The Lincoln Signature

By Alan Mangum

Abraham Lincoln survived the assassination attempt. 

He participated in the deception. A group of committed patriots protect President Lincoln as he moves into anonymity. Robert Todd Lincoln is the only family member who knows of his survival. Douglas Campbell whose father is campaigning for president today escapes an attempted assassination in Springfield Illinois. Douglas is working on his PhD researching the eldest son of Abraham Lincoln, Robert Todd Lincoln. His unique situation has the President assign the Secret Service to protect him while the FBI investigates. Determined to continue his research and wanting to desperately know the reason why someone would want to kill him. Douglas encounters additional attempts on his life. An elderly woman he recently interviewed is brutally murdered after he leaves her home. Why? Another elderly man being interviewed has his home shot at while Douglas is there. Why? As Douglas and his associates compile the historical evidence they unearth letters, documents, tintype photos that confirm Lincoln survived the assassination attempt. The book uses historical data moving from Lincoln’s birth through the present day with an exciting climax as Douglas discovers the reason for the deception and the attempts on his life. Meanwhile, his father is catapulted to the presidency in a landslide victory with a crisis of what to do with his son’s information. Douglas also must choose between two beautiful women. Who does he love? Also, the book asks “Is there a time when “truth” may be best left buried and hidden?”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Mangum
• Release date: Mar 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386131427

Book preview

DEDICATION

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To my  wife, Cheryl.

Chapter 1

Present Day Illinois

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Moving as swiftly as he could the-would-be killer ascended the stairs in the building across from the Lincoln Museum. Running would have made someone remember, and it was imperative he simply blend in with his surroundings. He forced the door to the roof open, as his chest began heaving he dropped flat and began slithering as a snake to the parapet. He was only able to arrive moments before Douglas Campbell walked out of the building across the street. The would be assassin had no time to set the rifle for a shot. Now it was a waiting game. If Campbell stayed inside for a few hours longer, the setting sun would be in his eyes. He could do nothing but wait.

Douglas Campbell finished his research at the Lincoln Museum, which included both sides of the street. It was an enormous complex. He informed the curator Diane Adams he was leaving for the day.

I’ll walk out with you. Let me drop this at my office on the other side.

They walked out together. She smiled, I may be walking with the son of our next president.

He gave his ‘I’m not a politician look’ and said, I support my dad but I can’t stand politics. Compromise your integrity to get a bill signed. Sell your soul to the devil.

Come on, she responded.

As he strolled with Diane toward the glass doors, a glint of light and a flash of red from the roof off the building across the way caught his eye. He instinctively noticed the red laser dot bouncing between them. Marine training automatically ignited, he intuitively knew they were in the sights of a sniper. He dropped his research materials, grabbed her wrists and pulled her behind the white Corinthian column as the glass exploded. Diane with the look of shock, trembled as tears started falling down her face. Douglas embraced her. It felt like an eternity as they hid behind the column. The incessant whine of sirens flooded the air until someone signaled for them to be cut. Douglas thought, Why would someone try to kill me or Diane?

Twelve Hours Earlier That Day

Douglas Campbell was speeding past West Branch, Iowa many hours before dawn heading east to Illinois when the phone rang, Hi Mom.

Where are you? she asked. He knew she was calling to ask a favor.

On my way to Springfield. I’m doing research at the Lincoln Museum, remember? he replied.

I’ll make it short. Dad needs you to speak in Chicago, Minneapolis and Kansas City. Sign autographs, stuff like that.

Douglas rolled his eyes and did his best to keep the frustration out of his voice, Mom, you know I hate politics.

I know, but can’t you do this for your father? Please? she pled knowing it would be difficult to say no.

He had guessed this was coming sooner or later. Taking a steadying breath he replied, Alright, alright...email me the details. Love ya. The Bible was clear, he thought, Honor your father and mother.

