Benjamin sat across from Anton, the small oval coffee table in his second-floor study between them. Spread across the table were a dozen yellow sheets from the large legal pad, covered with notes in Benjamin's tidy, squarish printing-so similar, he realized, to his father's.
Benjamin sat slumped against the back of the overstuffed couch. Ever since he'd returned to Anton's from the library, he'd felt the desperate urge to simply collapse and fall asleep. But his mind was far too excited by what he'd discovered to allow him to do that. And, if he was to attend the reception that evening at the Russian Cultural Center, he needed, somehow, to stay awake.
So he was drinking yet another cup of coffee-or rather glass of coffee. Anton had handed him the tall, flat-bottomed glass set on a saucer, warning him it was "black as the Devil's heart." Benjamin could see a sludge of grounds in the bottom, but he'd tried it anyway, discovered he liked it. First strong scotch, now strong black coffee… What other risky tastes remain undiscovered? he wondered.
As far as his "tail" at the library, feeling rather proud of himself, Benjamin had explained to Anton how he'd ditched him. Exiting the library when he was finished with the diary, he'd gone straight to the tunnel that ran from the basement of the Jefferson Building, under Second Street, to the James Madison Memorial Building. The tunnel was only accessible to library staff, and he'd known his shadow would never gain entry without identification; probably didn't even know of its existence. Once outside the Madison building, he'd immediately caught a cab to Anton's row house in Georgetown.
"Anyway, it's all there," Benjamin said, waving toward the yellow pages. "That is, everything I could get from the undamaged pages of the diary. But I don't know how you're going to enter it into Dr. Fletcher's program."
Besides the coffee, Anton had brought Benjamin some cheese and bread, but Benjamin hadn't touched any of it. He was simply too tired, and too energized, simultaneously, to even think about food.
Anton began, "Jeremy Fletcher very smart guy. This," he pointed to the laptop, " Grandiozno. Genius. Words in, formula out. But explain to me what's here." He pointed to the notes Benjamin had made. "Maybe it make my job little easier."
"Well." Benjamin rubbed his eyes. "You have to understand, much of the diary was too fragile, or too illegible, to read. So I had to piece all this," he waved at the yellow pages, "together, fill in some gaps from what I already know about the period. And make some guesses, which might not-"
"Don't excuse," Anton said, "just say 'maybe.' "
Anton's impatience reminded Benjamin of when Wolfe would interrupt him when he got too "lecturey." He experienced another twinge of sadness over Wolfe's disappearance. He shook it off, realizing he'd have to save such feelings for later, when, hopefully, there would be time for them.
Where to begin? Probably, he thought, at the beginning.
"What you have to understand, Anton, is that the Puritans weren't all the same. As I explained to Samuel, there were sects, factions, rivalries."
"Is always so," said Anton. "Why Puritans any different?"
"Well, one of the strongest rivalries was between the strict Puritans and a group known as the Antinomians. My father had always assumed that Hessiah Bainbridge-Harlan's father-was part of this radical group, because, when Anne Hutchinson and the other Antinomians were banished from Massachusetts in 1638, Hessiah went with them to Rhode Island. And he took his young son and wife."
"Banished?" said Anton. "Sounds like Tsar times, with dissidents and Siberia. And why you say 'assumed'? Your father not right?"
"I'll get to that," Benjamin said. "Anyway, the stricter Puritans considered the Antinomians blasphemers because they believed that each individual was capable of receiving God's grace all by him or herself, without the 'guidance' of the Church fathers."
"Bad for monopoly," said Anton, smiling.
"Exactly. But there was another reason the Antinomians were banished. You see, Harlan's father had been one of the so-called Radicals calling for better relations with the Native Americans. His dream was to build a Prayer Town that could serve as a kind of cultural embassy, where the Natives could learn English and European customs-and of course religion. According to everything my father and other scholars knew about Hessiah Bainbridge, this dream was his driving passion.
"But according to the diary, there was another group among the Puritan conservatives, a group I'd never heard of; a group Harlan names as the 'Congregation of the Eye of Providence.' They were the most doctrinaire of all the Puritans, the most fanatically devoted to the idea that the New World had been given to them by God to create a pure society, free from the corruption of Europe.
"This group considered any plans for peaceful relations with the Indians to be a dangerous threat to their vision of this new society, this New Jerusalem. According to Harlan, they didn't want the Natives converted; they wanted them gone."
"How is it so," Anton asked, "you never heard of these eye guys before?"
Benjamin smiled. "Well, not by that name. There are vague references to the 'Guardians of Purity,' and similar descriptions," Benjamin replied. "No one's ever discovered any declaration of their principles, no sermons that mention them directly, no tracts or stories. Most Colonial scholars thought these references were a joke, a nickname to make fun of the humorless fanatics among the Puritans."
"But now?" Anton prodded.
