The Quixote Pact

CHAPTER 1

​I would begin by informing the world and Posterity that the history of the United States never has been written, and never can be written.

—John Adams, 2 November 1815

––––––––

Professor Antonio del Mar squinted into the beam of light to assess his audience. The obscure, immobile figures waited with expectation in dead silence. He felt encouraged.

He cleared his throat. Much has been said about the American Revolution; about the great men who fought for a just cause; about the ragtag group of rebels heroically defeating the largest war machine of its day and the birth of an experiment that would change the world.

The professor paused. He took in a soft breath and sharpened his gaze. All true. However, what you know is but half the story. He swept his pointed stare over his audience slowly. I'd like you all to ponder the following: What exactly made the thirteen colonies think they could entertain a war against the largest war machine without a navy, artillery or basic gunpowder? Or think about this: The thirteen colonies were entirely surrounded by British territory on land. Why didn’t the largest war machine simply strangle them with their mighty grip?  

Again, Professor del Mar paused, leaving the questions to hang for a few seconds.

Careful to pronounce each word clearly, he continued. For over 200 years, a secret pact has been kept buried; a pact that ensured victory for the Americans and, more crucially, survival thereafter. Why buried? Unfavorable circumstances at the time required it. Today, I am compelled to lift its veil; the time has come for the whole story of the American Revolution to be told.

Hearing the shuffling of feet comforted the professor. He had captured the public's attention, and they were accommodating themselves in anticipation of the great revelation. They knew it was coming. He had made sure to publicize it well with hopes of achieving maximum attendance and diffusion.

A door in the back of the auditorium opened and the silhouette of a man backlit by the light in the hall, walked through. Professor del Mar observed how the shadowy figure remained standing in front of the entrance rather than taking a seat.

Let me start by setting the stage, he went on to tease. At the dawn of 1781, Washington was a weary man. His army had faced insurmountable challenges from the start and six years later they were at their greatest. When George Washington assumed command of the Continental Army in 1775, there was no such thing as an army, continental or otherwise. He found himself Commander-in-Chief of a haphazardly assembled band of militias and untrained citizen-soldiers, without a rudimentary infrastructure to transport supplies and equipment, or money to buy them. To make matters worse, a dangerous lack of widespread belief in the 'goodness of the cause' or, maybe more importantly, its viability, hardly helped sustain morale. Discontentment resulted in his forces leaving in droves as soon as their commission expired, while the threat of mutiny hovered ever-present. Against this backdrop, it should not come as a surprise that though some battles were won, most were lost. And, by 1778, Washington's Fabian approach, that is, hoping to wear out the larger opponent rather than to confront it, began to exasperate many, namely the generals who had indeed accomplished some of the few successes.

Del Mar’s voice deepened. If you are here, I imagine you have heard of the Conway Cabal, a handful of Washington’s generals plotting to overthrow him; or the Newburgh Conspiracy, where officers of the Continental Army planned a coup on the Continental Congress. Did you know there was even a sinister scheme to assassinate Washington?

Professor del Mar inserted a strategic pause, and then continued. George Washington was a single man fighting several enemies at the same time. The last straw came with the betrayal of his brother-in-arms Benedict Arnold; it would throb in his chest permanently. The reality was that Washington could not trust anyone no matter which side of the enemy lines they were on.

The professor reached for his glass of water. As he took a sip, he sneaked a look at the brunette sitting in the front row. She was his prime target.

Her eyes were set firmly on him. He had her attention.