Douglas graduated from the University of Iowa with a Master’s degree in history. He loved history. While many found it boring, to him it was like his life's blood. Every discovery and bit of knowledge pumped his veins with adrenaline and now he was pursuing his PhD. With his father as the governor he easily got a stint writing and directing a PBS series on haunted houses of Iowa while continuing his education. His celebrity expanded and grew because of his father and the PBS series.

His father was making a run for the presidency. His Dad was a born politician blessed with the gift of making everyone his friend, he was charismatic, and if everything continued as planned, he would be the next president of the United States.

Douglas pulled into the parking ramp on 6th Street in Springfield. He walked into the mammoth white building and searched for the curator’s office. He had both written and called ahead confirming arrangements. Anxious to start his research he looked for the door marked Thomas Sainsbury and knocked. The door swung open and he was met by a tall angular man.

Thank you for honoring us, Sainsbury cooed, recognizing Campbell instantly.

Douglas had an indescribable feeling that he couldn’t trust this man. Douglas saw insincerity twinkle in his eyes and mischievous grin like on the face of Uriah Heep in David Copperfield. Sainsbury was in an old gray crumpled suit. Douglas observed Sainsbury wring his sweaty hands together as they spoke.

Douglas was peeved that they leaked his coming to do research. Sainsbury made it sound like the President himself had come to dedicate the museum. No cause for celebration. I’m just here to do research, squeezing Sainsbury’s sweaty hand forcefully he said returning his mischievous grin.

Sainsbury attempted to conceal a wince and continued, Honored to have you. I’ll now have the privilege of taking you to the curator of all of Lincoln’s documents.

Douglas acknowledged his communication with her and that he knew no pencils, pens, or any personal item that could harm a document was permitted. Obviously no food or beverage allowed. The documents would be viewed on a monitor and he was allowed to save copies on a flash drive.

Sainsbury swiped the electronic key card and escorted Douglas into a very large climate-controlled room. He introduced Douglas to a slender, attractive woman with a couple of strands of gray in her black hair. She was dressed professionally with a light blue blouse and loosely fitting black skirt. Around her neck was a gold necklace and tiny gold earrings. This is Dr. Diane Adams. She’ll answer all your questions and show you where you can research.

Douglas thought she was between thirty-five and forty but guessing a woman’s age was as dangerous as guessing her weight. She smiled with her brown eyes as Douglas accepted her proffered hand. It caught him off guard to find such an attractive woman in such a place.

Glad to meet you Mr. Campbell. I enjoyed your PBS specials.

He smiled and hesitated before speaking. His mouth went slightly dry as he responded to her greeting, Glad to meet you Dr. Adams.

Call me Diane. She led him to a cubicle with a monitor. She summarized the precautions.

I have the letter and have handled historical documents. Know all about humidity, acid, and oil contact from fingers.

Diane gave a short little laugh that Douglas couldn’t help but enjoy. He found himself wishing she’d do it again. She picked up the form listing his requested subject area and said, You know, we’ve hundreds of people researching President Lincoln. A few researching his wife Mary Todd, but we rarely get requests for documents on Robert Todd Lincoln. What made you decide to study Lincoln’s eldest son?

Douglas smiled; it was actually the first time someone asked him why he’d picked that topic. I’ve known for years that my father planned to run for president. I wondered, ‘if he wins how will it affect me as his son?’

Interesting, Diane’s brown eyes met his as she nodded. He held her gaze and then realized in the silence he was staring. A slight blush touched her cheeks and they looked away from each other. Douglas decided to break the awkwardness and continue on.

I figured his son Robert Todd Lincoln would have sufficient information to research.

You should read the Horatio Nelson Taft Diaries presented to the Library of Congress in 2000. I read them a few weeks ago, Diane stated.

I should spend my day collaborating with you, he smiled. It would be a nice distraction, from my usual research, he said flirtingly.

He liked her. She was smart, attractive and professional. As he thought a twinge of guilt raced through is conscience about Amanda. Their relationship was still in limbo. He thought he loved Amanda but wondered if he misread his feelings as she put their relationship on hold two months ago.

