Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club, BOOK I

  #4: Is Booth using Reilly to get information about the President so he can kill him?

  “Or #5: Reilly knows that Booth is going to kill the President and is in on it.”

  Bill’s mind continued to race. Either way I have to handle this carefully. I don’t want to go back and start being seen by Reilly in case he is in on the assassination, so I have to pick the right time to be there. 


  He looked at the book and read again, John Wilkes Booth shot President A. Lincoln on April 14, 1865. He slammed the book closed. “That’s the time. That’s when I have to be there,” Bill said to himself.

  DATELINE: APRIL 14, 1865 PLACE: FORD’S THEATER, WASHINGTON 

  The evening of April 14, 1865, was warm in Washington. Bill purchased a ticket at Ford’s Theater and went into the lobby where he heard other theatergoers saying excitedly that the President would be there for the evening’s performance. As he went in to find his seat, he looked up to his right saw the empty presidential box draped in the flag of the Union.

  Scott’s seat was in the downstairs center, and he looked up again at the presidential box. It was still empty. He continued to familiarize himself with the theater, noting the exits, and spotted a door on his level marked ‘To Balcony.’

  Then he heard murmuring from the back of the house. The sound increased as more people turned around and whispered, “The President and Mrs. Lincoln have arrived.”

  The audience began to applaud as President and Mrs. Lincoln were seated in their box. One moment later the President stood and graciously bowed.

  Bill saw Reilly and a uniformed guard in the open doorway behind the seated Lincolns. Excusing himself, Bill left his seat and headed toward the balcony door. He mentally shook his head at the lack of security when he found it unlocked. The time traveler went quickly and quietly up the poorly lit carpeted stairs. Opening the door onto the balcony, he saw another box next to the one in which the Lincolns sat. Its deep red curtains were half opened, showing it was empty.

  He stepped inside and peeked around to see the rear of the presidential box. He saw the guard standing in front of the curtain. Reilly must be inside, he thought. His mind began some quick calculations, and he thought should I confront Reilly? What will I say? What if I somehow screw up history?

  Then he heard Reilly addressing the guard. “If you need to have a latrine break, this is the time. Then I’d like you to tell Lieutenant Pearson that I want a few more men up here. I just heard a rumor that there are some bad elements in town tonight.”

  Bill heard the soldier walk away briskly and go down the stairs.

  It’s time, he thought. I can’t just stand here. I’ve got to confront him.

  He stepped out of the box and walked toward the President’s box. Suddenly Reilly was in front of him, pistol drawn, cocked and aimed at Bill’s head.

  Reilly blurted out, “You? I had a feeling there was someone in that box, but not you! What are you doing here?”

  “Just lower the pistol and we can talk,” Bill said.

  “Not on your life. Hands high. Walk over there and turn around,” Reilly said, gesturing toward an out-of-the-way corner.

  Bill did as he was told, and Reilly patted him down. “No concealed weapon,” Reilly said, as he kept his pistol on Bill. “Why are you here? I thought your mission was over a couple of years ago?”

  “That mission was over. This may not even be a mission. Tell me about John Wilkes Booth,” Scott responded.

  Reilly’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find out about him? Were you following me?”

  Bill shook his head no, “Just by chance. You met with him in a restaurant the day I was supposed to leave Washington. His face looked familiar. It was. He is the man who killed Abraham Lincoln.”

  Reilly was suddenly jubilant. “So, the plan works! The world is done and finished with that self-righteous, depressed, poor excuse of a man.”

  Incredulous, Bill said, “But you are Lincoln’s protector! Why do you wish him harm?”

  With some eagerness, Reilly began to explain, “I don’t wish him harm. Other factions do. I intend to bring them to justice after the deed is done. I see this as a chance to strengthen the States. When the President is shot, Booth has no way out but past me. I’ll shoot him during his getaway and that shot will be a signal for others to take over Washington for its own protection. After all, the people don’t know how many other criminal elements are in on the act. They’ll believe anything we tell them.”

  “But why? I thought you were all for a great democracy. Why turn this into a dictatorship?”

  Reilly leaned toward Bill and said fervently, “Because I want the United States of America to be the one and only power on the face of the Earth. I want all other governments to prostrate themselves before us. We shall stop all tyranny in the world and there will be one central seat of power . . . Washington!”

