Devil's Eye (37 page)

“
Napoleon’s decision to invade Russia in Eighteen
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twelve was a momentous event in his reign as Emperor. It ultimately cost France her dominant role in the world.”

Everyone in class heard the engine again. This time a loud roar, then silence. Professor Mitchell was tempted to go over to the window, but did not want to disrupt the discussion.

“
Napoleon’s advisers and generals had cautioned him not to invade Russia, but his sense of infallibility prevailed,” she said firmly to refocus everyone’s attention.

“
Why did he insist?” asked one of the students.

“
He announced that Czar Alexander would sue for peace within six weeks,” Dr. Mitchell replied.

“
Napoleon was self
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assured and always invited candid remarks from his close advisers. They kept urging that he not invade Russia, but he didn’t listen. He always had some logical reply and would often tweak an adviser’s cheek in fatherly reproach.”

She paused for affect, then declared. “But there is one sign that Napoleon should have heeded, given the beliefs of the time.”

“
What’s that?” asked Corey Wynn, the divinity student.

“
An omen!” Dr. Mitchell replied.

Just then Colonel Caine peered into the seminar room and caught a glimpse of the professor who stood out in her cream colored skirt and jacket, accented by her ornamental gold chain with the signature amber pendant. Several students looked up to see the military man standing in the doorway.

Without interrupting her trend of thought, Dr. Mitchell continued.

“
Napoleon’s army was arrayed along the Nemunas River in Lithuania, ready to cross into Russia. It’s June, Eighteen
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twelve.”

Caine stepped back and leaned casually against a wall near the door, so he wouldn’t divert attention, but could still hear the lecture.

“
There’s an ironic parallel here,” she pointed out. “Adolf Hitler attacked Russia more than a century later on the same night in late June. Critics predicted failure for the Nazis, based on Napoleon’s disastrous invasion of Russia more than a hundred years earlier.”

“
But Napoleon didn’t have any lessons to go by, when he tried,” Tony Powell interjected as a punch line.

“
Oh, but he did, Mr. Powell. He did.” Dr. Mitchell said emphatically. “When Napoleon invaded Russia the warnings of calamity were much more simple, even mystic. In those times people were more prone to superstition and believed in omens.”

Having urged more information in the previous lecture about her uncle’s theories, the students were listening eagerly. Colonel Caine in the hallway unconsciously leaned closer to the doorway.

“
The night before the invasion, Napoleon made a moonlight reconnaissance along the banks of the river to choose the best place to cross his troops. As he galloped through a wheat field, a startled hare ran between the legs of his stallion and made it swerve. Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte fell off his horse.”

“
I would say, that’s a sign,” commented the divinity student.

“
What’s interesting, Corey,” replied Dr. Mitchell, “is that this appears to be the only recorded time in the reign of Napoleon Bonaparte—as Emperor—that he fell off a horse.”

“
Who recorded it?” asked Amy.

“
One of his generals in a memoir. He was a close adviser and Master of Horse. Armand de Caulaincourt.”

“
Did anybody else see him fall off?”

“
Oh, yes. Other generals and officers. In fact, Caulaincourt writes that Napolean’s fall struck him as a bad omen. Other generals thought so too. One of them grabbed Caulaincourt’s hand and said: ‘We should do better than to cross the Nemunas. That fall is a bad sign’.”

“
I could see where strategic reasons would cancel the invasion,” offered Tony Powell. “But omens? They were all educated upper crust, weren’t they?”

“
That’s a good point,” replied Dr. Mitchell. “But I have a quote from the memoirs indicating that many of Napoleon’s officers did believe the fall was a bad omen.”

She glanced at notes in front her and read: “Some of the headquarters staff observed that the Romans, who believed in portents, would not have undertaken the crossing of the Nemunas, writes the general. It appears that Napoleon’s officers agreed. Napoleon himself is described as cheerful and confident before the fall, but serious and preoccupied after.”

“
What about that hare? Could that have been someone’s familiar?” Corey Wynn asked.

Dr. Mitchell grinned. “I don’t know, Corey. No one’s ever been linked to the hare,” she added satirically.

“
What about that monk, Pierre Dumas? Was he around at the time?”

“
No one knows. By the time of the Revolution, he was gone from the historical record. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t around. Besides, his supposed familiar was a wolf dog.”

”
Familiars are supposed to be able to change shapes,” Corey reminded.

“
True,” Dr. Mitchell said more seriously. “True. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

“
Are you into that kind of thing, Dr. Mitchell?” asked Abigail Hitchcock. “You sure talk a lot about it lately.”

The professor grinned sheepishly. “You’re right. I have talked about it a lot, haven’t I?”

Colonel Caine, listening in the hallway, smiled in acknowledgment.

“
So why did he go ahead and invade Russia?” asked Amy Cabot. “It cost him his rule.”

“
Hubris,” Dr. Mitchell intoned. “Classic hubris. Haughtiness, arrogance, a sense of invincibility.”

She thought of the recent events occurring around them and her uncle’s pentagram centered on the Museum of Natural History. “What Napoleon should have had—” she emphasized, and said more loudly for Colonel Caine’s benefit in the hallway—“is a little more taste of superstition. He crossed the Nemunas River and went on to monumental disaster in Russia. That hare apparently was trying to tell him something.”

