The Angel Of Darkness

CHAPTER 54

As the Isaacsons began to sort through all their house-breaking equipment and weapons, figuring out what we’d need for our final assault on Number 39 Bethune Street, the rest of us rushed to get into suitable clothes for the mission: you didn’t often stand still, and you never wasted time, when Mr. Roosevelt was around. Once we were reassembled in the parlor, the former police commissioner took a moment to introduce us to his companion.

“Lieutenant William W. Kimball of the United States Navy,” Mr. Roosevelt said proudly, almost as if the officer was one of his own kids, instead of a man what obviously had a few years on him. Quite a few years, in fact: when it came my turn to shake hands with the officer I wondered why, at his age (almost fifty, it turned out), he was still stuck with such a low rank. It wasn’t until later that somebody explained to me that his situation wasn’t unusual: being as the navy hadn’t seen any real action since the Civil War, advancement had gotten to be a very slow process. “Lieutenant Kimball lectures at the Naval War College,” Mr. Roosevelt continued, “and has no equal when it comes to the business of war plans.”

“Why, Roosevelt,” Mr. Moore mocked, “are you planning a war?”

Mr. Roosevelt held up a finger. “Now, now, Moore, you won’t snare me with any of your reporter’s questions. The navy is always developing contingency plans, in the event of conflict with any power.”

“I shouldn’t have thought that we required any strategic planning for what we are to undertake tonight,” the Doctor said, studying Lieutenant Kimball curiously. “Though you are of course welcome, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” the lieutenant answered gamely; but even though he seemed to have some of the swagger (along with the usual large mustache) of a sailor, you could tell from his voice that he also had far more brains than your garden-variety naval man. “It’s not my war planning, though, that prompted Mr. Roosevelt to ask me along. I have some other areas of expertise that he thought might be useful.”

“Indeed!” Mr. Roosevelt agreed, pounding on the lieutenant’s back. “Kimball, here, is a man ahead of his time. I hear nothing but battleships, battleships, battleships, from most of our officers, but Kimball has put his mind to developing the weapons that will determine the course of naval warfare in the next century, rather than the last. Torpedoes! Submarines! I tell you, that French novelist Verne has nothing on the lieutenant, here.”

That comment snagged my interest, for the Doctor’d often given me books by Mr. Jules Verne to read, and the Frenchman’s tales of life under the sea, trips to the moon, and powerful new weapons had kept me up late more than one night, wondering just what sort of a world we were actually heading for. “Is that true, Lieutenant?” I asked, as respectfully as I knew how. “Will we really fight underwater, like Captain Nemo?”

The lieutenant smiled and reached out to tousle my hair some. “Oh, yes, Master Taggert-but without Nemo’s electrical guns, I’m afraid. At least for the moment. The torpedo will be the submarine’s principal armament, and together with torpedo boats they will become the deadliest enemies of all ships.”

“Torpedo boats?” I echoed. “What are those?”

“Those,”Mr. Roosevelt answered, “are the reason that Lieutenant Kimball is here, Stevie. Small, lightly armored craft, capable of remarkable speeds. I cruised in one from Oyster Bay to Newport a few weeks ago, and I don’t mind telling you all-it was bully! Like riding a high-mettled horse-agile, quick, capable of striking without warning and then disappearing.” He turned to the Doctor. “Just the sort of thing, it seemed to me, that your business tonight requires, Kreizler.”

The Doctor considered that idea. “Yes-yes, the ability to arrive suddenly and depart at high speed will be a great asset. And where are these craft at the moment?”

“We have several out at the navy yard,” Lieutenant Kimball answered. “They require relatively small crews, but more men can be taken on, if we feel we need them.”

“The more the better, if we’re going up against the Dusters,” Mr. Moore said. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance these ‘torpedoes’ can reach a few blocks inland, Lieutenant?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Moore,” Lieutenant Kimball answered with a smile. “Once ashore, we’ll have to rely on ourselves.”

“Yes,” Mr. Moore said, not very enthusiastically. “I was afraid of that.”

“Take heart, John!” Mr. Roosevelt said, thumping his old friend on the back the way he had Lieutenant Kim-ball. Mr. Moore, though, didn’t look too pleased by the action. “Why, we can put three score sailors against those-”

“Teddy,” Mr. Moore interrupted, using the childhood name what Mr. Roosevelt was known to dislike. “It’s going to be a hell of an evening, and if you start slapping me now I won’t be able to stand up by the time it’s all over.”

