Lincoln sat back, precariously balanced with feet up on the table so that his chair almost tipped over. He pulled a small paring knife out of his pocket, opened it and went to work on his fingernails.

"And yet the political games still play out," he sighed.

"It's always been that way, sir. We're no different from the Romans, the Greeks. Remember Alcibiades? Even though the city-states knew they were collapsing under the weight of their wars, still Athens worked at cross-purposes with itself and squandered its best generals. We're no different"

"I hoped we could be. I believe we can be," Lincoln said softly. "A fair part of the world, at this moment wishes us to fail. They are praying even now for it, because we represent something different. A belief that the common man is the equal of any king, of any despot of any fanatic claiming mat God is behind him. If we fail now, if we let this continent sink into divided nations that ultimately will fight yet again and divide yet again, then the dream of our forefathers will be for naught."

He shook his head and chuckled self-consciously.

"Sorry for the speech, Elihu."

"I rather like them at times, Mr. President. When they come from the heart they remind me of why I first got into politics."

Lincoln chuckled.

"I wonder at times how many out there believe that idealism did drive some of us to this path. To hear our opponents and the press behind them, one would think that we did it simply to grasp for power and money. I'll be hanged, Elihu, but if I wanted that, I'd have stayed in my practice and charged the railroad companies exorbitant fees."

"It's always that way, sir. When they can't fight you on principles, the only recourse is to smear you or to kill you."

Lincoln said nothing for a moment, slowly nodding his head.

"Do you think Grant will measure up to the job?" Lincoln asked.

"Yes, I do believe he will. His record already indicates that As you asked, I observed him closely the last week. There was no puffing up the way so many would have, like McClellan or Hooker. He took his responsibilities calmly, without pomp or fanfare. You saw that touch of his private's uniform. It wasn't posturing; it's just the man is so simple in that sense that he believes that is how he should dress and behave. I like that."

"So do I."

Lincoln smiled and nodded to his stocking feet on the tabletop.

"Mrs. Lincoln is always telling me that George Washington never would have put his bare feet up on a table, but Elihu, I think he did."

Elihu laughed softly in reply.

"Well, sir, when it comes to George Washington, honestly I can't see him in stocking feet Andy Jackson, of course, but not Washington."

Lincoln smiled.

"Grant's staff, the generals under him, they worship the man," Elihu continued, "but he will tolerate no open displays. As you said, he sees this war as a grim, filthy business. And the quickest way to resolve it is to apply every ounce of strength we have into one terrible blow at the key point. We talked a lot about that He says that war has changed forever. It is now an entire nation, its industry, its strength, applied to the battlefield. He grasps that our strength might not be in terms of certain generals, such as Lee, but rather in an unrelenting combination of manpower and industry. That he sees as the key to victory."

"You like him, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. I remember him from before the war. Poor man, washed up from what had happened to him. We talked several times; he was gentle, quiet, soft-spoken; hard to believe he had been trained as a soldier. I think he was haunted by what he saw in Mexico, and frankly I liked that, in spite of his turning to the bottle as an answer.

"He hates war. He hates the waste and the blood. Someone told me that in one of his first battles in Mexico, a close friend, standing by his side, was decapitated. It has given him nightmares ever since."

Lincoln said nothing.

"There is no talk of glory in this man the way we heard with McClellan, Hooker, Pope, and too many others."

"Will he see it through and not lose his nerve?'

"Sir. The question is more will you see it through?"

Lincoln looked at him quizzically.

"Many of the papers up north are howling. The riot in New York was a near run thing, as were the riots in Cincinnati and Philadelphia. If we lose one more fight like Union Mills, you might be facing a collapse, the Democrats in Congress will call for a meeting with Davis, who, as you know, is this night not a dozen miles from here. If You refuse, they might seek to impeach you, and I fear that more than one member of your Cabinet would go along with it"

Lincoln shook his head.

"Thank God for the Founding Fathers," he said softly. "Sir?'

"In their wisdom they gave the executive four years in office. Until that term expires, I will hold the course. I swore an oath before God to defend our Constitution and I shall do it Congress can howl, they can scream. I don't care what they say now. Congress might be swayed by the passions of the moment but I will not be. If my Cabinet turns against this course, I will fire them. If need be, I will stand alone. As long as Grant can field an army, I will support him and I will hold this course. If the people, in their wisdom, or because of the fears and lies of the demagogues, should vote me out, then so be it but until then, I will plow the furrow I am in."

Elihu smiled.

"Then Grant is your man."

Baltimore, Maryland

July 20, 1863 11:30pm

The knock on the door was in code-three taps, three times. Sitting in the semidarkness with George Kane, one of the city's former commissioners of police, ex-mayor George Brown looked up nervously. He moved to blow out the coal oil lamp on the table between them, but Kane shook his head.

"Do that and they'll come barging in." "What if it's Federals?" Kane forced a smile.

"Then it's back to prison. Go answer the door." Brown stood up, his wife standing at the top of the stairs looking down at him, eyes wide. "Stay up there," he hissed.

He went to the door, checked to see that the chain latch was hooked in place, undid the bolt and cracked it open. "The Honorable George Brown?" The man standing on the steps was wrapped in a dark cloak, broad-brimmed hat pulled down low over his eyes. He smelled of horse sweat

"Who is asking for him?" Brown asked.

"A friend."

"How can I be certain?"

"Mr. Brown, I don't know any of the damn silly passwords, but I beg you, let me in." "I'm armed," Brown said.

"You should be, on a night like this; now please let me in."

He hesitated, the man in the doorway looking around nervously. A patrol marched with shouldered rifles, passed on a side street, a crowd of several dozen behind them, shouting, obviously drunk.

"Damn it, sir, don't leave me standing out here."

The stranger opened the top button of his cloak and Brown caught a glimpse of a uniform collar. It was light-colored, not the dark blue of a Union jacket, which looked black at night.

Brown unhooked the chain and opened the door wider. The lone man slipped in, Brown latching the door shut behind him.

"This way," Brown announced and pointed to the parlor. Kane was on his feet, hand in one pocket of his trousers. "Who is it?" Kane asked.

The man stood in the doorway and looked around cautiously.

"Sir, I will have to ask who you are first"

"This is a friend of mine," Brown interjected, "and you are a guest in my house. So please, no more tomfoolery, identify yourself."

"Sir, I am Lieutenant Kirby of General Stuart's staff and with the First Maryland Cavalry, Confederate States of America. I grew up here in Baltimore; my father worked on Mr. Howard's newspaper as a typesetter. If you wish for verification, I know where Mr. Howard is and will find him, but I would prefer not to be back out on the street"