The Patriots' Club

EPILOGUE

Spring had arrived in a spray of vibrant greens. The air had warmed, and a wandering breeze swept across Central Park. Hand in hand, Thomas Bolden and Jennifer Dance sat on a bench next to an empty baseball diamond.

“Mexico City?” Jennifer said. “But you don’t even speak the language.”

“I can learn,” said Bolden. “It will be the biggest Boys Club in the country. They need someone to run the place. Mostly someone who can help them raise the money to keep it going.”

“Isn’t it dangerous down there?”

Bolden shrugged. “I think we can look after ourselves.”

Jenny nodded. “It’s just so far away…”

“I’m not going without you.”

“You’re not?”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

“What about your mother?” Jenny asked.

“Bobby? I figure she can visit once every couple of months. I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

Three days after the attempt on President Megan McCoy’s life, Bolden had received an envelope from the New York Police Department containing a copy of the fingerprints found on the gun that had killed two Albany police officers twenty-five years earlier. A note stated that the fingerprints had been identified by the NCIC as belonging to James J. Jacklin. It was signed Detective John Franciscus. With the new evidence and a lack of eyewitnesses, all charges were dropped against Bobby Stillman.

“You’re probably right,” said Jenny. She narrowed her eyes. “Mexico, huh? You expect me just to pack up and move to a foreign country with you. I don’t know if I’m that kind of girl. I mean, we haven’t even lived together yet.”

Bolden got up off the bench and led her to home plate. Kneeling, he took her hand. “Jennifer Dance. I love-”

Bolden stopped midsentence, distracted by a black Lincoln Town Car that had pulled up on the road directly beside them. The door opened and a squat, older man emerged, dressed in a funereal black suit. Bolden recognized him immediately. “Um, just a second, Jenny.”

Bolden rose and jogged over to the man. “Mr. Chief Justice,” he said.

“Catch you at a bad time?” asked Edward Logsdon.

“The worst.”

“I’m sorry, son. Important matters.” Logsdon laid a hand on Bolden’s shoulder and guided him away from the baseball diamond. “I need to discuss something with you.”

Bolden nodded, glancing behind him. Jenny remained by home plate, arms crossed over her chest. “What exactly do you want?” he asked.

Logsdon stopped walking and turned to face him. “I’ve come to speak to you about the club. You didn’t think we went away, did you?”

Bolden shook his head. “I guess not.”

“We owe you an apology, as well as a debt of gratitude.”

“Look, whatever it is, I’m not interested. That’s over. I’m just trying to get on with my life.”

“At least hear us out.”

Bolden looked toward Jenny, then sighed and said, “Okay.”

Logsdon stepped closer. “Actually, Tom, I’ve come here to ask you to join us.”

“To join you? The club?”

“Yes.”

“Are you kidding? I mean, why me? Aren’t I a little young?”

“To be honest, yes. But in this case, age isn’t a qualifying factor.”

Bolden waited, not saying a word.

“There has always been a Pendleton in the Patriots Club,” Logsdon continued. “I’m obligated by our covenants to ask you to join us.”

Bolden swallowed. “James Jacklin…” he began.

“Your father.”

“What was that about?” Jenny asked when Bolden returned.

“He wanted me to join a club.”

“The club? What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d think about it. I had something more important to take care of first.” Thomas Bolden took a knee. “Now, where was I?”