Del Mar placed the glass back on the stand and resumed. In the midst of internal conspiracies and betrayals, and overwhelming challenges at the battlefront, the Commander-in-chief had to contend with some very ill-conceived priorities set by the Continental Congress. When the victory in Saratoga provided a window of hope by gaining the much-needed official endorsement of France, General Washington was despaired to learn that the Continental Congress had drafted delusional ambitions of invading Canada ... again. The idea had already been attempted at the start of the war with dismal results. Then, the general had supported it because carrying off with all the British territories in North America along with independence had been the initial plan. Years into the war, he was all the wiser. You see, it wasn't just that the struggling colonial army had proven to be in no position to accomplish such a feat; it was the foreboding consequence of it.  France had lost Canada to Britain less than 20 years earlier. So, if by the Grace of God, the alliance between the Americans and France succeeded against Britain in Canada, France would reasonably claim its territory back, leaving the thirteen independent colonies engulfed between France in the north and Spain everywhere else, west and south.

Another door in the back opened, this time the one on the left side. Once again, the professor saw the likes of a man in a suit enter. He, too, stood squarely before the door when it closed.

Del Mar's words accelerated. There is a long list of common-sense reasons why the free but war-battered independent sister colonies would find themselves at a survival disadvantage surrounded by their two much larger and seasoned neighbors, not the least important the fact that these two empires were united by family ties. France and Spain were ruled by the same Bourbon Royal house and had, for several decades, proven their mutual loyalty through secret family pacts. Del Mar narrowed his stare. Let me underscore: These pacts were nothing to scoff at. A good example, very close to home for Washington, came to light in 1763. When France lost its North American territories to Britain—in a war that many would argue Washington triggered himself—the king of France, Louis XV, secretly ceded half of Louisiana to his cousin Charles III of Spain in compensation for his support. Now please keep in mind that Louisiana then comprised a third of today's United States. Let that sink in ... The professor performed one slow sweep of the audience. Thanks to the family pact, Spain gained a territory that doubled the size of the thirteen colonies in addition to what she already held in the Americas. This extraordinary territorial expansion consolidated the Spanish empire's control over a huge portion of North America. By 1790, it extended from present-day Mexico north through 80% of US territory and over a large swath of western Canada into Alaska.

To make his point, Del Mar shared a slide with a map on the screen behind him.

––––––––

"I trust you understand Washington's qualms. Even with a hard-fought victory, the thirteen colonies stood little chance of true independence surrounded by these two family-linked empires. The only problem was that without their help there was little chance of winning independence altogether. In Alexander Hamilton's own words: If we are saved, France and Spain must save us."

A cough in the front row and a couple of camera operators relaxing their arms signaled the public's slipping patience.

Professor del Mar rushed to dangle a piece of meat. George Washington was a Freemason. He understood the benefits one reaped from secret pacts among brothers. So, confronted with dismal prospects and with the sole knowledge of a handful of men, the Commander-in-Chief saw only one way out: he sealed a secret pact of his own.

Del Mar stalled briefly to check on the two ghostly figures standing guard at the doors. He knew he was on borrowed time. He would have to hurry, but not at the expense of sacrificing his carefully crafted story. The professor knew that not everyone would be happy to learn the whole truth. His goal was to minimize impact by appealing to sympathy for a desperate man who resorted to desperate measures at a desperate time, and after all the shock and awe hope that what remained was the picture of a victorious president whose gamble paid off ... until now. After two hundred years, it was all in jeopardy.

A subtle movement to his right drew the professor's attention. Tucked discreetly behind a side panel, he recognized the scarred face watching him. Its stern gaze narrowed to a pointed glare.

His time had run out. He'd have to cut it short.

Del Mar rolled his eyes over the body of journalists sitting at his feet. He focused on the brunette. If he could reel her interest in just enough ...

I'd like to jump forward in time and share with you a number of mysterious actions George Washington took as president in the construction of the new nation. The professor rushed through his slides and settled on one with several bullet points. When establishing its new currency, he adopted for its symbol a crucial item burrowed from the Spanish empire’s coat of arms. Why? During his presidential inauguration, the privileged position of standing by his side was granted to a Spaniard no one has ever heard of. Why? On this same day, the only foreign warship welcomed to anchor in the harbor was Spanish. Why? And why was the layout for the new nation's capital copied from that of a Spanish town that few here have ever heard of? Antonio inserted a purposeful pause. Let me repeat: Washington D.C.'s layout is a copy of a certain Spanish town, and I assure you it is no coincidence.

