Track of the Beast: A Brock Stone Adventure

5- Constance

Brock Stone stretched and breathed deeply of the evening air. Mist hung low over the Potomac River and the last traces of sunset painted the horizon pink. He was puzzled by what they had found in the hidden chamber. He had spent the afternoon in his grandfather’s library, hoping to find the key to deciphering the mysterious glyphs. So far, he had found nothing helpful.

Stripping down to his skivvies, he waded into the cold water. He barely felt it, such was his mental focus. It was one of many skills he had acquired while studying with monks in Tibet. Isolated in his mental cocoon, he waded out until the water was waist-deep, then began to swim. He propelled himself against the Potomac’s gentle current with powerful strokes. He was as committed to physical fitness as he was to mental acuity, and these regular swims were an important part of that discipline.

His sharp ears caught a low thunk in the distance, the sound of a wooden paddle striking a gunwale. He paused, treading water, and looked around.

About a hundred yards away, a young woman paddled a canoe. She was straining to maintain a straight course, whispering harsh curses every fourth or fifth stroke. As Stone watched, she steered the narrow craft toward the far shore, let out a stream of invective, and switched her paddle to the other side. She leaned into her strokes, digging the wooden blade deep into the water. The canoe began to tilt.

“Sit up straight,” Stone called. “You’re going to tip.”

The warning did not have the desired effect. Instead, the woman let out a yelp and tried to stand. That was a mistake. The canoe capsized, dumping its occupant into the water.

Stone made a beeline for the woman, who broke the surface seconds later, sputtering and splashing. She went under, then came up again.

“Help!”

Stone reached her just as she went under again. He hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her out of the water. She struggled, kicking and flailing.

“Stay calm. I’ve got you.” Stone kept his voice level. Far too often, drowning people managed to take their rescuers down with them.

“I can’t breathe,” the woman gasped.

“Yes, you can. I need you to lie back and let me support your weight. I will keep your head above water.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Brock Stone.” He didn’t know if his name meant anything to her. Why would it? But he felt her relax. As she floated on her back, he hauled her over to her canoe and she clung to it like a life preserver.

“Can you swim?” he asked. “Or at least keep your head above water until I can get you back to shore?”

She glared at him, intense blue eyes shining behind a curtain of sodden blonde hair. “Yes, I know how to swim, but my dress is weighing me down.”

“Why would you wear a dress to go boating?” Stone laughed.

“Do you honestly think I haven’t asked myself that question half a dozen times since I fell in?” She let out a sigh.

Stone nodded. “Think you can slip out of it?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? Sorry, but I’m not some flapper.”

Stone blinked. “Flapper? It’s the 1930s.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Forgive me for having better things to worry about than what women of loose morals are called these days.”

“Your moral superiority just might drag you down to the bottom of the river. Seriously, you will have a hard time keeping your head above water with it on. I promise won’t look.” He saw her hesitate and hurried on. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m in my shorts.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “That makes it worse, actually. Oh, fine. Just stay close by and make sure I don’t drown.”

Holding on to the upturned canoe with one hand, she first removed her shoes one by one and handed them to Stone. Next, after a great deal of effort and a few more curses, she managed to free herself from her dress, which she flung at Stone. It struck him on the cheek with a cold, wet slap.

“I’ll pull the canoe, you hang on to the stern. Feel free to push if you’re able.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Good,” he said, taking hold of the bow and beginning to swim. “By the way, do you have a name?”

“Constance Cray.”

“A pleasure to meet you, present circumstances notwithstanding.”

When they reached the shore Stone turned his back while Constance wrung out her sodden dress and slipped it back on. The damp fabric clung to her shapely figure, and Stone tried not to look. He was a gentleman, and he had a girlfriend who was prone to jealousy.

Once he, too, was dressed, he invited her up to his house. Stone was a private person, but it would not be chivalrous to put Constance back in her canoe and send her on her way.

“You can have a cup of tea, warm up and dry off. Then I will take you and your canoe to wherever you were headed.”

“I would prefer black coffee,” she said. “And this is my intended destination.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I came to see you.”

Stone scratched his head. “And it didn’t occur to you to use the front door?”

The corners of Constance’s mouth twitched up. “I’m a friend of Trinity Paige. She tells me you have all sorts of advanced security measures set up around your property, especially along the drive.”

Trinity Paige was Stone’s girlfriend and a reporter at the Washington Scribe. She had a meddlesome nature that she passed off as a “reporter’s nose.” When not working on a story, Trinity passed her time criticizing her longtime love interest.

“She exaggerates,” Stone said. “Besides, I also have security in place on the back side of the house.” He frowned. It occurred to him that Trinity had never mentioned a friend named Constance.

“May I ask how you know Trinity?”

“I am a librarian. I sometimes help her with her investigative work.” She looked around nervously. “It’s the sort of thing my superiors at the library would frown upon.”

“I promise you no one from the library is hiding among the trees.” Stone smiled and his tension eased. “And no one here will tell on you. I give you my word.”

