Code 6


 
 
 
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Epigraph
 Contents
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
 Chapter 35
 Chapter 36
 Chapter 37
 Chapter 38
 Chapter 39
 Chapter 40
 Chapter 41
 Chapter 42
 Chapter 43
 Chapter 44
 Chapter 45
 Chapter 46
 Chapter 47
 Chapter 48
 Chapter 49
 Chapter 50
 Chapter 51
 Chapter 52
 Chapter 53
 Chapter 54
 Chapter 55
 Chapter 56
 Chapter 57
 Chapter 58
 Chapter 59
 Chapter 60
 Chapter 61
 Chapter 62
 Chapter 63
 Chapter 64
 Chapter 65
 Chapter 66
 Chapter 67
 Chapter 68
 Chapter 69
 Chapter 70
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgments
 About the Author
 Also by James Grippando
 Copyright
 About the Publisher
 
 
 
 
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 Epigraph
 
 
 It will be found very generally that the persons called upon to give information will do so without objection or delay.
 —instructions to U.S. Census enumerators, June 1890
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 1
 
 “Kate Gamble!” the silver-haired director shouted from his seat in the fifth row of the auditorium.
 
 It startled Kate to hear her name called, even if she had been waiting nearly an hour for her brief moment onstage. She was
 an aspiring playwright, emphasis on “aspiring.” More than four hundred contestants nationwide had submitted spec scripts to
 win the honor of a live critique from Tony Award–winning Broadway director Irving Bass. The “Bass Workshop,” as it was immodestly
 billed, included public readings, though it mostly drew friends and family of the winning contestants. Kate’s hope was not
 to wow the audience, but merely to take the stage, face the spotlight, and read her opening scene aloud without her knees
 buckling.
 
 
 “Gamble! You’re up!”
 
 Kate was seated in Row J, almost hiding behind one of nine white columns that supported the dress circle above. The famous
 Ford’s Theatre, site of Lincoln’s assassination, was still a living and working playhouse, and just being there made her feel
 sorry for anyone who didn’t “get” the excitement of live theater. Kate was a child when her father had taken her there to
 see A Raisin in the Sun, a transformative experience that had sparked her dream of picking up the pen. It took more than inspiration to return, years
 later, and present her own work. Courage was essential. A touch of insanity didn’t hurt. After countless hours of rehearsal
 in front of her bedroom mirror, Kate could probably have recited her play by heart. But stage fright could strike at any moment.
 She gathered up her script like a safety blanket and hurried up the steps at stage left.
 
 
 “I see your play is untitled,” said Bass.
 
 Kate walked tentatively to center stage, shielding her eyes from the bright spotlight. She was five foot six in flats, but
 just the sound of the director’s voice made her feel much smaller. Bass was in the aisle seat, a talking silhouette.
 
 
 “I hope that’s not a problem.”
 
 “Why would that be a problem? By all means, if you’re at a loss for words, become a writer.”
 
 Kate wasn’t sure if she should laugh it off or disappear through the trap door, if there was one.
 
 “How long have you been working on your script?”
 
 Kate hesitated. In a way, she’d been researching this story her entire life, mostly at the family dinner table. Her father
 was