The Willard (22 page)

Calvin did as he was told and carefully placed the homemade device inside the bag. He put the strap over his shoulder and sat down while the others finished loading up.

C
HAPTER 46

OLIVIA FORDHAM

1913

March 2 dawned cold and clear. Olivia hadn’t slept well, but over the years she had found she needed less and less sleep. One of the benefits of age she supposed. A quick peek out the window showed the preparations for the inauguration that was to be held March 4. With modern inaugurations falling on January 20, this was a reminder that it hadn’t always been that way.

All the preparations she saw weren’t for the inauguration though. The suffrage parade would happen before the inaugural events, and it had been scheduled for maximum exposure. In a city that saw no shortage of marches and events, the organizers had made sure theirs wouldn’t be short of an audience.

Olivia dressed and met up with Victoria for the ride to NAWSA headquarters. Once there, they were given a comprehensive lesson on the history of women’s suffrage initiatives over the past decades. They learned about Sarah Grimke who had begun speaking out against slavery and later included women’s rights in her messages. They heard about the establishment of female colleges and the arrest of Susan B. Anthony in 1872 for attempting to vote in the presidential election. It was all very enlightening for Victoria and the more she heard the more she was sure this was something she had to do. Olivia feared for her as she watched the rhetoric building its fire behind her young eyes. In other parts of the city final touches were being put on floats and banners. Participants were
arriving and gatherings were popping up all over the city. In many a parlor, ladies were talking about the march. Some were dismissive and others secretly wanted to join in.

On Capitol Hill, James was serving as courier for his brother and the congressman, carrying documents from building to building as they wrapped up their business in preparation for the arrival of the new president. As he walked, he thought only of Victoria. Of the way she looked in that blue dress. Of how her eyes sparkled when she laughed and flashed when she was angry. And boy, could she get angry. He was frustrated with her because he couldn’t understand what she could possibly stand to gain by aligning herself with radicals. She had been taken care of her entire life and she would continue to be. She would become a good man’s wife and raise a family and preside over an important home. Maybe
his
wife. He was a good man. Why did she need to concern herself with speeches and marches? He could take care of her and those things would never matter.

Twenty-four hours had not passed since he had met her and he was thinking about marriage and what was good for her. He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. He had plenty of nice, quality girls back home who were interested in landing him as a husband and would never dream of getting involved in something like suffrage. Their husbands would vote for whatever was best for them. But none of those girls had captured his attention like Victoria. Not even close.

All day he had heard negative remarks about the suffragists and threats of violence and mayhem. The more he walked and the more packages he delivered the more certain he became. If the stubborn girl was determined to take part in this ridiculous parade tomorrow, then he would be there to make sure nothing happened to her. She would probably hate the idea, thinking it terribly old-fashioned, but that was too bad. He had decided.

C
HAPTER 47

CATHERINE PARKER

1865

As it turned out, General Ulysses S. Grant and his wife Julia had come to Washington in route to their home in New Jersey after the surrender at Appomattox Court House. They didn’t have a reservation, but the Willard wasn’t about to turn away the man who had finally done what more respected generals before him could not. This was the man who had stopped General Lee and his Army of Northern Virginia and ended the war. Though the hotel was booked to capacity, Chase had worked his magic and cleared an appropriate suite for the Grants. They were upstairs presently getting freshened up for a meeting with the president. This afternoon Grant would sign the official documents ending the draft and recruiting efforts for the army and sending war-hardened veterans back to their homes and lives.

Catherine had also learned while waiting for Chase to secure accommodations for the Grants that the city itself was preparing for a spectacular celebration this very night. They were calling it the Grand Illumination and every building, from the windows of private homes to the enormous banner declaring
UNION
being affixed to the Willard roof at this very moment, was to be lit tonight to celebrate the hard-won victory. Even the Capitol dome, which had been kept dark during the war so as not to make it a tempting target since its completion, would be ablaze in glorious light. Thousands of people had descended on the city to cheer and dance and drink and all around party.
Tonight would be the biggest party of them all and the only man the public wanted to see as much as the president was his top general. The man who was thought unfit to lead the nation’s army because he enjoyed hard liquor would be toasted tonight as its greatest hero.

