The Lost Order (Cotton Malone, #12)

by Steve Berry

“I had Martin Thomas’ key card flagged. I didn’t find it last night on his body, so I was going to cancel it this morning. But it was just used to gain access inside the natural history museum.”

A few days ago, after another violent encounter, his father had told him the secret the exhibit held. In the 1960s his father had found what was known as the Trail Stone within the Smithsonian’s collections.

There it had been cataloged and stored away, just one more of the millions of curiosities the institution harbored. In 1974 it became necessary to hide the stone away, so his father chose the newly created reef exhibit, a safe bet since its funding had come from a special gift by a wealthy family with the condition that the exhibit remain standing for at least thirty years. It lasted over forty. But its time had expired.

“And I also found the Trail Stone.”

“I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same. That I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. “So help me God.”

Hearts meant gold to the Spanish, and to the knights.

Experience had taught him that the ears were always more attentive than the mouth, so he kept quiet and listened.

“These knights are bad people,” Lea said. “I never realized how bad. I’m ashamed that some of the local men are even part of it.” “Tell me about that.”

Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.

“Mr. President, it’s Taisley Forsberg. That man who took the notebook, he just smashed in the door to Alex’s apartment.”

“That necklace I returned to you is the symbol for the Knights of the Golden Circle,” he said. “You have one, by your own admission. Alex threw his away. He rejected what you, your brother, and Vance are planning. And now he’s dead. What an incredible coincidence.

“The knights don’t exist.” “Unfortunately for both you and your brother, that’s not true.”

Paul stepped close and produced a cell phone with a video on the screen. Taken in a pine forest, through a column of trees, it showed a rocky bluff and two people. Alex and Diane. Talking. Alex smoking a pipe. More talk. Diane appeared to cry. Alex comforted her. Then she shoved him off the cliff.

“Are you with the Knights of the Golden Circle?” “Why do you seem surprised? Your father studied us for years. You’ve studied us, too.” “In the abstract. He never told me that the organization still existed.” “Because he never knew.

many key state legislators. I think after tonight he’ll be more than anxious to please. Of course, he won’t be participating in your venture, nor will Grant Breckinridge. Which means you’re on

“The current Order numbers around 550 members. At present there’s a schism among the knights. One group, led by our commander, wants to move forward with legal changes to the Constitution. You’re familiar with that through Kenneth Layne. What you don’t know is that the Order funds his organization. The other faction, led by me, prefers that we stay dormant.”

A quote from Eisenhower made on June 6, 1944. D-Day. YOU ARE ABOUT TO EMBARK UPON THE GREAT CRUSADE TOWARD WHICH WE HAVE STRIVEN THESE MANY MONTHS. THE EYES OF THE WORLD ARE UPON YOU. I HAVE FULL CONFIDENCE IN YOUR COURAGE, DEVOTION TO DUTY AND SKILL IN BATTLE

“But let’s get real, Warren. The Knights of the Golden Circle was a terrorist organization. It may well have been the largest, most successful terrorist organization in American history. They wreaked a lot of havoc and spawned the KKK.”

Cotton kept staring at his great-great-grandfather’s journal, remembering the gold cross and circle he’d seen in his mother’s jewelry box. She’d never told him much about it, but now he knew its likely origin. Her ancestor. Angus Adams. A knight of the Golden Circle.

His father did not seem impressed. “You have no idea what it means to be a knight.” “Tell me.” His father sat up. “They took an oath to freely sacrifice life and everything dear for the perpetuity of the Order’s principles. They pledged death and destruction to abolitionists, leaving no means untried to circumvent their schemes.” “That was 150 years ago.”

“Honor is timeless.”

“The Knights of the Golden Circle respect history,” Weston said. “And though we may be divided at the moment, both sides are interested in the vault. And not just for its wealth. There’s a legend.”

He remained enraged. “Legend? Stephanie Nelle is fighting for her life because of this nonsense.”

The knights who came after the Civil War were more thoughtful, more lawful, more patient. They saw things differently. As the Order faded in the late 19th century, while the vault was being prepared and stocked, it’s said those men left instructions on what they wanted us to do.” “Marching orders?” Weston shook his head. “More a lost order.”

“You must understand,” Weston said. “We’re talking about the deep passions of dedicated men. For them history was not something in a book. It was alive, part of them. It mattered. For them, to be a knight was to be something of importance. They saw themselves as the means for reshaping the country in a fundamental way. Those passions remain today in the current members. Maybe even more. So for us, it’s important to know what those who came before us have to say.”

He’d had enough. He was done. “Warren, a man is dead at the Smithsonian and Stephanie Nelle is in a coma—” “Which was all done by a man outside the Order.”

The blood of Christ. He suddenly felt a connection with Angus Adams, who’d lived amid this raw, undisturbed beauty. A landscape devoid of people. Not a speck of civilization in sight as far as he could see. Back then it would have been even more isolated.

“We have some more information,” a voice said in his ear. “The church has been there since the 18th century, but it suffered a lot of damage during an earthquake in the 1920s. It’s been a partial ruin ever since. Hikers use it as a reference point since it sits high. It’s fairly isolated and no one gives it much thought. There are a few hundred more just like it scattered all across New Mexico.” He hadn’t heard what he really needed. “What was it called?” “It’s had a few names, no one knows which one is right. We call it Pasto al Norte.” Which he immediately recognized from the Horse Stone. Shepherd of the North. Good enough for him. * * * Cassiopeia stood outside the car, her hands still bound, but at least she was in brisk morning air. They were high in forested mountains, parked among the trees about fifty meters off

“The three dots in the upper left are the three ruins below. Take a look out that window.” She stepped over and peered out. From their vantage, down through the trees, she saw a cairn amid the triangle formed by the three aged structures. “It’s an old horse trough,” the old man said. “Hence the horse on the stone. The numbers 1847 were once engraved on the trough, as they were once engraved here in the church. It’s significant to the former name of this place.

