“I've heard some numbers around maybe six hundred thousand, that's North
and South,
you under â¦â
Oh, Christ!
” Tom looked puzzled, then panic-stricken.
Jaffey watched, unable to understand what had come over Braddock. “What? What is it?”
Tom didn't answer. He fumbled in his pocket, his hand shaking in his haste to remove the clipping.
“Shit!” Tom cursed as the paper tore. “I hope to hell I'm wrong about this, Eli.” He laid the pieces out on the railing to the promenade, the corners blowing in the wind.
“We've been thinking all along it was the trains they were after, but
look!”
Tom pointed to the page. It was the opposite side of the clipping, the side that had the article about Memorial Day festivities. “What if
this
was what Bucklin was trying to tell us?”
A strong chill went through Jaffey. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Finally he exclaimed, “The explosives!”
Tom's first thought was of Mary. She had to be stopped. He didn't want her anywhere near the bridge today. He thought to send a telegram, but on a holiday it might take hours to reach her. He couldn't go himself.
“Eli,” he said, turning a worried countenance to Jaffey, “I need you to do me a favor.”
D
olan and Heidelberg found Tom about an hour later. They'd come up empty, as Tom had expected. If they had ever lived at either of the listed addresses, they were long gone. Tom told Pat and Charlie what he suspected
about Memorial Day. He had just finished when Jaffey came trotting up.
“She wasn't there,” he said breathlessly. “The Bucklins said she'd left maybe an hour before. Chelsea's with her.”
“Great! They've got to be out here somewhere,” Tom said, looking around at the constantly changing crowd. “God, I hope I'm wrong about this!” Images of his nightmare flickered in Tom's head, sending jolts of fear through him in sickening waves.
The four of them started back across the bridge, Tom asking Pat and Charlie to check work assignments. There might be a clue in the kind of work Sangree's men were doing, especially Sullivan and Lincoln, about whom they knew very little. Grumbling about paper trails and going blind, Charlie and Pat set sail for the bridge offices.
“Me and Eli'll be on the span, fellas,” Tom said, more worried about finding Mary than he was about the bridge. He kept his hands in his pockets, lest he show the others how they shook. “Let's try the downstream roadway this time, eh, Eli?”
The four parted ways, arranging to meet around three-thirty near the Brooklyn terminal. Tom and Eli sliced through the crowds like sharks, their senses on full alert. They came across two bridge cops and made sure they had descriptions of the conspirators and of Mary as well.
“Keep a sharp eye,” Tom said. It was as much a plea as an order. At just about that time Mary was up on the promenade, enjoying the sunshine with Chelsea, and wishing it was Tom who was by her side.
T
he men were ready to go. This part of the operation was easy compared to last night. They would get into position, check to see that they were positioned where they could signal one another, while waiting for the assigned hour. The captain planned on 4:00 P.M. He estimated that late afternoon would be most crowded, and he hoped there might be as many as ten or fifteen thousand out enjoying the Eighth Wonder. Since it had opened the week before, it had already become quite an attraction. Just last Sunday there had been 163,500 strollers during the day. Ten or fifteen thousand at any one time was conservative by those standards.
It was two-thirty when they got to the New York side. It was a good thing they had been so careful with the wiring and explosives. From the roadway they'd be easier to spot, even though the inner cable was blocked partially from view by the train tracks and its trusses. Still, it appeared as if most people were on the promenade. As they approached the bridge, Pat said, “I think we ought to have a quick change of plans, Captain.”
Thaddeus looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “Why, what's wrong?” he said in a panicky voice.
Sullivan shrugged. “Look at those crowds,” he said, pointing. “We need to allow more time for Jus and me to get off. Five minutes after the signal ain't gonna do it.”
Thaddeus nodded thoughtfully. “What do you think? Ten?”
“That's safer. I don't know about Justice here, but I don't fancy being caught out there when it goes up.” Pat prayed he'd be able to do today what he hadn't been able to accomplish last night, but he couldn't be sure.
“Done. Ten minutes then. You men get moving. Earl and Justice on the promenade, Pat on the roadway, just as we practiced. We'll coordinate signals at precisely three-thirty. Let's synchronize watches. I have exactly two-forty-seven ⦠mark!” They all set their watches together. “Get moving and good luck, gentlemen.” Thaddeus shook hands all around. “I'll see you in Richmond.” There was an unreality to their parting as if there should be something more. Instead there was an awkward silence, as they blinked at each other in the Memorial Day sun. Sullivan, Sangree, and Jacobs set off up the roadway on the upriver side. Braddock and Jaffey, patrolling the downriver side, never saw them.
O
fficer Dan Monzet was about as bored as he'd ever been. At least when he'd patrolled on Coney Island, there had been summers filled with beautiful women to ogle. After guarding the doors for hours he was thinking that even in January, Coney Island weather was not so bad. He didn't think much of anything as the two men approached him. The short weaselly-looking fella was probably a clerk, he figured, though he wondered at his bruises and limping walk. Maybe they were from the U.S. Illuminating Company, here to run some inspection or other.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Monzet said, friendlylike.
“Good afternoon, Officer,” the bigger one said. He seemed surprised to see him, Monzet thought. If he'd been more alert, that might have put him on guard but he simply asked, “How can I help you?”
“We're from the U.S. Illuminating Company, Officer,” Thaddeus said with a worried look. “Why are you guarding these doors? No guard has been placed on them before.”
“Oh, some nonsense about saboteurs. Haven't seen one all day,” Dan said, smiling.
Jacobs and the captain smiled with him.
Jacobs went on in his best official manner. “So, could you let us in then?
We've got instruments to check.” Monzet turned toward the door, fumbling with the keys in his pocket. “I'll need to see some identification, gentlemen,” he said as he put the key in the lock.