When Chase returned to speak with Catherine he found she had disappeared. She wanted to walk and to think. Things were happening so fast and it was time for the rehearsal at Ford’s. She walked the entire way, turning her ankles from time to time on the rutted streets.

When she arrived at the theatre she found that Laura had given her name to the man at the box office window and she was allowed entry. She crossed the small red-carpeted lobby and entered the back of the auditorium itself. She had never been to Ford’s before. It seemed much smaller than she imagined with its wooden chairs in a semi-circle facing the stage. She looked up and to the right and saw the opera box where the Lincolns would be seated and noticed there was no bunting across the front. In all the photos she’d ever seen of Ford’s, the flag bunting and the portrait of George Washington were always there. It dawned on her then that those items were there in her day because they were commemorating what happened here when Lincoln was shot. She guessed, correctly, that before the assassination the opera box was only the state box when the president was in it, sort of like Air Force One. Tomorrow, when they learned he was coming they would be draping it for his use.

They’ll never take it down again
. That was the thought burning in her mind.

The rehearsal was in full swing. Laura saw Catherine standing in back and motioned her to come on stage. Catherine held up a finger to indicate she’d be back in a minute. She went back into the lobby and climbed the stairs leading to the second level. This level was called the dress circle and once Catherine stepped into the area she could see the easy pathway around to
the small door that led to the state box. She walked around and opened the door. No one paid her any attention. She stepped inside the door and found a second door. Opening that one she found the large box that the president and his party would occupy. She stepped forward and looked down at the stage. It seemed to be about ten or twelve feet below her and, if memory served, this is where John Wilkes Booth would leap to the stage as part of his dramatic exit. He would break his leg in the process.

Break a leg, huh, Booth? How many times did someone tell you to do that before you went on stage?

Once again, Laura spotted Catherine and this time she spoke to her from the stage.

“I see you’ve found the best seat in the house. I’ve heard Mr. Ford has been hoping the president might turn up tomorrow night. I know he’s looking to fill seats. Attendance has been dismal here lately. Come on down and see the view from the stage,” she said.

Catherine slowly backed out of the box and closed both doors behind her. She felt a chill and wanted to get away quickly. Even now it seemed like a creepy place.

Laura invited Catherine up some temporary stairs on the front of the stage. From there she turned her around and let her look out over the orchestra level with the footlights in her eyes. Even without an audience it was a surreal experience. The gaslights made a hissing sound and their blue flames danced across the bottom edge of the stage like a borderline to the abyss.

“Those aren’t usually turned on for rehearsals, but I thought you might like to see what it’s like,” Laura said. She motioned offstage to a stagehand and the lights dimmed and went out. The hissing stopped, but the smell of gas lingered in the air mixed with the fragrance of greasepaint and freshly cut lumber that had been used to build scenery. She pointed to an
area in the audience section on the stage right side a few rows back.

“I’ve arranged for you to have a seat there. It’s a wonderful view of the stage and you might also be able to catch a glimpse of the president if he does come,” Laura told her proudly.

“That’s very kind of you. Do I understand correctly that it’s a special night, your 1000
^th
performance in this role?” Catherine asked.

“Yes. I know this character as well as I know myself. I believe it will be a night we can tell our grandchildren about,” Laura remarked.

“Yes,” Catherine answered. “I think you might be right.”

C
HAPTER 48

TOM KELLY

1962

DEFCON 2. It was the highest state of military readiness the United States had seen since the system was implemented. Only DEFCON 1 was higher, and it meant imminent nuclear war. After Tom had given Volkov the classified information the president had given him to pass along, several hours passed while Volkov had his network run the information through and verify that Tom did indeed have extraordinary access. Back Channel was sitting on the information when they saw it come through the governmental clandestine network. This proved Tom was telling the truth and they gave Volkov the green light to work with him. Over the next twenty-four hours, messages went through the clandestine network and Back Channel reviewed them and double-checked them with Tom. So far, it seemed the accuracy of the information was holding. There was nothing Tom could identify that might be the catalyst for a change in history.

