Wilkie nodded to acknowledge their presence and then gestured for them to follow him as he walked off to the left. Down two narrow halls, he led them into a small office and, once they were inside, closed the door.
“All right,” he said without any pleasantries. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Wilkie sat behind the desk and Walter and Harry sat in chairs opposite. They spoke for about fifteen minutes. Wilkie interrupted once or twice with questions, but otherwise let them tell the tale exactly as it had played out. When they were done, he stood and paced about for a few seconds. Then he told them to wait, that he’d be back soon.
When he opened the door, however, instead of leaving, he let three men Walter and Harry had never seen before in. Each was holding a drawn pistol.
“I’m afraid I’m going to need your weapons,” he said to Harry and Walter.
They glanced at one another, each silently querying the other as to the prospects of making a fight of it, but the three men had separated—they were quite clearly professionals—and they knew it would be suicide, at least for one of them, probably both.
The man in the middle gestured for them to pull back their coats and remove their weapons with thumb and forefinger only. One of the other two took the weapons out of their hands, never obstructing the line of fire from the others.
After he’d retreated, Wilkie said, “The knives too. And your Derringer, Swayne, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Harry frowned. Wilkie was better informed than he thought.
When all the weapons had been safely stowed, Wilkie gestured to the door. “We’re going to my office. There are two more men outside to help escort you. I hope you won’t think of causing a scene in the hallways. I think you’d agree that Washington has had enough drama in the past week.”
As he was being marched through the halls, scores of unsuspecting federal workers scurrying about on all sides, Walter tried to decide if he had blundered. If Wilkie had tipped his hand earlier and he had missed it. It was a silly exercise, he knew, but still could not resist, even now, trying solve the problem.
But no, he decided in the end, there had been no choice. It wasn’t as if he had trusted Wilkie and been stunned at his betrayal. Wilkie had always been a risk, but there was simply no way to have dealt with what he had uncovered without the aid of someone in power and Wilkie was the best choice. Even Mark Hanna, McKinley’s closest ally, was a lesser choice after what Walter had learned. No, he had taken a risk with his eyes open, and it simply hadn’t worked out.
It came down to one inescapable fact. Sometimes you can play a hand just right and still lose.
39
They were deposited in a large, airy office, lined with floor to ceiling wood paneling, and with an unobstructed third-floor view of the White House. It was about the most opulent holding cell for an execution either Walter or Harry could imagine. A lot more luxurious than Leon Czolgosz was going to get, although the end result would be the same.
Wilkie had left as soon as they were inside and locked the door behind him. Neither Walter nor Harry sat, but nor did they pace. And they waited in silence. They had been together too long for speeches or apologies. It was only a question now of how Wilkie planned to get rid of them without making too much noise.
Thirty minutes went by before they heard the click of the key in the lock. The door swung open and Wilkie walked through.
Directly behind him was President Theodore Roosevelt.
Once Roosevelt was inside, the door closed behind him. There would be no one else in the meeting.
The new president was five weeks short of his forty-third birthday, the youngest man ever to hold the office. Despite his age, he looked the part, nothing like the caricatures that tabloid cartoonists were so fond of drawing. He was tall, almost six feet, and powerfully built without looking the least bit fat; he moved smoothly, and was light on his feet; his eyes were not beady, and his mustache not enormous, but rather his features were regular, even handsome. But mostly, Theodore Roosevelt was a man who wore privilege like his perfectly cut suit. He exuded breeding and self-assurance, and appeared more comfortable holding the reins of power than even Mark Hanna, and certainly more than William McKinley. He seemed every inch a man for whom no mountain was too steep, no challenge too great.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he began, adding a curt nod. His voice, while slightly high-pitched, was in no way tinny, and every syllable was enunciated with precision, the product of study with the finest tutors and then Harvard University. His eyes never wavered. “I believe we have some matters to discuss.” He gestured to the leather sofa and chairs grouped around a table at the far end of the room.
When they were seated, Roosevelt spoke first. “Let’s set the scene, shall we. That way we can get to the salient issues without wasting time.” Roosevelt paused, but it was not to let anyone speak. “After President McKinley was shot, the two of you were called on by Mr. Wilkie here to lead the investigation, in theory because the plot, which at the time, was assumed to have been hatched by anarchists, seemed to have originated in Chicago. As your investigations proceeded, there were any number of incidents, some of them surprisingly improbable, which led you to believe that this Czolgosz fellow had been duped not by his own people but, after you investigated a bit, by members of the government. Most probably me. But other than giving some impressions to Mr. Wilkie, you kept your theories to yourselves. Am I correct so far?”
Walter and Harry both nodded.
“But then you, Mr. George, in the wake of another series of improbable incidents—and a bit of research—concluded that the conspiracy was even deeper and more pernicious than you had first thought. At that point you decided to risk all and inform Mr. Wilkie of your suspicions, uncertain as to whether he—or I—was involved. After you were locked in here, I assume you decided you had made a grievous error and would never leave this room.”
Roosevelt waited, this time for a response.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Walter replied, surprised at the uncertainty in his voice, “that’s the situation.”
“And Mr. Swayne,” Roosevelt asked. “Do you believe this outlandish tale?”
“I didn’t at first, Mr. President.”
“But you do now?”
“Yes. I do. There is no other way to explain what happened.”
“Including my own involvement?”
“No, Mr. President,” Walter said quickly. “In fact, I think the facts point very much against your involvement.”
“Don’t be so certain, Mr. George.”
Walter drew back.
For the first time, Roosevelt smiled, that famed crocodilian grin. In person, however, it wasn’t at all grotesque. Still, neither Walter nor Harry felt like smiling back.
