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

Talbot wasn’t sure what to make of this, but he released the door and shook the proffered hand. “Court Talbot.”

Bell used the distraction to open the dining room door. The main hall was as large as an aircraft hangar, with an arching coffered ceiling made up of individually jointed glossy planks. The walls were paneled in dark wood as well. The hanging chandeliers were massive affairs, but their glow was intentionally anemic to give the impressive space a sense of intimacy.

Along the far long wall was a raised platform for a band to entertain the diners while they ate, though at this time it was empty. There was only one occupied table and it sat at the opposite end of the dining room under the darkened, almost floor-length windows. It was round and large enough to seat a dozen.

The table was indeed set for a dozen, but there were only two people seated and just one was eating. A waiter in a black uniform hovered close by.

“Gentlemen.” Senator J. William Densmore’s booming voice managed to fill the cavernous, barrel-vaulted space.

The two newcomers strode through the dining room, weaving separate paths around the countless tables to arrive at the exact same moment. They nodded at each other, for it had been a contest, though one that drew to a tie.

Senator Densmore wore a white suit that was probably sewn by a tentmaker. He was tall, but grossly overweight. His salt-and-pepper hair was thick, and he wore a beard with two silver stripes running downward from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were dark and quick. His nose was bright red from sunburn, but it gave him the cheery glow of Santa Claus. His hands were busy slicing into a tuna steak the size of a dictionary. Bell supposed it was one of the fish he’d caught that afternoon.

To the Senator’s right was a young woman wearing a flouncy skirt and buttoned-up blouse under a thin cardigan with Stanford stitched over her left breast. Her skin was touched by the California sun, but she was young enough to suffer the embarrassing red welts of teenage acne. Her hair was dark yet shot through with blond streaks from her time in The Del’s saltwater swimming pool. Her eyes were as blue as Bell’s own, and bright and inquisitive, and they made her rather indistinct features more attractive.

Hands were shaken all around. Bell asked, “And who is your charming companion?”

“This is my niece, Bitsy Densmore.”

The girl went red under her tan. “Uncle Bill, now that I’m going to be a freshman at Stanford, I want people to call me Elizabeth. I told you.”

“Right, dear, I forgot. Elizabeth Densmore.”

“My wife went to Stanford,” Bell told her. “She’s going to be here tomorrow, and I bet she has a lot of good advice for a freshman coed, like which are the best dorms and who are the worst teachers.”

At first, she seemed disappointed that the handsome stranger was married, but then overcame her swift girlish crush and rallied at the prospect of an insider’s knowledge of the perils and pitfalls of Stanford University. “Gee, that would be swell. Thank you, Mr. Bell.”

“Excuse me, Senator,” Talbot said with flint in his voice, “but I thought this was to be a private meeting.”

“It was, Mr. Talbot,” Densmore said affably. “But then my party bosses reached out and asked for Mr. Bell here to sit in on the briefing. As I want to keep my seat in Washington, I listen to what my bosses ask. Elizabeth says she might want to work for the government when she graduates, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to see how the real world operates. That isn’t a problem, is it?”

Bell could tell that Talbot was troubled by the turn of events but also thoroughly outmaneuvered. He now could see how Densmore had enjoyed such a successful political career. The man could turn a situation to his benefit effortlessly. Talbot wiped his palms on his riding breeches. “No, Senator. No problem at all.”

A waiter approached and asked if Bell wanted anything. He declined, while Densmore ordered another glass of Napa chardonnay for himself, and his niece ordered a lemon soda.

“That’s good,” Densmore practically purred. “So, tell me why I need to listen to you and convince my old West Point roommate, George Washington Goethals, that the canal he currently oversees is in peril.”

The former military man checked the time on a big wall clock before launching into what was a well-rehearsed speech. “In a nutshell, the completion date of the Panama Canal is in doubt. While it’s generally accepted that it will open next year, likely in late summer, something unforeseen has reared up that is slowly grinding work to a halt.”

“Is it more disease, like malaria or yellow fever?” Elizabeth asked, to show she wasn’t ignorant of the canal’s past troubles.

“No, thank God. Both those scourges have been contained for the most part, thanks to Dr. Gorgas and his medical teams, by eradicating mosquitoes from the isthmus and draining the swamps where the infernal creatures bred. No, I’m talking about a local insurgency called Viboras Rojas.”

“Can we step back for a moment,” Bell interrupted. “I’m newly hired, and I’m not quite sure how the players all fit. Mr. Talbot, who are you exactly and how is it that you can reach out to a United States Senator and convince him that the current head of the Panama Canal Authority is apparently in dereliction of his duty?”

“Let me answer that,” Senator Densmore said. “Court was a sergeant in my regiment during the war in Cuba. We were pinned down on the banks of the San Juan River. A shell exploded close enough to blow me off my feet and scramble my brains for the better part of an hour. When I came to, we were still under heavy fire, but I sat there and watched as Sergeant Talbot rallied our defenses and led our men better