“Of course, Officer,” Jacobs said. “I have it right here.”
Dan Monzet threw open the heavy door and turned to check their credentials. As he faced them, though, a curious thing happened. The little man before him struck him in the throat. At first he thought it had to be some mistake, some accident. Monzet looked quizzically at the little man, confused more than hurt. Then, quick as a snake, the little bastard did it again. It wasn't till the second time that Monzet saw the blade in his hand, red with his own blood. He tried to cry out, but his voice just gurgled and whistled through the holes in his throat. There seemed to be a great deal of blood too, and it was making a hell of a mess of his new tunic. To Monzet's credit, he managed to get his pistol out of its holster. Brooklyn was starting to spin by then, though, and all he managed to do was shoot himself in the knee.
Oh, Christ! he thought as he fell. Now look what I've done.
“S
hut the door. Hurry,” the captain rasped.
Jacobs kicked at Monzet's feet, then hit them with the door.
“Pull him in more, Captain.”
Thaddeus did, dragging Monzet by the tunic collar. They slammed and locked the door a moment later, then went to the window, looking out for signs of alarm. There didn't seem to be any. The pistol hadn't made much noise. On this side of the bridge there were mostly warehouses, closed for the holiday.
“Excellent. No one seems to have noticed,” Thaddeus said.
“Excepting him,” Jacobs said with a jerk of his head toward Officer Monzet, whose breathing was getting shallower by the second.
“That worries me, Bart,” the captain said, looking down at the officer.
“Exactly.” Jacobs glared over his glasses at the body. “Whoever posted him here is bound to be back.”
“We'll deal with that problem as it arises,” Thaddeus said, getting moving. “Let's get set up. I want to be able to blow it at a moment's notice.”
They set to work quickly, setting up their wiring and generator. Within five minutes they were wired in to the main lines to the charges, the wires screwed tight to the terminals of their portable dynamo.
“Ready, Captain!” Jacobs called out when he finished.
“Ready here too, Bart. What time you have?”
“Three-twenty-one, Captain. We check signals in nine.”
“They can't stop us, Bart,” the captain intoned solemnly. “Not now!”
S
ullivan was amazed by the crowds. He'd never seen anything like it. They had waited about fifteen minutes after the captain and Bart had set off, not wanting to bunch up and attract attention. The promenade was packed shoulder to shoulder. He was happy to be down on the roadway. Traffic was light, consisting mainly of carriages. The holiday kept the freight traffic down to almost nothing. He looked at his watch again. They had time. He was keeping pace with Justice and Earl up on the promenade. He could see them occasionally through the top hats, parasols, bowlers, bonnets, and skimmers. It was a lively, happy crowd despite the crush. The beauty of the day only added to the general feeling of celebration. The novelty of the bridge hadn't worn off yet. It was truly the Eighth Wonder of the World. People wanted to see it, marvel at its monumental architecture, and most of all just be on it.
The thing that disturbed Patrick was the women and children. There were hundreds of children. Their parents, for the most part, held onto them tightly for fear of losing them. Still, some ran free, giggling and laughing. They pointed with delight at the boats, like so many toys in a bathtub, at the gulls that flew about them, at the people on shore, so small and antlike. Children were freest to express the wonder of being out on the bridge. In them Patrick could see the uninhibited joy, the exhilaration, and freedom of it. Somehow the reality of their plan hadn't fully struck home until now. Last night he'd tried to cut the wires for the love of the bridge, the thing he'd given more of his life to than anything before. That was all about him, though, him and Jus. He realized now that that was only part of it. It was about parasols in the sun and laughing, delighted children. It was about parents holding their children's hands and strolling out to see the city from a place no one had seen it from before. It was about rising above the teeming confines of the city and feeling for just a while like a king.
Sullivan looked over at Justice. He caught a glimpse of him through the crowds, moving slowly. He looked directly at Pat, as if seeking his eye. It was clear from that one glimpse of his old friend's face that he felt the same horror. Earl, however, seemed oddly pleased with himself. But they were at the center Sullivan realized. He stopped, almost bewildered, as he realized it. Unthinking, he went through his mental checklist. He checked out the charges without being too obvious. He could see Earl and Jus doing the same. They located their positions and settled in to wait. Sullivan lounged against the outer railing, seemingly a relaxed spectator to the parade of life strolling by. Inside he struggled,
his mind wrestling with what he had sworn to do. It was worse than torture. At least under torture he could have given voice to his pain ⦠and have someone else to blame for his suffering. The seconds ticked by slowly.
T
om and Eli waited for Pat and Charlie by the terminal. The two dogged detectives had been searching the files for over two hours. Matt and Earl, they knew, had been on masonry, like Watkins. They had no idea what Sullivan and Lincoln had worked on, nor what any of them may have done in past years. Tom felt stupid for not checking it out sooner. He told himself that he'd had no firm direction at all until just days ago. Still, he kicked himself. He was wondering how he could have figured it out sooner when Pat and Charlie jogged up.
“Tom! They were assigned to work on the lights.” Charlie gasped.
“The lights?” Tom asked. “What the hell would that ⦠oh, shit!”
“What?” It came like a chorus from Eli, Pat, and Charlie.
“Let's go.”
“Go? I don't get it,” Charlie said, bewildered.
“Charlie, whoever blows the bridge has to run wire,” Tom exclaimed. “You can't just drive a wagonload of dynamite out there. It wouldn't work. Besides, how're you gonna get away?”
“Yeah, so?” Charlie asked.
“Listen, these guys are good.” Tom explained quickly. “They've worked here undetected for years. We have to assume they're sophisticated enough to blow the bridge from a safe distance. They've had plenty of time to work this out.”