Antonio could sense his audience was hanging onto every word.

What about the White House, the ultimate symbol of the house of the people and executive branch? The great honor of laying its foundational stone was granted to a Spaniard no one has ever heard of. Why? And can it be mere coincidence that the date chosen for the symbolic event was the 300th anniversary of Spain's landing on the new world? Why not the date of the Mayflower's, which was a month away?  The Capitol building, the ultimate symbol of the new nation's legislative power, was illustrated extensively with imagery and iconography common to Spain and the Americans under the words 'our history'. Why? And lastly, the establishment of the Supreme Court and ultimate symbol of the new nation's judiciary power was entrusted to the one person who spent a key period of the Revolutionary War in Spain.

The two men at the doors began to walk toward the stage.

... Our history ..., repeated Antonio slowly as he refortified his gaze with unsettling intensity. Every symbolic icon of the new republic is Spanish at its core. I cannot emphasize this enough, for the ultimate symbol of US sovereignty and identity, the Great Seal of the United States of America, derives its design from the coat of arms that distinguished the Spanish Empire when it dawned under Queen Isabella of Spain.

A comparative of the two seals was displayed on the screen. A quiet exhale of surprise filled the air.

Please notice the eagles, their halos, and the bundle of arrows, said Del Mar. He paused. I have only mentioned a handful of examples. There are more. The question remains: why?

The professor blinked at the sight of one of the approaching men reaching under his coat. He quickly turned his head to the side and observed Scarred-Face tense his muscles.

Let me give you a hint, he rushed to say. After signing the Constitution of the United States, the act that sealed the union of the new republic, and despite having spent several months in Philadelphia, Washington chose that day to stop at a bookstore on his way out. Of all the things he should have had on his mind as he prepared to return as the first president, it was the purchase of the Spanish novel 'Don Quixote' that occupied it. What was so special about this novel to warrant his attention in such a ceremonious manner? To further the mystery, upon George Washington's passing, this specific book was catalogued as found 'on the table'. He owned thousands of volumes. Why keep this one in hand's reach?

A sudden altercation in one of the aisles was closely followed by the sound of a gunshot exploding in the air. A wave of panic washed over the audience aggravated by the overwhelming darkness.

Utter chaos ensued.

Del Mar reacted with extraordinary reflexes, throwing himself to the floor, purposely in the direction of the brunette.

She froze at his maneuver and stared at him with her large almond eyes. His handsome features were softly lit by the camera equipment nearby.

On the table, he mouthed at her, and repeated: On the table.

The TV cameras, broadcasting live, remained fixed on the empty podium as the technicians and press crouched down in their positions, nervously assessing their surroundings to see if it was safe to lift their heads.

Only the brunette saw the professor swiftly jump to his feet, launch one last forceful look at her, and disappear behind the curtains.

CHAPTER 2

All the happy Effects of that Transaction [Spain's support] for America, are not generally known; I may sometime or other acquaint the World with some of them.

—Benjamin Franklin to Horacio Gates, 2 June 1779

What just happened? It took Sofia Auru-Soto a few seconds to react.

Abruptly, the auditorium lights switched on and all her colleagues leaped into action at the same time, running to their microphones and cameras as if a second shot had signaled them to do so.

Sofia had neither. She had come alone and was not even a real journalist. She was a psychologist who had made a name for herself grounding the human spiritual experience in physical neural activity or natural processes, meaning that she supplied a reasonable explanation for miracles and other unexplained religious phenomena. It was in this capacity that she occasionally consulted for an online magazine and had agreed to attend the event as a favor to the owner, who was also a friend. Business was slow and he was short on staff.

