Detective Dayton McCormick had accomplished his father's dream: Authoring a book and getting it published. Little did he know that his writing would attract the attention of a mysterious stranger, whose words and gifts would lead him on both the adventure of a lifetime and a discovery of universal proportions.

Washington's Child

By Michael Dialessi

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Michael Dialessi
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-1639-9

Contents

Chapter 1 The Dawn...........................................1Chapter 2 The Seven and Seven................................5Chapter 3 The Great Work.....................................12Chapter 4 The Note...........................................15Chapter 5 Twenty-Two Years Later.............................18Chapter 6 The Gift...........................................33Chapter 7 The Circle.........................................38Chapter 8 Perception.........................................55Chapter 9 Return to Richmond.................................74Chapter 10 Circle in a Square................................90Chapter 11 The Keys..........................................110Chapter 12 The Outer Puzzle Pieces...........................153Chapter 13 Finding Hutchinson................................184Chapter 14 Traitor?..........................................237Chapter 15 Truth.............................................255Chapter 16 The Petroglyphs...................................278Chapter 17 Dealey Plaza......................................305Chapter 18 Unfinished Business...............................320Chapter 19 Recovery..........................................333Chapter 20 The Scales of Justice.............................344Chapter 21 Normalcy?.........................................367Chapter 22 The Discovery.....................................396Chapter 23 Twin Pillars......................................403Chapter 24 Discussing Theology...............................409Chapter 25 Annuit Coeptis....................................413Chapter 26 The Secret of Washington D.C......................418Chapter 27 The Wiseman.......................................431

Chapter One

The Dawn

A tiny ladybug slowly crawled down the brass barrel of the transit, as the dew-moistened grass swayed in the gentle breeze. The sun was just beginning to appear over the horizon, as the stern-faced youth surveyed the Virginia landscape. It was the beginning of a beautiful, early September morning.

He was no ordinary fourteen-year-old Virginian. He was a young man well beyond his years in wisdom, who arose every morning before dawn to earn his daily bread. As his small fingers adjusted the brass wheels to calculate the exact distance, his keen hearing detected movement in the woods. Soft footsteps were approaching with twigs snapping under foot. He believed it was a small party of travelers and not a cadre of men seeking evil, for they would be far more cautious. Never the less, he reached down with his right hand to check the secureness of the screw which clamped his perfectly napped flint in the lock.

From the corner of his eye, he saw them emerge. Not men of white, but natives of leathery skin with brown eyes. Slowly, not to startle the men, but unsure of their intensions, he lifted his flintlock, brought it to the ready and then clasped his right hand over the lock and drew back the hammer. Keeping part eye on the party, he lifted up the frizzen to check if the pan was properly charged.

Leading the group, there was a young Indian whose face he recognized. He was a young man he had not seen for almost a year. He grasped the hammer with his left hand and carefully lowered it, then counted six of them after the group had fully emerged from the woods. One of them wore colorful garments covered with symbols not of his knowing. He must have been an elder, from a tribe not yet discovered by the British or the French. Immediately, he was drawn to the eyes of the unknown elder. His left eye was brown, as were most Indians he had seen. His right eye, however, was a multi-layered blue; similar in pattern to what is seen when steel in quenched.

The familiar face gave him a nod and a greeting. He loosened his grip on his musket and carefully leaned it on the cherry tripod legs, which had the transit on the apex.

"Is it time?" he asked.

"Yes," the familiar face told him.

The seven walked toward the woods. Two braves were in front. The Indian friend and the strange elder followed. Next, was the young Virginian, followed by the last two in the group.

Before entering the woods, the young Virginian studied the pattern in beads on the back of the elder's garment. There were three colored beads which formed the shape of a triangle and a fourth dark bead in the center. Below it on the right, around the area of the kidney, there was a bright white star.

The group walked for many hours until they came upon the falls. The sun had started its trek toward the western horizon and a cool breeze began to blow. A small opening lay to the right of the falls and the seven entered, one by one; for the opening was narrow, and the footing treacherous. Once inside, all sat in a circle. The inner chamber was lit by five small torches set equidistantly apart, and the whistle of the wind could be heard along with the rushing water from the falls.

As the ceremony began, four of the torches were extinguished, which left a single torch to light the ritual. As the young Virginian closed his eyes, he could feel the room around him spin, and it seemed as if he was being bathed in very bright light. As the Indian elder spoke unfamiliar words, the young man fell into a strange state of hypnosis. Then all went black.

* * *

The trek back began shortly after daybreak and he returned alone. He could see as he emerged from the wood that the cherry-legged tripod and shiny brass transit stood unmolested, along with the maple stocked musket.

