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“You should see this,” Cassiopeia said.

They all walked toward her where the light revealed a dark, leathery thing, vague in color and shaped like an old ball. Then Cotton saw the skull, some of the flesh still there, a chocolate veneer sunk tight against the forehead and down over the nose and chin, the corpse mummified and preserved.

“Any idea who it is?” Daniels asked.

“No telling,” he said. “This was a tough business. There were surely casualties.”

“Is it Adams?” Danny asked.

“Not likely,” Cotton said. “He was the custodian of this place. The one who sealed it tight. So he would have been the last guy out. From what I recall from my grandfather, Adams died around 1900.”

“Where is he buried?” Cassiopeia asked.

He had no answer, so he looked at Weston, who said, “I’m sorry. No one knows.”

They were all drawn to the table at the center, which they approached with caution as anything so inviting might be bait.

But no traps lay in wait.

On it sat a carved wooden box about a foot long and that much high, the top engraved with words.

A La Muerte del Finado Angus Adams.

On the death of the late Angus Adams.

He tried to hinge open the top, but it was locked shut.

Another keyhole in the front.

“Try it,” Weston said.

He found the ceremonial key.

“I’ve always wondered why the cross and circle was etched into the stem,” Weston said. “Perhaps it’s for just this lock.”

Maybe so.

He inserted the key and felt the cross on the stem connect to something. Surprisingly, the lock turned with minimal resistance. Inside he saw two pieces of parchment with writing.

He lifted them out.

They read.

Life has taught me that the past is irremediable but the future is limitless. The best hope for a restoration to the pristine purity and fraternity of national Union rests on the opinions and character of the men who are to succeed this generation. It is my hope that they may be suited to that blessed work, one that compels them to draw their creed from the fountains of our great political history, rather than the lower stream, polluted as it was by self-seeking place hunters and sectional strife. In my old age I have come to learn that in any quest for a more perfect Union, the Founders intended for us to resolve our differences with words, not bullets. Such a shame that so many died to remind us of that point.

I have proudly served as a knight of the Golden Circle. My individual charge was to protect the records and wealth that now surround you. Nearly all of the men who fought in the late great war between the states are gone, the remainder to fade away in the few short years to come, myself included. No new revolution looms, nor is one likely to ever come. The Union is restored and, by the grace of God, it will never be challenged again.

My hope is that the reader of these words has come from that hallowed institution of knowledge on the Mall, that Castle as it came to be known. I spent some of my happiest years painting there. How ironic that it took an Englishman to seed its creation, as nothing seems more American than the Smithsonian Institution. I have watched and marveled at its accomplishments. The advancements it has led in astronomy, geography, meteorology, geology, botany, zoology, anatomy, and natural history. Its faithfulness to the charge to promote all knowledge, not just the popular or practical, without pride or prejudice, learning for the simple sake of learning. I would have so loved to serve as one of its regents, but such an exalted position is not meant for a spy. Long ago I left what clues I could with Secretary Henry, hoping that one day either he or his successor would find this secret place. If the reader of these words is from the Castle then it seems only appropriate that both the records of the Confederate States of America, created through the honest work of good men, and all of this wealth, ill begotten and tainted as it is, be taken by the Smithsonian Institution for the benefit of all. In the event that this cache has been found by knights, I order you to likewise bestow all that you see herein to the Smithsonian and, as the last of the generation that created your cause, to abandon any fight, support a unified United States, and obey your oath of allegiance by doing as I have commanded.

Cotton Adams

October 6, 1897

“Seems your ancestor had many regrets,” Daniels said to him. “And, Warren, it seems the legend was right. There is a lost order, a final command, but probably not what you imagined.”

“Not even close.”

“Did Adams really think that whoever found this would do as he says?” Cassiopeia asked.

“If it was knights,” Weston said, “absolutely. That’s what the whole fight has been about, internally. A fundamental disagreement on what those original knights wanted us to do.”

“Now you know,” Daniels said. “What will your members think?”

“Our disagreements just ended.”

“Adams hit the nail on the head,” Daniels said. “All this should go to the Smithsonian.”

“That might be harder than you think,” Weston noted. “We’re on federal land. This gold belongs to the United States of America.”

“I don’t think that’s goin’ to be a problem,” Daniels said. “Thankfully, the Speaker and I are like this.” He held up two fingers nestled tight together. “I’m sure he’s figured out by now that I own him. Lucky for him I’m a benign dictator, but I’ll make sure he gets a bill through the House, which I’ll get through the Senate. You’ll definitely get the records. And you might not get all the gold, but you’ll get a good chunk. Lucky for us, two Smithsonian operatives found it.”

Cotton surveyed the room one more time. “There are billions of dollars here.”

“Which the Smithsonian can put to good use,” Weston said.

“And the Knights of the Golden Circle?” Cassiopeia asked. “What becomes of them?”

“We’ll do what Alexander Stephens, Adams, and many others suggested a long time ago. Work within the law, and try to convince a majority of the people we’re right.” But a shadow of annoyance darkened Weston’s eyes. “And we’ll finance it ourselves, without this hoard.”

The chief justice touched the parchment. So did Daniels and Cassiopeia. A moment of unspoken communion passed among them.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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