The strange thing was that this highly publicized presentation had little to do with the magazine's line of interest. The Skeptic Warrior focused on matters that pushed into the realm of superstition and the supernatural, yet they had received a frontline invitation to a highly coveted event unrelated to UFO abductions or voices from the afterlife. Dan, the owner-friend, accepted out of curiosity and the potential for business. He had planned to come himself, hoping to rub with some prominent elbows, but was held back at the last minute.

Sofia took a deep breath and methodically scanned her surroundings to get her bearings. Concluding that the danger was over, she stepped onto the stage to check where the professor had disappeared, while replaying the events in her mind. She had noticed he had been paying close attention to her. At first, Sofia thought he was checking her out, which she found flattering. Del Mar was attractive in a stereotypical kind of away: tall, dark, and handsome with a sexy Spanish cadence in his otherwise formal tone that made his speech enthralling no matter what he talked about. At least, to her. Now, she felt a mixture of disappointment and confusion, wondering if his interest was different. Because why would he mouth the words on the table to her? What was that about? Had he mistaken her for another journalist?

She walked past the podium toward the broad gilded curtain that shortened the depth of the stage in half. It was massive. Sofia felt for an opening and located one, when she also saw a small fissure in the fabric. She poked at it. The hole was still hot. Sofia swallowed and slid through the break in the curtain. It didn't take her long to spot the lifted trapdoor on the floor, in the back. She approached it.

As she climbed down on the makeshift ladder, her phone vibrated. She reached for it. It was Dan.

Sofia, are you alright? she heard.

Yes, I'm fine.

Are you sure? I was following the event in my office, but your seat was outside the camera frame. It was difficult to judge how close it came to you. What happened?

Sofia tucked her head under the floor planks and saw it led to an ample storage space where the usual backstage equipment was kept. It became apparent the trapdoor was a quick shortcut, since on the left, she saw the wider access to the side hall that led up to the stage. On the opposite side, there was a garage door, where the equipment for the auditorium was brought in, and beside it, the pedestrian access, or, in this case, exit. "I'm not sure. It was dark. I heard a commotion toward the other end of my row. I also heard the shot, but it happened so fast I can say what came first. 

Did anyone get hurt?

Not that I'm aware. By the time the lights came back on, the shooter had been tackled and removed. It just then hit her how speedily that had occurred.

Where are you now?

Under the stage floor. I saw the professor run through the curtains. There is a trapdoor back here. It leads to an exit.

Sofia headed to it. Outside, she scouted the ramp. The professor was nowhere to be seen. She expected as much. She turned around and headed back in.

Are you sure you’re okay? asked Dan.

Yes, don't worry. Just a little shaken. I'll be fine.

In that case, can you hang around and see what you can find out? Only if you feel up for it, that is.

Dan, why do you think you were invited? It makes no sense. What does the Revolutionary War or George Washington have to do with unexplained phenomena?

There was a brief silence.

Sofia heard Dan clear his throat.

I wasn't invited, he finally said.

What?

The invitation was for you and clearly marked non-transferable. The professor signed it himself. And before you ask, the envelope was addressed to me for the same reason I receive all your invites, so that I'll convince you to accept it.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led back up to the stage. I don't understand ... Sofia trailed off as she thought about it. That meant it wasn't a case of mistaken identity. The professor was truly interested in her. She finished her sentence. None of this has to do with my line of work, either. 

Maybe not, but the last time a strange guy showed up interested in you, it led to our bestselling series. It is still paying the bills. I don't turn down anything with your name on it.

Sofia reached out to hold onto one of the steep steps and proceeded to climb. What do you know about him, the professor?

Dan's voice came back with a little edge. I would appreciate it if you read the briefs I prepare when I assign you a job. It's all in there.

And I would appreciate it if you were honest with me when you assign them.

There was another split second of silence.

Alright, here is what I have, started Dan. Nothing. Other than some applauded academic publications, the background check I ran on Del Mar came back empty. Either he's a specter or he is hiding behind a very secure penname.

Are you serious? You sent me out to report on a ghost who is claiming absurdities?