  Still trying to make sense of what he was hearing, Bill continued, “How would you do that? I mean England and France would never stand for that. They’ll join forces and invade and defeat you.”

  Reilly smiled. “Very simple. The submarine! Thanks to your information, I’ve tracked down Mr. John Holland and asked him of his plans for an undersea craft. He was quite enthusiastic to share them with me. I told him to keep the meeting a secret and that I would see about getting the U.S. Navy to finance it. I have friends in the Navy who are quite willing to back it.”

  “But his submarine won’t be ready until 1893, that’s still twenty-eight years away,” Bill replied.

  Reilly grinned. “In your time, perhaps. But from what I understand from your mission, history can be changed. And by getting Mr. Holland the funds he needed years earlier, we can shortly have a fleet of undetectable, quiet craft, and, to quote you, ‘the ultimate weapon of war.’”

  Bill shook his head and responded, “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  “Well said, sir, and now I’m afraid you will have to die as one of the gang of hoodlums.” He cocked the pistol at the same time a muffled shot erupted from behind Bill. The crowd screamed and Reilly smiled again. “Right on time. The President is dead! Good-bye Mr. Scott . . .”

  Bill lunged at him the same moment a shot rang out. He grasped Reilly around the waist, only to feel no resistance. Both men fell to the floor, and then Bill’s eyes were even with the security man’s. The bullet hole in Reilly’s forehead puzzled Bill for a moment.

  Then he saw someone wearing brown boots step out quickly from a nearby box. Holding a smoking pistol was O’Neil. He looked down at Bill and asked, “Are you hurt, Mr. Scott?”

  “N . . . no . . . no, just shook up. Did you hear everything?”

  The young security man was already turning away. “Everything. I can’t believe Reilly was a traitor. I must see to the President.”

  Three hectic days later Bill and O’Neil were having a drink at a local tavern.

  “Mr. Scott, what you tell me is fantastic,” O’Neil said. “Extremely hard to believe, yet all you say comes true.”

  Bill nodded in agreement. “True, all right. It’s hard for me, too. I’m new at this. But I’m puzzled. Why were you at the theater?”

  “I thought it strange,” O’Neil confided. “The President and Mrs. Lincoln were going to the theater, and Reilly gave me the day off. Not the way he usually did things. But I had already become suspicious. Mr. Reilly seemed to be spending a considerable amount of time with a new group of friends. Many were officers in the military, but others were more doubtful. He met with them at their homes or clandestinely. He had taught me many ways to spot a dangerous fellow, and he started to exhibit the same traits.” O’Neil sipped his drink. “So I started to follow him. He met many times with Mister John Holland, a cheerful fellow and not part of this conspiracy as far as I can tell. One day, by accident, I saw some plans on Reilly’s desk with Mister Holland’s name at the bottom. They were drawings for an ocean-going ship of destruction. I once asked him about Holland,
and he became furious. Not really like him at all.”

  Bill raised his glass. “I’m glad you did. And because the public has enough grief at this time, you decided to let them think Reilly was shot by Booth?”

  O’Neil spread his hands and shrugged. “What good would it have done to expose him? I’ll have the officers quietly removed from their posts and let it all die down. Do you agree with my tactics, Mr. Scott?”

  “I do, Mr. O’Neil, I surely do. You’re hitting the ground running as far as I can see.”

  “A strange saying, sir, but I take it as a compliment, sir.”

  Bill slapped him on his back and said with a smile, “It is. You’ll go far in this business.”

  O’Neil shook his head. “No, sir. I’m leaving the security business.”

  “Leaving? But why?”

  O’Neil leaned back in his chair. “Too much intrigue and too many late nights. I want to enjoy my family. My wife and I have a six-month-old baby girl, and I want to be there with my wife and watch her grow up.”

  Bill nodded, “I understand. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as a holiday in New York . . . in my time?”

  O’Neil shook his head. “No, thank you anyway, Mr. Scott. But I do believe my wife would not want to see a change in me, and I do not want to tempt myself to see things I should not, as Mr. Reilly did.”

  “Wise of you, sir. But will you take a little advice? Purely for the sake of your