Clive Cussler - The Wrecker

Bell smiled a smile that did not warm his eyes. He was reminded of the last time he’d jousted with Kincaid, trading table talk over their game of draw poker. “Your guess is as good as mine, Senator.”

Kincaid smiled back as coolly. “I would have thought that a detective’s guess is better than mine.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“ My guess is, he’ll take a crack at the Cascade Canyon Bridge.”

“That’s why it’s heavily guarded,” said Hennessy. “He’d need an army to get near it.”

“Why would you guess that he would attack the bridge?” asked Bell.

“Any fool can see that the saboteur, whoever he is-anarchist, foreigner, or striker-knows how to guarantee the greatest damage. Clearly, he’s a brilliant engineer.”

“That thought has crossed several minds,” Bell said drily.

“You’re missing a bet, Mr. Bell. Look for a civil engineer.”

“A man like yourself?”

“Not me. As I told you the other day, I was trained and able but never brilliant.”

“What makes a brilliant engineer, Senator?”

“Good question, Bell. Best put to Mr. Mowery, who is one.”

Mowery, ordinarily talkative, had been very quiet ever since Bell had spoken with him in the shadow of the bridge. He waved Kincaid off with an impatient gesture.

Kincaid turned to Hennessy. “Even better put to a railroad president. What makes a brilliant engineer, Mr. Hennessy?”

“Railroad engineering is nothing more than managing grade and water. The flatter your roadbed, the faster your train.”

“And water?”

“Water will do its damnedest to wash out your roadbed if you don’t divert it.”

Bell said, “I put the question to you, Senator. What makes a brilliant engineer?”

“Stealth,” Kincaid replied.

“Stealth?” echoed Hennessy, shooting a baffled look at Bell. “What in blazes are you talking about, Kincaid?”

“Concealment. Secrecy. Cunning.” Kincaid smiled. “Every project demands compromise. Strength versus weight. Speed versus cost. What an engineer grasps in one fist, he surrenders with the other. A brilliant engineer hides compromise. You will never see it in his work. Take Mr. Mowery’s bridge. To my journeyman’s eye, his compromises are invisible. It simply soars.”

“Nonsense,” rumbled Franklin Mowery. “It’s only mathematics.”

Bell said to Mowery, “But you yourself told me about engineering compromises just the other day at the Diamond Canyon Loop wreck. What do you think, sir? Is the Wrecker a brilliant engineer?”

Mowery brushed the point of his beard distractedly. “The Wrecker has shown knowledge of geology, explosives, and the roadbed, not to mention the habits of locomotives. If he’s not an engineer, he’s missed his calling.”

Emma Comden returned, bundled to her chin in a fur coat. The collar framed her pretty face. A matching fur cap was perched jauntily on her hair, and her dark eyes sparkled.

“Come, Osgood. Let’s stroll along the siding.”

“What the heck for?”

“To look at the stars.”

“Stars? It’s raining.”

“The storm has passed. The sky is brilliant.”

“It’s too cold,” Hennessy complained. “Besides, I have telegraphs to wire as soon as Lillian stubs out that damned cigarette and gets her notepad. Kincaid, take Mrs. Comden for a walk, would you? Good man.”

“Of course. It will be my pleasure, as always.” Kincaid found his coat and offered Mrs. Comden his arm as they started down the steps to the roadbed.

Bell stood up, chafing to get to Marion. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work, sir. I’m going to turn in.”

“Sit with me a moment … Lillian, would you excuse us?”

She looked puzzled but didn’t argue and retreated toward her stateroom in Nancy No. 2.

“Drink?”

“I’ve had enough, thank you, sir.”

“That is a fine woman you’ve tied onto.”

“Thank you, sir. I feel I am very lucky.” And hoping, he thought to himself, to demonstrate how lucky he felt very soon.

“Reminds me of my wife-and she was a gal to reckon with … What do you know about your friend Abbott?”

Bell looked at him, surprised. “Archie and I have been friends since college.”

“What’s he like?”

“I must inquire why you ask. He’s my friend.”

“I understand my daughter showed an interest in him.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No. I learned it from another source.”

Bell thought a moment. Mrs. Comden had not been in New York but had stayed in the West with Hennessy. “Since you inquire about my friend, I have to ask you who told you that.”

“Kincaid. Who do you suppose? He was with her in New York when she met Abbott. Please understand, Bell, I am fully aware that he would say anything to undermine any rival for her hand … Which he will get over my dead body.”

“Lillian’s too, I imagine,” said Bell, which drew a smile.

“Although,” Hennessy went on, “I must admit that this president talk is a new wrinkle. I may have underestimated Kincaid …” He shook his head in amazement. “I’ve always said I’d rather have a baboon in the White House than Theodore Roosevelt. We should be careful what we wish for. But at least Kincaid would be my baboon.”

Bell asked, “If you would accept a baboon in the White House, provided he was your baboon, would you take him as a son-in-law?”

Hennessy dodged that question, saying only, “I’m asking about your friend Abbott because when I have to weigh suitors, I want to know my options.”

“All right, sir. Now I understand. I will tell you what I know. Archie Abbott-Archibald Angell Abbott IV-is an excellent detective, a master of disguise, a handy fellow with his fists, a deft hand with a knife, deadly with a firearm, and a loyal friend.”

“A man to ride the river with?” Hennessy asked with a smile.

“Without reservation.”

“And his circumstances? Is he as poor as Kincaid claims?”

“He lives on his detective salary,” said Bell. “His family lost everything in the Panic of ‘93. His mother stays with her brother-in-law’s family. Before that, they were reasonably well-off, as the old New York families were in those days, with a good house in the right neighborhood.”

Hennessy looked at Bell, sharply. “Could he be a gold digger?”

“Twice he walked away from wealthy young ladies whose mothers would be thrilled to marry them into as illustrious a family as the Abbotts. One was the only child of a man who owned a steamship line, another the daughter of a textile magnate. He could have had either for the asking. In both cases, their fathers made it clear they would take him into the business or, if he preferred not to work, simply put him on an allowance.”

The old man stared hard at him. Bell held his eye easily.

Hennessy finally said, “I appreciate your candor, Bell. I won’t be around forever, and I’m pretty much the only family she has. I want to see her set before anything happens to me.”

Bell stood up. “Lillian could do a lot worse than Archie Abbott.”

“She could also do worse than First Lady of the United States of America.”

“She is a very capable young woman,” Bell said neutrally. “She’ll deal with any hand dealt her.”

“I don’t want her to have to.”

“Of course you don’t. What father would? Now, let me ask you something, sir.”

“Shoot.”

Bell sat back down. As much as he wanted to join Marion, there was a question troubling him that had to be answered.

“Do you really believe that Senator Kincaid has a chance for the nomination?”

CHARLES KINCAID AND EMMA COMDEN had walked in silence past the special’s insistently sighing steam engine, past the train yards and into the night, beyond the glare of the electric lights. Where the ballast laid for new rail ended, they stepped down to the newly cleared forest floor that had been brushed out for the right-of-way.