Dane shook his head. “I’m confused now. Why would you do that?”
Marshall’s smile seemed forced. “Are you familiar with a little place on the coast east of here called Atlantic City?”
Bones interjected. “Get to the point.”
“I own several casinos there.”
Bones slapped his hands together. “Hey, my uncle Charlie owns a casino. So now I get it. You owe money to the mob and you want to hide your real stuff as much as you can.”
Marshall shook his head. “When I said own, that might have given the wrong impression. I’m an investor, a silent partner. The casinos are owned by corporations. Those corporations are fronts for the mob, true. But the days of casinos being solely used to launder money are long gone. They’re big business now. Since I’m an investor, I don’t borrow money; I lend money to the mob.”
Bones looked at Dane. “Dude, I never thought I’d say something like this, but we may want to steer clear of this guy.”
Dane remained focused on Marshall. “So that’s why you followed those guys to Hamiltonban. You figured that it was related to your business and they targeted Cornelius.”
“Yes, but now I don’t think so. First, I haven’t heard anything, and there’s not much point in doing something to him and not communicating a demand to me. More importantly, business is great, and everyone’s making loads of money. The reason I keep everything in different names is not because of them.”
Dane made the connection. “The government. Offshore accounts. Tax evasion.”
Marshall said nothing, but his eyes didn’t contradict the observation.
Bones used his deep voice in a Marlon Brando impression. “Let’s cut through it and see the document now. You made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.”
“Sure, sure, I have it right here. Be careful, though, it’s over a hundred and fifty years old. I normally keep it in an airtight vault.”
Dane took the document with a light touch. “Where did you say you got it?”
“My father left the medallion to Cornelius and the envelope with the document to me when he died. He said they had been in the family since at least his grandfather’s grandfather and that they were tied to a mystery which would contain both honor and shame for the family. Therefore, we should not open the envelope unless the family was at risk.”
“So you didn’t open it until…”
“I opened it with Cornelius when he told me he was going to sell the medallion and I let him keep the envelope. I figured all bets were off. It turns out the family is at risk. Cornelius and I are both childless, and he’s dead. At this rate, there won’t be any more family.”
Dane started reading. The document was on some sort of thick parchment, maybe vellum. It felt sturdy in his hands, and the black ink of the words was still perfectly legible.
Mr. Hawthorne,
I find myself near the end of the line. My final rest may be still in the distance, but I am no longer a young man. If you are reading this, it means I am now with my ancestors.
Recent events have given me reason to believe that my grandfather’s secret should come to light. So I will do more than simply pass the secret down to my son, as my grandfather did to my mother and she did to me. But I cannot dishonor the great man’s memory and simply reveal it. Instead, I will leave riddles, something I believe he would have found quite satisfactory.
My grandfather arranged for the final clue to the secret to be hidden in the Library of Congress. Only my mother and Edmund Randolph knew this, though I know not who else they told. The first riddle should be simplicity itself to solve: Look for one of the three, not one of the seven hundred and forty.
The second riddle has appeared before and will reappear when the right man applies his mind to it.
You might ask yourself why I am leaving this letter to you rather than one of my own sons. Rest assured they have been told. I know that your grandfather has never acknowledged your family and that you and I have never met. Edmund’s blood runs through your veins all the same, and the man you have become would have made him proud. Your grandfather and mine shared this endeavor from the beginning and I can think of no one better with whom to share their secret. I am confident you will know what to do with it.
Yours in gratitude,
Richard Franklin Bache.
Galveston, Texas
March 13, 1847
Bones was reading over Dane’s shoulder and let out a whistle. “Dude, this is cool. A voice from the grave telling us where to look.”
Dane couldn’t resist. “I don’t know, Bones, maybe he’s not dead. Maybe he’s from Atlantis and learned the secret to eternal life.”
“You can laugh, little man. You know who Richard Franklin Bache was, right?”
Dane didn’t answer and Marshall raised his hand. “I know who he is. Benjamin Franklin’s grandson. But I can’t make anything out of the rest of it.”
Bones said, “You mean aside from some sort of secret that Ben Franklin and Edmund Randolph had? If it was those two guys, it’s gotta have something to do with the Constitution. Anyone know what ‘recent events’ made Bache think he needed to spill the beans?”
Dane re-read the words. “Well, this was around the time Texas was preparing to join the union. I wonder if that has anything to do with it. No clue about the three and the seven hundred forty, though.”
Bones sighed. “Much as I hate to say it, I think we’re headed for some library research. Unless you want to call Jimmy again.”
“Not yet, Bones, let’s see what we can dig up first.”
“I can help you with the research.” Marshall said.
Bones raised an index finger. “First you need to track down the owner of that plane.”
Dane was tuning them out, focusing on the document. Something was there, something he couldn’t place. All at once it hit him when he read the words, “The second riddle has appeared before and will reappear.”
“It can’t be that simple. Octavius do you have a match?”
“A match? I have a lighter, but why?”
“Trust me.”
Dane flicked the Bic and started moving the flame towards the document. Bones grabbed his arm. “No offense, man, but I can’t let you do that.”
Dane shook off the huge hand. “Come on, Bones, would I burn a document like this?”
“Probably not, but tell me what you’re thinking before you make like Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.”
“Two words, Bones. Invisible ink.”
Bones raised his eyebrows and then a grin enveloped his face. He slapped Dane on the back, causing him to lurch forward and move the lighter perilously close to the document.
Marshall scowled. “If you two are done playing, maybe you could enlighten me.”
“Do you have an electric stove?” Dane asked.
Marshall nodded.
“Lead the way.”
They went into the kitchen where Dane turned on a burner and held the document a few inches above it “Notice how there’s a space here between the last two paragraphs?”
“There’s a space between every paragraph. That’s how they often wrote things back then.”
“Yeah, but the space between the last two paragraphs is bigger than the others. I’m betting that’s the second riddle — make what appeared before reappear. Heat is what brings out most invisible inks. My only concern is that after all this time, it will have degraded.”
Bones sucked in his breath through his teeth. “If they used something like lemon, then it will never have lasted. Something protein based like milk lasts longer, but probably not a century. They could have used some sort of invisible sealing agent, that’s probably our best hope.”
Marshall looked at him. “How do know all that? Are you an ink expert?”