MAYBE

Riley yawned as he poured himself what must have been his tenth cup of coffee that night. He dumped a few rounded teaspoons of sugar into the cup and took a long drink. Ah, that's it, he thought. Just enough to wake you up, but not so much that your eyes completely bug out of your head.

He walked back into Patrick's dining room and sat down at the table. The house was quiet. Everyone else had long ago turned in. He wasn't going to rest, tonight, so he figured he would put the time to use plotting his next book. However, he was so jumpy, he couldn't concentrate.

What if they couldn't pull this off? What if Ben was arrested? What if they were all arrested as accessories to the fact? He was in enough hot water with his IRS debt. Really, he couldn't take this on. He shouldn't take it on, yet, Ben had seemed so nonchalant in his presentation of this caper, that his acceptance had been automatic. Ben had carried himself as though kidnapping the President of the United States was a perfectly normal, everyday occurrence. It was that casualness that had convinced everyone else that such an insane prospect might actually be possible.

"Ben, you are so going to be committed before all is said and done," Riley said as he took another big swig of his coffee.

"You might be right."

Riley almost spat the mouthful of liquid all over his laptop as he swung around in his chair. "Ben!" he choked as he clutched his heart. "Jeez, you scared me. I didn't know you were still up."

"I couldn't sleep. I came down to get a book and heard you moving around in here. Why are you still awake?"

"I thought everyone knew of my nocturnal tendencies."

"Yeah, I'm nervous, too." Ben nodded toward Riley's laptop. "What are you working on?"

Riley quickly saved his work and closed his laptop. "Just stuff," he said hurriedly.

Ben didn't pursue it and Riley breathed an internal sigh of relief. He didn't want to broach his idea to Ben after the lukewarm reception to his first writing attempt. It was best if he kept this one to himself.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Riley looked up, blinking. "I said I was in, didn't I?"

"I just wondered if you might be having second thoughts. Once Dad and I go out in that boat, there's no turning back."

"Just like everything else we've done." Riley paused. "Sounds to me like you're the one having second thoughts."

"I just wish there was an easier way of clearing Thomas' name."

"You know you could have launched a smear campaign against Wilkinson. You could have publically called him out on why he waited so long to bring such a historically significant event to light. You could have verbally executed him and won. You guys know the truth of what happened. Why couldn't you just publish a statement and kill his credibility?"

"Because sensationalism wins every time. Also, he had a page from the diary, something more tangible than the spoken word, something that people can see. Besides, what would we look like by stooping to his level?"

"You'd look like someone who wasn't risking being locked up for rest of his life by kidnapping the President. Anyway, you could never be as bad as Mitch. That guy makes Ian look rational."

Ben laughed. "That's an understatement. I guess I can understand his desperation, though. The desire to clear the family name can weigh heavily on you."

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently, his ancestor, General Pike, wasn't exactly a great war hero. In fact, he resigned from the Confederate Army after being accused of misconduct in battle. The charges never stuck for lack of evidence, but the damage to the family name was done. Even as his daughter married and took a new name, the stigma followed her. The family hasn't been able to shake it since."

"That's still no reason to be a raging psychopath."

"I never said it was."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, then. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed the hour and there were mild groans of the house settling. Riley returned his attention back to his laptop, thinking their conversation was done.

"You never talk about your family."

Riley winced, then bristled. Of all the subjects in the world, Ben had to pick that one. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Nothing? I assume you had parents."

"Nope, fell from the sky when the fabled stork dropped me on my head."

Ben sighed. "Okay, I get it. This is another thing you don't want to talk about."

"Not everyone's life is an open book, Ben," Riley said, as he looked his friend in the eye. "Some of us prefer a bit of privacy."

"Is that privacy worth it when this stuff eats you alive?"

"This may shock you, Ben, but I'm fine. I really don't need to be psychoanalyzed. Stick to what you know; musty books, brittle treasure maps, and clearing the names of those long desiccated in the grave."

"Very well, then, Mr. Poole," Ben said curtly. "Good night." He left the room.

As Ben's footsteps receded, Riley let out a sigh and rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but Ben had hit a raw nerve and Riley immediately retreated to his defenses. Maybe, he could explain himself later. Maybe he could say that he was just overtired and unnerved about the exploit they were about to pull off. He would turn on the charm, offer up an apology, and all would be copasetic.

Maybe.