Diane smiled and wondered if he was flirting or simply making complimentary conversation. She ignored his comment about studying together and said, When I read the diaries there was the observation that Julia Taft spent time with the Lincoln boys as a chaperone.

Chaperones, you hardly hear that word anymore. Hardly anybody would know what it is, he said.

Julia had a friend, Mary Clark whose father had some position in the government, she emphasized.

Okay, I’ll read ‘em first. Thanks.

His eyes followed her walk as she moved toward her office.

After hours of reading he had four names that apparently had living relatives he could contact. The names were Helen M. S. Bayne, of Leesburg, Virginia. There was Virginia Deppe, of Niagara Falls, New York. There was James Lyle Fleetwood of Springfield, Illinois and Mary Clark of Richmond, Virginia. With their phone numbers and addresses in hand, he started to leave for the night.

Springfield After the Assassination Attempt

A forensic team was in route to search the scene for evidence.

You alright? the detective asked Adams and Campbell. The authorities were starting to put up the traditional yellow tape to cordon off the crime scene for evidence.

Douglas said, To the best of my knowledge.

Detective Jonas Little shared his thoughts, Could this be political? The FBI is going to be all over this.

Douglas commented, Dad’s campaign is an impossible motive.

Why? Little asked but not expecting an answer.

No benefit for – Douglas was cut off by Little, apparently not tuned in.

Rule out jealous lovers or political campaign all you have is a terrorist making a statement, Little speculated.

Come on? A terrorist! Strains belief. Why would a terrorist target the Lincoln Museum or the son of a candidate for president? Douglas asked.

Probably right. Your coming was announced in the press.

You’re kidding!

No reason to shoot at me, Diane said. Obviously someone was shooting at Douglas. His Father is running for President.

Someone shot at either Campbell or you, Little commented. We need to go to the station and have you both make official statements.

After the Statements at the

Station

What do we do now? Douglas asked after they had made their statements.

Don’t have the budget to provide protection.

So we simply leave hoping the shooter doesn’t try again? Douglas asked.

Sorry.

What about me? Diane asked, Should I continue as nothing happened?

Mr. Campbell, what are your present plans? Little asked.

I’m at the Hilton by Interstate 55. Turning to Diane, he said, I know this sounds ridiculous but I personally feel responsible for your safety. I know it sounds silly and presumptuous but maybe you should stay there too. I would feel better if you were there until they can figure out who shot at us. I’ll get you a room. And I’ll pay.

No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.

I’ll be worried about you. I could pay you to be a researcher for my dissertation, he said. As a favor? Please? His masculinity made him feel protective but his conscience had a twinge of guilt. He thought as he paused, no it was a ton of guilt.

What about my job?

My father has influence even in Illinois. He should be able to convince your employer to allow the time off.

Diane appeared to vacillate as he watched waiting for her answer. How was she supposed to feel? He thought.

Okay. As a favor, I’ll work with you. What’ll we do tomorrow? Diane asked.

Chapter 2

April 4, 1865

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Lincoln reflected over the second inaugural parchment. From his office window he saw the unfinished Washington monument and the encampments of the northern army. On March 4, 1865 he had delivered the second inaugural address. It was not the most ideal day for a speech. Thunderstorms had moved through the capital making the dirt streets muddy and cluttered with wind-blown trash. He had stood on the temporary podium-like structure built for the occasion of the speech. William Smith was commissioned to take the historic photograph. Cloudy, overcast, dreary with black clouds threatening. It was a single sheet, two columns which he held before him.

Lincoln looked up thinking he had heard Hay coming in but he was not there.

On April 3, he received word Richmond had fallen. Lincoln gave thanks to God.

General Lee's surrender was imminent. Grant told him he could not understand why Lee had not yet surrendered. Without a doubt the other rebel Generals will give up when Lee surrendered. Lincoln prayed it was soon. He wanted this horrible war to end. He desired they would return to being one nation.