"These," Benjamin pointed at the notes, "are excerpts from Harlan's diary. And he knew these 'Eye of Providence' Puritans were not a joke. He knew they were well organized, absolutely dedicated, and mortally dangerous to anyone they considered a threat. And that they were dead set against any plans to establish better relations with the Native Americans. He knew in fact that they planned to use the Natives as a bogeyman to scare the increasingly secular Puritans back into line."
"And how he know all this?" asked Anton skeptically.
"Because his father, Hessiah, was one."
For the first time, Anton looked surprised. "But you said he was be-friends-with-Indians guy?"
"He was what I guess you would call a double agent," Benjamin said. "At first, Harlan was too young to understand. But eventually he came to realize that the Congregation of the Eye of Providence had planted Hessiah with the Antinomians to keep watch on them, to sabotage their plans. The irony was, by the time Hessiah died in Rhode Island, Harlan himself had become someone who truly did believe in Prayer Towns. He writes about an 'epiphany' he had, wherein God revealed to him that their true calling was to live peacefully with the Natives. To convert them, yes; but also to learn from them and thus build the sort of tolerant new society appropriate to a New World. By then, Harlan had come to hate the Eye of Providence fanatics and everything they stood for, which as far as he could see was merely the maintenance of absolute power by creating false enemies."
Anton snorted. "Very old story."
Now Benjamin was surprised. "You mean, you understand them?"
"For seventy-five years," Anton said, looking suddenly serious, "Party keeps power by telling people enemies everywhere: counter-revolutionaries, wreckers, secret conspiracies. Stalin says Trotsky main bad guy, makes everything bad happen in USSR. Trotsky says, if I'm so powerful, how come Stalin's in Kremlin, and I'm in exile?" He laughed. "But nobody listens. People needed enemies. Stalin's propaganda tell them what they already believe. Is how good propaganda works, yes?" Anton smiled. " Maybe even in America."
Benjamin thought about that, gave a reluctant, "Too true." Then went on.
"Harlan did finally get financing for his Prayer Town, from Henry Coddington, a wealthy merchant. Sometime around 1665 the community of the Bainbridge Plantation was established in western Massachusetts. On the very spot where the Foundation sits today."
"And this not make Eye guys happy, right?"
"Well, at first they didn't seem to bother about the plantation. Perhaps it was too far removed from civilization. And at first the plantation thrived. Harlan writes proudly about one of the first converts-a Native called Wounded Bear, whom they re-christened John Sassamon."
"This name important?"
"Well, it comes up ten years later, in King Philip's War. And though Harlan doesn't come right out and say so, it's clear he came to not completely trust this Sassamon. But by this point Harlan doesn't have time to worry overmuch about that. It seems that the Eye of Providence Puritans finally took notice of the Bainbridge Plantation, decided it posed a threat to their control of the central colonies, and set about to sabotage it."
"How?" asked Anton.
"Food stores burned, hunting parties ambushed, threatening symbols left carved in trees. Some of the plantation's people thought it was the Wampanoags, angry about the plantation's proximity to their burial grounds. But Harlan was convinced it was all due to the 'perfidy of the Puramists.' "
"Pur-who?" asked Anton.
"Puramists," Benjamin said. "It's another name Harlan uses for the Congregation of the Eye of Providence. And sometimes he just calls them 'Triangle Puritans.' "
"Ah," said Anton, " puramis is pyramid, yes? But triangle…?"
"From their habit of drawing a little triangle in their Bibles, with an eye at the apex."
"The eye of God," said Anton.
"Exactly. Just as they believed God was watching and judging their every move, they believed they had the divine authority to watch over the colonies. Here, look at this."
Benjamin picked up one of the yellow sheets and turned it around so Anton could read it. "It's an entry from the diary. I copied it down verbatim."
Anton leaned over the table and read what Benjamin had written: -Receiving our Guidance from the true Geneva Bible and as Bradford's example a lesson to us all-he that might have possesed himself of the entire Plymouth Plantation, as did Penn or Weldon, and withe his denial sacrificed a greater and reall worthinesse-seek a vertue to sever the serpent of Commerce from Civitas. But that the Civill selfe is the true self, "good with bad," and not the cross of usurpry as well to beare, for that is too much. -As for Mr. Childham, the new Governor, what passe for his Piety governes the designe whereof Principall is fastned to an artificiall Church, the Church of Businesse-for against this Rule the wheeles of fortune grind out a Soveraignty like dust, filling all the aire, onely to clog an honeste man's mouth and blinde an honest Puritan's eyes.
Anton looked up. "Which means in plain English?"
"This is Harlan's way of describing the philosophy of the Puramists. To him, they were all about treating not only their civil life but their spiritual life, too, as a business. A business they controlled. This idea was blasphemy to Harlan and most of the other traditional Puritans. And this mention of the 'serpent of Commerce'…"
"Yes?" Anton prodded.
"It's a curious way to use the word 'serpent.' Usually, in Puritan writings, serpent is a synonym for Satan. But here… well, it's just that there was another reference, to 'Satan's trident,' in a letter written by Harlan. And in that letter, he linked it with the Puramists. Clearly he thought they were very bad people."
