A trim New York Police launch with a low cabin and a short stack was approaching. Joseph Van Dorn stood on the foredeck in a topcoat with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Bell walked directly to him.
“It is time for me to submit my resignation.”
27
“REQUEST DENIED!” VAN DORN SHOT BACK.
“It is not a request, sir,” Isaac Bell said coldly. “It is my intention. I will hunt the Wrecker on my own, if it takes the rest of my life. While I promise you I will not impede the Van Dorn investigation led by a better-qualified investigator.”
A small smile parted Van Dorn’s red whiskers. “Better-qualified? Perhaps you’ve been too b
usy to read the morning papers.”
He seized Bell’s hand and practically crushed it in his powerful grip. “We’ve won a round at last, Isaac. Well done!”
“Won a round? What are you talking about, sir? People killed on the ferry. Half the windows in Manhattan blown out. These piers a shambles. All due to the sabotage of a Southern Pacific Railroad vessel that I was hired to protect.”
“A partial victory, I’ll admit. But a victory nonetheless. You stopped the Wrecker from blowing the powder train, which was his target. He would have killed hundreds had you allowed him to. Look here.” Van Dorn opened the newspaper. Three headlines of immense type covered the front page.
EXPLOSION DAMAGE EQUAL OF MAY 1904 PIER FIRE
WORSE Loss OF LIFE ON FERRY, 3 DEAD,
COUNTLESS INJURED
COULD HAVE BEEN FAR WORSE,
SAYS FIRE COMMISSIONER
“And look at this one! Even better …”
THE WRECKER RAGED.
Manhattan’s streets were strewn with broken glass. From the railway ferry, he saw black smoke still billowing over the Jersey shore. The harbor was littered with damaged ships and barges. And the dynamite explosion was all the talk in saloons and chophouses on both sides of the river. It even invaded the plush sanctuary of the observation-lounge car as the Chicago-bound Pennsylvania Special steamed from its battered Jersey City Terminal.
But, maddeningly, every newsboy in the city was shouting the headlines on the extra editions and every newsstand was plastered with the lies:
SABOTEURS FOILED
RAILWAY POLICE AND VAN DORN AGENTS
SAVED DYNAMITE TRAIN
MAYOR CREDITS SOUND SOUTHERN PACIFIC MANAGEMENT
If Isaac Bell were on this train, he would choke him to death with his bare hands. Or run him through. That moment would come, he reminded himself. He had lost only a battle, not the war. The war was his to win, Bell’s to lose. And that deserved a celebration!
Imperiously, he beckoned a steward.
“George!”
“Yes, Senator, suh.”
“Champagne!”
A steward rushed him a bottle of Renaudin Bollinger in an ice bucket.