He pulled the Humvee into a parking lot next to the Jefferson Library, an imposing, two-and-a-half-story, white-clapboard building about a half mile to the east of Monticello’s main entrance. They went into the lobby, gave the receptionist their names, and asked to see the archivist they had talked to on the phone. A few minutes later, a tall man in a tan suit strode into the lobby and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a broad smile. Speaking in a soft-edged Virginia drawl, he said, “My name is Charles Emerson. Jason Parker, the archivist you talked to, referred your query to me. Welcome to the Jefferson Library.”

Emerson had a deep voice and the courtly manners of a Southern gentleman. His mahogany skin was virtually unlined, except for laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He filled his suit with the sturdy physique of a believer in exercise, but the steel gray color of his hair suggested he could be in his sixties.

Gamay introduced Paul and Angela. “Thank you for seeing us,” she said.

“No problem. Jason told me that you’re with National Underwater and Marine Agency?”

“Paul and I work for NUMA. Miss Worth here is a researcher with the American Philosophical Society.”

Emerson raised an eyebrow. “I’m honored. NUMA’s accomplishments are well known. The Philosophical Society is one of this country’s scholarly jewels.”

“Thank you,” Angela glanced around the lobby. “Your library is pretty impressive as well.”

“We’re very proud of our building,” Emerson said. “It cost five and a half million dollars to build, and opened in 2002. We have shelf space for twenty-eight thousand volumes, and all sorts of reading and multimedia areas. I’ll give you a tour.”

Emerson showed them the library reading and research areas and then led the way to his spacious office. He invited his visitors to take a seat and settled behind a big oak desk.

“I’m not sure how the library can help you folks from NUMA,” he said. “The Virginia hills are pretty far from the ocean.”

“We noticed,” Gamay said with a smile. “But you may have more to offer than you think. Meriwether Lewis led an expedition to the Pacific Ocean on the orders of Thomas Jefferson.”

If Emerson thought the explanation was wide of the mark, he didn’t show it. “Meriwether Lewis,” he said thoughtfully. “A fascinating man.”

Angela couldn’t contain herself. “Actually, we’re more interested in his servant. A young man named Zeb Moses, who was with Lewis when he died.”

“Jason said you asked about Zeb when you called. It’s the reason he turned your query over to me. Zeb was an amazing man. Born into slavery. Worked at Monticello nearly his entire life. Died in his nineties, having lived long enough to read the Emancipation Proclamation.”

“You sound pretty knowledgeable about him,” Paul said.

Emerson smiled. “I should be. Zeb Moses was my ancestor.”