Caleb Carr - The Angel Of Darkness

“Well!” he cried out, as he moved down the hall followed by the much calmer-and very wise-looking-navy officer. “I like this ! Crime and outrage running rampant, and you all lollygagging about as if there -were no action to be gotten!” He put his hands to his hips as he came into the parlor, still grinning from ear to ear; then he shot his right paw out to the Doctor. “Kreizler! Delighted to see you, Doctor, dee-lighted !”

“Hello, Roosevelt,” the Doctor answered with a smile. “I suppose I should’ve known you wouldn’t miss this chance.”

“Hell,” Mr. Moore said, “we all should’ve known.”

Making his way around the room, Mr. Roosevelt pressed the flesh hard with everybody, and accepted a warm hug from Miss Howard. He was especially glad, it seemed to me, to find that the Isaacson brothers were there, and still on the police force-for it was himself who’d brought them in, as part of his effort to loosen the grip what the Irish clan of Tammany hirelings had on Mulberry Street. When he finally got around to saying hello to me, I’d gotten so excited by his presence and the new hope it seemed to bring that I was shifting from foot to foot nervously. Still, there must have been much of the morning’s sadness left in my face, for Mr. Roosevelt’s smile shrank a little as he leaned down to shake my hand and look into my eyes.

“Well, young Stevie,” he said, with real sympathy. “You’ve had a hard time of all this, I understand. But don’t doubt this, my boy-” He put one of his tough hands on my shoulder. “We have come here to see that justice is done!”

As the Isaacsons began to sort through all their house-breaking equipment and weapons, figuring out what we’d need for our final assault on Number 39 Bethune Street, the rest of us rushed to get into suitable clothes for the mission: you didn’t often stand still, and you never wasted time, when Mr. Roosevelt was around. Once we were reassembled in the parlor, the former police commissioner took a moment to introduce us to his companion.

“Lieutenant William W. Kimball of the United States Navy,” Mr. Roosevelt said proudly, almost as if the officer was one of his own kids, instead of a man what obviously had a few years on him. Quite a few years, in fact: when it came my turn to shake hands with the officer I wondered why, at his age (almost fifty, it turned out), he was still stuck with such a low rank. It wasn’t until later that somebody explained to me that his situation wasn’t unusual: being as the navy hadn’t seen any real action since the Civil War, advancement had gotten to be a very slow process. “Lieutenant Kimball lectures at the Naval War College,” Mr. Roosevelt continued, “and has no equal when it comes to the business of war plans.”

“Why, Roosevelt,” Mr. Moore mocked, “are you planning a war ?”

Mr. Roosevelt held up a finger. “Now, now, Moore, you won’t snare me with any of your reporter’s questions. The navy is always developing contingency plans, in the event of conflict with any power.”

“I shouldn’t have thought that we required any strategic planning for what we are to undertake tonight,” the Doctor said, studying Lieutenant Kimball curiously. “Though you are of course welcome, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” the lieutenant answered gamely; but even though he seemed to have some of the swagger (along with the usual large mustache) of a sailor, you could tell from his voice that he also had far more brains than your garden-variety naval man. “It’s not my war planning, though, that prompted Mr. Roosevelt to ask me along. I have some other areas of expertise that he thought might be useful.”

“Indeed!” Mr. Roosevelt agreed, pounding on the lieutenant’s back. “Kimball, here, is a man ahead of his time. I hear nothing but battleships, battleships, battleships, from most of our officers, but Kimball has put his mind to developing the weapons that will determine the course of naval warfare in the next century, rather than the last . Torpedoes! Submarines! I tell you, that French novelist Verne has nothing on the lieutenant, here.”

That comment snagged my interest, for the Doctor’d often given me books by Mr. Jules Verne to read, and the Frenchman’s tales of life under the sea, trips to the moon, and powerful new weapons had kept me up late more than one night, wondering just what sort of a world we were actually heading for. “Is that true, Lieutenant?” I asked, as respectfully as I knew how. “Will we really fight underwater, like Captain Nemo?”

The lieutenant smiled and reached out to tousle my hair some. “Oh, yes, Master Taggert-but without Nemo’s electrical guns, I’m afraid. At least for the moment. The torpedo will be the submarine’s principal armament, and together with torpedo boats they will become the deadliest enemies of all ships.”

“Torpedo boats?” I echoed. “What are those?”

“ Those ,”Mr. Roosevelt answered, “are the reason that Lieutenant Kimball is here, Stevie. Small, lightly armored craft, capable of remarkable speeds. I cruised in one from Oyster Bay to Newport a few weeks ago, and I don’t mind telling you all-it was bully! Like riding a high-mettled horse-agile, quick, capable of striking without warning and then disappearing.” He turned to the Doctor. “Just the sort of thing, it seemed to me, that your business tonight requires, Kreizler.”

The Doctor considered that idea. “Yes-yes, the ability to arrive suddenly and depart at high speed will be a great asset. And where are these craft at the moment?”

“We have several out at the navy yard,” Lieutenant Kimball answered. “They require relatively small crews, but more men can be taken on, if we feel we need them.”

“The more the better, if we’re going up against the Dusters,” Mr. Moore said. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance these ‘torpedoes’ can reach a few blocks inland, Lieutenant?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Moore,” Lieutenant Kimball answered with a smile. “Once ashore, we’ll have to rely on ourselves.”

“Yes,” Mr. Moore said, not very enthusiastically. “I was afraid of that.”

“Take heart, John!” Mr. Roosevelt said, thumping his old friend on the back the way he had Lieutenant Kim-ball. Mr. Moore, though, didn’t look too pleased by the action. “Why, we can put three score sailors against those-”

“Teddy,” Mr. Moore interrupted, using the childhood name what Mr. Roosevelt was known to dislike. “It’s going to be a hell of an evening, and if you start slapping me now I won’t be able to stand up by the time it’s all over.”

“Ha! You don’t fool me with that talk. I know the true measure of your abilities, Moore-I saw them amply displayed on our last adventure together!” Walking over to Miss Howard, Mr. Roosevelt took her hands in his warmly. “And you, Sara-that dress may be plain, but I’ll wager it has room enough for a certain pearl-handled Colt of yours!”

“Along with a considerable supply of cartridges,” Miss Howard replied with a nod. “So don’t anyone think of jeopardizing themselves by keeping a special eye out for me.”

“As if we don’t know that ,”Lucius said, shaking his head.

“Ah, and my Maccabees!” Mr. Roosevelt said, moving over to the Isaacsons. “Kimball, you will never meet two men who combine bravery and brains more than the detective sergeants, here. I was called a lot of things for bringing Jews onto the police force, but I stand by the decision. Why, if we had six or seven men like these in Naval Intelligence, I daresay-ah.” Realizing that he was about to say too much about his business in Washington, Mr. Roosevelt smiled and raised a hand. “But I’m straying from the affairs of the moment. Cyrus!” he went on, approaching my big friend. “What about you-will you rely on those fists alone, or will you take along something a little more substantial?”