Caleb Carr - The Angel Of Darkness

“Gentlemen!” he called out, his strong voice giving no hint of either his near fifty years or his usual assignment as a strategy planner. “Most of you, I’m sure, know that it is absolutely impossible to sail salt water in Uncle Sam’s service for thirty, ten, or even five years without becoming imbued with the feeling that the United States of America is the finest and most glorious thing that has ever happened, and that it must lead-in everything .” Here the men broke into cheers, cheers what Mr. Roosevelt heartily joined. The rest of us held back, feeling that it wasn’t really our place to take part-though I felt an urge to. “But,” the lieutenant went on, “I suspect you also know that the United States cannot lead in everything so long as enemies stand in its way. Enemies without -who will, with any luck, soon feel the power of the great ships being built around us-and enemies within , who must feel our power on this very night!” That got the boys going again, and Lieutenant Kimball had to work hard to get them to quiet back down. “I ask you now to give your attention to the honorable assistant secretary of the navy, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt!”

Stepping to the fore, Mr. Roosevelt narrowed his eyes and took the measure of the company before him. “Men,” he said, in that crisp, choppy way of his, “some of you may find the job ahead of us a strange one. Why, you might reasonably ask yourselves, should we be assigned the task of enforcing the laws of this great nation on our own soil?” Balling up one fist, Mr. Roosevelt began to smack it into his other palm as he continued to bellow over the sounds of the construction what was going on all around the yard: “The answer, men, is a simple one-because those persons to whom the safety of the public and the enforcement of justice in this part of our nation have been entrusted are failing to perform their duty! And who is it that the United States invariably calls on when its citizens are in danger-anywhere in the world-and no one else can or will assume the responsibility of protecting them?!”

With a unity of voice what was both very shocking (given the men) and very thrilling (given the situation), the sailors all roared out, “ The United States Navy , sir !”The sound nearly knocked those of us behind Mr. Roosevelt over, but he only grinned and shook his fist in the air.

“Indeed!” he called out. “I expect you to fight fairly, men, but I expect you to fight hard ! Thank you all!” Then Mr. Roosevelt stepped aside to let Lieutenant Kimball speak again.

“Officers will carry sidearms, petty officers and seamen will carry nightsticks! Force will be applied when force is encountered! This is a military police action, gentlemen-I know you will conduct yourselves accordingly. Now-fall out to board your boats!”

With another mighty roar, this one of pure excitement and lust for action, the men broke ranks and started for the torpedo boats, jumping into them as the engineers let off loud, hissing blasts of steam from the power plants of each vessel. Lieutenant Kimball directed our party to the lead boat, where we took up positions just behind the steering house. Orders to cast off were barked out over the rising grind of the steam pistons, and then-very suddenly, it seemed-the boat’s propellers began to churn up the waters of the bay and we shot out toward the river, at a speed I’d certainly never experienced on the water and what made me stumble back a bit. As the air forced against our faces and bodies by the quickening pace of the boat became ever more powerful, Mr. Roosevelt put one of his strong arms around my shoulders and held me steady. Smiling up at him, I turned to watch the other two boats fall in behind us.

I don’t know that I’ve ever truly been able to describe the feeling what came over me at that moment, though I’ve tried many times. I was heartened past words by the sight of the two boats behind us, and by the rumble of the powerful engines in our own vessel: all the emotions of the night and the day what’d just passed-not to mention those of the tough and often frightening weeks what’d come before-suddenly jumped out of my mouth in a loud holler, one what Mr. Roosevelt joined me in. Turning forward again, I caught sight of the same Brooklyn Bridge what we’d crossed just half an hour earlier, and which we were currently moving toward at a speed what was beginning to seem impossible. Viewing the bridge from below was so peculiar as to seem like a dream, especially given how fast we passed under it; yet we were about to go faster still. As we motored past Hickie the Hun’s best-loved swimming spot, the Fulton Fish Market, and on toward the base of Manhattan and Battery Park, the commander of our boat gave the signal to turn the engine fully loose, so that by the time Lady Liberty came into view it seemed that we could’ve reached her island in just a matter of seconds.

Glancing over at the rest of our group, I could see that they, too, were impressed by the speed and maneuverability of the wondrous little craft we were riding in: the Doctor, Mr. Moore and the Isaacsons were all taking turns peppering Lieutenant Kimball with questions what were often hard to hear over the ever-greater din of the boat’s powerful engines. As for me, I had no questions, only more emotions, ones as irresistible as the floating weapon we were traveling aboard. When we turned north to enter the waters of the Hudson and I saw all those spots on the waterfront where I’d so often come to brood about Kat, I turned those feelings loose, letting tears of sadness, rage, and determination mix with those what were being drawn out of my eyes by the powerful rush of air what was slamming ever harder against our faces.

“We’ve got you now, Libby Hatch,” I began to whisper to myself through clenched teeth. “We’ve got you, we’ve got you!”

Just as the Doctor’d figured, the gigantic, two-story housing of the White Star Line pier provided us with the kind of cover an ordinary, open wharf couldn’t have. As the torpedo boats closed in on Tenth Street, the commander of our vessel ordered our little fleet to slow up some, and then we cruised quietly in toward the waterfront, slipping alongside the long, green shed of the pier and tying up on pilings near some ladders what led up from the water to a doorway into the structure. Leaving behind about half of the crews to watch over the boats-but taking all the additional sailors what’d been assigned to the job-we scrambled quickly up the rungs of those perilous approaches and then into the bottom floor of the pier: the baggage claim area, an enormous, open space what was usually a madhouse of crazed activity. Empty as it was that night, it had a very ghostly feel to it, and for the first time my feeling that we were on an unstoppable mission began to mix with a healthy dose of anxiousness. The few guards and White Star officials what were in the place had, it seemed, been alerted to our coming, as they cooperated with Mr. Roosevelt (whose face was all the identification he needed in New York City, just as it would soon be all over the United States and the world) by guiding us out to the front door without any questions at all.

As we walked, the Doctor pulled alongside me. “I have not,” he said quietly, “brought up the subject of your sudden departure from Ballston Spa, Stevie, given the events of the day. Nor shall I do so now. I ask only this: please stay close to someone larger or better armed than yourself at all times. It’s not that I doubt your ability to defend yourself, but this woman-”

“You don’t have to tell me ,” I said, trying to reassure both him and myself as we moved out of the pier and into the darkness of the waterfront. “I got no ideas about going up against her alone. Though I might like to.”