On October 26
^th
a letter came through from the Soviet premier that indicated he would remove the missiles and personnel from Cuba in exchange for a United States guarantee not to invade the island nation. It looked like de-escalation was to be the word of the day and everyone settled in for a night’s sleep in the wee hours of Saturday morning with high hopes, but they would be dashed the following day.

The new day dawned clear and hopeful. Tom slept in and left his room at the Willard just after 9 o’clock. He ran into Edward Chase in the lobby.

“Mr. Kelly, how are things progressing?” asked the concierge.

“Things are going well, Mr. Chase. I think it will all be over today. Communication has been smooth and I think the crisis has been averted yet again.”

The concierge didn’t look convinced. “Do you know the date, Mr. Kelly?”

Tom paused to think about the question. “The days have all run together but I think it’s Saturday. That would make it October 27
^th
, I think,” Tom said.

“That’s right, today is October 27. It’s been twelve days since the first photos of the missile sites came to light. Twelve days, Mr. Kelly.”

Tom could see that Chase was hinting at something but he was too tired to pick up on it.

“What are you getting at, Chase? You think we’re not out of the woods yet?”

“Mr. Kelly, did you happen to see the movie with Kevin Costner that was made about the crisis? I believe it was around the year 2000 and I know you are very familiar with movies.”

“Yes, I saw it,” answered Tom. “It was called
Thirteen Days
. If today is day number twelve it stands to reason that we’re close to the end.” Tom didn’t see the problem.

Chase continued, “Perhaps you should think back to the movie you saw. Day twelve wasn’t the wrap-up, Mr. Kelly. It was, in fact, the most dangerous day of the crisis. I believe you should get over to the White House right away. I have a feeling you will be quite busy today. I will continue to make sure no hotel staff enters your room and your secure communication equipment is not disturbed. I’m here if you need me.”

Tom couldn’t remember anything about day twelve, but just the thought of it made him feel sick. He said goodbye to Chase and headed for the revolving door of the hotel. He passed a well-dressed gentleman reading the morning paper. Nothing about the front page looked exceptionally worse than it had over the past few days. The masthead listed the date as October 27, 1962. After today it would be referred to as “Black Saturday,” but Tom didn’t know that.

He stepped outside and turned right for the short walk to the White House.

C
HAPTER 49

CALVIN WALKER

1963

At the Washington Monument the crowd that had been gathering got tired of waiting for directions and began the march to the Lincoln Memorial without the organizers of the event. As they walked along they sang songs and waved signs. The closer they got to the Lincoln Memorial the more electric the atmosphere became. It was clear to all present that something extraordinary was happening. They had marched, sat at lunch counters, quietly protested at courthouses, and petitioned school boards, but nothing had felt like what they were doing today. Buses continued to arrive and the crowds grew as they began to assemble around the reflecting pool and up on the steps of the monument. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, pressing together to get as close as possible to the platform. To those looking back on the crowd from the stage area it looked like a sea of people with no end. And somewhere in that crowd there were members of a radical organization whose name literally meant
white death
. But they were surrounded predominately by black people, the same brothers and sisters they claimed they supported. What good could come of killing these innocents? The answer was simple and Calvin had figured it out on the walk here with a bomb slung over his shoulder in a duffle bag. Kifo thought of these people as lemmings. To them, the marchers were not the thinkers and the doers that they themselves were. The marchers were blindly following charismatic leaders who
stood to enrich themselves and gain nothing for their people. The marchers were collateral damage in a war. Collateral damage was expected in war. It was accepted. It was even factored into battle plans. Today these lemmings would die in order to inflame the black population to take up arms with Kifo. The world would see that non-violence was nothing but a waste of time. The marchers even looked like they were out for a Sunday afternoon social. No, they couldn’t be taken seriously. But Kifo would be. After today they would not be overlooked. The Black Panthers might have Malcolm X, but Kifo would forever have the aftermath of the march. They planned to lead the way in reforming public life for the black race.