The Willard (35 page)

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from Uncle Scott,” she said as she flashed that killer smile again.

Uncle Scott?
Tom glanced at Langdon.

“I’m not really her uncle,” Langdon said. “I was very close to her father and he made her call me “uncle” because I told him “Mr. Langdon” was too formal for such a little girl. Now she’s not a little girl anymore, but she insists on calling me that.” Langdon gave Emily a look like a father would give his daughter. Tom could see that they were close. “You should know she also has an Uncle Joe and an Uncle Marcus. All three of us knew her father well.”

With the preliminaries out of the way Tom launched into his pitch. Even with her close connection to the three men it was clear right away that Emily Travers came to the meeting to be sold on the idea. She wasn’t giving away money just because she liked the three men. Tom worked hard and showed her the script, the location photos, and the headshots and bios of the actors he had lined up. He showed her the projected cost versus three profit scenarios. Actually, only two made an actual profit, the other was a break-even scenario he felt duty-bound to include. He’d make sure she got her money back if he had to mortgage his arms and legs, but he couldn’t promise her a profit and she seemed impressed that he was up front about it.

Finally, he ended with the importance of the story. He talked about the men and women in uniform, their sacrifices and what makes them the kind of people who are willing to give everything for a nation that seems to offer them comparatively little in return. He knew he had her with his closing. She was
one of them—a true believer. She agreed to fund $1,000,000 on the spot. With the second investor’s promise of $250,000, Tom had everything he needed to make the project happen. The light was officially green and Tom felt a lightness he hadn’t in ages. He knew it would wear off and he’d start feeling the pressure of delivering on his promises, but for the moment he was enjoying the sensation.

As usual, Edward Chase seemed to know everything that happened in the hotel and he arrived with his bottle of champagne and filled everyone’s glasses. They shared a toast and Emily’s assistants excused themselves to deal with other business. As Tom lingered over the bubbly with Emily and Scott he asked about her company.

She told him the company had been founded by her father in 1970, five years before she was born. She had grown up learning from him and eventually working alongside him until his death two years ago in a skiing accident. PCS built communication platforms and had been integral in the early use of e-mail and improvement of fax technology. Today, they built multimillion-dollar secure systems that could encrypt messages that were sent from military bases to aircraft in theatres of war and to secure sites around the world. They were on the leading edge in both military hardened technology and consumer-protection data management.

It sounded like a big job and he was glad someone with her sensibilities was doing it. They moved on from business talk to how her father had become acquainted with his three veterans. Tom learned that her father had taken a leave of absence from college and joined the Army in 1965. He met Langdon and Green in Vietnam and became friendly with Chamberlain later. They had stayed in touch throughout their various careers and each served as consultants for the others’ work.

The afternoon was getting late and Emily said she needed to get back to her office. PCS had a Washington field office, but their main facility was out of state. She walked with them to the hotel lobby and handed Tom her business card. It was heavy cream card stock with the PCS logo in bright orange with a palmetto tree and a crescent moon. The image seemed vaguely familiar and he realized he had never asked her what PCS stood for.

“It stands for Palmetto Communication Strategies. And if you’re wondering about the odd orange logo you can thank my father for that. It’s the state symbol for South Carolina, and of course, it’s Clemson orange. My father was a diehard Clemson man. He even turned down a full scholarship to the University of Virginia in favor of Clemson and I’m not sure my grandmother ever got over the shock.”

Tom felt a nagging feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Emily Travers smiled at him again, shook his hand and left the Willard. Tom sat down hard in one of the French chairs.

“Are you okay, Tom?” Langdon asked. “You weren’t expecting her to say yes were you?” He gave Tom two hard pats on the back. “You’re in it now, kid. Time to make a movie.”

“Her father. Tell me about him,” Tom said.

Langdon thought Tom was looking a little green.

“He was a great man. Before college and before the war he had been an intern at the White House around the time of the missile crisis with Cuba. I don’t know what he saw and he never talked about it, but it changed him. After that all he ever talked about was how we could fight the war with guns and tanks, but that the real war would be decided by communication between leaders. He was convinced a miscommunication at that level could prove disastrous on the battlefield. I didn’t really get it, but he must have been onto something because he went home to South Carolina after the war and turned it into a booming
business. I think half of that little town where he built it must work there.”

“Fort Mill,” Tom muttered.

“What? Yeah, that sounds right. I wish you could have met him, Tom. He would have liked you. But then again, I’m not sure Ethan York ever met a man he didn’t like.”

Tom stood up and bid Langdon goodbye. He gathered his bags and went to check out of the hotel. Edward Chase had asked him to stop by the concierge desk on his way out. After they said their goodbyes, Chase walked to the wall of cubbies and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Tom took it and slipped it into the outer pocket of his briefcase. At Chase’s insistence he took the hotel car to the airport. This time it was a brand new Cadillac. Only the best from the Willard.

On the flight home he took the paper Chase had handed him from his briefcase. He unfolded it and found it was the note that Ethan had left him the night he removed all the phone equipment from his suite. He read the last lines the young man had written him. He hadn’t noticed before the palmetto tree and crescent moon Ethan had drawn next to his signature.

If I don’t see you in the morning I know our paths will cross again someday. Thank you for all you’ve done. I hope someday I can contribute to this country half as much as you have done these past days.

