The Saboteurs by Clive Cussler (top 10 best books of all time .TXT) 📗

straight as stovepipes, while her hull and turrets bristled with cannons. With her was a smaller escort destroyer, the USS Whipple. Around both ships, men rowed sleek longboats to deploy anti-torpedo netting that hung from hundreds of cork floats and dangled to below the bottom of each fighting ship’s keel.

There was no fear of an enemy submarine lurking in these waters but rather a thorough test that there were no bottom obstructions to leave gaps in the ships’ protective enclosure.

A short while later, the side-wheeler reached the docks of Coronado. The wood pilings stank of newly applied tar. The passengers disembarked before a horse and wagon loaded with silage was led off the ferry. A pair of carriages provided by the hotel waited to take those passengers who were also its guests to their destination. The passengers headed for a day trip to Tent City, a family-friendly area of amusements and restaurants that had sprung up on the spit in recent years, and either paid the penny for the trolley or walked.

From the ferry landing on 1st Street it was a straight shot down Orange Avenue to Bell’s destination. The Hotel del Coronado, known locally and affectionately as The Del, evoked images of every bride’s fantasy wedding cake, with walls of white fondant and a red icing roof. The hotel had the ageless quality of a European castle but was so much brighter because of its whimsical turrets and countless gables and dormers and how it sat happily on sand rather than brooding on some mist-shrouded moor.

Bell couldn’t help but smile at seeing the Queen Anne–style resort for the first time. He regretted not sharing this moment with his wife, Marion, who loved whimsy.

Off to the right, along the length of the Silver Strand, the spit of land connecting Coronado to the mainland, Bell eyed Tent City. While there were countless tents, many gaily striped, the entertainment destination had permanent buildings as well—bathhouses, restaurants, and wood-framed boardinghouses. A narrow-gauge electric trolley ran down the middle of the main street, its bell chiming merrily to roust pedestrians from its path.

Bell also noticed a boathouse built on pilings over Glorietta Bay. It looked like a miniature version of the main hotel. The carriage driver noticed his interest in the white and red building. He said, “The architect had the carpenters practice the Queen Anne style building the boathouse before turning them loose on the main hotel.”

“His idea worked,” Bell remarked. He looked back at the sprawling resort. “What an astonishing achievement.”

An army of uniformed bellhops appeared when the carriage reached the entrance, and soon Bell and a couple checking in at the same time as him were whisked into the hotel. The lobby was paneled in dark wood that made it feel intimate despite its vast size and lofty coffered ceiling. Registration was to the left, while a large staircase corkscrewing up around a cage elevator was ahead on the right. The buzz of conversation was constant, as guests mingled or made arrangements for the next day’s activities with the concierge.

While the rooms overlooking the central courtyard, with its jungle-like landscaping, were considered the premier accommodations, Bell requested an outside room so he could sit on the veranda and watch the ever-changing ocean. Not that there would be much time today. Tomorrow was another story. Marion was going to join him for two blissful weeks at The Del, a long-overdue vacation.

A bellhop saw Isaac up to his room. He discussed the hotel’s amenities, including the saltwater swimming pool and the fact that each of the hotel’s many guest bathrooms featured hot and cold salt and fresh water and that The Del was one of the largest electrified buildings in the country when it was built. He boasted it was also home to the very first outside Christmas tree decorated with electric lights.

After tipping the man and seeing him to the door, Bell pulled a fresh shirt from his leather grip, a towel from the pile of linens, and his dopp kit. He walked down the hall to one of the baths, passing a dark slender man who Bell soon discovered had left the shared washroom a mess. He looked back to see the man enter a room and considered confronting the breach of etiquette but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

At the basin counter, Bell stripped to the waist, then cleaned up at the sink, using warm fresh water, then switched to hot salt water to lather and shave his face. It left his skin feeling tight. He regarded his reflection for just a moment. He was not yet thirty-five but his face looked years younger, with fine features, wide-set blue eyes, and a wave of blond hair he was now wearing slicked back. He worked a dollop of cream into his hair and smoothed it down. He also took a moment to trim his mustache with scissors from his dopp. He checked the Cartier Santos wristwatch that was a gift from Marion. She’d gotten it for him in England following their near-fateful trip aboard the Titanic. He quickly donned a fresh shirt.

A tall figure in a tan suit loitered outside his room as he made his way back down the hall. Seeing Bell, the man doffed his boater and held the stiff hat in his hand. He had a lean, eager face, but the suspicious eyes of all Van Dorn detectives.

“Sorry, Mr. Bell, when the bellhop told me you were here, I was at the boathouse.”

“Don’t worry about it, Renny. Come on in.” Bell keyed open his door and held it open for the younger man. “How’s everything looking?”

Bell worked on his tie, without need of a mirror, while his advance man from the Agency’s Los Angeles office, Renny Hart, gave his report.

“The hotel has been cooperative and allowed me to speak with any of the guests whose reservations were made after Senator Densmore set up this meeting with Courtney Talbot. They’re all legit.” Bell opened his mouth to ask a