The Blackfire Protocol by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 14

The next few hours were spent walking through the research rooms and attached museum. But the one thing that continued to impress Frank was the architecture and interior design. It was as though Michael Angelo himself had stepped out of the Renaissance and interrupting the construction workers, took over, and created a masterpiece. Given his interest in history, Ava made it a point to take him to the genealogy research room. He could study history all he wanted, but this gave him the chance to study his history. Walking through the arched entrance, the first thing Frank noticed was its enormous size, with desks and catalog cabinets organized throughout.

“Where do I start?” he asked.

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His eyes scanned the vastness of the research room as Ava stood next to him, grinning. She enjoyed seeing him so involved and excited in the one thing she knew he had a passion for. She could feel it emanating from him, like a light shining brightly enough to warm one's flesh on a cold winter’s night. “Well,” Ava began. “You can start with the card catalog. Just look up your last name.” When doing genealogical research, one usually begins with local information—relatives, church records, and the county clerk’s office. But here was the chance to research his family history in the National Archives, and paging through the card catalog, Frank discovered a card pointing to a census record. But where were the census records? “I think I found something,” he said. “What do I do?”

Ava looked at the card and, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and pencil, wrote down the information that served as the location of what Frank was looking for. Replacing the card into the catalog drawer, she motioned for him to follow her. Silence was the rule, as there were other people doing similar research, as well as college students conducting historical research. Some could be found here almost every day and he would not be at all surprised if he discovered a few graduate students working on their doctoral dissertations. After all, between the archives and the Library of Congress, Washington, DC, was the ideal place to do research on any aspect of American history, bar none. Frank decided that between semesters any free time he had would be spent in one of those two places. The attraction to documents of such importance was strong enough

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that he immediately felt a connection he had never experienced before.

Knowing where the census records were, Ava walked him to the next room, where row upon row of glass-enclosed cabinets stood. Looking at the information she had scrawled on the paper, she led the way as Frank marveled at the finely decorated walls and ceiling of the room. Stopping at the end of one cabinet, she matched the numbers on the paper with those on the cabinet’s wood frame. “Right here,” she said.

Directing him down the front of the glass-covered cabinet, he studied the faded green books until finding one whose spine bore the name of the state and county he was born in.

“Do you think this is it?” he asked. Ava looked at it carefully and determined that there was only one way to find out,

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

Frank was lost, and wondered where Ava had gone to. With her suddenly absent, was left wondering how he would make his way out of the building. “You okay?” she asked.

Her voice seemed to come from thin air as she returned without warning, but she was accompanied by a clerk brandishing a ring filled with keys. In his excitement, Frank failed to realize that the cabinet doors were locked, and he needed a clerk to open them. He responded as the clerk fumbled with the keys.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “Fine.”

Finally, the clerk, having found the correct key, unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing him to

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retrieve the book he wanted. At this point, as long as the door stayed open, he could examine any book he wanted as long as he told the clerk when he was finished.

Paging through its contents, Frank came upon two pages listing the census records of his great-great-grandfather. The record also supplied information such as how many children were in the household, how much land was owned, and, not surprisingly, how many slaves the family owned. But since not many people in the Midwest owned slaves, the total was zero. Examining the records further, he discovered that part of the census wasn’t just the number of people in one’s family, but their gender, as well as how many were male and female. Today the census would be far more complicated with a number of genders to be recorded. Frank had little understanding for the modern concept of gender assignment as well as its psychology. But with other issues at the forefront of the world stage, the matter of sorting out gender was of little importance to him.

There was also the matter of property. The census records of the nineteenth century required one to list their property—how much land they owned, what they grew, and how much. Frank suspected that measuring the census according to material goods was likely a precursor to taxation. Now that the government had recorded what one possessed, they could apply a tax to what was sold. Giving some thought to this form of financial monitoring was, in his mind, nothing short of brilliant. This seemed to be something akin to the payroll tax. Knowing how

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much one earns, the government can apply a percentage for taxation. It was the same idea but during a much different time. Yet, it worked. They walked through the archives, investigating every room no matter how briefly, until closing and returning to Frank’s apartment, sat on the couch, deciding on what to do about dinner. Having spent so much time on their feet, both had grown tired, and seeing the fatigue on each other’s faces, they spoke only one word nearly at the same time. ‘Delivery.’ “So,” Ava began. “What do you want to eat?” She spoke with a grin as though dropping a hint and quickly picking up on it, Frank gave a swift answer. “Well,” he replied. “I think I’ll have that later on tonight.”

Turning to her phone, Ava brought up the site for a restaurant she often ordered from, and as her grin turned to a broad smile, she ordered what she knew would appeal to them both—pizza. With the clock ticking down on dinner, he and Ava spent the time talking about the archives. She specifically wanted to know what his impression was, and he was very forthcoming in his response.

“It was fantastic,” he said. “I think that between semesters I’ll probably go back. I really want to see more of the museum. Maybe we can go to a few other places too.”

Ava, having spent several years in the DC area, had seen nearly every museum and historic site not only in DC but in outlying areas as well. The one place she had not yet visited was Monticello. This was the primary residence and plantation of Thomas Jefferson, one of the architects of the United States. She did not mention it to Frank but would later invite

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him to go as a shared first experience, hoping he would find it as intimate as she would. Leaving the lights on, they snuggled in front of a blank TV until they heard a knock at the door. Ordinarily, Frank would answer it, but since Ava was paying for it, she took the liberty of answering the door. Closing the door against the cold she took the flat package to the kitchen. Unlike breakfast, this would be a light meal, consuming only half the pizza. Each was thinking the same thing: a heavy meal would only render them tired and sluggish, and neither of them wanted to be sluggish, given what they wanted from each other.