“Ha! You don’t fool me with that talk. I know the true measure of your abilities, Moore-I saw them amply displayed on our last adventure together!” Walking over to Miss Howard, Mr. Roosevelt took her hands in his warmly. “And you, Sara-that dress may be plain, but I’ll wager it has room enough for a certain pearl-handled Colt of yours!”

“Along with a considerable supply of cartridges,” Miss Howard replied with a nod. “So don’t anyone think of jeopardizing themselves by keeping a special eye out for me.”

“As if we don’t know that,”Lucius said, shaking his head.

“Ah, and my Maccabees!” Mr. Roosevelt said, moving over to the Isaacsons. “Kimball, you will never meet two men who combine bravery and brains more than the detective sergeants, here. I was called a lot of things for bringing Jews onto the police force, but I stand by the decision. Why, if we had six or seven men like these in Naval Intelligence, I daresay-ah.” Realizing that he was about to say too much about his business in Washington, Mr. Roosevelt smiled and raised a hand. “But I’m straying from the affairs of the moment. Cyrus!” he went on, approaching my big friend. “What about you-will you rely on those fists alone, or will you take along something a little more substantial?”

“Fists’ll suit me fine, sir,” Cyrus answered with a smile. “I owe a couple of those Dusters a few good licks.”

“And you’ll get them in, I don’t doubt it for an instant. You know, we must go a few rounds in the ring, someday, you and I!” Curling up his arms, Mr. Roosevelt took a few light jabs in Cyrus’s direction. “It would be fine sport, don’t you think?”

“I’m at your disposal, sir,” Cyrus replied, bowing a little and still smiling.

“First rate,” Mr. Roosevelt answered. “That’s bully. Well, now, we’re expected at the yard! The crews have been alerted and are standing by. Everyone prepared? Good! I have a carriage waiting, Doctor, one that can accommodate most of us, and perhaps the rest can travel in one of yours.”

“I fear cabs will be necessary,” the Doctor answered, “as we’ve had no time to retrieve our horses from the boarding stables.”

“Well, then, who’s to ride with the lieutenant and myself?” Mr. Roosevelt asked. “What about you, Stevie? Like to hear more stories about the wondrous weapons Lieutenant Kimball dreams of loosing on the world?”

I looked quickly and eagerly to the Doctor, who nodded, knowing, I think, how much I did want to go with the navy man, and why. The discussion of weapons and destruction, far from thrilling me in any boyish way, was speaking to a dark, determined desire, one what’d been planted by Kat’s death and had been growing all day: the hope that we might finally be able to strike at Libby Hatch in a way what even she wouldn’t be prepared for.

“Yes, sir,” I told Mr. Roosevelt. “I’d like that.”

“Good! Kimball, I appoint young Taggert your aide for this operation. Don’t underestimate him-several officers of this city’s police force made that mistake, and some of them still can’t walk correctly.” As Mr. Roosevelt turned to the Doctor, his expression grew more serious. “I hope you’ll ride with us, too, Doctor,” he said; then he looked to Miss Howard. “And you, Sara, as well-for I confess I’d like to know more about this devilish woman we’re chasing.”

With the thick gray layers of storm clouds what’d hung over the city that day now breaking up into separate black clusters that stood out boldly against a moonlit sky, we all filed out of the house and moved to the corner of Second Avenue, followed by Mr. Roosevelt’s big landau, what had its two canopies pulled up against the weather. Once we’d secured two hansoms for Mr. Moore, the detective sergeants, and Cyrus, the rest of us got into the landau behind Mr. Roosevelt and Lieutenant Kimball, and before long conversation was filling the roomy shell under the canopies. The Doctor, Miss Howard, and Mr. Roosevelt spoke about Libby Hatch and the case in quiet tones what showed consideration for my feelings, consideration I appreciated greatly. As for the amiable Lieutenant Kimball, he seemed so determined to keep me entertained that I wondered if maybe Mr. Roosevelt-who obviously knew at least the basic facts of what I’d been through that day-hadn’t given him instructions to try to give my spirits a lift. If so, the lieutenant followed his orders admirably. From a description of all the wondrous things what he expected to take place on the seas in the next ten or twenty years, he moved on to tales of foreign lands he’d served in, and of the strange people he’d met there: stories that, while they couldn’t and didn’t really cheer me up as such, at least diverted my attention from the bleak thoughts what were still standing ready to flood back into my soul.

