Read The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller for Free Online

the hot tin cup with a nod.
    “Why do I get the feeling you’re a’ goin’ to tell us anyway, Billy Yank?”
    *   *   *
    The Union civilian was hunched over with his cloak protecting him from the downpour of rain that had Lee’s camp swimming. The fires were built high and then he realized why—the Army of Northern Virginia was getting ready to move and the high campfires would tell the Union sentries across the river that they were hunkering down for the night. The old man’s eyes saw the wagons being hitched and the wounded being loaded. Yes, the army was making a run for Richmond and the embrace of Jefferson Davis and his Confederacy.
    Two well-appointed guards stood on either side of the door fronting a modest home. An old woman sat in a rocking chair darning as the two sentries kept their rifles straight. When the guest stepped onto the porch, the one on the right eased the door open as the guest removed his hat and sloughed off some of the rain.
    “Thank you, young man,” the guest said as he stepped into the warm house where he was greeted by a dark-haired major with a beard that was thin enough for a lad of fifteen.
    “Sir, I am Major Walter Taylor, steward to General Lee. May I take your cloak and your hat, sir?” the man with the sparkling uniform asked as he half-bowed to the much older man.
    “You can do more than that, young man. You may offer me some libation to warm these old bones, as I have seemed to run out of my own supply while wading across that damnable river.”
    The major seemed uncomfortable as his reach for the hat and cloak faltered momentarily.
    “Sir, we carry no such refreshment at headquarters. I’m afraid the general—”
    “—will have to assign the major another dangerous mission to find our guest his whiskey. After all, his reputation very much precedes him and thus we should have been far more prepared.”
    The old man turned and saw a somber soldier with white hair and even whiter beard step from the back of the small house. The eyes were dark and they looked as if they had not closed in the days since the common massacre in Pennsylvania. The man looked as if he was no longer invincible—just the way the visitor wanted him.
    “Perhaps our host, Mrs. Gandy, has a supply of medicinal whiskey in the house that you haven’t found and destroyed, Major.”
    The old man nodded his thanks at General Robert E. Lee, who stood with his hands behind his back. Lee’s right hand felt for the rocking chair and then his body seemed to stabilize as he nodded a greeting to his guest. Lee was dressed in a clean uniform that looked as if it had been recently pressed. His gold sash was wound perfectly around his waist and his boots were recently polished.
    Major Taylor finally accepted the soaked hat and cloak, nodded at his commanding officer, and then quickly vanished.
    General Robert E. Lee stood his ground next to the fire and the welcoming embrace of the rocking chair but made no move to sit. His gaze held the man before him and a silent standoff ensued. It was Lee, ever the perfectionist, who broke the spell.
    “It is an honor to see you once again, Mr.—”
    A door in the back of the house opened and Lee was interrupted by a small man impeccably dressed in the battle-red blouse of Her Majesty’s government. The man glared at Lee’s guest as if the politico carried the plague.
    “Many apologies, Colonel. I’m afraid my guest has arrived and I have to attend to urgent matters. May we continue our meeting in the morning?” Lee said to the British army man, who looked from the uneasy guest to his host and then bowed to the general.
    “As you wish, General,” the British colonel said as he retrieved his coat from a hook on the wall and then bowed once more on his way through the door, but not before giving the visitor a stern look as if it had been distasteful even being in the same room with him. The door closed and Lee’s guest turned back to face the general who was