The Plates
 
 

Monday morning
 

Early the next morning, Lee Stetson reached over on the bed for his wife.  “Amanda?” he called out in a whisper, but there was no answer.

Getting out of bed, he threw his bathrobe on, and opened their bedroom door.  Poking his head into the hallway, he noticed a light on downstairs.  Walking quietly down the stairs, when he got to the landing, he called out to her again, so as not to startle her, “Amanda?”

“In here,” she replied softly from the family room.

“What are you doing up?  It’s not even six yet,” he asked, but when he entered the room, he saw the answer.  The engraving plates were unwrapped and sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted with a sigh.

“Sweetheart, come back to bed.  We didn’t get home until after midnight.  You’ll think clearer, and feel better if you got some rest.”

“I kept tossing and turning, and I didn’t want to wake you, so I came down here.  We’re missing something.  I know it.  I keep thinking we’re close to figuring out what’s going on, but instead of answers, we keep coming up with more questions,” she whispered, almost in tears.

Lee sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms.  “Shhh, you’re overtired.”

“My dad was a good guy,” she said, trying to hold back tears.  “It was bad enough when we found the counterfeit money, but now the plates.  Lee, what kind of trouble was he in?  What was he doing with counterfeit engraving plates?”

Placing two fingers under her chin, he turned her face towards his.  “Hey, it’s not like you to be so pessimistic.  Don’t be your own worst enemy.  Give your dad the benefit of the doubt, and give us a chance to put all the pieces together.”

“Have a little faith, huh?”

Lee kissed her forehead gently.  “How about you try to get some sleep and we’ll work on finding answers at a more reasonable hour?  I have a friend who used to work at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing who owes me a favor.”

“You think you can trust him?”

“I know I can trust her,” Lee replied, reaching for his wife’s hand.

Taking his hand in hers, he helped her up, wrapped his arm around her waist, and together they climbed the stairs back to their bedroom.

*** *** ****

“You look lovely as ever, Dolores,” Lee greeted his retired friend with a kiss on the cheek, and a large box of candy.

“Scarecrow, you brought me chocolates; you always knew my weakness,” the older woman replied with a wink, welcoming him to her home.  Observing him carefully, she noted, “Married life certainly does appeal to you.  Good thing Amanda snagged you when she did or I would have.  What brings you out on a holiday weekend?  I thought you took a desk job.”

“I’m not chained to it.  I still get out on occasion.”

“Something must be really important to drag you all the way over here on a long weekend.  You didn’t escape DC with that pretty wife of yours for a few days?” she questioned.

“Not this weekend.  We decided to relax at home,” Lee explained.  “You certainly don’t look old enough to be retired, Dolores.  How many years did you work for the Bureau of Engraving and Printing?”

“Such a sweet talker, Scarecrow,” she laughed.  “Thirty two years.  What’s up?”

Lee smiled at his friend.  “I need your expert opinion.  I’ve run across some engraving plates.  I was wondering if you could give me a little information about them.”

“Where did you find engraving plates?”

“How about you don’t ask, and I won’t tell?” he suggested wisely.

“Counterfeit?” she presumed with a raised eyebrow.

Lee shrugged, “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Nodding, she agreed.  “All right, I’ll take a gander.  Go sit in the dining room and I’ll get my glasses.  The light’s better in there, and we’ll see what you brought me.”

Lee went into the dining room and reached inside his jacket pocket for the plates.  He carefully unwrapped them, and placed them on the table, waiting for her to return.

“Are these the plates?” Dolores inquired when she came back into the room.

“Yes.”

“Technically, they’re printing plates,” she announced, picking up the plates in her hands, feeling the weight of each one.  Putting on her glasses, which could magnify the minute features, she observed the detail of the top plate, scrutinizing it at first.  Placing that down on the table, she turned her attention to the bottom plate.  Again, she analyzed the bottom plate as carefully as she had the other.

Lee watched silently, not sure what exactly she was looking for, or what the outcome would be.  It seemed to take forever, but he certainly didn’t want to rush his friend.  Finally, she put the bottom plate back down.

“I have to admit, Scarecrow, I haven’t seen plates these old in a long, long time.”

“How old are they?” he asked.