Read my briefs. That was part of the assignment, to find out who this man is. How does an anonymous scholar secure a presentation at a premium venue like the Smithsonian National Museum of American History and manage to attract half the cupula of the city press? If there ever was a strange phenomenon, this is it, wouldn't you say?

Sofia stepped on the stage and sighed. Dan, without much effort, two easy explanations come to mind. Either he has good contacts, which is how things are done in this town, or he is a very skilled hacker who snuck his way onto the museum's schedule and just as stealthily sent out invites. Any savvy 15-year-old can do it.

Did he look like a hacker to you?

No, which leaves us with someone who just pulled off a publicity stunt for an upcoming book. Sofia nibbled at her lip as she looked askance at the bullet hole in the curtain.

A book that would make for a very interesting read, stressed Dan, if it were true, as he claims, that the secret pact was written on the back of the long-lost official Declaration of Independence; that he knows what happened to it, and that it has George Washington's signature on it. It would be the exclusive of a lifetime. Sofia, he literally handed you a front row seat to it.

As I said: an absurdity. And not a very creative one. I saw the movie, Dan. Nicolas Cage walked out with it from the National Archives.

Sofia, this is serious.

If you want serious, how about George Washington never signed it? In July of 1776, he was in New York with his forces while the delegates of the Continental Congress did all the signing in Philadelphia.

There's much confusion about that, started Dan. What the delegates signed—later in August, not July—was the ceremonial engrossed copy. That's the one people see at the National Archives. The 'official' draft approved by Congress on the 4th of July went missing that same evening and has never been seen again.

Still, Washington would not have been around to sign that one either.

Sofia, I need you to get your head in the game. Dan's words came back with authority. This is what we do. We investigate controversial claims. And let me remind you, someone is taking the professor very seriously.

The truth was Dan didn't have to beg. She was in from the moment Del Mar's large brown eyes came within inches of hers and whispered the three words.

Fine, she surrendered.

Wonderful. Here's what I need you to do: Head to the museum offices and find out what they know about Del Mar. What credentials did he supply to gain access? Does he come recommended or sponsored? You know the drill ... Meanwhile, I'm going to reach out to my contacts to see who knows what. Let's track this man down. I want his story.

Fine, repeated Sofia absently, hatching a plan of her own. No, she wasn't going to waste time at the museum. Besides, it was probably better if she left right away. Police sirens could be heard blaring out front; she had to get out before the interrogations began. Sofia pivoted 180 degrees and headed straight back to the trapdoor. Professor Antonio del Mar, or whatever his real name was, had invited her specifically and had handed her the clue to follow. There was no need for her to track him down. She was confident he would track her down soon enough.

CHAPTER 3

​The Démarchés of Spain are mysterious...

—John Adams, 25 July 1778

––––––––

Back at her hotel room, Sofia collected her things in a rush, happy she had packed light. She changed out of her formal suit into a pair of comfortable jeans, a light blue sweater and black walking boots. Then she considered collecting her long wavy hair in a ponytail for comfort but decided against it. Since it was chilly outside, and she had not brought a scarf, leaving it down would help keep her neck warm.

A wise paranoia was fueling her urge. There was a good possibility someone witnessed the professor addressing her before he made a run for it. Maybe a camera captured it. Or, if anything else, her name was on the guest list. The authorities would want a word with her, eventually. She had to maximize whatever time she had to stay ahead.

The television was on and turned to the local news channel. Sofia stopped to listen when she heard the anchor cite the incident again. Perhaps this time they’d mention something about Del Mar. A few seconds into the report, she shook her head. No such luck. It was a repeat segment from moments earlier with no picture or background information on him. The emphasis of the piece was centered around the growing violence in the capital, and how it had reached the sanctity of its prestigious museums.

So strange, though Sofia. The media showed no curiosity for the professor despite the attack on him in front of their own crème. You'd think they'd be all over it if only because they were there to witness it.