A new passion has consumed the young man. He moved the equipment some fifty yards to the north and west. His nimble fingers adjusted the knobs. He trained the equipment east to the grassy hill, followed by south to the marsh. He then aimed the eyepiece to the west, where a light fog encased the long reeds growing in the damp soil. From where the transit was located, he walked about seven hundred yards to the south and slightly east. As he approached the water, he found a small, straight branch of a white oak, about three feet in length and then gently pushed it into the sand by the side of the bank. The transit was north of his current location and from the branch's shadow he knew that it was about half past two in the afternoon. The young man smiled and spun himself around while he looked in all four directions. It was at this moment that he realized this spot of ground was the ideal place for a great symbolic message to be constructed in stone.

The young Virginian then walked to his west, until the marsh dampened the bottom of his shoes. He squatted and looked straight ahead with firm countenance. "About an hour to the left," he said while turning his head slightly northeast. "There," he muttered while he pointed his small hand. "That is the place of the union."

He reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew a small compass. He assured himself that the measurements were true, while he observed both the current position of the sun and the compass needle. He then placed the compass back in his pocket and walked back to where his musket and surveying equipment rested.

Before packing up his equipment he said to himself, "38 degrees north, 77 degrees west. That will do." As the sun began to set, the young Virginian packed up his equipment and slung the tripod over his shoulder. He turned and glanced back at the open area he had just surveyed. "Someday, the great work will be completed for all to see. But will they understand what they are looking at, or its implications?"

Chapter Two

The Seven and Seven

"It is time to wake up Dayton." As the child opened his eyes, he saw the loving gaze of his father. "We have a date with an important lady, and we don't want to miss the first ferry."

The child arose from his bed and quickly caught himself from almost falling over. It was before sunrise. Today it felt earlier. It was a Saturday in the first week of June. He peeled off his pajamas and proceeded to put on the clothes that were neatly folded on the chair by the foot of his bed. After dressing, he slid on his black leather shoes and tied the laces in a double knot.

The young boy always loved car rides. Tunnels and roads full of big trucks and passenger cars always provided plenty for him to observe. After a few hours in the car, and a few donuts for breakfast, father and son arrived at their destination.

"Two tickets please. One adult, one for a child under twelve," the father said to the young woman behind the ticket counter.

"Okay, here you go." The tickets slid through the opening. "Just walk down the green path until you hit the docking area for the ferry," she said, pointing through the small rectangular cutout in the window. "I hope you and your son have a wonderful day."

Father and son boarded the ferry. It was white with black trim, and had plentiful seating, because it was the first ferry of the day out to her island. The motor hummed to life and the boat began its trek across the calm waters of the bay of New York.

In a short time, the figure of a green, robed woman could be seen in the distance, standing majestically on her small island with a golden-topped torch in her right hand. Her face gazed east at the place of the sunrise and she carried a tablet in her left hand with the date of America's birth.

The little boy couldn't contain himself. He pressed his face against the glass window of the ferry and squished his little nose flat.

"Are you excited Dayton?"

"Yes I am daddy. We were talking about her in history class, just before school got out yesterday."

"What do you know about her?" the father inquired.

"Well, I know a lot of immigrants knew they were in America when they first saw her. She's made of copper and was a gift from French school kids. And she has that poem on her by Emma...."

"Lazarus," piped in Mr. McCormick. "Give me your tired and poor."

"Yes daddy, THAT poem," said Dayton.

"The poem is correct, Dayton, but she wasn't a gift from French children. She was a gift from French Masons. She sits on Liberty Island, which was formerly called Bedloe's Island. The base of the pedestal she stands on was once Fort Wood and had cannons in it. They were used to protect New York City from naval invasions."

"Uh, Dad. What is a French Mason?" Dayton inquired.

Mr. McCormick loved his job as a history teacher, although he was frustrated with the common misconceptions taught to children in schools. But he never missed an opportunity to correct his son with the truth. "French means from France, so indeed, it was a gift from the French. Freemasons are a fraternal secret society-kind of like a men's only club," he explained. "Many things have been attributed to Freemasons that are both good and bad."

"Are they bad, Dad?" Dayton asked.

"I don't think so Dayton," his father explained. "Some of the great men who founded this nation were Freemasons. I think people like to believe what they want to believe, without looking up the facts. Human history is filled with that." He rubbed the top of his son's head. "There have always been scapegoats in every society, including ours."

The ferry made its way toward the dock. The swaying waters pitched the boat slightly to the left and right as it came to a complete stop. Dayton quickly ran toward the ramp with his father, Mr. McCormick, chasing right behind him.

"Come on Dad, hurry up!" Dayton yelled. The two, once they reached land, slowed from a run, to a brisk walk. "Dayton, wait up. We have all day," the father replied, while trying to catch his breath.

Mr. McCormick pulled out his 35mm camera from its case and used his thumb to forward the film. "Hey, son! Turn around and put your right hand in the air."

Dayton turned to face his father and put up his right hand, mimicking Lady Liberty.

Click. "I got it. Now you look like Liberty Enlightening the World," said Mr. McCormick, "which is her proper name."

"I am so glad we came after all that stuff they had around her was removed. And the new torch looks really nice, Dad."