“The plates are of the old silver certificates.  I bet you already knew that,” she remarked and watched as he nodded.  Examining the front plate again with her magnifying glasses, she continued with her explanation. “There are several distinguishing factors to tell when a plate was created.  Silver Certificates were abolished by Congress in 1963; that gives us a big clue.  The series date on this one is 1961.  Does that help?”

“Yeah, it does.  Can you tell if they are counterfeit?”

Without hesitation, she answered.  “These plates are most definitely the real thing.”

Leaning back in the chair he was sitting in Lee Stetson stared at his friend in surprise.  “Oh my gosh!”

“Why would you think they’re counterfeit?”

“Because we also came across some $20 bills which I thought matched these plates that are counterfeit,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Who told you they were counterfeit?”

“The Secret Service.”

“Really?!  Too bad you don’t have the bills with you,” Dolores remarked, obviously intrigued.

“Actually, I’ve got a few of them with me.”

“Would you like a second opinion?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Lee replied with a wink.  He reached back into his coat and pulled out some of the bills he and Philip discovered in the bedpost.  Giving Dolores a quick kiss on the back of her hand, he gave the bills to her.

She studied the bills in the bag at first without removing them.  Bringing the bag closer to her eye, she examined it even closer.  “They look like they should be a match,” Dolores remarked as she glanced at them.  “These are signed by C. Douglas Dillon, the Secretary of the Treasury during Kennedy’s term in office.”

Then she took them out of the bag and felt the paper, giving Lee an odd glance.  “The paper which money is printed on is special ordered.  Only one company makes it – the exact formula for the paper is a closely guarded secret.  With most counterfeit money, that’s the dead giveaway.  The paper quality is impossible to match.  It’s not actually paper, but a hybrid mix of linen and cotton.”

“And these bills?” he prompted.

She shook her head.  “I’ve seen a lot of bogus bills in my day, Scarecrow, but I’d bet my retirement check that these are the real deal…”

“I probably should have told you that the bills in question were printed for the government, but used in ummm, wet operations.”

“Then you’d be telling me the bills are real, not counterfeit,” she added.

“I was told they’re counterfeit, but fabricated by the government,” Lee explained, not entirely convinced.

“That’s not true.  These bills would be legitimate in use, but traceable through their serial numbers.  Do you have any idea how much effort goes into making the plates?”

“No, not really,” he admitted reluctantly.

“It’s an elaborate process.  They begin with what they call a ‘master-die’ that is the soft steel that is hand-engraved.  No one person is responsible for the entire engraving.  One engraver might do the portrait, and another creates the fancy lettering.  There’s a lot of artistry and skill that goes into each process.  Carving the steel is just the first real step.  There are over sixty distinct steps in the production process of money.  Trust me when I tell you, the government doesn’t make fake plates – not even for wet operations.”

“You’re sure?” Lee asked, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Positive.  Lee, you came here for my expert opinion.  I spent over thirty years working at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.  I know what I’m talking about.  Somebody over at the Secret Service is either pulling a fast one on you, or trying to get you to do their legwork,” she replied determinedly.

“Yeah, I took his word that the money was counterfeit.  I didn’t have time to double check.  Hell, I didn’t think I had to, but obviously, there’s more going on than what I was told.  I better get over to my office and pull up the serial numbers, and see what I can find out,” Lee replied getting up from the table.

“If I can be any more help, Scarecrow, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Packing up the bills and the plates, Lee smiled at his old friend and gave her a big hug.  “Thanks, Dolores, you’ve been a great help already.”

When Lee left his friend’s house, many questions raced through his mind.  Could his father-in-law have been involved with wet operations?  On the other hand, had Woody told him the bills were counterfeit in the hopes that he would do the legwork to find the origin of the bills?  Lee sighed heavily, wishing he had more answers than he did questions.  He drove towards his office in search of answers…
 
 

*****
 

When Lee Stetson arrived home later that day, Amanda wasn’t there.  He put the plates and the bills on the table in the family room, and went into the kitchen to muster up something to eat.  After rummaging through the empty fridge, he surmised that his wife had gone out to the grocery store.  He poured himself a drink, when he heard her car.  Smiling at her good timing, he went outside to help bring in the groceries.