Sofia picked up the remote and turned it off. She then walked over to the closet, reached for her navy-blue coat, and donned it. She returned for her backpack and phone, slipped the latter in a pocket at easy reach, and methodically swept the room with her keen eyes to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind. Satisfied, Sofia walked out the door, closing it behind, and headed toward the elevators.

Her mind was running in several directions. It dawned on her that not only the police might want a word with her. What about whoever tried to stop the professor? What if they saw Del Mar whisper something to her? She felt a surge of dread and turned to check the hall. It was clear. As she sped up to reach the elevator and smacked the down-button, she took a deep breath to rein in her overactive mind. Her gift to envision an exceptional number of scenarios was a blessing for her line of work, but a headache any other time.

Just as her fears subsided, the phone rang, startling her. Sofia recovered it from the coat's front pocket and saw it was her sister.

I'm fine, she answered. The elevator's door opened, she stepped in.

Okay, good to know. Any reason why you shouldn't be?

Sofia pressed for the ground floor. I'm going to guess you are not in front of a TV.

That hardly qualifies as a guess. You know I'm never in front of a TV.

Right, your thing is reading and praying. What happened in your exciting life to prompt a call?

You're in a jolly good mood.

Sofia offered her sister a grunt as an apology, which Lily accepted with a giggle, their usual exchange.

Anyway, for your information, continued Lily, something pretty exciting indeed happened. Ready for it ... we've received a new sign from above.

Upon reaching the ground floor, the elevator door slid open. Sofia stepped out into the lobby and, distracted as she was, only then stopped sharp in a delayed reaction. What did you just say?

It had been over a year since the last time her sister had claimed to receive a sign from the heavens. The irony. While Sofia was a stern skeptic who questioned everything as a matter of course, her identical twin was a Catholic sister and historian who believed they were chosen. All because the mentioned sign had led Lily to discover a hidden message in one of Pope John Paul II's homilies; a message, which in turned contained a clue to finding Fatima's Third Secret. For those who believed in Marian apparitions—which Lily strongly did—Fatima's Third Secret was like the Holy Grail of lost prophesies. So, long story short, with Sofia's reluctant help, they set out to search for it—navigating coded miracles, obscure legends and lost sacred artifacts—only to unravel two mysterious straight lines that connected Europe and the Americas, and which did in fact lead them to the Secret in the end.  

With Dan's enthusiastic blessing, their discovery was presented in his magazine as a double fold, metaphorically speaking. Her sister Lily narrated the search as the paving of a divine path, that led to a divine secret, guided by a divine hand. All very divine. People loved it. On the counter fold, Sofia provided her well-placed arguments to explain where possible their findings in strictly rational terms. This most people cared less about. Either way, their remarkable story combined to offer an inspiring message calling for world peace with much success on the printing front—including a book deal—but with very little impact on world affairs.

In conclusion, if they were truly chosen to save the world, they had failed miserably.

Lily answered Sofia’s lingering question. I said: We’ve received a new sign, a meteor.

You mean as in an asteroid is coming our way? It's all over? The planet is going to blow up into smithereens because we dropped the ball?

Sofia was being overtly sarcastic on purpose. She usually had a hard time taking her sister seriously, but now more so in her current situation. She was too busy feeling flustered while scouting the lobby for anyone hunting her down to think about celestial signals. Other than a family, an elderly couple, and someone reading an oversized newspaper, it was all clear.

Her eyes wandered back to the newspaper. Who reads a real paper in D.C. anymore? No one. She dashed for the exit.

Don't get nervous. Let me finish, said Lily. A meteor as bright as the moon lit up the night sky—

Lily, this is not a good time. Sofia stood outside the hotel looking up and down the street. She needed to think of a safe place to plan her next move. Listen, she said into the phone as she randomly turned south toward Pennsylvania Ave. Remember I told you last week that Dan asked me to attend a sketchy event in Washington?

Yes...?

Well, here I am. I was at the presentation this morning when someone took a shot at the speaker.

Lord all mighty, is he okay?