"Yes, the restoration came out perfect. And it was a lot of work." He pointed up. "Dayton, she is ninety-three meters high from her base to the tip of her torch. It must have been difficult working under some pretty windy conditions on that scaffolding."

Father and son walked around and conversed together while discussing more about of the history of the Statue: from its designer Bartholdi, to the cornerstone being laid for it on August 5, 1884, to its completion, in 1886. Mr. McCormick, after he took a few more snapshots, sat down on a bench, took off his backpack and then removed the two brown bags containing sandwiches he made late the previous night.

Father and son sat and enjoyed an early lunch and both grinned ear to ear as they chewed.

After lunch, Mr. McCormick and Dayton walked around Liberty Island for a few more hours and continued to talk about the history of New York City and the Islands in the bay.

As their day-trip on Liberty Island came to a close, Mr. McCormick wanted to pose his son Dayton for one final snapshot.

"I'd like to get a shot of you with the Twin Towers and the rest of the Manhattan Skyline in the background," he said.

"Okay Dad," Dayton replied, as he put his right hand on the stone of Liberty's pedestal. Mr. McCormick forwarded to the next frame on his Canonet G3. As he looked through the rangefinder, he brought the two images of his son's face together in the dull yellow square in the center of the viewfinder by utilizing his thumb and index finger on his left hand. While waiting for his father to take the photo, Dayton was partially blinded by the sun's reflection off a passerby's mirror-style sunglasses. As Dayton wiped his eyes, the stranger turned his head and smiled. Click.

"You ok, son? Looks like I am going to have to take one more- this time, without you wiping your eyes." Mr. McCormick used the thumb lever to forward the film, while he kept his eyes firmly on the passerby in the mirror shades. "It can't be," he muttered, as he squinted at the pedestrian. He shook his head and then recomposed the photograph.

"Are you ready? Okay." Dayton nodded. Click.

The McCormick's slowly began their walk back to the ferry dock, with the father's arm on his son's shoulder.

"I had a great day, Dad!" boasted Dayton, as he looked up at his father with a big smile on his face. The smile briefly reminded Mr. McCormick of Dayton's mother.

"I did too, son. I am glad you like history as much as I do." He smiled and began another monologue on the history of Lady Liberty. "You know, President Cleveland gave the acceptance statement for Lady Liberty. He told the crowd that, "We will not forget that Liberty here made her home; nor shall her chosen alter be neglected." That's a funny statement coming from a President who vetoed the funding for the building of the pedestal. History is full of interesting things like this, son."

"Why did the French Masons give her to us?" Dayton asked.

Mr. McCormick wondered for a moment how he could explain it in terms an eleven-year-old would accept. "Dayton, sometimes things are done for multiple reasons. It was a sign of friendship," Mr. McCormick continued, "And perhaps it could have to do symbolically with something much larger and more profound."

Dayton looked up at his father with a puzzled glance and shook his head. "What do you mean Dad?"

"I'm not quite sure Dayton. I am not quite sure. You know, when I look at that skyline over there, especially those two towers which stand out, I often wonder what it will look like fifteen or twenty years from now. Everything goes to dust eventually. People. Buildings. Everything."

Dayton put his hand over his eyes to get a better view of the Twin Towers. "Even those towers?" he asked.

"Even those towers. Yes. Everything. But remember this-my love for you, my son, is forever. It will last longer than the pyramids and the Sphinx in Egypt."

Mickey's statement made Dayton smile. He loved his father and his grandparents so much. He never knew his mother, who died in the middle of the night when he was still an infant. He had no brother or sister to fight with and spent most of his time with adults. At age eleven, he was a very thoughtful child well beyond his years in maturity and knowledge, and loved spending time with his father going on his history-related adventures. Dayton didn't want to think about the mother he didn't have, or the lack of friends his own age and instead hugged his father tight.

"Thanks for the great day, Dad."

Mr. McCormick smiled. "Well, it is time to head home."

The ferry came to dock back in New Jersey. Father and son walked slowly to the red minivan.

"If you are tired, you can sleep on the way home."

Dayton yawned, "I am not tired."

A few miles down the road, Mr. McCormick checked his rear-view mirror. Dayton was sound asleep. "The base of Liberty is a truncated pyramid," he said to himself. "Copper. Double-helix staircases. A woman with a torch. An eleven-point base. Seven rays on the headpiece. A woman facing east. Am I missing something?" he said, muttering under his breath. "I must be missing something-but the three are there in the woman. The fourth has been covered by a previous renovation."

He looked into his rear-view mirror and noticed his son was smiling in his sleep. He cleared his mind for the rest of the drive home and glanced numerous times through the rear-view mirror at his sleeping son. There was more to life than his research. Someday, he would write his book and inform the world, he thought to himself. But his son would only be eleven, once.

"Of all the trips I have taken him on, I hope he remembers this one the most." Mickey glanced again at Dayton. "And I hope to god the man I saw wasn't who I think it was."

Excerpted from Washington's Childby Michael Dialessi Copyright © 2010 by Michael Dialessi. Excerpted by permission.
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