Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,17

“That’s why your man was horrified that the enemy he faced was children. Finally, this last date, July 29, 1864, corresponds with the eve of the Battle of Petersburg. The Union forces dug a tunnel under the Confederate lines—it’s referred to in the diary entry—and blew up the enemy’s powder magazines, causing instant slaughter on an unprecedented scale. Since the entries stop there, your man must’ve died during the attack that followed the explosion.”

The professor paused and looked at Jackie. Like the schoolteacher he was, he asked, “Any questions?”

Jackie shook her head no. Grimsby took this as a sign to continue.

“The only unit,” he went on, “that fought at all three engagements was the Sixty-Fourth Rhode Island Volunteers. It was very simple then for me to take its casualty list from Petersburg and compare it to the list of volunteers who fought with William Walker as a filibuster.”

Jackie interrupted. “Professor, before you go on, could you explain—who was William Walker? And what’s a filibuster? I thought that’s what Jimmy Stewart did at the end of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.”

Grimsby sighed, as though trying to decide how he could condense Walker’s life in a way that would be immediately comprehensible to her.

“Let’s see. Walker fancied himself an American Napoléon. He tried to set up an independent Republic of Sonora in Mexico in 1853 but got himself kicked out of the country. Then two years later, Cornelius Vanderbilt—the railroad tycoon—hired him to overthrow the government of Nicaragua, which had seized his property there. Walker conquered the country with a band of sixty volunteers known as filibusters. He named himself the new ruler of Nicaragua and changed the name of the country to Walkeragua. But he let the power go to his head and wouldn’t release Vanderbilt’s property, leaving the tycoon with no choice but to petition the U.S. government to arrest his rogue agent. In 1857, Walker was removed from office. The year 1860 found him back at his old stand, trying to overthrow the legitimate government of Honduras. But he was arrested by U.S. authorities and handed over to the Hondurans, who executed him by firing squad later that same year. He was only thirty-six years old.” The professor shook his head. “It’s amazing that he managed to cram so much misadventure into such a short life span.”

The history lesson at an end, Jackie inquired, “Is there any mention of a young woman named Maria Consuela in your collection?”

“No, but I’m not surprised. The history of Walker in Nicaragua is rather sketchy.”

“And what about the man who wrote the diary?”

The professor paused before speaking, like a magician milking the climax of a particularly dazzling illusion. “His name was James Metzger. Not all that much is known about him. He was born in Berlin, Germany, where, as a young man, he apprenticed as a silversmith. Then he and his sister moved to the U.S. and settled down here in New Orleans, where William Walker studied medicine and published a newspaper. The young German was an early convert to his cause.

“Metzger was a bachelor, but his married sister, Harriet Saunders, lived here too. She inherited all his property, including this treasure map, which her descendants eventually bequeathed to our collection here. Unfortunately, we had no contextual resources”—he held up the diary pages—“to know that it was a treasure map.”

This was the moment Jackie had been waiting for. She hesitated before asking her next question out of fear that she wouldn’t receive the answer she so desperately wanted to hear.

“Professor, is this map still in your collection?”

“Unfortunately not,” Grimsby answered gently, like a man breaking bad news to a loved one. “It was stolen from the collection in the early thirties. By Malachi Simon, a supposed scholar who turned out to be a professional map thief.”

Jackie could see Grimsby react to the surprised expression on her face.

“There’s a lot of money to be made in antique maps,” he explained. “Many of them can be worth a fortune.”

“And what happened to this Simon? What did he do with the map?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say that I have no idea.” He paused and looked wistfully into the middle distance beyond the dining room window. “I wish I had known that Metzger’s map was the key to a treasure.”

“Why is that?” Jackie asked.

“Because then I would have quit this job and gone to Cuba to search for it. Whatever it was worth then, can you imagine how many times more than that it