Crescent Dawn

“Mr. Ba

“Yes.”

“Courier delivery, sir,” he replied, handing Ba

Ba

23

“Summer, over here!”

Stepping off the train from Great Yarmouth with a travel bag over her shoulder, Summer had to scan the crowded platform a moment before spotting Julie standing to one side, waving her hand in the air.

“Thanks for meeting me,” she said, greeting the researcher with a hug. “I’m not sure I’d find my way out of here alone,” she added, marveling at the massive covered rail yard of the Liverpool Street Station in northeast London.

“It’s actually pretty simple,” Julie replied with a grin. “You just follow all the other rats out of the maze.”

She led Summer past several station platforms and through the bustling terminal concourse to a nearby parking lot. There they climbed into a green Ford compact that resembled an overgrown insect.

“How was the voyage down to Yarmouth?” Julie asked as she navigated the car into the London traffic.

“Miserable. We caught a northerly storm front after leaving Scapa Flow and faced gale force winds during our entire run down the North Sea. I’m still feeling a little wobbly.”

“I guess I should be thankful I was able to fly back from Scotland.”

“So what’s the latest on the mystery of the Hampshire ’s sinking?” Summer asked. “Have you established any co

“Just a very few loose threads, quite tenuous at best, I’m afraid. I checked the Admiralty’s official inquiry into the sinking of the Hampshire , but it was a banal White Paper that simply blamed destruction on a German mine. I also examined the claim that the IRA may have planted a bomb on the ship, but it seems to be without merit.”

“Any chance that the Germans could have planted a bomb?”

“There’s absolutely no indication from known German records, so that seems unlikely as well. It was their belief that a mine from U-75 caused the sinking. Unfortunately, the U-boat’s captain, Kurt Beitzen, didn’t survive the war, so we have no official German account of the event.”

“So that’s two brick walls. Where are those loose threads that you were talking about?” Summer asked.

“Well, I carefully reviewed some of my documents on Kitchener and rechecked his military war records. Two unusual documents cropped up. In the late spring of 1916, he made a special request to the Army for two armed bodyguards for an unspecified reason. In that age, bodyguards were something of a rarity, reserved for perhaps only the King. The other item was a strange letter I found in his military files.”

Stopping at a red light, she reached into a folder on the backseat and handed Summer a copy of the letter from Archbishop Davidson.

“Like I said, they are two flimsy items that probably mean nothing.”

Summer quickly sca

“This Manifest he refers to… Is it some sort of Church document?”

“I really haven’t a clue,” Julie replied. “That’s why our first stop is the Church of England’s archives at Lambeth Palace. I’ve ordered up the Archbishop’s personal records in hopes we might find something more substantial.”

They crossed the River Thames over the London Bridge and drove into Lambeth, where Julie parked the green Ford near the palace. Summer absorbed the beauty of the ancient building that fronted the water, with Buckingham Palace visible across the river. They made their way to the Grand Hall, where they were escorted to the library’s reading room. Summer noticed a thin, handsome man smile at them from a copy machine as they entered.

The archivist had a thick stack of folders waiting when Julie approached the desk.

“Here are the Archbishop’s records. I’m afraid we had nothing on file related to Lord Kitchener,” the young woman declared.

“Quite all right,” Julie replied. “Thank you for searching.”

The two women moved to a table and split the files and then began poring through the documents.

“The Archbishop was a rather prolific writer,” Summer noted, impressed with the volume.

“Apparently so. This is his correspondence for just the first half of 1916.”

As she attacked the file, Summer noticed the man at the copy machine gather some books and take a seat at the table directly behind her. Her nose detected a dose of cologne, musky but pleasing, which wafted from the man’s direction. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, she noticed he wore an antique-looking gold ring on his right hand.

She flipped through the letters quickly, finding them mostly dry pronouncements on budget and policy directed at the subordinate Bishops around Britain, along with their in-kind replies. After an hour, the women had both weeded through half of their piles.

“Here’s a letter from Kitchener,” Julie suddenly a

Summer peered anxiously across the table. “What does it say?”

“It appears to be a response to the Archbishop’s letter, as it is dated just a few days later. It’s short, so I’ll read it to you:

“Your Excellency,

I regret that I am unable to comply with your recent request. The Manifest is a document of powerful historic consequence. It demands public exposure when the world is again at peace. I fear that in your hands, the Church would only bury the revelation, in order to protect its existing theological tenets. I beg of you to recall your subordinates, who continue to persecute me ceaselessly.

Your obedient servant, “H.H. Kitchener”

“Whatever could this Manifest be?” Summer wondered.

“I don’t know, but Kitchener clearly held a copy of it and felt it was important.”

“Obviously the Church did, too.”

Summer heard the man behind her clear his throat, then turn and lean over their table.

“Pardon me for overhearing, but did you say Kitchener?” he asked with a disarming smile.

“Yes,” Summer replied. “My friend Julie is writing a biography of the field marshal.”

“My name is Baker,” Ridley Ba

“Kind of you to say, Mr. Baker,” Julie replied, “but I’ve already exhaustively searched their materials.”

“Which brings you here?” he asked. “I wouldn’t expect a military hero’s influence to stretch very far into the Church of England.”

“Just tracing some correspondence he had with the Archbishop of Canterbury,” she replied.

“Then this would indeed be the place,” Ba

“What is the nature of your research?” Summer asked him.

“Just a bit of hobby research. I’m investigating a few old abbey sites that were destroyed during Henry VIII’s purge of the monasteries.” He held up a dusty book entitled Abbey Plans of Olde England , then turned again toward Julie.

“Have you uncovered any new secrets about Kitchener?”

“That honor belongs to Summer. She helped prove that the ship he was sunk on may have had a planted explosive aboard.”

“The Hampshire ?” he said. “I thought it was proven that she had struck a German mine.”

“The blast hole indicates that the explosion originated inside the ship,” Summer replied.

“Perhaps the old rumor of the IRA planting a bomb aboard may have been true,” he said.

“You know the story behind that?” Julie asked.

“Yes,” Ba