jefferson and Meriwether Lewis. Jefferson wrote Lewis and said he believed that Phoenicians visited North America and hid a sacred relic in Solomon’s gold mine. Lewis writes Jefferson and says he is coming to see him. Lewis dies en route.”
Nickerson let out a deep sigh. “I know. It sounds absolutely fantastic.”
“What does this fantastic story have to do with NUMA?”
“Please bear with me and I’ll make my motives clear.” He handed Austin a thick loose-leaf notebook. “These are copies of the Jefferson material and the deciphered messages. The information has been labeled and catalogued as to source.”
Austin flipped the notebook open and perused Jefferson’s tight, disciplined handwriting. After leafing through several pages, he said: “You’re sure this is authentic?”
“The Jefferson papers are the real thing. Their historical accuracy will have to be determined.”
“Even so, this discovery challenges all assumptions,” Austin said. “Any idea as to the nature of the relic?”
“Some of the analysts who have seen this suggested that it might be the Ark of the Covenant. What do you think?”