“
It seems there’s always some signs before major disasters,” Tom Stuart, the political science major observed.

“
I can’t argue with that,” Dr. Mitchell replied.

“
What do you think about those accidents with the Secretary of Defense and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs?” he followed. “And now the Vice President?”

“
Well,” she replied slowly. “If we follow the trend of thought we’ve just had, it could be something predictive.”

“
Some kind of conspiracy?” Tom ventured.

“
This sounds like it would be a great movie,” Abigail Hitchcock, the television producer’s daughter, said enthusiastically.

“
Maybe,” Dr. Mitchell replied. “Yet another lesson for our own time. But, again, this is a history seminar on the French Revolution. We could explore more esoteric subjects over coffee in the student union sometime. ”

The looks of her students indicated interest. She glanced at the clock on the back wall. “There are fifteen minutes left. If it’s all right with you, let’s stop here for today. Next week we’ll discuss how the rest of Europe reacted to the invasion and to Napoleon.”

“
Waterloo, Waterloo,” a sing song voice responded as the students gathered their material and filed out. Several lingered around the seminar tables, chatting with classmates.

Colonel Caine stepped in.

“
Omens, omens,” she said cheerfully in greeting, but her smile disappeared when she noticed his somber demeanor.

“
Can you come with me? It’s important,” he said.

“
I can imagine.” She gathered her notes and a laptop computer, put them into a beige briefcase and followed him out of the room.

“
I’ll see you next week,” she said turning to the several students still in the room. They were smiling at her and the officer.

He took her hand and wordlessly led her out of Phillips Hall. Outside, the earlier roar of an engine became clear. Caine’s Viper was parked illegally on the curb in front of her building with a flashing blue light on the dashboard. “This must be something,” she thought as they approached the vehicle.

As he rumbled in low gear along H Street through the busy campus grounds, he turned to her and finally spoke.

“
They found a body in Rock Creek Park.”

Laura looked puzzled.

“
It had blue markings on it.”

She gasped.

“
A woman?” she asked catching her breath.

“
Yes.”

A visible shudder coursed through her body.

“
Where are we going?” she asked nervously.

“
To see your uncle. Tell me again about those two men in the elevator.”

Chapter 37

Senator Everett Dunne was walking along the imposing modern sculpture dominating the nine story atrium of the Hart Senate Office Building. He had just recessed a hearing of the Senate Intelligence Committee and was hurrying to the private Capitol Subway that would take him to the U.S. Capitol Building for a floor debate on nuclear arms limitation. His plans changed when he met a colleague turning a corner along the sculpture.

“
Did you hear? They found a woman’s body in Rock Creek Park.”

Senator Dunne listened with familiar interest.

“
It was in the same area where they found the bones of that missing secretary. Remember? The case that ruined Senator Rowan? His affair with her? But they couldn’t pin anything on him?”

Senator Dunne’s round, boyish face turned red and his heart quickened.

“
No. I haven’t.”

“
I’ll betcha’ some of the good ol’ boys around here are hoping their mistresses are safe in beds,” he added slyly. “Are you heading to the Chambers? I’ll come with you.”

“
Uhh, thanks, but I’ve got to make a stop,” Dunne quickly answered. “I’ll be there.” The Senator changed direction in the airy marbled hallway and hurried to the covetous first level of the three
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tiered underground garage. His dark blue sedan was parked in a privileged spot near the main entrance to Constitution Avenue.

His screeching exit seemed uncharacteristic to several Senate staffers passing by. Soon he was speeding south on the George Washington Parkway towards the estate of Victor Sherwyck.

Sherwyck was walking his stallion from the stable to the lawns in front of his mansion when Dunne drove onto the grounds. He parked midway along the drive to intercept them.

The Senator climbed out in haste and approached Sherwyck, whose black jersey and slacks matched the color of his shimmering horse. Blaze snorted and pulled on his lead trying to rear up on his hind legs. He reared slightly—the red bell boots on his hooves flashing in a blur—then landed restlessly and stomped on all fours as Sherwyck shortened the lead and calmed him with a soothing stroke on the neck.

“
What are you doing here?” Sherwyck snapped.

“
What am I doing here?” Dunne replied indignantly. “I’m a ranking United States Senator! Isn’t that enough?”

Sherwyck gazed at him with a pathetic grin.

“
They weren’t supposed to find her so fast!” the Senator blurted and nervously stroked back his curly hair. “What about the grease paint? They’ll find us out!” He stepped back and forth trying to gauge a safe distance from the restless stallion.

“
You are still too timid,” Sherwyck said coolly as he continued stroking the horse’s neck. “You cannot be afraid. You have to feel assured.”

“
Assured?” Dunne nervously adjusted his wire rimmed glasses. “How can I be assured when there’s suspicion all around? That General accused me at the OG meeting of setting up the two commandos in the ocean. Now this!”

“
What came of the meeting, Senator?”

“
Well, nothing.”

“
Nothing!” Sherwyck asserted.

“
Nothing so far,” Dunne pressed.