They made their way up the gentle, grassy slope to Riverbend, the Georgian Colonial mansion he’d inherited from his grandfather. Surrounded by dense forest, the three-story brick home was invisible to passersby, and its unobtrusive dirt driveway afforded little hint that so impressive a structure lay at its end. For that reason, Stone had few visitors, which was the way he preferred it.

The aroma of coffee and the steamy gurgle of the percolator greeted them as they stepped inside. Two men sat at the kitchen table reading the evening newspaper. One was Alex, the other was a muscular man with dark brown skin. Moses Gibbs was one of Stone’s oldest friends. His grandfather had been caretaker of Riverbend. After a brief career in prizefighting, Moses had returned home to take up the post.

“Coffee’s almost ready,” Alex said. “I know you like a cup after your evening swims.”

“Thank you. What’s new in the news?”

“A woman named Amelia Earhart, a pilot, just made a trans-Atlantic flight from the US to Ireland. Better watch out, Stone. Trinity will want to go for her pilot’s license soon.”

Moses looked at Alex and grinned. “Just wait until Trinity finds out about the Flying Wing we’re working on.”

Stone cleared his throat. “Alex English, Moses Gibbs, may I introduce Constance Cray.”

The two men hastily pushed back their chairs and stood.

Alex banged his knees on the table. “Sorry about that. I’m all arms and legs. And one hook, though I’m not a pirate captain.” He held out his left arm.

Grinning, Constance grabbed the hook and gave it a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you. Peter Pan is my favorite play. I saw it performed in London last year.”

“Good to meet you, Ma’am.” Moses gave a quick bob of his head.

Constance hesitated, her brow crinkling in a frown. People were often taken aback by Moses being treated as a member of the family rather than hired help. She forced a smile. “It is good to meet you, too.” Her tone was sincere, but she did not offer to shake hands.

“If you all will excuse me, I’ve got some work to do.” Moses gave another nod and left the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare try it without me!” Alex called behind him.

“Try what out?” Stone asked. He glanced at Constance, whose face was marred by a puzzled frown. “Alex and Moses are inventors. I’m always looking forward to what they come up with next.”

Alex waggled his hook at his friend. “It’s a surprise. Oh, and I might have found a clue relating to our work this morning. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Alex filled three cups with steaming coffee and handed one to Constance and the other to Stone. In the short time since he had lost his left hand, he’d become surprisingly adept with the hook.

“Thank you,” Constance said, accepting the cup. She took a sip and closed her eyes. “It’s strong.”

“I like it that way, “Alex said as he returned to his seat.

“As do I.” Constance said.

She smiled a bit too beatifically, in Stone’s estimation. He quirked an eyebrow but didn’t comment. No sense messing things up for his friend.

“So, the two of you live together?” Constance asked.

“We do,” Stone said. “My grandfather left me this place but it’s far too big for only me, so I convinced Alex to move in. He’s taken over most of the third floor.”

“Not most. Only three rooms.” Alex shrugged. “One for living, one for sleeping, and the third for tinkering.” Alex was an engineer and a mechanical wiz. He was always hard at work on some new invention or an improvement on existing technology.

“Constance is a friend of Trinity’s,” Stone said. “May I call you Constance?”

“Of course you may.”

“You are welcome to call me Brock, but I probably won’t answer. Everyone calls me Stone.”

“Because of the thickness of his head,” Alex added.

Constance let out a tiny laugh, but her smile faded immediately.

“Trinity is the reason I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in days and I’m worried. Have you spoken with her?”

Stone scratched his head, thinking. “It’s been several days, but that’s not unusual for Trinity. She told me not to worry. She’s in New Jersey covering the investigation into the Lindbergh kidnapping. They found that little boy’s body, you know. She said she might be keeping odd hours.”

Constance flicked a glance at Stone, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. “I made a promise to Trinity. If she went five days without calling me, I was to deliver a message to you.”

Stone sat up straight, a chill running down his spine. “What message?”

Constance let out a sigh. “She put it in writing, and I fear the water ruined it.” She took out a soggy envelope and handed it to Stone.

He took out the sheet of paper inside and unfolded it. As Constance had feared, the writing was smeared and illegible. He could only make out a few words:

Jefferson

Clark

John Kane.

“That’s odd,” Alex said, gazing intently at the paper. “That thing I discovered about the place we visited today.” He hesitated.

“Go ahead. If it might be connected to whatever Trinity is investigating, I don’t think we need to keep it a secret from Constance.”

“After Jefferson took office, he began aggressively searching for sites associated with the Illuminati. He wrote in his journal about a map of the West found in an Illuminati temple that he described as ‘nearly on his doorstep.’”

“Virginia, then,” Stone said.

“Not long after that, the Lewis and Clark expedition headed West.” Alex looked at Stone, shrugged. “The connection is thin.”

Stone scratched his chin. “The search for the pyramids has been linked to John Kane from the start. But Lewis and Clark?” Stone looked at Constance. “I need you to tell me everything you know about what Trinity is up to.”