Брэд Мельтцер - The Fifth Assassin

“I don’t read bloggers.”

“That’s smart of you, Marshall. But even the mainstream press, well… at this point, it’s just conjecture, but considering the way the Knight was communicating with him, plus his recent escape from St. Elizabeths, and his ties to your hometown…”

“Are you trying to tell me that Nico was the one who sent the Knight after Pastor Riis?”

“Son, how could I possibly tell you that? The only person who knows that is Nico himself.”

“I’m not sure I understand your point, sir.”

“All I’m saying is, whoever catches Nico first—be it the Secret Service or anyone else in law enforcement… Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if Nico fights back with such ferocity, he takes a bullet to the neck and, like John Wilkes Booth or even Lee Harvey Oswald, never even makes it to trial.”

For a long moment, Marshall stared across at the President, who was a full head taller than him. “I appreciate that, Mr. President. But when do I get what we talked about?”

“When you’re done,” Palmiotti replied. Nothing had changed since he first approached Marshall two weeks ago. In return for Marshall’s help with Beecher, they’d give him all the details of what happened all those years ago in the military to Marshall’s father.

“How’s your dad doing these days?” the President asked.

“He’s dying,” Marshall said, remembering the lie he told Beecher.

“Then I guess you should work quickly,” the President of the United States said, staring back at Marshall’s face. “So that’s it, yes? You think we’re in good shape?”

Marshall nodded. When Palmiotti had first reached out to Marshall, the President wanted the name and identity of every last member of the Culper Ring. Right now, thanks to Beecher, Marshall was their newest recruit.

“I just need to remind you of one thing,” Marshall said. “I know your feelings about Beecher, but—”

“You don’t know anything about me and Beecher,” the President said.

“I know he saved your life. So you need to know that too, sir. Without that brain of his, I would’ve never been at the Lincoln Memorial, and your daughter would still be picking pieces of your skull out of her hair.”

“So now I’m supposed to be scared of Beecher?” the President shot back. “You’re talking about someone who let us lock him up in Camp David.”

“That’s because he’s new. But I’m telling you, he learns faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. He’s learning right now. So if you think this is going to be easy, or you take your eyes off him, that’ll be the worst mistake you’ll ever make.”

Biting a speck of chapped skin from his lips, Wallace didn’t respond.

“Then it’s good we have you,” the President finally said, looking uphill and pivoting toward the path that would take him back to Camp David. “Though I appreciate the warning.”

Following his own snow footprints back up the hill, the President began to jog, slowly at first, then faster as A.J. fell in next to him, the President always leading by an unmistakable half step. As they reached the top and rejoined the Hog Rock Loop, the President glanced back over his shoulder. Downhill, Palmiotti was still standing by the mountain laurel bushes. Marshall was already gone.

A half-smile crept up Wallace’s face.

For over a week now, as the details leaked out, the press had been fixated on the set of ancient playing cards that were found in the Knight’s pocket. But as the President picked up his pace and followed the path back to Camp David, he knew that when it came to kings, queens, jacks, and the rest—and especially when it came to Beecher and the Culper Ring—nothing beats a wild card.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I’ve been working on this book for almost four years now. That means I’ve spent four years surrounding myself with presidential deaths. And yes, the death of a President shouldn’t be any more compelling than the death of anyone else, but when I hear that John Wilkes Booth used a mysterious card to get into Ford’s Theatre, my eyebrow starts twitching and I get obsessed.

And so, let me answer the number one question that the proofreaders kept asking me when they finished reading: How much of this is real? The question took many forms. Did John Wilkes Booth really have that creepy tattoo? What about the second killer? Did he have that tattoo also? And what about the playing cards?

I love doing the research and including as much real history in my books as I can (even as it consumes me). To that end, the scenes with the Presidents’ deaths are as accurate as could be. That museum in here that has pieces of Lincoln’s skull and John Wilkes Booth’s bones? That place is real too and has even more cool stuff that I didn’t have room for. And those tunnels under Camp David? I changed a few security details for safety purposes, but yeah, those are pretty darn real too.

But as you know, this is still a work of fiction. So yes, John Wilkes Booth really did have a JWB tattoo on the web of his hand, but he didn’t have an ace of spades. The playing card details came from a tattoo on a leathery piece of skin that I found in an old museum box. Inside the box were many artifacts that purportedly belonged to presidential assassin Charles Guiteau, including the bones of his trigger finger. As it says in the novel, those bones were stolen from the museum and then returned. When they came back, that piece of skin was with it (and yes, the tattoo is exactly as I described, including the eagle and the red diamond with the knife in it). To this day, no one knows where the skin came from or if it’s Guiteau’s or not, but the moment the museum folks put it in my hands, the lightbulb went off and I started researching playing cards (and yes, George Washington really did order playing cards by the dozens).

If you want to know more about the other historical details—or ask a question about anything else—then let me invite you to BradMeltzer.com. You’ll see answers to tons of questions there, including ones about the secret code that I hid in the pages of The Inner Circle . Crack the code and it’ll lead you to the location for a hidden “treasure” (no one’s found it yet). Even the Decoded folks haven’t uncovered it.

Other than that, let me say the most important thing of all: Thank you for reading to the very end (or at least skipping to the end and ruining all the good parts).

See you in the Archives.

ALSO BY BRAD MELTZER

Novels

The Tenth Justice

Dead Even

The First Counsel

The Millionaires

The Zero Game

The Book of Fate

The Book of Lies

The Inner Circle

Nonfiction

Heroes for My Son

Heroes for My Daughter

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Contents

Welcome

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Part I: The First Assassination

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part II: The Second Assassination

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25