Anton thought that over for a moment.
"Neveroyatno," said Anton. "Quite a story. But, how you get from these 'very bad people' to this… what is it… Newburgh guys?"
"Well," Benjamin shook his head, "it sounds incredible, but I think they're one and the same group."
Anton's considerable eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I thought Newburgh guys soldiers and politicians, not Puritans."
"Actually," said Benjamin, "I think they were all three: soldiers, politicians, and religious fanatics. For two reasons."
Anton leaned back, motioned for Benjamin to proceed.
"First, Harlan writes that there were seven major Puramist leaders, a kind of Inner Council. And the name of the leader of that council was one Elias Morriss."
"And this name, is important?" asked Anton.
"Elias Morriss was one of the top aides to Joshia Winslow, and Winslow was one of the most zealous advocates for eliminating the Natives through any means necessary. And they both later became commanders in King Philip's War."
"Okay," nodded Anton, "they don't like Indians. But how this connect to an almost-coup one hundred years later?"
"That's my second reason. Their symbol, this triangle with an eye at the apex? It's almost identical to a symbol I saw today in the Library of Congress, in an engraving of Major General Horatio Gates. Gates was Washington's rival during the Revolution, and probably one of the ringleaders in the Newburgh conspiracy."
Anton shook his head. "Little triangle maybe too tiny to balance big conspiracy."
Benjamin smiled. " And, another of those ringleaders was probably a Gouverneur Morris. Now, granted, that was Morris with one S, and the Puramist was a Morriss with two-but in those days variant spellings of the same last name were commonplace. I haven't done the genealogy, but there's a good chance they're related. So, as you would say, maybe…?"
"Ah," said Anton. And now he looked interested. "So you think these Puritan Bolsheviks, these, what you called them… Puramists? You think maybe these 'very bad guys' still around one hundred years later?"
Benjamin was about to tell Anton about his discovery in the mural at the manse and his suspicion they may have been around much longer than that; but once again, he hesitated. His only evidence was an indistinct little doodad in that immense painting. And once again, he decided it was simply too fantastic to get into now, and that he should stay focused on what he'd learned from the diary.
"At the very least," Benjamin continued, "it explains why the Morris family had this fake diary created and saw to it the real one was hidden. In 1929, the Morris family and the other benefactors were establishing the Heritage Institute for Good Government, something they hoped would help restore the world's shining hope for democracy. And this was at a time when that democracy was struggling to survive. There were demagogues like Father Coughlin on the right and radicals like the Wobblies on the left…" Benjamin thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I can see how they would have considered it embarrassing to have it revealed that their ancestors had been fanatical racists and antidemocratic conspirators. How they might have even considered murder justified in keeping such a secret. And finally, isn't that symbol just a little too much of a… coincidence?"
Anton pursed his lips. "Coincidence just low probability," he said. "Not proof."
Benjamin saw the skepticism in Anton's eyes and began to doubt his own conclusions. Now not just the mural but the whole story began to sound like a paranoid fantasy.
"I don't know," said Benjamin, rubbing his eyes. "Perhaps you're right. How could they have kept it secret for so long, among so many people?"
"Don't give up so fast. Maybe, like in Party, most didn't know what Eye guys up to. Best conspiracy one you don't tell anyone they're part of."
Benjamin looked up. "Odd you should put it that way," he said.
"What?"
"It's just, that sounds very much like something Samuel said… the last time we talked."
"Sam smart guy," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "Maybe smartest thing he do, keep you at Foundation."
"At least all this," he waved at Benjamin's notes on the table, "fill one big hole in TEACUP. If these Eye guys did sabotage plantation, maybe even get Indians to destroy it, then explains 'wobble' number one, yes?"
"You mean, they manipulated King Philip's War into happening? That's what the TEACUP program revealed to Jeremy?"
"Or would have," Anton nodded, "if he'd had Bainbridge diary. But still leaves other big hole. Which is Stzenariy 55. "
"Damn!" Benjamin said, standing up. He looked around for a clock. "What time is it?"
"Oh yes," said Anton, "your date." He looked Benjamin over. "You can't go meet Bolshoi like that," he said.
"Oh, god," said Benjamin, looking at himself in a mirror. What he saw was a very rumpled suit, a wrinkled shirt, uncombed hair, and a dark five o'clock shadow.
He turned to Anton. "Unfortunately, I didn't pack black tie for the Foundation. I'll have to go by my apartment, clean up, and at least put on a fresh suit."
"Not such good idea," Anton said. "Apartment probably last place you want to go."
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" Benjamin said angrily. He ran a hand through his hair, rubbed his neck. "Sorry, I'm just tired and cranky."
"Is okay," said Anton. "My son leave some clothes here. Big businessman. I think tuxedo in his closet." He looked at Benjamin. "Older and bigger than you, but fit okay." He smiled. "Maybe."