Steve Berry - The Jefferson Key

ALSO BY STEVE BERRY

NOVELS

The Amber Room

The Romanov Prophecy

The Third Secret

The Templar Legacy

The Alexandria Link

The Venetian Betrayal

The Charlemagne Pursuit

The Paris Vendetta

The Emperors Tomb

E-BOOKS

The Balkan Escape

The Devils Gold

The Jefferson Key is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 by Steve Berry
Maps copyright 2011 by David Lindroth, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

B ALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Grateful acknowledgment is made to Monticello/Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc. for permission to reprint the floor plan of the first floor of Monticello, with labels. Reprinted by permission of Monticello/Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Berry, Steve.
The Jefferson key: a novel / Steve Berry.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-53016-5
1. Malone, Cotton (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Code and cipher stories.
I. Title.
PS 3602. E 764 J 44 2011
813.6dc22 2011009396

www.ballantinebooks.com

Jacket design: Marc J. Cohen/Scott Biel
Jacket image (The Jefferson Memorial Coin): 2011 Medallic Art Company, a division of Northwest Territorial Mint
(store.NWTMint.com/national_park)

v3.1

For Zachary and Alex,
the next generation

To Gina Centrello, Libby McQuire, Kim Hovey, Cindy Murray, Carole Lowenstein, Quinne Rogers, Matt Schwartz, and everyone in Promotions and Salesa heartfelt and sincere thanks.

To my agent and friend, Pam AhearnI offer another bow of deep appreciation.

To Mark Tavani, for pushing to the limit.

And to Simon Lipskar, thanks for your wisdom and guidance.

A few special mentions: a bow to the great novelist and friend, Katherine Neville, for opening doors at Monticello; the wonderful folks at Monticello who were most helpful; the great professionals at the Library of Virginia, who assisted with the Andrew Jackson research; Meryl Moss and her terrific publicity staff; Esther Garver and Jessica Johns, who continue to keep Steve Berry Enterprises working; Simon Gardner, from the Grand Hyatt, for providing fascinating insights on both the hotel and New York; Dr. Joe Murad, our chauffeur and tour guide in Bath; Kim Hovey, who offered some excellent on-site observations and photographs of Mahone Bay; and, as always, little would be accomplished without Elizabethwife, mother, friend, editor, and critic. Quite the real deal.

This book is for our grandsons, Zachary and Alex.

To them, Im Papa Steve.

For me, theyre both quite special.

The Congress shall have Power to grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water

C ONSTITUTION OF THE U NITED S TATES ,
Article 1, Section 8

Privateers are the nursery for pirates.

C APTAIN C HARLES J OHNSON (1724)

WASHINGTON, DC

JANUARY 30, 1835

11:00 AM

P RESIDENT A NDREW J ACKSON FACED THE GUN AIMED AT HIS chest. A strange sight but not altogether unfamiliar, not for a man whod spent nearly his entire life fighting wars. He was leaving the Capitol Rotunda, walking toward the East Portico, his somber mood matching the days weather. His Treasury secretary, Levi Woodbury, steadied him, as did his trusted walking cane. Winter had been harsh this year, especially on a gaunt, sixty-seven-year-old bodyhis muscles were unusually stiff, his lungs perpetually congested.

Hed ventured from the White House only to say goodbye to a former friendWarren Davis of South Carolina, elected twice to Congress, once as an ally, a Jacksonian Democrat, the other as a Nullifier. His enemy, the former vice president John C. Calhoun, had concocted the Nullifier Party, its members actually believing that states could choose what federal laws they wanted to obey. The devils work was how hed described such foolishness. Thered be no country if the Nullifiers had their waywhich, he supposed, was their entire intent. Thankfully, the Constitution spoke of a unified government, not a loose league where everyone could do as they pleased.

People, not states, were paramount.

He hadnt planned to attend the funeral, but thought better yesterday. No matter their political disagreements hed liked Warren Davis, so hed tolerated the chaplains depressing sermonlife is uncertain, particularly for the agedthen filed past the open casket, muttered a prayer, and descended to the Rotunda.

The throng of onlookers was impressive.

Hundreds had come to glimpse him. Hed missed the attention. When in a crowd he felt as a father surrounded by his children, happy in their affection, loving them as a dutiful parent. And there was much to be proud of. Hed just completed the impossiblepaying off the national debt, satisfied in full during the 58th year of the republicin the 6th year of his presidency, and several in the crowd hollered their approval. Upstairs, one of his cabinet secretaries had told him that the spectators had braved the cold mainly to see Old Hickory.

Hed smiled at the reference to his toughness, but was suspicious of the compliment.

He knew many were worried that he might break with precedent and seek a third term, among them members of his own party, some of whom harbored presidential ambitions of their own. Enemies seemed everywhere, especially here, in the Capitol, where southern representatives were becoming increasingly bold and northern legislators arrogant.

Keeping some semblance of order had become difficult, even for his strong hand.

And worse, of late hed found himself losing interest in politics.

All the major battles seemed behind him.

Only two more years were left in office and then his career would be over. That was why hed been coy about the possibility of a third term. If nothing else, the prospect of him running again kept his enemies at bay.

In fact, he harbored no intentions of another term. He would retire to Nashville. Home to Tennessee and his beloved Hermitage.

But first there was the matter of the gun.

The well-dressed stranger pointing the single-shot brass pistol had emerged from the onlookers, his face covered in a thick black beard. As a general Jackson had defeated British, Spanish, and Indian armies. As a duelist hed once killed in the name of honor. He was afraid of no man. Certainly not this fool, whose pale lips quivered, like the hand aiming the gun.

The young man pressed the trigger.

The hammer snapped.

Its percussion cap detonated.

A bang echoed off the Rotundas stone walls. But no spark ignited the powder in the barrel.

Misfire.

The assailant seemed shocked.