Previously in the novel: Secretary of War Edwin Stanton takes President and Mrs. Lincoln to a room in the White House basement where they will stay until the end of the war. Their guard Pvt. Adam Christy thinks he’s saving his country.

“Don’t you think I might be missed at the Cabinet meetings?”
“You’ll be there.” Stanton smiled, pausing to chuckle at the look of puzzlement on Lincoln’s face. “Or at least, a man who looks remarkably similar to you.”
“Poor fellow,” Lincoln said with a trace of a grin. “I didn’t think any man on earth was as ugly as I am.”
“This is no time for your silly jokes.” Mrs. Lincoln did not lift her head from his shoulder, but slapped him on the chest.
“Details aren’t necessary,” Stanton continued, “but needless to say, I found a gentleman who, for the appropriate compensation, will dress like Lincoln, talk like Lincoln, and look like Lincoln, but say exactly what I tell him.”
“And that one fact makes him nothing at all like Mr. Lincoln.” Pulling her head up and daubing her eyes, Mrs. Lincoln pursed her lips as she looked at Stanton. “He’s enough like Mr. Lincoln to convince the Cabinet members?”
“And Mr. Nicolay and Mr. Hay?” Lincoln asked.
The mention of the two elegant men serving as personal secretaries of President Lincoln caused Adam to frown. He secretly hoped they would not be fooled and would need some forceful encouragement—and Adam gladly would provide that force.
“They’ll be no problem.” Stanton addressed Mrs. Lincoln. “I even found a suitable replacement for you, madam.”
“For me?” Her eyes widened.
“There’s only one person in Washington I couldn’t fool or intimidate into believing my impostor is the president, and that person is his wife.”
“Of course I could tell the difference.”
“I know,” Stanton said.
“And I’d scream to high heaven about it, too.”
“That’s why you’re joining the president in the basement.”
“You’ll fail.” Mrs. Lincoln smiled. “This plan is ludicrous.”
“You’re wrong, Mrs. Lincoln,” Stanton said.
“Why, Mrs. Keckley knows the shape of my body…”
“A colored woman,” Stanton said dismissively. “It’ll be no problem to convince her she doesn’t see what she sees.”
Adam furrowed his brow, uncomfortable to hear this attitude being expressed by Stanton, the man who had brought him to Washington and taught him of holy crusades. They were supposed to be fighting to end slavery because black men and women were equal to white people. A belief in that equality was not detectable in Stanton’s tone of voice. That tone, Adam had always been told, was characteristic of Southerners using black muscle to till their fields.
“And Taddie,” Mrs. Lincoln continued. “Taddie’ll know that woman isn’t his mother.”
“A child will believe whatever it’s told,” Stanton pronounced.
Again Adam shifted uneasily at Stanton’s remarks. Children did not believe everything they were told. As wise as the secretary of war was, he should know that. Adam certainly knew it; he was closer to childhood than Stanton was, and therefore had a clearer memory of what it was like to be a boy than did the man with the pharaoh beard. Adam remembered exactly the emotions coursing through a boy’s heart when an adult preached sermons his guts told him were wrong. He knew to bite his tongue, nod his head, and allow the adult to think he was having his way, while all along the child comforted himself in the knowledge that, in his own brain, he knew the truth.
“Now, let me see if I got this straight.” Lincoln cleared his throat. “You got a fellow upstairs right now—”
“He’s probably unpacking at this moment,” Stanton interjected.
“And you’re going to have him stand before the Cabinet and tell them General McClellan will no longer command the Army of the Potomac and replace him with…”
“General Burnsides,” Stanton supplied.
“A good man,” Lincoln said. “A bit of a dandy, but a good man.”
“He’s not afraid to fight.”
“But can he win?”
“If he fights, he’ll win.”
“You do wrong to underestimate Bobby Lee.” Lincoln raised an eyebrow.
“Fear never won battles,” Stanton said. “That’s McClellan’s weakness. He overestimates the power of General Lee.”
