Annja considered the implications of that for a few minutes. “Parker stated that the Friends of the South were ‘more than they appeared to be’ in his note to his subordinate, Sykes. Could that be what he was referring to? That the Friends of the South was really the Order of the Golden Phoenix?”

Garin shrugged. “It’s certainly possible.”

“But why should that matter?” Annja asked. “The South borrowed money from the French to help bankroll the last few years of the war. That’s a well-documented historical fact—no one really disputes it. What difference would it have made if the money came from the Friends of the South or from the Order itself?”

“Perhaps it was a political issue.”

Annja wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “How so?” she asked.

“It was just a rumor, mind you, but at the time the Order was supposedly trying to instigate a British invasion of the United States. That might not have gone over well with the allies of President Davis.”

Annja stared at him. “An invasion?”

“It wasn’t such a bad idea actually. The Northern Army was exhausted, its supplies were dwindling and its manpower spread all to hell and back. The Southern Army was still going only through the generosity of its French backers. A sizable force could easily have landed in New York or Baltimore and threatened Washington in a matter of days.”

Annja found the idea disturbing, probably because it would have had an excellent chance of succeeding. “The Union Army would have been forced to march back north to deal with the intruders, leaving the Confederates to retake the territory it had lost,” she said.

“True, but you’re not taking it far enough yet. How would a strengthened British involvement in the U.S. have benefited France and, by extension, the Order?”

It took a few minutes of puzzling it through, but the answer finally came to her. “The Union wouldn’t have gone down without a fight, which meant the British forces would have been tied up for some time. While they were otherwise occupied, the French could have taken advantage of the situation, by attacking British interests elsewhere.”

Garin smiled and nodded as Annja continued to think out loud.

“Given the financial instability of the Confederacy at that point, it likely would have ended up a vassal state of France in all but name only, for it would have taken even larger infusions of French capital to help it recover on its own without the North’s assistance. France wins on both sides of the war.”

It was an audacious and cunning plan, one that would have required not only patience but skillful political maneuvering behind the scenes to put all the pieces in place at the proper time. The entire scheme could have been ruined with just a few words in the wrong man’s ears.

The wrong man’s ears…

Just like that, the whole tangled mess straightened itself out in her mind’s eye and she could see the picture it formed clearly for the first time. She knewwhat had happened. William Parker had stumbled upon the Order’s plans. Continuing the negotiations and returning the gold would have placed not just his president but his very country at stake. Unable to communicate quickly with those above him in the chain of command, Parker most likely acted on his own initiative, doing what he could to derail the process from the inside. Arranging to have the gold hidden in order to delay repaying the earlier loan would certainly have caused some waves.

She wondered what, exactly, had led to the fateful confrontation in the catacombs. Had he challenged his contact? Had he inadvertently let something slip? There seemed no way of knowing.

After laying out her thoughts to Garin, Annja asked, “So what happened to them? The Order, I mean?”

“The answer to that depends on who you want to believe. Some say there was a falling-out among the central members at the start of the twentieth century and the group eventually dissolved. Others suspect that the Order still exists and is still directing things behind the scenes in an effort to regain some of the glory that France has lost over the years.”

“What do you think? Or better yet, what do you know?” Annja asked.

“As a long-standing member of the Order, I’m sworn to secrecy. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some rest.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes, leaving Annja gasping and wondering if he really had been a member of the Order.

He certainly seems to know a lot about them, she thought. She glared at his peaceful face knowing there was no point trying to get any further information out of him.

Since Garin had made the comment specifically to keep her wondering and to keep her attention on him, Annja resolved to do the exact opposite. She decided to find something else to occupy her attention. She wasn’t particularly tired, not yet at least, so she pulled her laptop out of her backpack and fired it up.

She used the plane’s Wi-Fi connection to log on to the internet and do some background research on the Chennault plantation.

The house had been built in 1853 by Dionysius Chennault, an elderly planter and Methodist minister, known to friends and family as Nish. He and his wife, his brother, John, and several other family members were present when Captain Parker arrived with his wagon train, seeking a place to shelter for the night. Chennault allowed them to use a nearby horse pasture but neither he nor his family members were aware of what Parker was transporting. At least, there was no mention of that in any of the records that Annja could find. Unfortunately for Chennault and his family, General Wilde, the Union officer in charge of the area, heard about the treasure and believed that the Chennaults knew more about it than they would admit. He arrived on site with soldiers and ordered them to torture the male family members, stringing them up by their thumbs until they talked. When they pleaded their innocence, he had them all arrested and transported to Washington, Georgia, for further questioning. Eventually, the Chennaults were declared innocent and released. The family returned to the plantation and remained there until the end of their days.

In the process of looking for information on the location, Annja discovered that the house was actually up for sale. The webpage listed the Realtor’s name, Catherine Daley, as well as her cell phone number and email address, so Annja sent off a quick message stating she and a wealthy companion were flying into Atlanta that afternoon and were looking to tour the property that evening on extremely short notice. Could she accommodate them?

The Realtor returned her message within five minutes, stating she’d be happy to see them and provided directions from the airport to the plantation.

Gotta love mobile technology, Annja thought as she confirmed that they would be there and logged off. Satisfied she’d done what needed doing before landing, she settled back to get some sleep.

20

They arrived in Atlanta just past four o’clock local time, thanks to the eight-hour flight and the six-hour time change. Having rested comfortably for most of the trip, they immediately collected the rental car Garin’s people had arranged. In no time they were on the road.

Washington, Georgia, where the Chennault plantation was located, was about an hour and a half drive northeast of Atlanta. They managed to get out of the downtown area before the afternoon traffic became too heavy and made good time on the road, arriving just as the sun was beginning to set.

The directions given to them by the Realtor were excellent and they had no problems finding the antebellum mansion on the south side of town.

The house was surrounded on two sides by towering oaks and on the others by gently rolling hills that disappeared off into the distance. They pulled into the drive and parked behind the silver BMW that was already there. As they did so, the front door to the mansion opened and a woman came out to greet them.