“Angus Adams built the trough,” Breckinridge said, “and incorporated the Alpha Stone into its construction. A conical cap once sat atop it, resembling the robed figure on the Witch’s Stone. I removed it when I found the Alpha Stone in 1972. I then decided to move the stone up here, which I did alone one night. Back then, this area was far more remote and much less visited.”

Cotton stood beside the old horse trough, built—he now knew—by Angus Adams. Two days had passed since the carnage. They’d spent yesterday connected by the Internet to the Castle and Rick Stamm, where they’d combined all five stones into a single digital mosaic.

With the help of the Smithsonian’s natural and American history museums, satellite images were prepared of the topography extending from the church toward the north, across the river, just as the Alpha Stone indicated. Incredibly, the squiggly lines depicted the right canyons, in the right places, the line with eighteen markers carving a path up into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Determining distance had been the tricky part, but the dots along the curvy line that ended at the center of the Heart Stone seemed evenly spaced apart, which they’d taken as a clue.

In Adams’ time the varna was the common unit of measure. About a yard. If that were correct, then comparing the stones with the satellite imagery, the dots on the path lay around five hundred yards apart. Adams had probably tagged that trail with eighteen defined markers, but Cotton doubted many of those still existed—and if they did, finding them could be tricky. Nothing about this quest had been easy, so why would Adams, at its end, have made anything different?

A La Muerte del Finado Angus Adams. On the death of the late Angus Adams.

“Adams hit the nail on the head,” Daniels said. “All this should go to the Smithsonian.” “That might be harder than you think,” Weston noted. “We’re on federal land. This gold belongs to the United States of America.”

Cotton surveyed the room one more time. “There are billions of dollars here.” “Which the Smithsonian can put to good use,” Weston said. “And the Knights of the Golden Circle?” Cassiopeia asked. “What becomes of them?”

The Knights of the Golden Circle (chapters 12, 14) existed, starting sometime in the 1850s and finally fading near the turn of the 20th century (chapter 26).

It was the largest, most successful subversive organization in American history (chapters 12, 28, 40). Tens of thousands were members. Interestingly, historians tend to ignore it, though the Order’s plans for a southern empire, a golden circle, were real (chapters 12, 25). The meeting at the Greenbrier resort in 1859 happened, and the rules booklet exists (chapter 12). The knights’ motto was simple: To maintain the Constitution as it is, and to restore the Union as it was. Their odd handshake and secret words of greeting are factual (chapter 12), but connecting the cross and circle to the knights is purely my invention (prologue, chapter 8). Most of the official records from the Confederacy did, in fact, disappear in the days before Richmond fell, and to this day they have never been found (chapter 85).

The treasure hunt Malone engages in (chapter 1) is based on an actual search that utilized similar physical clues. The Knights of the Golden Circle did in fact bury large hoards of gold throughout the South and left natural markers in the woods as described in chapters 1, 14, and 22. Most of that wealth was acquired from theft and looting, some even by Jesse James, whom many believe was a knight (chapter 22). James’ and others’ countless robberies may actually have been part of an organized, postwar terror campaign the knights waged on Reconstructionists. An excellent book on the subject is Shadow of the Sentinel, by Warren Getler and Bob Brewer.

Angus Adams is based on Captain Thomas Hines,

The proposed 28th Amendment noted in chapter 4 has been suggested several times, but Congress has never considered it.

The early days of the House and Senate as recounted in chapter 13 are historical fact, as is the rise of the infamous filibuster.

That single achievement, more than anything else, elevated the U.S. Senate into one of the most powerful legislative bodies ever created. If sixty senators do not invoke cloture and vote to silence (chapter 13), a single senator can literally shut down the entire legislative process. In fact, it happens all the time. Most times today in private.

The tunnel beneath the National Mall between the Castle and the natural history museum exists (chapter 16). The only difference is I added a bend in the path. In reality, it’s a straight line for 730 feet. The spiral staircase winding through the north tower of the Smithsonian Castle is there (chapter 19) and its provenance, as detailed, is accurate. I made one change, adding an exit on the second floor, which no longer exists.

Today the Smithsonian Institution consists of nineteen world-class museums, a zoo, and nine research centers. At the heart of most of these facilities is a library. By and large, those libraries do not sit out on an exhibit floor. No signage points the way to them. Instead, they are tucked off to the side, out of the way, but working hard every day.

The same is true for the Smithsonian Libraries. Its collections are amazing. Over two million books, manuscripts, maps, prints, paintings, research data, and physical artifacts. Anything and everything you could possibly imagine. The subjects are likewise all-encompassing, including aerospace, anthropology, astronomy, astrophysics, art, biology, botany, history, sociology, zoology, and much more. For 2016, nearly $17 million will be spent keeping the doors open, ensuring all of that information remains readily available to researchers, scholars, and the public at large. Nearly 10 percent of that budget has to be raised from individual and corporate contributions. And unlike in the novel,

there is no vault of gold waiting to be found.

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