The Wrecker by Clive Cussler (read the beginning after the end novel TXT) 📗

“Osgood, may I presume that you will not permit snakes in your railcar?”

“If Roosevelt’s for snakes, I’m agin”em.“

Senator Kincaid laughed heartily.

Bell had already observed that the Senator assumed his KINCAID FOR PRESIDENT button had raised his stature in Hennessy’s eyes. He also noticed that Hennessy appeared to be recalculating the Senator’s potential.

“Tell me, Kincaid,” the railroad president asked in all seriousness, “what would you do if you were elected president?”

“Learn on the job,” Kincaid answered boldly. “Just like you learned railroading.”

Mrs. Comden spoke up, again. “Mr. Hennessy did not learn railroading. He teaches it.”

“I stand corrected.” Kincaid smiled stiffly.

“Mr. Hennessy is empirizing the railroads of America.”

Hennessy shushed her with a smile. “Mrs. Comden has a way with words. She studied in Europe, you know.”

“You’re too kind, Osgood. I studied in Leipzig, but only music.” She stuffed her needlepoint into a satin-lined bag. Then she rose from her corner chair, saying, “Please don’t stand, gentlemen,” and left the parlor.

They sat awhile, puffing cigars, sipping brandy.

“Well, I think I’ll turn in,” said Isaac Bell.

Kincaid said, “Before you go, do tell us how your hunt for the so-called Wrecker is going.”

“Damned well!” Hennessy answered for him. “Bell’s stopped the murdering radical at every turn.”

Bell rapped his chair arm with his knuckles. “Knock wood, sir. We’ve caught some lucky breaks.”

“If you’ve stopped him,” said Kincaid, “then your job is done.”

“My job is done when he hangs. He is a murderer. And he threatens the livelihood of thousands. How many men did you say you employ, Mr. Hennessy?”

“A hundred thousand.”

“Mr. Hennessy is modest,” said Kincaid. “Factoring in all the lines in which he holds controlling interests, he employs over one million hands.”

Bell glanced at Hennessy. The railroad president did not dispute the enormous claim. Bell was struck with admiration. Even engrossed in the titanic effort to build the cutoff, the old man continued to extend his empire.

“Until you do hang him,” Kincaid asked, “what do you think he intends next?”

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