Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club, BOOK I

streets of Georgetown and along the wider main streets. In the bright daylight, people strolled past quaint row houses and small restaurants along the cobblestone streets. As usual, the smoke poured from most of the chimneys as people prepared food. Bill noticed that the air seemed especially foul today and many people had their noses covered.

  The driver said over his shoulder, “Poor luck for us, sir. The wind brings the Potomac’s smell this way today.” Bill remembered the river was polluted at this time.

  The carriage casually turned a corner, and he suddenly spotted Reilly sitting in an open-air restaurant having mid-morning coffee.

  Bill was about to stop the carriage when he saw that Reilly was not alone. He was with another man. The difference was striking. The man was dressed fashionably with long hair pointed beard and mustache while Reilly wore a nondescript three-piece suit. The man was good-looking and quite animated.

  I told him that I wouldn’t be seeing him again, Bill thought as he decided to keep going, but looked back. Reilly’s companion seemed familiar, but he thought, that’s impossible. I can count on one hand the people I’ve met in this time.

  The cab turned down another street, and Bill’s attention drifted at the sight of children running beside a marching military band leading more recruits to their barracks.

  Washington and History passed by as the cab plodded slowly along.

  DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  The next day Bill was back at the club. He sat behind the large desk that once belonged to Prescott, sipped coffee and munched on toast with peanut butter. He was tired from the long Washington to New York trip and looked forward to sleeping that evening in the large Federal-style bed that came with the job. He thought about calling Charlene and telling her about his new job then shrugged it off. It’s over. Forget her. He sat straight up as he realized he hadn’t thought of her in days. He smiled as he finished his coffee. I’ll trot over while she’s at work and grab my stuff. Heck, maybe I’ll even leave her a note.

  After breakfast, he took a book on Lincoln from the huge library and with a magnifying glass studied a photograph of the President at Gettysburg as he stood outside an Army tent. Bill chuckled as he remembered how he had tripped over one of the tent-peg ropes. Every soldier around and even a general had rushed to help him.

  He returned the book to the shelf and scanned over some of the other titles. He stopped at one, Lincoln: Birth, Life and Death of a Great Statesman. Bill took it over to his desk and began to thumb through the pages. Grainy black-and-white photos illustrated the large coffee-table book. He stopped to look at himself once more outside the tent and smiled again.

  As he turned the pages in the section titled, “Death of a President,” a small photo caught his attention. He stared at it and reached for the magnifying glass. It was the man Reilly had had coffee with. Bill’s eyes went wide. The caption read. “John Wilkes Booth shot President A. Lincoln on April 14, 1865.”

  He gasped as he thought, John Wilkes Booth! Why was Reilly having coffee with him? Doesn’t he know . . . ? No, wait! Of course, he doesn’t know. I’ve got to go back and tell him. He sat back and continued to stare at the photo. Tell him what? That his friend is going to kill his boss? No, I’ve got to do some more research on both men before I act.

  Thirty minutes later Bill sat on the floor, books strewn about. “Prescott, where are you now that I need you?” he muttered. “Man, I have to think about this.” He scrambled to the desk and grabbed a pencil and some paper as he thought, All right, let me make a list of all this.

  #1: Lincoln has spells of depression; the top level of his Security Service knows it and covers it up.

  #2: Reilly knows John Wilkes Booth, Lincoln’s killer.

  #3: Or, Reilly doesn’t know that Booth is a killer.