"This appears to be an early rendition of the Great Seal of the United States. But this letter is dated 1778, years before this draft of the Seal appeared in the public record around 1782. Surely this is some sort of a forgery."
"It's not," Gray said.
"May I?" Sharyn gently retrieved the pages. "You said you've translated these, but I'd be happy to confirm the accuracy of that work."
"I'd appreciate that," Gray said.
Heisman paced alongside the table. "I'm assuming the content of this letter is what triggered this late-night meeting. Perhaps you could explain why something two centuries old could not wait until morning."
Seichan spoke for the first time. Her voice was quiet, but coldly threatening. "Because blood has been spilled to secure these pages."
Her words sobered Heisman enough to get him to sit down at the table. "Fine. Tell me about the letter."
Gray began, "It was a correspondence between Franklin and a French scientist. A man named Archard Fortescue. He was a member of a scientific group put together by Franklin. The American Society for the Promotion of Useful Knowledge."
"Yes, I'm familiar with the group," Heisman said. "It was an offshoot of the American Philosophical Society, but more specifically geared to the gathering of new scientific ideas. They were best known for their early archaeological investigations into Native American relics. In the end, they became almost obsessed with such things. Digging up graves and Indian mounds all across the colonies."
Sharyn spoke at the curator's elbow. "That is specifically what the letter seems to address," she said. "It is a plea to this French scientist to assist Franklin in mounting an expedition to Kentucky"-she translated the next with her brows pinched together- " 'to discover and excavate a serpent-shaped Indian barrow, to search for a threat to America buried there.' "
She glanced up. "There appears to be some urgency to this correspondence." To prove her point, she ran a finger along a passage of the letter, while translating. " 'My Dear Friend, I regret to inform you that the hopes for the Fourteenth Colony-this Devil Colony-are dash'd. The shamans from the Iroquois Confederacy were slaughtered most foully en route to the meeting with Governor Jefferson. With those deaths, all who had knowledge of the Great Elixir and the Pale Indians have pass'd into the hands of Providence. But one shaman did live long enough, buried under the bodies of the others, to gasp out one last hope. He told of a map, mounted within the skull of a horned demon and wrapped in a painted buffalo hide. It is hidden in a barrow sacred to the aboriginal tribes within the territory of Kentucky. Perhaps such talk of demons and lost maps is the phantasm of an addled, dying mind, but we dare not take the chance. It is vital we secure the map before the Enemy does. On that front, we've discovered one clue to the forces that seek to tear asunder our young union. A symbol that marks the enemy.' "
She flipped the page for them all to see. It depicted drafting compasses atop an L-square, all framing a tiny sickle-shaped moon and a five-pointed star.