He knew many still hated him. The governor of Florida, John Milton addressed the Florida legislature, and said, Yankees have developed a character so odious that death would be preferable to reunion with them. So at age 57 Milton put a pistol to his head. Blood saturated the ground.

Lincoln was pondering what future generations would say about the reconciliation plan he was formulating to restore the country? Would it work? How would the Southerners embrace it? Would the North be just or extract blood?

Substituting this morning for the absent Nicolay, John Hay stepped into Lincoln’s office. Hay was tall but he was a good six inches shorter than the president. He sported waxed down black hair and a black bushy mustache, which was the fashion of the day.

Lincoln asked, Were you here just a second ago?

Yes Mr. President, but I noticed I left an important paper you needed to see and so I went to retrieve it, Hay replied.

Good, at least I am not imaging things. Time to see the public, Lincoln stated.

Lincoln’s policy was to see visitors between 11:00 A.M. and 2:00 PM. They would gather in the room below and wait until they were summoned to the second floor office. Old friends came just seeking to enjoy a moment’s recollection; widows came with requests, lobbyist as well as congressmen concerning legislation. Often the congressmen and military had conflicting agendas and desires. Lincoln felt it was his duty to see all.

John Rockingham of Rutherford Tennessee had been waiting to see the President. Rockingham observed a young lad and girl between twelve and fourteen with a table near the staircase, selling fruit to waiting visitors. They seemed to be doing quite a business. As he watched the young children selling, John Hay came and summoned Rockingham to follow him to Lincoln’s office.

He followed the man up the staircase and into the president’s office.

Mr. President, John Rockingham, John Hay said.

Lincoln greeted Rockingham and the president indicated an armchair located between the windows. It was near Lincoln’s roll top mahogany desk with a number of pigeonholes situated on the north wall. As Rockingham sat he could see a very large walnut table in the center of the room piled with papers and books with chairs all around.

What can I do for you Mr. Rockingham? Lincoln asked.

Rockingham was carrying a small cedar wood box wrapped with metal bands and a steel lock. As he sat he placed the box on his lap. Mr. President, my father was a Methodist minister from Rutherford County, Tennessee like his father before him. The tradition or blessing is continued for me for I too am a minister.

You’re not here to preach or enroll me in your congregation?

Rockingham gave a slight laugh, Certainly not Mr. President. No. No. I just wanted you to know I’m a man of the cloth and am here because of what I discovered.

Discovered?

Indicating the box on his lap, he said, My father kept detailed journals of his life and he recently passed. As my mother had already passed, it was my duty to go through and care for his things. Hence the box and the journals.

I know many clergymen keep journals. Why should it interest me? Lincoln asked.

I’ve read many of them. It seems your father and mother spent some time with my father and mother many years ago.

Interesting, Lincoln simply commented.

My father for ten months was with your family. They traveled on a wagon train together for some time, Rockingham said.

Why was your father, a Methodist minister traveling with my mother and father for ten months? I remember my father as being a staunch Baptist, Lincoln stated.

According to his journal my father went to Detroit to marry my mother. It was an arranged marriage through the Bishop of his District.

How did this affect my father? Lincoln asked.

Your father went with the group to Detroit. Afterwards they returned to Kentucky.

Really? He was a part of your father’s wedding? Lincoln inquired.

No. The marriage was not the reason your father went. He was hired to build something. The journals are quite extensive; obviously I did not read every word and every entry. That’s why I’m leaving you this journal. I had my wife whose handwriting is excellent make you a copy. I thought you might want to read it. For all I know your father told you about this journey.

Well since you brought me the journal, I’ll find time to read it, Lincoln said.

I hope you enjoy it Mr. President. It was a pleasure meeting with you, Rockingham relied.

You’re staying here in the capital? The President asked.

