“That’s my son,” Jankowski said in a shaking voice. “Edgar Jankowski. My son. Killed at the Battle of Chickamauga. That’s what my wife and I were told, but the moment I saw a photograph of McKinley, I knew it wasn’t true. I have no explanation for why Edgar would do this to us, but the president is my son, and a great lie has been perpetrated.”

Jankowski’s hand shook as he blotted his forehead, and his breathing was ragged.

“You believe that William McKinley is actually your son?” Nathaniel asked, his voice carefully respectful.

“I know he’s my son,” Jankowski said. The anger was back. “I knew Edgar would figure a way to survive the war, and I’ve always been on the lookout for him. I’m fairly sure he used to send us messages through the electrical machinery installed at the mill, but I couldn’t interpret them. It wasn’t until I saw William McKinley’s photograph on a campaign poster that I had solid proof he’s alive. Now all I have to do is get my hands on the boy and force him to admit it.”

Nathaniel nodded toward the daguerreotype. “May I see the picture?”

Jankowski pushed it across the table. The resemblance was indeed startling. The young man had a similar hairline and deep-set eyes with straight black brows and even features. Edgar Jankowski wore a soldier’s uniform and held a rifle proudly before him. He looked directly at the camera, a tiny hint of a smile on his face. A young man of promise and idealism who never came home, forever immortalized in this faded image.

It was hard to look at. The war had ended decades ago, but the pain of this young man’s passing was alive and real for the man sitting across from Nathaniel. This had to be handled carefully.

“I can see the resemblance,” Nathaniel said, rubbing his jaw as though in deep concentration. He pretended to gaze into space but was actually noting the location of all the police officers in the canteen. Two were in uniform, but Sullivan and two others were not. All were surreptitiously watching him.

He set the daguerreotype on the table with care. Jankowski had to be neutralized for the safety of the president, but Nathaniel wished he had the miraculous words that could soothe the anguish of the man across from him.

“Have you asked other people about the resemblance between your son and the president?”

Jankowski snorted. “Plenty. My wife thinks I’m insane, but I’ve always known that Edgar was out there somewhere.”

“Where is your wife?”