The Jefferson Allegiance

This is the first book in the Presidential series. A #2 National Bestseller on Barnes & Noble.com

The second book, The Kennedy Endeavor will be out at the end of 2013.

Prologue:

The 4th of July 1826

"Is it the Fourth?"  In debt, dying, and with only his favorite slave as companion, Thomas Jefferson still had one last duty to discharge. 

"Yes, it is, sir," Sally Hemings said, "but it's still dark.  Dawn is a half-hour off."  She wiped a cool cloth across the wide forehead of the man who owned her.  Not tenderly like a lover, but with the touch of a favored servant, an occasional confidant, and primarily with the suppressed and paradoxical hope of freedom at the price of her master's passing.  She put the cloth back in the bowl and walked over to the drapes.  She parted them and looked out into the darkness, seeing the oil lamps scattered around Monticello flickering in the pre-dawn gray.

"Is he here?"  Jefferson's voice was a rasp, barely audible.

"He's been here for a week," Hemings replied, irritation creeping into her voice.  "He's waiting in the Parlor."

"It's time."

Her eyes went wide at the implication.  "Are you sure, sir?"

Jefferson didn't have the energy to speak again.  His thinning gray hair—still holding a touch of red—was highlighted against the pillow.  He made a slight twitch in the affirmative. 

Hemings escorted in a frail young man with black hair and even darker eyes.  His hands shook.  He seemed afraid to approach the ex-President's alcove bed as if by doing so, he might bring to completion the act he was here for. Jefferson's eyes were closed.  He whispered something and Hemings and the man had to come closer until they were both hovering above the President.

"Poe.  It's time."  Jefferson nodded toward the headboard ever so slightly.  "It's there."

Edgar Allan Poe's tongue snaked across his dry and cracked lips, deprived of alcohol this long week, a sign of how serious he took this event.  "Yes, sir."

Poe reached behind Jefferson's pillow and retrieved a leather bag.  Something inside rattled, and Poe glanced inside, and then closed it.  He held the bag with his shaking fingers.

"Sir—"Poe paused.

Jefferson's head twitched in the affirmative once more.

"Sir, where is the rest?"

"Safe," Jefferson whispered.  "With an old enemy who became a friend.  He will pass what he has on to the head of the Military Philosophical Society, whom you must contact.  You must go to the Military Academy next."

"I understand, sir.  But the Military Academy.  I do not think I--"

Jefferson wasn't listening.  "Hide it." 

"And what is the Key phrase that unlocks it, sir?"  Poe asked.

Hemings watched him lean close, his ear almost brushing Jefferson's lips.  Jefferson whispered something that she couldn't make out.

Poe straightened and nodded.  "Yes, sir."  He glanced at Hemings, who tilted her head toward the door, wishing her master would not exhaust any more of his strength.

"Sir, you look well," Poe said.  "Perhaps—"

"Leave now. Before it is light," Jefferson ordered, a surge of strength putting force behind the words. "We have enemies.  The Cincinnatians are everywhere."