The Gangster by Clive Cussler (e reading malayalam books .txt) 📗

vicinity of the Catskill Aqueduct.”

“The aqueduct is the great enterprise of our age,” said President Roosevelt, “and I worked like a nailer to start it up when I was Governor. The very least I can do as President is lend my name and presence to the good men who took over the job. They’ll be at it for years, so celebrating the Storm King Siphon Tunnel is vital for morale.”

“Would you have the history books forever link the Catskill Aqueduct to your assassination?”

“Better than the history books saying, ‘TR turned tail and ran.’”

“I seem to have failed,” said Van Dorn, “in my effort to explain the danger.”

President Roosevelt hopped off his machine. “I grant you that J. B. Culp’s tendencies toward evil are indisputable. Culp is the greatest practitioner of rampant greed in the nation. His underhanded deals rend a terrible gulf between the wealthy few and the millions who struggle to put a meal on the table. Unchecked, his abuses will drive labor to revolution. He is as dangerous as the beast in the jungle and as sly as the serpent. But you have not a shred of evidence that he would attempt to assassinate me.”

“Nor do I have any doubt,” said Van Dorn.

“You have hearsay. The man is not a killer.”

“Culp won’t pull the trigger himself,” said Isaac Bell.

The President glanced at Van Dorn, who confirmed it with a grave nod.

“Of course,” said Roosevelt. “A hired hand. If any of this were true.”

“Antonio Branco is no hired hand,” said Bell. “He is personally committed to killing you. He’ll call in a huge marker that Culp will be happy to pay.”

“Poppycock!”

Van Dorn started to answer. Isaac Bell interrupted again.

“We would not be taking up your valuable time this morning if the threat were ‘poppycock,’ Mr. President. You say you worry about revolution? If the atmosphere is so volatile, couldn’t a second presidential assassination, so soon after the last, trigger that revolution?”

“I repeat,” Roosevelt barked. “Poppycock! I’m going to the Catskill Mountains. If your lurid fancies have any basis in truth, I’ll be safe as can be on the Navy’s newest battleship.”

“May I ask, Mr. President, how do you happen to be traveling to the Catskill Mountains by battleship?”

“Up the Hudson River to Kingston, where we’ll board an Ulster & Delaware special to inspect the reservoir, eventually take the special down to the siphon.” He laughed and said to Van Dorn, “Shall I order the railroad to lay on an armored train?”

“I’ll see to it,” said Van Dorn.

“I’ll bet you will and slap the government with a mighty bill.”

Van Dorn’s expression could have been a smile.

Isaac Bell said, “Sir, will you please agree to obey closely instructions your Secret Service corps issue for your protection?”

“Of course,” the President answered with a sly grin. “So long as I can make my speech . . . Listen here, young fellow, you run down those supposed criminals. I’ll speechify the greatest aqueduct ever dug and”—he plunged a hand into his pocket and he pulled out a crumpled bill—“five bucks says my battleship and I finish first.”

Isaac Bell slapped down a gold coin. “Double it.”

“You’re mighty sure of yourself.”

“You’ll have to trade your battleship for ice skates, Mr. President. Last time I looked, the Hudson River was freezing solid.”

“Connecticut’s eleven-inch armor belt will smash ice.”

Isaac Bell held off reminding the Commander-in-Chief that USS Connecticut’s armor tapered to only four inches in her bow, but he could not resist saying, “Far be it from me to advise a military man, Mr. President, but how do your admirals feel about the Connecticut smashing ice with her propeller blades?”

TR threw up his hands. “O.K., O.K. I’ll take the train. That satisfy you?”

“Only canceling your public appearances until we nail Culp and Branco will satisfy me.”

“Then you’re bound for disappointment. I’m going and that’s all there is to it. Now get out of here. I have a country to run.”

Bell and Van Dorn retreated reluctantly.

“Wait!” Roosevelt called after them, “Detective Bell. Is that true?”

“Is what true, Mr. President?”

“The Hudson River is freezing early.”

“It’s true.”

“Bully!”

“Why ‘bully,’ sir?”

“They’ll be racing when I’m there.”

Van Dorn asked, “What kind of racing?”

“Fastest racing there is. Ice yacht racing.”

“Do you race, sir?” asked Bell.

“Do I race? Cousin John founded the Hudson River Ice Yacht Club. His Icicle cracked one hundred miles per hour and won the Challenge Pennant. Ever been on an ice yacht, Detective?”

“I skippered Helene in the Shrewsbury regattas.”

“So you’re a professional?”

“I was Mr. Morrison’s guest,” said Bell, and added casually, “Culp races ice yachts, you know?”

“Daphne!” shouted the President. “Fast as greased lightning!” He flashed a toothy grin. “Just goes to show you, Bell, the Almighty puts some good in every man—even J. B. Culp.”

The President’s hearty ebullience offered an opening and Bell seized it. “May I ask you one favor, sir?”

“Shoot.”

“Would you make your speech at the Hudson River Siphon your only speech?”

Roosevelt considered the tall detective’s request for such an interim that Bell saw reason to hope that the President was finally thinking of the assassination that had flung him into office.

“O.K.,” he answered abruptly. “Fair enough.”

Joseph Van Dorn was staying on in Washington, but he rode with Isaac Bell on the trolley to the train station. “That was a complete bust,” he said gloomily. “One speech, ten speeches, what’s the difference? Everywhere he stops, the reckless fool will wade into the crowds—knowing full well that McKinley got shot while shaking hands.”

“But his only scheduled appearance will be the speech. Branco will know precisely where and when to find him at the Hudson Siphon—the only place the President will be a sitting duck.”

“That is something,” Van Dorn conceded. “So how do we protect the sitting duck?”

Isaac Bell said, “Clamp a vise around Branco. Squeeze him.”

“To squeeze him, you’ve got to find him.”

“He’s holed up in Culp’s estate.”

“Still?” Van Dorn looked skeptical. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“Culp’s private train,” answered Bell. “I sent Eddie Edwards to nose around the crew. Eddie bribed a brakeman. It seems that ordinarily by November, Culp