“Hey, sweetheart, did you go grocery shopping?” Lee asked as she stepped out of the car.

“No, I went to the Agency, but don’t worry,” she replied, opening up the back door of the car and picking up one of two large packages. “I picked up Chinese food on the way home.  I figured you’d be hungry and I’m not sure what time Jamie will be home.”

“That will work,” he replied, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as he took the packages from her, he asked.  “Why did you go into the office?”

“You’re not the only one with security clearances, Mr. Stetson.  I did some investigating of my own,” she replied as the two of them walked into the house.  “I still don’t believe my father was involved in wet operations or counterfeiting.”

“Well, he was definitely not into counterfeiting,” Lee answered confidently, as he put the food on the counter.

She stopped dead in her tracks and reached for his arm, turning her husband to face her.  “What did you find out?”

“According to my contact from the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, the plates are real and so are the bills.  I went to the office and pulled up the serial numbers.  They’re legitimate bills, but they’re flagged by Secret Service.”

“Then why did they arrest Philip?”

“He was arrested by the local PD.  They assumed the money was phony.  When you pull up the serial numbers, they’re flagged with a note to contact Agent Woody Kraus at Secret Service.  I assumed he intervened and called me as a professional courtesy, but now I’m not so sure…”

“You think Woody is involved?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lee ran his hand through his hair and shrugged.  “At this point, I don’t know what to think.  According to my contact, Dolores, the Fed doesn’t make plates for counterfeit bills – not even for wet operations.  Designing real plates is too involved a process.  Back in the 60’s they would note the serial numbers and track them that way.  I know the newer bills can be traced a variety of different ways.  Unfortunately, back in the early 60’s when these bills were fabricated, they didn’t have the technology.”

“This is turning into a nightmare.  With every answer we come up with, twice as many questions surface.”

“Did you find anything from your research?” he prompted.

Amanda smiled, and reached into her purse for some paperwork.  “I pulled up my father’s service record in the Navy.  I knew he served in the Pacific during World War II.  He’d been promoted to the rank of Senior Chief Petty Officer by the time he was discharged.    What I didn’t know was he was a radio operator on a PT boat.”

Lee’s eyes flashed open wide.  “Don’t tell me he served on PT109?”

“No, not PT109, but PT157; the PT boat that rescued John F. Kennedy and the other survivors after the Japanese destroyer struck their vessel,” she explained with great pride.

“Your father probably met JFK!” Lee surmised with surprise.

She nodded.  “How about we go sit on the couch and I’ll share my hunch with you?”

“Now you like the couch again, huh?” he teased her and they both laughed.

Sitting down together in the family room, Amanda began her explanation.  “You might think I’m crazy, and maybe I’m reading between the lines, but I sense they did more than meet.  I believe he knew John F. Kennedy.  As a radio operator during the war, he had a higher security clearance than most other GI’s…”

“Which would be a natural fit if he were to work at the Greenbrier,” Lee added.  “His security clearance had been pre-established during the war.”

“Exactly!” she nodded.  “When I pulled up his Social Security work record, it revealed that my dad quit working for ‘McGreevey’s and Sons’ in January 1961.  My mother told me several times that my dad was out of work for about two months when I was little.  He’d never quit a job before without having another one lined up.”

“He could have been offered a job in the Kennedy Administration and was waiting for his security clearance to go through,” Lee surmised.

“That’s what I thought.  By March 1961, my father was working for Forsythe Associates, a few weeks after Kennedy’s inauguration.  According to the records, he worked for Forsythe Associates until January 1964.”

“Which was only a few weeks after Kennedy’s assassination.  What did he do when he left there?” Lee asked.

“That’s when he started working for the Department of Interior.”

“Did you find out where he worked for them?”

“No,” she sighed heavily, obviously frustrated, “unfortunately, the Social Security records don’t specify the exact location where he worked; only that it was the Department of Interior.  With all the monuments and museums around DC and Virginia, it could be any number of places.  I thought I’d bring up the subject with my mother, but I don’t want to ask too many questions.  You know how she can be…”

“Yeah, I do,” Lee laughed. “How about we have something to eat and then work on this afterwards?”

“Some food for thought; good idea.  I am kind of hungry,” she agreed and they went back into the kitchen and sorted through the Chinese food.

