The Jefferson Key

FIFTY

HALE WATCHED AS KNOX MADE THE NECESSARY PREPARATIONS. Six glasses were brought from the bar and laid out in a row on one of the tables. Into each was poured a swallow of whiskey. Knox produced a glass vial that held a yellow-tinted liquid. The captains stared at the contents. Bolton nodded his consent to proceed. At any time, a captain challenged could withdraw, conceding defeat.

But not today.

Into one of the glasses Knox trickled a few drops of the yellowish liquid. The poison came from a Caribbean fish. Odorless, tasteless, fatal in seconds. A Commonwealth staple for centuries.

“All is ready,” Knox said.

Hale stepped to the table, his gaze on the third glass from the left where the poison rested within the amber-colored whiskey.

Bolton approached.

“Do you still accept my challenge?” Hale asked.

“I’m not afraid to die, Quentin. Are you?”

That wasn’t the issue. Teaching these three a lesson was the point-one they would never forget. He kept his gaze locked on Bolton and said to Knox, “Shuffle the glasses.”

He heard the bottoms slide across the tabletop as Knox rearranged the glasses, making it impossible to know which one contained the poison. Tradition required that the two participants lock eyes. Centuries ago, the crew would study the shuffle, then wager among themselves when a captain would make the wrong choice.

“It’s done,” Knox said.

The six glasses waited in a row, their swirling contents settling. Since Hale had extended the challenge, he was required to pick first.

One in six the odds.

The best they would be.

He reached for the fourth glass, lifted it to his lips, and downed the contents with one swallow.

The liquor burned his throat.

He bore his gaze into Bolton’s eyes and waited.

Nothing.

He smiled. “Your turn.”

WYATT SETTLED INTO THE HELICOPTER’S PASSENGER COMPARTMENT. He’d made his escape exactly as planned, leaving Malone empty-handed. Now no way existed to learn the next part of Andrew Jackson’s message.

Mission accomplished.

He laid his gun on the seat beside him and arranged the nylon bag in his lap. Carefully, he extracted the device and balanced its metal frame across his knees. The chopper had risen from the field and was now flying west, away from Monticello, the sunny morning air clear and smooth.

He found the two loose disks and studied how to add them. A metal rod ran through the center of the other twenty-four disks, attached to the frame and held in place by a retaining pin. He noticed that the disks, about a quarter inch wide, fit tightly, no spare room except at the end where there was space for two more.

He examined the two loose ones. Each, like the others, contained the letters of the alphabet, carved into their edge, broken by crooked lines above and below. He’d read enough about the wheel to know that the disks had to be arranged on the rod in a certain order. But Jackson had not included any instructions as to that, only adding the five curious symbols at the end. He decided to try the obvious and rotated the first visible disk on the rod and saw a carved 3 on its inside face. The two loose disks showed a 1 and 2 in the same spot.

Perhaps the order was simply numerical.

He freed the center post from the frame, held it firm so the remaining disks would not shake loose, and slipped the two disks onto the rod in the correct order.

He reattached the rod and found Andrew Jackson’s message, which he’d jotted down earlier.

HALE COULD FEEL THE TENSION IN THE ROOM, THICK AFTER only one selection.

Now it was Bolton’s turn.

His adversary glared at the remaining five glasses. Surcouf and Cogburn watched in apparent disbelief. Good. Those two should understand that he was not a man to challenge.

Bolton focused on the glasses.

Interesting that the usually hapless fool showed no fear. Was it anger that protected him? Or recklessness?

Bolton chose, lifting the glass and swallowing its contents.

One second. Two. Three. Four.

Nothing.

Bolton smiled. “Back to you, Quentin.”

WYATT STUDIED THE SEQUENCE OF TWENTY-SIX LETTERS THAT Andrew Jackson had hidden behind the Jefferson cipher.