Sincerely,

Ethan York

Tom got off the plane, bought a bouquet of his mother’s favorite lilies, and told the taxi driver to take him to Unity
Cemetery. He knelt by her grave and placed the flowers lovingly at the base of the headstone.

“Mom, I have something to tell you. I’m going to be a filmmaker.”

E
PILOGUE

Evening had fallen on Washington, D.C. and Edward Chase was eager to bring his day to a close. He went about his tasks as usual, but couldn’t shake the feeling of melancholy that had plagued him for days. The year so far had been a difficult one, among the most difficult he had known. One of his travelers had died while traveling and he hadn’t been sure whether or not the man would wake up in modern times. Another had a health problem he hadn’t known about and he had nearly pushed her too far. More than ever before, he was struck with the knowledge that he was playing with people’s lives. But he couldn’t stop, for his hardest year by far had been the one where his traveler had failed the task she was given. The consequences had been terrible, although he and the woman were the only ones who knew for certain because they had been the only ones privy to both timelines. The woman had not been able to forgive herself and was currently confined to a mental hospital where she raved day after day about traveling back in time and how she had changed the course of history. Of course, no one believed her and Chase would never forgive himself for choosing her and ruining her life. Until that day he had naively thought success was guaranteed. Now he knew failure was possible and it haunted him each and every time he had to choose another traveler. But what was the alternative? He had chosen this life and he had no choice but to live it until such time as his work was finished. He knew that when that day came, he,
like the librarian who had chosen him so many years before, would resume his normal, human life. He would resume aging and live out his days as any other man until he passed from this life. No one would know who he had been, just as no one knew of the others. The travelers would forget about him, attributing their experiences to dreams or sickness. Those who knew the truth guarded it for themselves. Only a few would seek further, as he had. Perhaps some would go far enough to take his place guiding travelers.

He knew some of them, his counterparts at the finest hotels in London, Dublin, Paris, and Rome. There were many more all over the world, likely in the United States as well, although he had never met them. Their stories of how they came to be were varied and secret. They were a society of shadow figures, appearing and disappearing as needed, giving up their own lives to serve history. Some were concierges like he was. Others were librarians, train conductors, tour guides. They were anything they needed to be for the portal they served. As he organized his work area for the night he asked himself a familiar question.
Knowing all that I know now, would I have chosen this life?

As many times as he had asked himself that question he had never answered it and tonight would be no exception. A well-dressed gentleman had just entered the famed lobby and Chase recognized him at once. Duty called. He put aside his ruminations, straightened his jacket, and approached the man.

“Mr. Staynings?” Chase shook hands with the gentleman.

“Yes, I’m Eric Staynings.”

“Mr. Staynings, my name is Edward Chase and I’m your concierge. Welcome to the Willard.”

A
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The first time I visited the Willard Hotel I was struck with a sense of awe by the history of the place and the feeling of gravity that permeates the space. I had reserved the Jefferson Suite as a location for shooting a series of interviews for a television show I was producing. While I was there I couldn’t get over the feeling that I was standing in a special place—a place where the walls could tell stories featuring some of the most famous and infamous people and events of our nation’s history. And since walls cannot talk, I was intrigued by the idea of being able to speak for them, with the added perspective of a fictional scenario that could be both fascinating and terrifying at the same time. I have taken artistic license with many historic moments and intermixed fact with fiction and have done so with the intention to preserve the spirit of the true event while giving the characters the freedom to interact in a meaningful way. Any historical inaccuracies are mine entirely.

So where does fact meet fiction in what you’ve just read? To begin,
Chapter 2, “The Grande Dame”
is completely accurate. Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, Mark Twain, Julia Ward Howe, and many more have all found a night’s rest at the Willard during extraordinary times.

Martin Luther King, Jr. did, in fact, stay at the Willard the night before the March on Washington and legend has it that he finished his “I Have A Dream” speech there. However, history
records that the portion of the speech we know so well, even the title itself, was likely an ad lib taken from an earlier speech Dr. King had given at another event. The day of the march there were several speakers and it may have been that by the time he spoke the crowd may not have been responding as fervently as he had hoped, which may have prompted him to add the extra content that went down in history as one of the greatest and most well-received speeches in American history.

One insider nod if you’re into dates is the room numbers to which three of the guests are assigned. Catherine Parker is in room 414, a nod to the date President Lincoln was shot on April 14
^th.
He died early the on the morning of the 15
^th
. Tom Kelly’s adventure begins in room 1022, referencing the October 22
^nd
date of President Kennedy’s televised speech to the nation about the nuclear threat. And Calvin Walker’s room number, 828, is a nod to the date of the March on Washington, August 28
^th
. Olivia Fordham is the exception to this pattern because she stays in the Jefferson Suite, which is also referred to as the Presidential Suite if you are planning to book a stay at the Willard and would like to experience all the comforts Olivia enjoys. The description of the layout of Jefferson Suite is entirely accurate. Ironically, the concierge desk itself has changed somewhat since the first time I was at the Willard. The desk is still in place, but it is now the reception desk and the concierge area has moved to another part of the lobby. I opted to put it back to the way it was when I saw it originally because I could picture Edward Chase there with a grand vantage point from which he could conduct his important work.