apparently beaten to death. She was lying atop a bed of logs, her ears missing, with some sort of sign hung around her neck.
“This is Claire Marcourt?” the Old Man asked, his voice filled with pity for the woman.
The security chief nodded solemnly. “Her body was found early this morning on Jekyll Island, about forty-five minutes from her vacation home on Sea Island down in Georgia.”
“How’d you get a copy of the photo?” Harvath asked, examining it.
“We have some influence down there.”
“Any idea why they cut off her ears?” Carlton inquired. “Could she have heard something she wasn’t supposed to?”
The security chief shrugged. “For all we know, the symbolism is the exact opposite. Maybe someone felt she wasn’t listening as she should.”
“Do you have a better picture of whatever this sign is around her neck?”
Jacobson pulled another photo from his folder and slid it across thetable. Harvath picked it up while the Old Man pulled a pair of glasses from his breast pocket. Before he’d even slipped them on, he heard a quiet gust of air blown from Harvath’s mouth.
“What is it?”
Harvath handed the tight shot of the sign around the dead woman’s neck to his boss. Upon it had been painted a skull and crossbones with a crown floating above. The sign was streaked in blood, as if the victim’s bloody fingers had slid down it. Carlton read aloud the words painted beneath: “The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” Looking up from the photo, he stated, “I’ve heard that before. Who said it?”
“Thomas Jefferson,” Harvath replied.
“Exactly,” the security chief confirmed. “We think we’re dealing with some sort of anti–Federal Reserve extremist group.”
“What do these other letters mean here at the bottom? S.O.L. ”
“S.O.L. is an abbreviation for multiple sayings and phrases: statute of limitations, standard of living, sooner or later, speed of light. It could mean anything.”
The Old Man changed tack and asked a different question, “As far as you know, Mrs. Marcourt was kidnapped from home, correct?”
“According to her husband, that’s what we understand. Yes.”
“Did he have any additional insight, any clues as to who might have taken her or why?”
“No,” replied the security chief. “He was asleep, as were their children. Claire had been up drinking wine. There was no sign of forced entry. She liked to sit out near their pool. We’re assuming that may be where she was when she was kidnapped.”
“Why take her to Jekyll Island?”
“On that point, we’re pretty confident we know why. Jekyll Island is where the Federal Reserve Act, back in 1910, was originally outlined in a series of complicated meetings. You’d never know that, though, by listening to the conspiracy nuts. As far as they’re concerned, the meetings had everything but devil-worshipping masses and animal sacrifices.”
“That bad, huh?” said Harvath, picking up on what a hot-button issue this was for the security chief.
“Was there a certain degree of secrecy around the meetings, of course there was. Considering the sensitivity of what they were trying to do, why would that be strange? If I had been their security director back then, I would have advised them to do exactly what they did and stay as far under the radar as possible. We keep a lot of the day-to-day stuff here quiet because we have to, for security reasons, but that just fuels the crazies. You have no idea what a colossal pain in the ass those people are. Not a day goes by that we’re not dealing with something they’re stirring up.”
“I can imagine,” said the Old Man, who followed up with another question. “Have there been any ransom demands?”
“We’re not sure,” he replied, sliding another picture across the table. “This was also found at the scene.”
It was a picture of Claire Marcourt’s severed ears, propped up and
“This is Claire Marcourt?” the Old Man asked, his voice filled with pity for the woman.
The security chief nodded solemnly. “Her body was found early this morning on Jekyll Island, about forty-five minutes from her vacation home on Sea Island down in Georgia.”
“How’d you get a copy of the photo?” Harvath asked, examining it.
“We have some influence down there.”
“Any idea why they cut off her ears?” Carlton inquired. “Could she have heard something she wasn’t supposed to?”
The security chief shrugged. “For all we know, the symbolism is the exact opposite. Maybe someone felt she wasn’t listening as she should.”
“Do you have a better picture of whatever this sign is around her neck?”
Jacobson pulled another photo from his folder and slid it across thetable. Harvath picked it up while the Old Man pulled a pair of glasses from his breast pocket. Before he’d even slipped them on, he heard a quiet gust of air blown from Harvath’s mouth.
“What is it?”
Harvath handed the tight shot of the sign around the dead woman’s neck to his boss. Upon it had been painted a skull and crossbones with a crown floating above. The sign was streaked in blood, as if the victim’s bloody fingers had slid down it. Carlton read aloud the words painted beneath: “The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” Looking up from the photo, he stated, “I’ve heard that before. Who said it?”
“Thomas Jefferson,” Harvath replied.
“Exactly,” the security chief confirmed. “We think we’re dealing with some sort of anti–Federal Reserve extremist group.”
“What do these other letters mean here at the bottom? S.O.L. ”
“S.O.L. is an abbreviation for multiple sayings and phrases: statute of limitations, standard of living, sooner or later, speed of light. It could mean anything.”
The Old Man changed tack and asked a different question, “As far as you know, Mrs. Marcourt was kidnapped from home, correct?”
“According to her husband, that’s what we understand. Yes.”
“Did he have any additional insight, any clues as to who might have taken her or why?”
“No,” replied the security chief. “He was asleep, as were their children. Claire had been up drinking wine. There was no sign of forced entry. She liked to sit out near their pool. We’re assuming that may be where she was when she was kidnapped.”
“Why take her to Jekyll Island?”
“On that point, we’re pretty confident we know why. Jekyll Island is where the Federal Reserve Act, back in 1910, was originally outlined in a series of complicated meetings. You’d never know that, though, by listening to the conspiracy nuts. As far as they’re concerned, the meetings had everything but devil-worshipping masses and animal sacrifices.”
“That bad, huh?” said Harvath, picking up on what a hot-button issue this was for the security chief.
“Was there a certain degree of secrecy around the meetings, of course there was. Considering the sensitivity of what they were trying to do, why would that be strange? If I had been their security director back then, I would have advised them to do exactly what they did and stay as far under the radar as possible. We keep a lot of the day-to-day stuff here quiet because we have to, for security reasons, but that just fuels the crazies. You have no idea what a colossal pain in the ass those people are. Not a day goes by that we’re not dealing with something they’re stirring up.”
“I can imagine,” said the Old Man, who followed up with another question. “Have there been any ransom demands?”
“We’re not sure,” he replied, sliding another picture across the table. “This was also found at the scene.”
It was a picture of Claire Marcourt’s severed ears, propped up and
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