James Rollins - THE DEVIL COLONY

Her words sobered Heisman enough to get him to sit down at the table. "Fine. Tell me about the letter."

Gray began, "It was a correspondence between Franklin and a French scientist. A man named Archard Fortescue. He was a member of a scientific group put together by Franklin. The American Society for the Promotion of Useful Knowledge."

"Yes, I'm familiar with the group," Heisman said. "It was an offshoot of the American Philosophical Society, but more specifically geared to the gathering of new scientific ideas. They were best known for their early archaeological investigations into Native American relics. In the end, they became almost obsessed with such things. Digging up graves and Indian mounds all across the colonies."

Sharyn spoke at the curator's elbow. "That is specifically what the letter seems to address," she said. "It is a plea to this French scientist to assist Franklin in mounting an expedition to Kentucky"-she translated the next with her brows pinched together- " 'to discover and excavate a serpent-shaped Indian barrow, to search for a threat to America buried there.' "

She glanced up. "There appears to be some urgency to this correspondence." To prove her point, she ran a finger along a passage of the letter, while translating. " 'My Dear Friend, I regret to inform you that the hopes for the Fourteenth Colony-this Devil Colony-are dash'd. The shamans from the Iroquois Confederacy were slaughtered most foully en route to the meeting with Governor Jefferson. With those deaths, all who had knowledge of the Great Elixir and the Pale Indians have pass'd into the hands of Providence. But one shaman did live long enough, buried under the bodies of the others, to gasp out one last hope. He told of a map, mounted within the skull of a horned demon and wrapped in a painted buffalo hide. It is hidden in a barrow sacred to the aboriginal tribes within the territory of Kentucky. Perhaps such talk of demons and lost maps is the phantasm of an addled, dying mind, but we dare not take the chance. It is vital we secure the map before the Enemy does. On that front, we've discovered one clue to the forces that seek to tear asunder our young union. A symbol that marks the enemy.' "

She flipped the page for them all to see. It depicted drafting compasses atop an L-square, all framing a tiny sickle-shaped moon and a five-pointed star.

She glanced up. "It looks to be a Freemason symbol, but I've never seen such a rendition like this. One with a star and moon. Have you?"

Gray remained silent as Dr. Heisman examined the symbol. The curator gave a slow shake of his head. "Franklin was a Freemason himself. He wouldn't disparage his own order. This must be something else entirely."

Monk leaned over to see the symbol. Though his partner's face remained stoic, Gray picked out the pinching of his nostrils as if he'd just smelled something foul. Like Gray, Monk recognized the mark of the Guild leadership. He met Gray's gaze, the question plain in his eyes: How could such a symbol be found in a letter from Benjamin Franklin to a French scientist?

That was the very question Gray wanted answered.

Monk voiced another mystery. "So how come ol' Ben was asking a Frenchman to help in this search? Surely there was someone closer at hand to lead such an expedition into the wilds of Kentucky."

Seichan offered one explanation. "Perhaps he didn't entirely trust those around him. This shadowy enemy he mentions... they could have infiltrated the government's inner circles."

"Maybe so," Heisman said. "But France was our ally against the British during the Revolutionary War, and Franklin spent a lot of time in Paris. More important, French colonists had developed close allegiances with Native American tribes during the French and Indian Wars, during which Canadian colonists fought alongside the region's natives against British forces. If Franklin needed someone to investigate a matter sensitive to the Indians of the time, it would not be strange to reach out to a Frenchman."

"The letter seems to confirm this," Sharyn said. She translated another few lines. " 'Archard, as confidant and bosom friend to the deceased Chief Canasatego-whose death by poison I still soundly believe was the dread work of our same Enemy-I could think of no one more fit to head such a vital exploration. This mission must not fail.' "

Despite the words in the letter, Gray suspected the true answer to Monk's question lay in a combination of both theories. From the ominous tone, Franklin was wary and reaching out to a friend he knew he could trust, someone with close ties to the region's tribes.

"So who's this Canasatego guy?" Monk asked, suppressing a yawn with a fist, but from the sharp glint in his friend's eyes, Gray could see that the yawn was clearly feigned.

Gray understood Monk's interest. The letter suggested that Franklin's shadowy enemies had murdered this Indian chief-and if the symbol on the page was more than coincidence, possibly it was the same enemy against whom Sigma had been battling for years. It seemed impossible, but why else would the Guild have secured and hidden this specific letter, one bearing their mark?

Heisman took a deep breath and some of the officious coldness fell away. "Chief Canasatego," he said with the warmth of someone remembering a close friend. "He's a historical figure few people know about, but one who played a vital role in America's formation. Some consider him a lost Founding Father."

Sharyn explained a bit proudly: "Dr. Heisman has done extensive research on the Iroquois chief. One of his dissertations was vital in getting Congress to pass a resolution concerning the role Native Americans played in the country's founding."

Heisman tried to wave away her praise, but his cheeks grew rosy and he stood a bit straighter. "He's a fascinating figure. He was the greatest and most influential Native American of his time. If he hadn't been struck down so young, there is no telling how different this nation might look, especially regarding its relationship with Native Americans."

Gray leaned back in his chair. "And he was murdered like the letter said?"

Heisman nodded and finally took a seat at the table. "He was poisoned. Historians disagree about who killed him. Some say it was spies of the British government. Others claim it was his own people."

"Seems like ol' Ben had his own theory," Monk added.

Heisman eyed the letter with a hungry look. "It is intriguing."

Gray suspected there would be no further trouble convincing the curator to assist them with their research. The irritated sleepiness in his manner had drained away, leaving behind only avid interest.

"So why was this Iroquois chief so important?" Monk asked.

Heisman reached to the photocopied letter and flipped to the crude representation of the bald eagle with outstretched wings. He tapped the claw that held the bundled arrows. "That's why." He glanced around the table. "Do any of you know why the Great Seal of the United States has the eagle gripping a sheaf of arrows?"

Gray shrugged and shifted the page closer. "The olive branch in one claw represents peace, and the arrows in the other represent war."

A wry grin-his first of the night-rose on the curator's face. "That's a common misconception. But there's a story behind that bundle of thirteen arrows, one that rises from a story of Chief Canasatego."

Gray let the curator speak, sensing he'd get more by letting the man ramble on.

"Canasatego was a leader of the Onondaga nation, one of six Indian nations that eventually joined together to form the Iroquois Confederacy. That unique union of tribes was already centuries old, formed during the 1500s-long before the founding of America. After generations of bloody warfare, peace among the tribes was finally achieved when the disparate nations agreed to band together for their common good. They formed a uniquely democratic and egalitarian government, with representatives from each tribe having a voice. It was government like no other at the time, with laws and its own constitution."