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her head and gave herself up to silent tears.

7
February 1861
    Sledge worked his gold toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “God damn it, how long are they going to argue in there?” Lon couldn’t help a twinge of guilt. His preacher father had been fierce about the sanctity of the Lord’s name.
    An Army officer, Captain John Pope, stood outside the suite to which Sledge referred. Lon and Sledge guarded the hallway between the suite and the staircase of the Jones House in Harrisburg. Captain Pope watched them with unconcealed suspicion.
    â€œMaybe forever,” Lon said. “Colonel Lamon doesn’t like the boss, that’s plain.”
    Sledge bent his knee and rested his boot heel against the pale wallpaper, where it left a mark. Lon stretched and yawned, using the move to edge closer to the suite. Under the gas jets he and Sledge looked pasty and worn. They’d been up since daybreak Thursday, when they left Baltimore for Philadelphia. They’d been ordered there to help protect Lincoln, his wife, sons, friends, and political cronies on the official train.
    Because of death threats, Pinkerton wanted to spirit Mr. Lincoln to Washington immediately. Lincoln refused to cancel his Friday schedule. He’d raised a flag at Independence Hall to display the new star for Kansas and celebrate Washington’s birthday. Following that he’d made a quick rail trip to Trenton, then came on to Harrisburg to meet with the Pennsylvania legislature and Governor Curtin. Lincoln had been summoned upstairs from the hotel banquet room at six o’clock, at Pinkerton’s insistence. It was now half past eight.
    Contentious voices were raised behind the double doors. Nicolay, the new President’s secretary, was in there. Norman Judd, a stout Illinois politician, was in there, along with two more officers charged with guarding the President-elect. The argument had gone on since last night, when Frederick Seward had arrived at the Continental Hotel in Philadelphia with a letter of warning.
    â€œI say we should implement the plan.” That was Pinkerton, refusing to yield. “We had rumors of an assassination attempt as early as a month ago. Last night we had independent confirmation, sent from Colonel Stone’s Baltimore agents to General Scott, thence to Senator Seward, who dispatched his son with the letter. The evidence is strong, sir. I urge you to follow my plan.”
    Lamon interrupted. “No, I object. We still aren’t sure.”
    â€œWard, hold on.” That was Lincoln. His was a thin, light voice that occasionally rose up high, most unpleasantly. Ward Hill Lamon was a lawyer, Lincoln’s closest friend among all those riding the special train to Washington. “Nobody wants to see the President-elect sneak into town like a thief in the night. I don’t. Since the election I’ve become familiar with death threats. I try to ignore them. But Seward and Scott are not alarmists. I do admit that both of them, and you, Mr. Pinkerton, could be reacting to the same set of rumors. Trouble is, we just don’t know.”
    â€œI don’t believe in a Baltimore plot and I never have,” Lamon said.
    â€œBut the Baltimore gangs are notoriously lawless.” That was old white-haired Colonel Sumner, regular Army.
    â€œDoesn’t matter. These so-called detectives are just promoting themselves with phantom conspiracies.”
    Pinkerton said, “Lamon, that’s an insult. If duels were still allowed, I’d call you out. I’ve been undercover in Baltimore for a month, together with five of my best operatives. We were invited by Mr. Felton, president of the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore, because of threats against his line. I’ve gained the confidence of leaders of the Southern faction, especially that barber at Barnum’s Hotel, Ferrandini. He’s part of a secret group called the Knights of Liberty. I have men planted