Брэд Мельтцер - The Fifth Assassin

“Clementine, please… What’re you not telling me?”

“What you said—about Booth… and Guiteau… Is that true? Marshall’s copying old killers?”

“I have no idea. Maybe it’s Marshall. I pray it’s not. But we know that pastors are dying, and whoever’s doing it, they’re copying old presidential assassins.”

“No, Beecher. They’re not.”

“What’re you talking about?”

She covers her eyes with her hand. “Oh, God, it’s happening again!”

“ What’s happening again?”

“You need to listen to me, Beecher. Please,” she begs, clearly terrified. “When I spoke to Dr. Yoo, he told me. There was someone else. Someone who did this, who copied John Wilkes Booth… and Guiteau… and all the rest. He did it years ago. And now, this killer you’re looking for… He’s not just copying the original assassins.” She takes a breath, barely able to get the words out. “The killer is copying my father. He’s copying Nico.”

61

George Washington?” Tot asked. “You’re telling me these are George Washington’s personal playing cards?”

“Washington was a big card player—always playing whist,” the Diamond explained. “When it came to these particular cards—with the so-called eagle on them—Washington was, without question, their biggest purchaser. Every few months, he’d order the same deck from the same printer and cardmaker.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t either—until I had to fill an entire exhibit on the historical significance of playing cards. And what was most interesting—at least to me—was what else was going on as George Washington was buying all these playing cards. Don’t forget, we may see the Revolution as this idealized American victory, but not everyone was thrilled with changing the power structure.

“George Washington may’ve picked a fight with the British, but suddenly there were all these other groups pointing guns at his head: locals who preferred the old way of doing things, Indians who were forced to pick a side, even wealthy families who just didn’t want to lose what they had. It affected everyone who had a vested interest in the status quo—including small selfish groups who won’t even reveal themselves until their power is threatened,” the Diamond said, motioning back at the ace of spades with the eagle symbol.

“You’re talking about the Knights?”

“I’m talking about the church —or at least a small subset that these sacred Knights were a part of. Even with all the colonials’ Puritan values, territories dedicated to self-determination aren’t always good for church business.”

“So what’s that have to do with playing cards?”

“According to the curator at Mount Vernon, Washington knew how many of these factions were working against him. And when it came to that faction within the church, he even knew how they communicated—hiding secret messages in the same way Washington hid his own… in books and in letters… But one of the great tricks of the church was also hiding things in…”

“Playing cards,” Tot said, his knees suddenly aching far more than usual.

“In 1777, y’know how many decks of these cards George Washington ordered for himself?” the Diamond asked, his finger hovering above the ace of spades, but never touching it. “Six dozen. That’s seventy-two packs! Just for himself!”

“You think he was looking for something?”

“Or that he found something—or at least found the way these so-called sacred Knights communicated. Look at how it played out: Right as Washington’s big order for cards was placed in 1777, the church suddenly asserted itself, coming to Morristown and asking Washington to issue an order to all his troops. You know what it said?”

Tot nodded. Of course he knew what it said. “It forbade all his officers and soldiers to play cards and other games.”

“They said it led to moral indecency—but that’s a pretty particular request, don’t you think: no more playing cards? It’s like they didn’t want Washington to see what they were doing. Washington had no choice. It was still the church. But have you seen George Washington’s diaries at the time? He never stops playing cards. Never. Instead, he keeps writing about these specific playing cards . Over and over. Like there was something special about them.”

“You think he knew that this faction of the church, that these Knights, were using the cards to send messages?”

“George Washington was not a stupid man. He knew who he was fighting. And he knew how they were communicating. Some say that’s when he started to smoke them out. That he even put together his own little spy ring…”

“The Culper Ring.”

“Exactly. Some say that’s why the Culper Ring was born. To protect Washington and hunt the Knights.”

“That’s not true,” Tot insisted, surprised by his own reaction. “That’s not why the Culper Ring was founded.”

“It doesn’t matter why they were founded. All that matters is that the mission of the Knights never changed. They were watching. And when it came to protecting the church from any perceived ‘king,’ the Knights knew one thing: George Washington was wielding the power of the state in a brand-new way. And he wasn’t going anywhere.”

As the Diamond said the words, Tot couldn’t help but think of the current President, and of Beecher and Marshall. But he was also thinking of his own mentor, Kermit, and all the stories that Tot only heard in whispers: the stories no one would talk about—of the horrors unleashed by the so-called Knights of the Golden Circle.

“Can I ask you a question, Daniel? Even assuming this whole thing isn’t some old campfire tale, assuming that these original Knights, or some variation of them, somehow continued to exist all the way to George Washington’s time—you think there’s a chance, or more important, any proof, that they could’ve lasted even longer than that?”

“Define longer .”

“You said the battle between church and state was the ultimate civil war, so let’s say, to our Civil War. To Lincoln’s time. Or maybe even to, I don’t know… 1963.”

The Diamond stared across the art table, studying his old friend. “Tot, I’m going to ask you this only one time: This killer you’re chasing that you can’t tell me about…? Is he trying to kill the President of the United States?”

“Daniel…”

“You’re mentioning Lincoln, and then the year JFK gets assassinated. How am I not supposed to ask?”

“You are supposed to ask. But if I thought that was about to happen, you’d have fifty Secret Service agents in here asking you this question instead of me. All I care about is: Could these Knights, whoever they are, whatever they stand for, could they possibly survive long enough to exist today?”

“Isn’t that the point? That’s why they picked the symbol.”

“What symbol?”

“This one!” the Diamond said, pointing down to the ace of spades.

“Y’mean the eagle?”

“You keep calling it an eagle, but have you actually looked at it?” He taps a finger against the head of the bird. “The tuft of feathers on an eagle’s head goes down , flat against the neck. The feathers here curve up . This isn’t an eagle, Tot. It’s a phoenix.”

“A phoenix,” Tot whispered, rolling his finger into his beard and still remembering Kermit’s words: that the Knights were gone, completely defeated.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Tot. Whoever you’re chasing here, it doesn’t matter if they were around for Lincoln, or JFK, or anyone else. What matters is they think they were . So if these Knights are now trying to take a shot at the current President—and start a new civil war—now you know who you’re facing. This isn’t a fight to them. This is their destiny. In their eyes, like the phoenix and their church predecessors, they’re holy warriors who can never be killed.”