“Don’t waste your words on him, Father,” Mrs. Lincoln said with a sniff.
“You may be right, my dear.” Lincoln patted his wife.
“He’s a fool. Don’t waste your wisdom on a fool.”
“I do have just one other question. How long do you think it’ll take General Burnsides to win the war?”
“I expect you’ll be able to celebrate Christmas upstairs.”
“And you expect us to be jolly for Christmas?” Mrs. Lincoln asked.
“You’ll thank me—as Private Christy said earlier—for saving lives, the Union, and your place in history.” Stanton smiled. “Oh, you’re a bit peeved now, but that’ll pass when you bask in the accolades justly earned by me.”
“‘A bit peeved’? ‘Justly earned’?” Mrs. Lincoln rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, that man’s a fool.”
“Who else is part of this grand scheme?” Lincoln asked. “Mr. Seward, I presume?”
“No.” Stanton shook his head. “Very few are involved. I decided it’d be better that way. And it’d be better for you to ask no more questions.” He nodded to the young soldier. “Private Christy will be in the next room and will attend to your every need.”
“I need to be with my son,” Mrs. Lincoln said.
“Well, perhaps not every need.”
“But his main duty will be to keep us locked away,” Lincoln said, “while you run the country upstairs through this man who’s unfortunate enough to look like me.”
“Good; as long as we all understand the situation.” Stanton pulled out his watch and squinted at it. “I’ll be calling an emergency Cabinet meeting tonight.”
A slight metallic jangling from behind the barrels and crates in the far corner caught Stanton’s attention.
“What was that?”
“Who goes there?” Adam pulled his Remington revolver.
“Don’t shoot.” Gabby Zook stood, raising his hands.
“Who the hell are you?” Stanton asked, fuming.
“Father! That man cursed in front of me!”
“Molly, Mr. Stanton’s language is the least of our problems.” He patted her reassuringly.
“Come out slowly,” Adam ordered.
“Rat traps.” Gabby came forward, shuffling his feet and lowering his head. “Rats in the basement. Rats in the basement, and we can’t have rats in the White House basement. I put out rat traps. Then you came in, and I was trapped. Like the rats in the basement, but I don’t want to get trapped.
“Who the hell is this?” Stanton repeated, his face reddening.
“If I recall properly, this is the nephew of General Samuel Zook. He put in a good word for his dead brother’s son.”
“You know Uncle Sammy?” Gabby walked toward Lincoln. Mrs. Lincoln cringed and hid her face in her husband’s shoulder. “I like Uncle Sammy. He was always the smart one in the family. Everyone said he’d be the successful one. Being a general is pretty good, so I guess he’s the successful one in the family.”
“General Zook said he had a few problems,” Lincoln said.
“What the hell is he doing here?”
“Setting rat traps,” Lincoln replied. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Can I go now?” Gabby inched his way toward the door.
“No,” Stanton said. “You know too much. You heard too much.”
“How can I know too much?” Gabby’s eyes filled with confusion. “They kicked me out of West Point before I could learn much.”
“You must stay in this room with the Lincolns.”
Mrs. Lincoln’s mouth fell open. “First, you stick a gun in my face. You tell me I have to live in the basement. You use foul language in my presence, and now you tell me I must live with this person?”
“It wasn’t planned,” Stanton said.
“Most of life isn’t what we plan, Mr. Stanton.” Lincoln took two small steps toward the secretary. “Stop this now, before it’s too late. This man has shown up. Who knows what other complications await you? You’ve good intentions. I know that. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“The rat trapper can set up house behind the crates.” Stanton’s eyes dismissed Lincoln’s plea. “You won’t even know he’s there, Mrs. Lincoln.”
“No!” As Stanton left the room, Gabby rushed the door. “I got to get back to Cordie! Cordie needs me!”
“Please, sir, everything will be all right.” Adam grabbed him. “Please calm down.”
“But Cordie! What’s going to happen to Cordie?”
“She’ll be fine. I’ll tell her.” Adam paused. “I’ll tell her something.”