you, so I will indulge you. You asked if an under-the-ocean vehicle exists in my time? Well, one not only exists, but it was an American named John Holland who perfected it. I have been on one many times.”
Reilly’s eyes opened as a child seeing birthday presents. “Lord, man, tell me what it’s like. I mean to travel beneath the waves and not even get a drop of water on oneself? Amazing!”
Bill went on, “Amazing, true. But the submarine, as we call it, became a weapon of war. In fact, it’s safe to say it’s the ultimate weapon of war. It can’t be seen or heard except by another submarine. It can sit on the bottom of the ocean and wait for months to do what it has been designed to do . . . wage war. We’ve become very good in the future at creating weapons that science fiction writers have only fantasized about. So you see my reluctance in enlightening you.”
Reilly sat back in his chair. “I do, sir, I do. You must forgive me and my curiosity.”
“Of course.”
The security man looked at his pocket watch. “Finish your drink, Bill. The time is near.”
They drained their glasses, and Reilly clipped his cigar before they left the room. He led the way up a flight of stairs then down a red-carpeted hallway towards a large white door guarded by two armed soldiers. The time traveler smiled to himself as he noted there were only fifteen paintings of past Presidents on the walls. Bill was nervous as Reilly tapped on the door. A voice sounded from within.
“Yes?”
“Mr. President, it’s Reilly.”
“Come on in, Reilly.”
Reilly opened the door and stood aside to allow Bill to enter. Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth President of the United States, sat behind a desk that looked too small for him. He was signing some papers and looked up as the men entered. Bill’s first thought was how large his hands and head seemed.
“Afternoon, Reilly,” he said as he lowered his glasses until they dangled close to the end of his nose, “who’ve we got here?”
“Mr. President, this Mr. Bill Scott, a reporter from Chicago who wants to interview you for an article to run in next week’s paper. I told him he has no more than one half hour because at three o’clock you are meeting with General Grant.”
The president rose and offered Bill his hand. Lincoln smiled and said as he took in his height, “My, but you’re also punished with having to look high an’ low for garments that fit. I know what you go through in the everyday clothing and shoe store, sir, and I pity you.”
Bill smiled at the natural warmth Lincoln exuded and was amazed how his own large hand seemed to disappear in the president’s.
“Mr. President, I’d like to thank you in advance for allowing me a few minutes of your precious time.”
“Nonsense. Sit down, sir. Coffee or somethin’ a mite stronger perhaps?”
“No sir. But don’t let that stop you.”
“I can wait. Now, what paper is it that you write for?” President Lincoln asked.
“The Chicago Times, sir.”
“Well then, shoot away,” Lincoln, said as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
The half hour flew by, thought Bill as he closed the door behind him. He walked past the soldiers and over to Reilly’s office.
“How did the interview go?” Reilly wanted to know.
Bill was still tingling. “What a great man! He has such an easy-going attitude and speech. No wonder he goes down in history as one of the greatest men of all time.”
“Yes, Bill, he is a great man. And I’m truly sorry that you have to help him through this. He has a great load on his shoulders and I can understand how it could get a strong man down. But, if as you say, history doesn’t know of these trying times of his, well, I’ve done my job.”
“You and your team have done a great job, Reilly, a great job.”
They shook hands and Reilly said, “Let me get O’Neil to take you back to your hotel.”
“No,” Bill said. “I’m going to walk. I have so much to think about. It’s been a great day and I want to savor it. Thank you.”
“Prescott said he would brief you about the day of the switch. Do you feel comfortable with it, still?” Reilly asked.
“I do. I believe I can pull it off.”
“You may need this pass during your stroll back,” Reilly said as he scribbled on a White House memo pad, tore the sheet off and handed it to him. “See you soon, Bill.”
“Good afternoon, Kenneth.”
Bill walked back to his hotel thinking he truly was in a different world. The atmosphere had more than an odor to it; it had a feeling that, at any moment, something could happen. The streets were alive with squads of marching soldiers and cavalry. Bill noticed that cannons were placed at various spots throughout the city. He felt that the soldiers could pick him out as an outsider every time one looked at him. He turned a corner and saw a field cannon being set up in a small square and stopped to watch the men unlimber the weapon. As he watched a young captain approached him.