We took the Brooklyn Bridge across the lower portion of the East River, then made a hard left and traveled along the waterfront until we reached Wallabout Bay and the entrance to the great maze of dry docks, piers, cranes, railroad tracks, ordnance docks, foundries, and construction sheds what was the Brooklyn Navy Yard. The place was pretty much a New York institution, dating back to the beginning of the century and as familiar to natives of the city as any part of the harbor; but for some reason it looked very different to me that night. Maybe it was just my mood, I thought to myself, or maybe it was visiting the place in the company of the man who, for all practical purposes, was the most important naval official in the country at that moment. But very soon I realized that neither of these was the real explanation:

It was the lights-there were lights on everywhere and, underneath the lights, scores of men hard at work. All this at near ten o'clock on a Monday night. And as I noticed the men, I noticed what it was that they were working on: armored warships-some of them half built, some near ready to sail, all of them big and impressive-were crammed into every slip and corner of the joint.

“An awful lot of building going on out here, Mr. Roosevelt,” I said, watching fire tenders and riveters holler to each other and toss red-hot plugs of steel through the black night.

“Yes,” Mr. Roosevelt answered, looking around like a kid on Christmas morning. “We launched the Maine from here two years ago, and there have been several others since. Many more to come, as well!”

Out of the corner of my eye I caught the Doctor giving Miss Howard a look: a quiet reminder of how important it was that Mr. Roosevelt not find out just whose baby it was we were trying to rescue or why we’d been forced to go about it the way we had. The daughter of a high Spanish official, missing; that same official beating his wife and not seeming to care if he never saw his child again; the lies about the case what’d been issued by the Spanish consulate; suddenly all these things seemed very connectable to the humming activity in the navy yard, in a way what could have spelled bigger trouble than even we’d experienced lately.

The torpedo boats what Mr. Roosevelt and Lieutenant Kimball had spoken of were tucked away along one concrete wharf at the far end of the yard-and quite a collection they were, too. Not all that much bigger than the steam yachts and launches what generally shot around the harbor, the boats had much more powerful engines what required two and even three smokestacks; at the same time, they were much sleeker in design than the private and commercial vessels, having a graceful bullet shape what made it seem impossible that they were actually plated with steel. Not that there was much plating on them-as Mr. Roosevelt’d said, the boats sacrificed safety for speed, and they could go better than thirty miles an hour when required. Each boat appeared to be manned by just twenty-five or thirty men, and at various spots on their decks they carried the deadly weapons what gave them their names: torpedoes, fourteen-foot steel cylinders filled with compressed air and tipped with powerful explosive devices. The air, when it was released, shot the missiles on their way out of the boats’ torpedo tubes and through the water for upwards of hundreds of yards: plenty of time for the fast little boats what delivered them to get clear of the resulting explosions. All in all, a very ingenious bit of inventing, one what stood in very great contrast to the enormous battleships with their huge artillery turrets what were being built in other parts of the yard. It would certainly be interesting to see, I thought to myself, if the battleships of other countries would one day be laid low by the same kind of fast, hard-hitting little craft as we were on our way to board that night.

Along with the crews of the torpedo boats, there were another twenty or so sailors lined up on the wharf, men who looked like they’d been specially selected for the job ahead of us. I’d seen a lot of brawling seamen in my day and in my neighborhood, and watched more than one dive and concert saloon get dismantled when a group of them were taken by some fast-talking “dancer” or quick-handed faro dealer; but no bunch I’d ever come across could’ve matched those boys what were waiting for us at the yard that night. Muscle-bound, scarred, and obviously itching for a genuine, top-drawer brawl, the men appeared to be having a tough time controlling their high spirits enough to stand to attention when Lieutenant Kimball and Mr. Roosevelt got out of the landau. Lieutenant Kimball had some words with the three torpedo boat commanders, who then mustered their crews on the wharf next to the bruisers what were already there. Stepping in front of this collected force-which, I had to admit, looked to be a fair match even for the Dusters-Lieutenant Kimball ordered them to stand at ease, then began to walk up and down the wharf as he explained the evening’s business.