After lunch, they sat in the family room, satiated and relaxed.  Together, they mulled the possibilities silently.  Unexpectedly, Amanda leaned forward and picked up the printing plates. Meticulously, she took the plates out of their wrapping.  A smile grew across her face.  “Oh my gosh!  I won’t have to ask my mother.  I think I know where my father worked after he left Forsythe Associates.”

“You said that the Social Security work records didn’t specify where he worked.”

“We don’t need the records.  The answer is right here.”

Scratching his head in confusion, he remarked, “Amanda, you’re not making any sense.  How could the plates possibly tell you where your father worked?”

“Not the plates, look at the newspaper he wrapped them in – the news articles!”

Lee read the bold caption that the newspapers were wrapped in – one was about Caroline Kennedy, and her horse, ‘Macaroni’ at Camp David’s stables.  The other paper had a picture of Caroline Kennedy riding her horse outside of the stables.

Lee chuckled as he stared at the articles.  “Of course, Camp David!  It’s the President’s retreat, but it’s also part of the National Park system, administered by the Department of Interior.  It’s been staring me in the face all day and I didn’t see it.”

“I didn’t either until just now.  The Catoctin Mountains are about 90 minutes from here.  It wouldn’t have been that bad of a drive in the early 60’s.  My dad must have worked there for a while.”

“All right,” Lee sighed as he wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder, “now all we have to do is figure a way into Camp David, and find something hidden there for almost 30 years.”

“We found what we were looking for in the bomb shelter,” she was quick to point out.

“Yeah,” Lee nodded before adding, “but the bomb shelter at the Greenbrier technically doesn’t exist.  Camp David must have been renovated a half dozen times in thirty years.  What’s the chance whatever we’re looking for is still there?”

“If my father hid something up there, he would have found a good place.”

“You hope,” he answered less than confidently.  “Have you figured out a way to get inside Camp David?”

“The President won’t be up there, so getting inside shouldn’t be that difficult with my Agency ID,” Amanda remarked assertively.

“I’m not so sure,” he mumbled, glancing at her unconvinced.

Amanda rubbed her brow, and thought about it for a minute before finally answering.  “I still don’t think getting on the grounds will be too complicated, but you’re right about where to look.  We’ve gotten this far though; I refuse to give up.”

Lee picked up the newspaper and read the articles thoroughly.  Sitting quietly, he contemplated everything.  “Camp David is spread out on top of a mountain.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“Back in 1978,” he nodded, putting the newspaper articles back on the table.  “I was a member of the security detail for the Summit, when President Carter met with Prime Minister Begin and President Sadat.”

“Wow!  You never told me about that.”

“Despite the historical nature of the event, it was a really boring assignment,” he assured her.  “The grounds are relaxing and spacious.  Not counting the presidential cabin, there’s a gym, a pool, a half dozen guest cabins, and of course, the stables.”

“Great,” she said sarcastically.  “We better have a good idea before we get there.  We can probably get inside once without too much trouble, but if we go up a couple of times and wander around aimlessly, we’re bound to attract attention.”

Lee studied the articles again.  “Both articles are about Caroline Kennedy.  Did you ever meet her?”

“The President’s daughter, oh my gosh, no!” she replied, picking the articles up and studying them.  “One article has a picture of the stables; the other is about the horse staying at the stables.  Maybe he hid something inside the stables?”

“That would have been a decent hiding place, and probably one of the few places that hasn’t been totally renovated over the years.”

Amanda glanced at her watch.  “It’s almost three now.”

“Not today, Amanda,” Lee said, shaking his head.  “We don’t know what we’re looking for and it’ll be dark in a few hours.  Like you already said, it’s a 90 minute drive…”

“Tomorrow then?” she replied, more of a statement than a question.

Lee nodded, knowing the sooner they figured out this problem the better.  “Good thing I finished that report this morning.  I’ll go into the office early tomorrow, and we can drive up there at lunchtime and figure a way inside.”

“We’ve both got government ID’s,” she reminded him.

“That should make things a little easier, as long as Billy doesn’t catch wind of our little journey…” Lee conceded.

Amanda grimaced and nodded.  “If that happens, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do!”
 

End Part Six
 

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