He's fine, don't worry. It would appear that not only in action movies do bad guys have poor aim. The professor was on stage with all the light beams drawing a target on him. They missed.

That's insane! Was the shooter apprehended?

Sofia slowed her pace, remembering the commotion. I think so. She wondered if someone had intercepted the attack, explaining the miss. She'd ask Dan about the police report later. She resumed her speed and recentered. Lily, I need you to fly out to meet me here.

Why?

I need your expertise and academia all-access card to archives and libraries.

Sof, I'm in the middle of final exams.

You won't want to miss this: The speaker claims to know what happened to the official copy of the Declaration of Independence. Apparently, it's lost. Before he was interrupted, he was insinuating something about George Washington agreeing to a secret pact, maybe with Spain, and somehow, the pact is spelled out on the back of the Declaration. I'm not sure how it all ties in. In any event, he referenced your beloved Queen Isabella ...

Again, Sofia slowed down in reaction to her own words. Was that it? Spain had provided many of the historical clues during their previous quest. And in his speech, Professor del Mar shared a long list of items strongly related to that country. Was that why he sought her out? The thought made her flinch. What connection could there be between their mysterious lines and the lost Declaration? The two subjects were so far apart, she couldn't fathom one. Maybe there wasn't one. It was more likely this guy flapped his long eyelashes at her looking to piggyback off their recent success. The nerve. He would be disappointed, though. The magazine special had a nice run for a while, but interest was winding down fast. As things were going, they'd be lucky if their book deal didn't fall through.

Okay, agreed Lily, oblivious to her sister's deliberations, give me a couple of days to wrap things up and I'll be on my way.

"It can’t wait. The speaker mouthed something to me before he disappeared, and Dan confessed the invitation was addressed to me, not him. I'm starting to suspect this has to do with our lines."

If so, why hasn't the speaker simply picked up the phone and called you to discuss it?

Good question. Look, it's all a little dubious. Might not amount to anything. But Dan wants me to look into it and to be honest I'm curious myself.

Well, it is getting interesting ... First the meteor and now this ... muttered Lily. Fine, I'll do what I can to get there as soon as possible. Where are you staying?

I don't know yet. I checked out of the hotel I had booked. It's the first place the police will go looking for me if they have questions. I'm trying to avoid them.

Lily chuckled. I know a place no one will go looking for you: my friend Sister Genevieve's apartment. It's where I stay when I visit DC. I'll send you her contact information and let her know to expect your call.

Great, thought Sofia. She, the number one skeptic in the nation, was going to bunk beds with a group of devout nuns for the night.

CHAPTER 4

Freedom, Sancho, is one of the most precious gifts bestowed upon man by the heavens; no treasure hidden on land or under the sea can equal it. For freedom, as for honor, life can and should be ventured.

—Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, 1605

––––––––

It was cold and the day loomed dark under the thick clouds.

Sofia had rented a small non-descript sedan, picked Lily up at the airport, and was driving south on VA-286. Lily spent the initial stretch animatedly telling her about all the calls she made to find someone to cover for her along with anecdotes from each conversation.

Having run out of them, she switched subjects. So, how was it last night?

Very nice, said Sofia. Your friend Genevieve is a sweetheart. They all are. They went well out of their way to spoil me rotten. Do they have any idea what I think about their beliefs?

Of course. They love you all the more for it. Nothing like a good challenge. Did they convert you?

Sister Angelica's cinnamon rolls almost did this morning.

Wow, they pulled out the heavy weaponry. If the rolls don't do the trick, you're definitely a lost cause. You ate them all?

Sofia smiled. Go ahead; the ones in the bag are for you.

Lily launched for it. About time you offered. They smell delicious.

I see you're leaving your hair long like mine, observed Sofia. Her sister had worn a jaw-length cut for as long as she could remember. Now, her hair was collected in a braid long enough to reach her shoulder blades. It's going to get confusing.

Lily chuckled at that. Maybe on a genetic