“Gentlemen!” he called out, his strong voice giving no hint of either his near fifty years or his usual assignment as a strategy planner. “Most of you, I’m sure, know that it is absolutely impossible to sail salt water in Uncle Sam’s service for thirty, ten, or even five years without becoming imbued with the feeling that the United States of America is the finest and most glorious thing that has ever happened, and that it must lead-in everything.” Here the men broke into cheers, cheers what Mr. Roosevelt heartily joined. The rest of us held back, feeling that it wasn’t really our place to take part-though I felt an urge to. “But,” the lieutenant went on, “I suspect you also know that the United States cannot lead in everything so long as enemies stand in its way. Enemies without-who will, with any luck, soon feel the power of the great ships being built around us-and enemies within, who must feel our power on this very night!” That got the boys going again, and Lieutenant Kimball had to work hard to get them to quiet back down. “I ask you now to give your attention to the honorable assistant secretary of the navy, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt!”

Stepping to the fore, Mr. Roosevelt narrowed his eyes and took the measure of the company before him. “Men,” he said, in that crisp, choppy way of his, “some of you may find the job ahead of us a strange one. Why, you might reasonably ask yourselves, should we be assigned the task of enforcing the laws of this great nation on our own soil?” Balling up one fist, Mr. Roosevelt began to smack it into his other palm as he continued to bellow over the sounds of the construction what was going on all around the yard: “The answer, men, is a simple one-because those persons to whom the safety of the public and the enforcement of justice in this part of our nation have been entrusted are failing to perform their duty! And who is it that the United States invariably calls on when its citizens are in danger-anywhere in the world-and no one else can or will assume the responsibility of protecting them?!”

With a unity of voice what was both very shocking (given the men) and very thrilling (given the situation), the sailors all roared out, “The United States Navy, sir!”The sound nearly knocked those of us behind Mr. Roosevelt over, but he only grinned and shook his fist in the air.

“Indeed!” he called out. “I expect you to fight fairly, men, but I expect you to fight hard! Thank you all!” Then Mr. Roosevelt stepped aside to let Lieutenant Kimball speak again.

“Officers will carry sidearms, petty officers and seamen will carry nightsticks! Force will be applied when force is encountered! This is a military police action, gentlemen-I know you will conduct yourselves accordingly. Now-fall out to board your boats!”

With another mighty roar, this one of pure excitement and lust for action, the men broke ranks and started for the torpedo boats, jumping into them as the engineers let off loud, hissing blasts of steam from the power plants of each vessel. Lieutenant Kimball directed our party to the lead boat, where we took up positions just behind the steering house. Orders to cast off were barked out over the rising grind of the steam pistons, and then-very suddenly, it seemed-the boat’s propellers began to churn up the waters of the bay and we shot out toward the river, at a speed I’d certainly never experienced on the water and what made me stumble back a bit. As the air forced against our faces and bodies by the quickening pace of the boat became ever more powerful, Mr. Roosevelt put one of his strong arms around my shoulders and held me steady. Smiling up at him, I turned to watch the other two boats fall in behind us.

I don’t know that I’ve ever truly been able to describe the feeling what came over me at that moment, though I’ve tried many times. I was heartened past words by the sight of the two boats behind us, and by the rumble of the powerful engines in our own vessel: all the emotions of the night and the day what’d just passed-not to mention those of the tough and often frightening weeks what’d come before-suddenly jumped out of my mouth in a loud holler, one what Mr. Roosevelt joined me in. Turning forward again, I caught sight of the same Brooklyn Bridge what we’d crossed just half an hour earlier, and which we were currently moving toward at a speed what was beginning to seem impossible. Viewing the bridge from below was so peculiar as to seem like a dream, especially given how fast we passed under it; yet we were about to go faster still. As we motored past Hickie the Hun’s best-loved swimming spot, the Fulton Fish Market, and on toward the base of Manhattan and Battery Park, the commander of our boat gave the signal to turn the engine fully loose, so that by the time Lady Liberty came into view it seemed that we could’ve reached her island in just a matter of seconds.

Glancing over at the rest of our group, I could see that they, too, were impressed by the speed and maneuverability of the wondrous little craft we were riding in: the Doctor, Mr. Moore and the Isaacsons were all taking turns peppering Lieutenant Kimball with questions what were often hard to hear over the ever-greater din of the boat’s powerful engines. As for me, I had no questions, only more emotions, ones as irresistible as the floating weapon we were traveling aboard. When we turned north to enter the waters of the Hudson and I saw all those spots on the waterfront where I’d so often come to brood about Kat, I turned those feelings loose, letting tears of sadness, rage, and determination mix with those what were being drawn out of my eyes by the powerful rush of air what was slamming ever harder against our faces.

“We’ve got you now, Libby Hatch,” I began to whisper to myself through clenched teeth. “We’ve got you, we’ve got you!”