The Last Patriot

Ferguson looked at him. “Which has never been removed from Monticello since its installation in 1805.”

“We need to see that clock,” said Harvath.

“But it didn’t come from an Islamic inventor. It was built by a clockmaker in Philadelphia named Peter Spruck.”

Nichols recognized a book about Monticello that was sitting on the table and picked it up. He flipped through it until he found the section regarding the Great Clock. “Spruck might have built it,” he replied, “but Jefferson designed it, right down to the size of the gears and how many teeth each one has.”

“When was it built?” asked Harvath.

Nichols searched for the exact date. “1792. Three years after he returned from Paris.”

Harvath looked back at Susan Ferguson and repeated, “We really need to see that clock.”

The curator looked at her watch. “Monticello opens to the public in half an hour. We need to be fast.”

CHAPTER 78

Even though Harvath had been based in Virginia as part of the Naval Special Warfare Development Group, he had never been to Monticello. As a child, he’d grown up seeing it on the back of the nickel, as well as on the two-dollar bill up until the mid-seventies. It was a magnificent piece of American history that he’d always regretted never having visited.

Once a sprawling plantation of five thousand acres upon an 850-foot peak on the outskirts of Charlottesville, Monticello took its name from Italian for little mountain. Designed completely by Thomas Jefferson, it was the only private home in the United States to have been designated a World Heritage Site.

Susan Ferguson had called ahead so that when they arrived at Monticello less than five minutes later, they were allowed to drive straight up to the main house.

Harvath parked as close as he could and they all jumped out. Beneath the Northeast Portico they got their first view of the Great Clock. It was mounted above a lunette window and a pair of French doors.

Ferguson had explained on the way over that the clock had two faces, one outside which showed just the hour, while another inside the entrance hall indicated hours, minutes, and seconds. What she hadn’t mentioned was that it was mounted more than fifteen feet off the ground.

Nevertheless, what grabbed Harvath’s attention was the hour hand. Its tip was in the shape of a heart while its tail was in the shape of a crescent. Whether it was meant to represent Islam or not, Harvath couldn’t be sure, but it was too much of a coincidence to discount. Looking over at Nichols, he could tell that the professor had noticed it as well. “We’re going to need a ladder,” he said as he and Nichols continued to look up at the clock.

“Mr. Jefferson already saw to that,” replied Ferguson as she removed a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the French doors.

The dramatic entrance hall was two stories tall, with an upper balcony co

Once the group was all inside, they turned and looked up at the interior face of the Great Clock which was housed in a wooden box.

Its face was black and its hands, numbers, and ornamentation were a brassy gold. Upon it rested a classic pediment and behind that a frieze similar to the one in Nichols’s drawing.

A series of ca

In the corner to his right, Harvath noticed a wooden ladder that stretched almost to the ceiling.

“The clock needs to be wound with a special key once a week,” said Ferguson. “We still do it the same way, just not normally with our display ladder.”

Harvath stared up at the clock face and noticed that the tail of its second hand was also in the shape of an Islamic-style crescent.

Ozbek helped bring the ladder over and gently leaned it against the wall. “All right,” said the curator once it was in place. “Who’s going up for a closer look?”

Harvath stepped forward and with Ozbek steadying the ladder, climbed up. Eye-to-eye with the clock, he noticed that the hours were Roman while the minutes of the hour were Arabic.

After a cursory review of the outside, Harvath began to remove the housing.

“Please be careful,” cautioned Ferguson.

It took him several minutes to figure out how to get it all the way off and when he did, he handed it down to Ozbek who set it carefully on the floor and went back to holding the ladder. The entire i

“Do you see the gear?” asked Nichols. “Is it there?”

There were plenty of gears, but nothing that resembled what was in the schematic. Harvath looked down at the curator and asked, “Is there any way we can stop this for a minute?”

Ferguson looked at her watch and then out the window where visitors were already starting to mill about and gather near the portico.

“Susan?” Harvath repeated. “I need to stop this clock for a minute.”

The curator took a deep breath. “Okay. Here’s how you stop it.”

Once all the movement had ceased, Harvath was able to reach his hand inside and better examine the mechanics.

He wasn’t having any luck. He asked Nichols to hand up the schematic and he checked each gear against each of the gears in the drawing.

He then had Nichols hand up the architectural drawings and compared them to the carpentry work around the clock and the entablature along the wall. It was close, but not perfect. It had all seemed so right, but yet they were missing something.

“We open the doors in two minutes,” said Ferguson. “Do you see anything at all?”

“Nothing,” replied Harvath as he handed the diagrams back down to Nichols.

With the curator walking him through it, Harvath restarted the clock and then replaced the housing. He climbed down the ladder and hung it on the nearby wall.

“I don’t understand it,” said Nichols. “It seemed like the perfect fit.”

Harvath borrowed the architectural detail again and looked at Ferguson. “Maybe this diagram is the clue to what we’re looking for. If Jefferson drew it, he probably drew it for here, right? So what should we do? Go room by room? I know the second and third floors aren’t open to the public. Maybe we should start up there.”

“Or the stone weaver’s cottage,” offered Nichols.

“There wouldn’t be carpentry like this in the stone weaver’s cottage,” said Ferguson as she bit the inside of her cheek in thought. She then pulled the walkie-talkie from her belt, changed its cha

A moment later, a man’s voice came back over the radio. “Go ahead, Susan.”

“Do we have Paul Gilbertson on the docent schedule today?”

“Who’s Paul Gilbertson?” asked Nichols.

Ferguson motioned for him to hold his question.

A moment later, the voice replied, “Yes, we do. He’s leading the architectural study tours.”

“Will you please ask him to meet me up at the main house right now? Tell him it’s urgent.”