Chapter Eight
T he moment he stepped off the Metro, Thatcher was reminded of his rule against setting foot on the National Mall during the summer after 8 a.m. The people were practically shoulder to shoulder. Why would anyone on vacation want to be out this early? Or in these crowds, for that matter. Thatcher’s idea of a vacation was total seclusion. Except for his dog, Buster, and a fishing pole. He didn’t even want to hear a radio.
He stopped short and looked around in disgust, already regretting his decision to visit the Mall. But he was here. So he may as well go ahead with his plan. Ever since John had filled him in on Clark’s plan to locate the rumored Lincoln documents, it was all he could think about. The very idea that Clark could become department chair—and his boss— was more than he could take. If those documents did exist, he would find them. And if that didn’t secure his spot within the university, maybe it was time to move on.
A sharp jolt on the back of his heels startled him. “Ow.” He turned quickly to face the culprit of his pain.
“I’m so sorry, sir.” The young woman pushing the stroller couldn’t have been a day over eighteen. “I didn’t notice that you’d stopped until it was too late.” Her brow furrowed in worry. “Are you okay?”
Thatcher glanced from the woman to the gurgling baby strapped in the stroller. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” He grinned and the baby gave him a large smile that displayed two bottom teeth. “That’s a sharp looking fellow you’ve got there.” He nodded toward the child.
The young woman beamed. “This is Luke. He’s seven months old.”
Thatcher managed a smile. “Fun age.” He looked at the infant again. “I hope you enjoy your trip.” He turned his back on the pair and quickened his steps. He jogged across Fifteenth Street right before the light changed and passed by the line of people waiting to get passes to the Washington Monument. He should’ve known better than to come this way. What was wrong with him? Foggy Bottom Metro would’ve been a little closer to the Lincoln Memorial, and he could’ve bypassed most of these tourists.
He was so used to getting off the Metro at the Smithsonian station for his daily runs that he’d automatically disembarked there. He dodged another stroller near the World War II Memorial and finally made it to the path alongside the reflecting pool. The Lincoln Memorial loomed ahead, in all its majestic glory. Thatcher had always admired its resemblance to the Parthenon in Athens. Greece remained near the top of his list of places to visit and he hoped someday he’d find the time.
He slowed his pace and stood at the bottom of the many stairs leading to the memorial. Throngs of people were already milling about, despite the early hour. He listened to their laughter and watched as they took selfies and photographed one another, first with the Lincoln Memorial in the background and then facing the other direction with the reflecting pool and Washington Monument in the back of the shot. This was like mecca for family photographs.
“Can you take our picture?” The young man held an iPhone in Thatcher’s direction. “We’re on our honeymoon,” he explained, motioning toward the pretty girl who stood at his side, beaming.
“Sure.” Thatcher took the phone as if it were a foreign object. He still had a flip phone and staunchly refused to give in to the smartphone temptation. “Tell me how to work this thing.” He at least had a digital camera that he used from time to time, mostly to document Buster’s antics, fish he caught, and pretty scenery on some of his drives through the Virginia countryside.
“Oh, yeah,” the newlywed said. “Just press the round circle. You’ll be able to see the shot on the screen.”
Thatcher moved the phone around until the couple was in the center of the screen. “One, two, three,” he said, pressing the button and capturing their smiling faces. He handed it back to the man.
“Thanks.” The couple was already reviewing the photo on the screen, giggling about the face the girl was making.
He walked off, shaking his head. Young love was a sight to behold. He barely remembered being that age. He tried so hard to block those years out, and most of the time it worked.
Thatcher made it to the top step, and the statue of Abraham Lincoln came into full view. He had to admit, it was breathtaking. There was something almost magical about it. Larger than life, Lincoln sat gazing out over the crowd. You almost expected him to rise up from the chair and deliver a speech. Thatcher stood for a moment at the base of the statue. Were the rumors true? Was Clark really on the trail of an amazing discovery? These past several days, Thatcher and John had tried to find out more information, but so far nothing had turned up.
He noticed a sign next to the statue that advertised ranger talks for the day. The first one was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. And since Thatcher didn’t have any place to be this morning, it couldn’t hurt to stick around. He might learn something.