“You enjoy watching soldiers set up their pieces, mister?” he asked.
Caught off guard Bill nodded and answered, “Yes. Are you on maneuvers?”
The captain took a step back and put his hand on his pistol but didn’t open the holster cover. “Why don’t you show me some papers, mister?”
Bill was puzzled and mumbled, “Wha? Papers? Why?”
Now the Captain unbuttoned his holster and said, “You a Reb spy or somethin’? Ya’ better show me some convincen’ papers real fast, mister, and don’t make no sudden moves.”
Bill put his hands out as though to show he was weaponless. He saw the Captain looking at his writing case. “I’m a writer, Captain. I just had the good fortune to interview President Lincoln.”
The military man eyed him as he said, “You interviewed Mr. Lincoln?”
Bill bent down slowly and removed his writing tablet and showed it to him. “Yes, I just left the White House this afternoon.”
The captain looked at his notes and shrugged his shoulders, “Danged if this proves that you’re not a Johnny Reb. I need to see some papers.”
Bill reached inside his jacket with his left hand and removed the note Reilly gave him. He wasn’t sure what it said and he was upset with himself for not reading it.
The Captain took and opened the folded paper as he stepped back a safe distance from Bill to read it. His eyes opened wide. He refolded it and returned it to Bill. He did a slight bow and smiled as he said, “Sorry Mr. Scott, but these here are hard times for all of us and I just can’t take no chances. I do hope you understand.” He pointed at the river, “Johnny Reb is right across the Potomac. Dang spies can be anywhere.” He did a casual salute and walked back to his troops who were leaning against their gun while not being supervised by him.
Bill watched as the captain started shouting orders at his men and they got back to setting up the field gun. Got to remember that Washington is in the front lines in this war, and I also have to read the note Reilly provided me, he thought as he smiled, I might be important. He opened the note and read it. It was simple and to the point, “Let this man pass. He is a reporter, Mister William Scott. Ordered by White House Security Chief, Kenneth Reilly.” It was signed with a very flourished Kenneth Reilly signature. Looks like it’s Reilly who’s important. Bill thought as he put the note away.
DATELINE: NOVEMBER 19, 1863 PLACE: WHITE HOUSE
The morning of November 19, 1863, was cold with overcast skies. Bill and Prescott were with Kenneth Reilly in a room with no windows. The security man stared at the tall man in the black coat and high hat, familiar to all as Lincoln-like attire. Prescott stood back and admired his handiwork. He passed a small hand mirror to Bill who looked at himself. He saw the sixteenth president of the United States staring back. Now he understood Reilly’s shocked look.
Bill said, “Prescott, you’ve missed your vocation. You should have been a stage makeup artist.”
“Believe me, Bill, the makeup kit I was given was
made to have only one effect. To have you look like the President,” Prescott responded.
Reilly spoke up. “Damn, man, he is the President’s double!”
Bill fingered his fake beard and said, “Never had a beard . . . and now I know why. It’s just not me. And thanks for the mole, Prescott. Nice touch, but it will come off later, right?”
“It’s guaranteed.” Prescott answered.
Reilly checked his watch. “Let me hear you speak,” he said to Bill.
“Fourscore and seven years ago . . .”
Reilly winced. “You have to speak in a higher tone of voice.”
Prescott handed Bill a large handkerchief. “You have a cold, remember? Use the cloth as a cover for a deeper voice.”
Bill covered his mouth and spoke a few more words.
Reilly nodded and said, “Better. And I’m going to keep everyone away from you. A few key people know of this. They are watching over Mr. Lincoln who is in one of his states just as Prescott predicted he’d be. The fewer people who know, the better. Keep reading your speech, and I’ll let on that you are under pressure to put it to memory. We’d better move out to the carriage.” He turned to Prescott, “I’m afraid you have to stay behind, Prescott.”
“I understand. I’ll wait at the hotel. Good luck gentlemen.”
Reilly opened the door, and Bill, in his Lincoln guise, started to follow.
Prescott caught up with them and whispered to Bill, “Walk tall, sir, you are the President of the United States of America. Make all who see you, believe it.”
Bill walked