I’ve a room in the Peterson Boarding house across from Ford’s Theater. I thought I’d stay there a few days and then head back to Rutherford.

Your family?

My wife is with me. My oldest son, Micah is following in my steps and is home preaching and tending our small farm. Although my roots are from Tennessee, I want you to know I’m for peace. There’s no way I want to see this war continue. My son and I were chaplains for the Confederacy and were at Chattanooga. With God’s protection we both survived. We were there for the souls and spiritual comfort of the men. We’re not for the war.

Thank you. I will certainly look at the journal. Lincoln rose indicating the meeting was over.

Thank you Mr. President. Curiosity prompted Lincoln to return to his desk and open the journal. He started reading. He continued to read more. It was amazing, he had read for well over an hour remembering at times how his father mentioned this trip. He sat engrossed reading James Rockingham’s journal. He was reading when John Hay entered and saw the President still reading at his desk.

Excuse me Mr. President. I thought you would like to know we have sent for the doctor for Mrs. Lincoln. She is complaining of pains in her head.

Lincoln thought of Mary having these afflictions whether real or imagined the havoc was still the same. Thank you John. I will go up and see her. Send a message to Stanton that I’d like him to come. Tell him to come and meet with me this evening. Thanks so much.

Lincoln rose and left the office and ascended the staircase to Mary’s room..

Chapter 3

Present Day Springfield Illinois

with Douglas in His Motel Room

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As Douglas sat in his hotel room reflecting about the shooting, his phone rang, Hi Mom.

Why didn’t you call? she asked angrily.

Mom, why did you expect me to call?

You were shot at! Some news anchor simply announces it. What’s the matter with you?

Mom. Mom, Mom I’m sorry. I had no idea it was on the local news.

Sorry doesn’t cut it son. We're upset.

I’ve been busy being interviewed by police. And like I said I had no idea it was on the news.

Well your father and I don’t know much either yet, but you wait for your detail.

Detail, what are you talking about? Douglas asked.

Protection. Dad asked the President to send a Secret Service detail for your protection. You wait for them.

Mom, I’m not going to waste the taxpayers money by having Secret Service agents guarding me.

You are and will. That’s final. End of discussion.

Douglas knew further argument was useless, and complied. I guess I’ll let them shadow me for a few days.

They’ll be with you until he is caught.

The police are investigating as we speak. I don’t think I was the target. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Don’t give me that! I wasn’t born yesterday! They were shooting at you. An agent named Shawn Williamson is heading up the detail.

I’m getting ready to go to bed now. I’ll call you tomorrow.

He didn’t want to talk any longer. The frustrating thing was he knew she was right. It is hard to describe your gut reaction when you know someone was intentionally shooting at you with the intent to kill you. He had been deployed and shot at as a soldier representing his country. He had spoken with other soldiers who had been shot at in combat. Talking about it could never prepare an individual for this feeling. All of his Marine training could not prepare him for the experience. He could still taste the bile and fear in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t erase Diane’s face as he pulled her behind the column. He started to second guess himself thinking is this some kind of test from God? Then he thought that’s stupid! God wouldn’t do that.

As he hung up the call from his mother the phone rang again. He looked at the caller ID and it was Amanda. He didn’t expect Amanda to call.

Hi, you’re calling late, he said.

Late, are you nuts! I’ve been leaving messages for hours, she said crossly. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.

Sorry.

All you say is ‘sorry!’ It’s been on the news for hours. I’m hearing headlines, ‘Governor’s son shot at in Springfield.’ ‘Douglas Campbell escapes death as potential assassin misses.’ And all I get is ‘Sorry?’

Sorry, sorry, sorry, he interjected. I didn’t think. You know the media. Entertainment Tonight is going to embellish and tantalize it. It was not as they described. No one knows why it happened. No guarantee I was the target. I was with another employee of the museum.

Obviously you didn’t think.

I’ve already said ‘sorry’ what more can I do? I thought we weren’t supposed to have contact?" As he