“I didn’t say I was involved, Mr. George, simply that the facts, as you will learn, do not bear against it. If it will make you feel any better, I was not nor would ever be in any way involved in any action that would threaten the integrity of our nation.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. That definitely does make me feel better.”
“All right then . . . to cases. Let’s hear what you know about Panama. Start at the beginning. You won’t bore me.” Before Walter could speak, Roosevelt held up his hand and turned to Wilkie, who seemed to have disappeared into the paneling. “But first, let’s get these men a drink. I suspect they could use one.”
Wilkie went to a sideboard and opened a door to reveal a very impressive array of alcoholic beverages. No wonder he didn’t want to give up the job. He poured some whiskey from a cut glass carafe into two matching glasses, brought them over and set them on the table. Harry downed his instantly, but Walter hesitated.
“Go ahead, Mr. George,” Roosevelt said in way that made a request into a command. “I can assure you it’s neither poisoned nor drugged. I’m a Roosevelt, not a Borgia.”
Walter could not help but smile. He could see how people were so drawn to the man. Sudd
enly, he wanted very much to remain in the division and work for this president.
He threw down the whiskey, which was of a better quality than anything he’d had in . . . maybe ever . . . and set to tell his tale. The president had asked him to begin at the beginning, so that is what he did. In truth, he was more than a little pleased to show off, to try to impress the president with both his intelligence and his imagination.
Walter explained how, when looking for a motive that someone in power would have to do away with McKinley—even at that point, he told Roosevelt, he had become convinced that he was not involved—he had come across the two competing plans to build a canal across Central America to link the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. Everyone in government agreed that a canal that eliminated the long and arduous voyage around Cape Horn was vital to the nation’s economic growth as well America’s status as a world naval power. As Navy Secretary, Walter noted to Roosevelt, he had been perhaps the nation’s foremost proponent of sea power.
Roosevelt favored him with a grin, and Walter’s pride soared.
The issue, Walter went on, speaking faster now, was where to dig. In the 1870s, the French had made an aborted attempted to locate the canal across the Isthmus of Panama. They raised $400,000,000 from speculators who expected to make a fortune, since Ferdinand de Lesseps had been named to head the project. But Lesseps discovered that Central America was far less hospitable than Suez. Thousands died of disease, costs exploded, and eventually the project had to be abandoned. Less than half of the canal had been completed and a good deal of heavy equipment was left behind. And there things stood until 1894, when the French created a new company to either finish the canal or sell off the assets and the rights to continue digging where they had stopped. It was clear from the first that the French would never resume construction, that they had just formed the company to avoid losing rights to dig and to get the equipment, much of which had rusted, in shape to be sold. It then became only a matter of how much a half completed canal and a good deal of heavy equipment was worth. The current asking price was $105,000,000, with the United States assumed to be the most willing buyer.
“But I’m assuming the French would take a good deal less,” Walter said.
“Quite a good deal less,” Roosevelt agreed. “But in addition to negotiating cost with the French, there is also the question of the United States obtaining favorable terms with Colombia. Panama is a part of their country, after all, and the French concession is not currently transferrable.”
“Yes, Mr. President, that is part of what led me to my conclusions.”
“Very well,” Roosevelt nodded. “Go on.” He was leaning ever so slightly forward, which pleased Walter immensely.
“As you know, Mr. President, to decide which option would be best for the United States, President McKinley convened the Walker Commission. At the time, everyone assumed that the Panama option would be chosen because so much work had already been done and much of the necessary equipment was already at the site. No one really took the one-hundred-million number seriously, so it seemed merely a question of whittling down the price. But the commission surprised everyone by choosing Nicaragua instead, and President McKinley then announced he favored that route as well. As did you, Mr. President.”
“But I don’t favor the Nicaraguan option any longer, Mr. George. I’ve changed my mind. Panama seems by far the better choice. That’s what I meant when I said the facts would not support the conclusion that I was not involved.”
“Have you made those feelings public?”
“Not public, no. But there are a few who are aware of my intentions. I intend to instruct Secretary of State Hay, one of those few, to begin negotiations immediately with both the French and Colombians.”
“And Secretary Hay has been on record as favoring the Panama route from the beginning. As was Mark Hanna.”
“They were.”
“Then assuming that those outside of government were unaware that you now favor Panama, anyone who had speculated with large sums of money on the Panama route would have believed that either man in the top two positions of government was about to cost them a good deal of money.”
Roosevelt leaned forward further and Walter felt as if a physical force was pushing him backward. “And who might that be?” he asked.
“First, Mr. President, think of what is at stake. There would likely be bond sales to fund both the purchase and construction, and the need for whatever authority was set up to run the operation to procure a good deal more equipment. Land around the site would skyrocket in value, so if speculators could obtain the right to purchase it from the Colombian government, they would make millions on that alone. That, of course, would mean that money would need to be spread around in Bogota, long in advance of any official announcement. All that would be lost if President McKinley . . . or you . . . pulled the plug. And they couldn’t afford to wait as the House of Representatives is already at work on a bill authorizing a canal in Nicaragua.”
“All right,” Roosevelt nodded, pulling himself back. “This is a very tidy theory. What you are saying is that if President McKinley is murdered and I am blamed for it, we’re both out of the game, and Secretary Hay, who is unequivocally for Panama, becomes president. And the beauty of it is that Secretary Hay can be totally ignorant of the conspiracy to make him president . . . as I am certain he is.”
Roosevelt waited and so Walter had to say it out loud. “Yes, Mr. President. That’s how it seems to me.”
“But you need more than theory, Mr. George,” Roosevelt went on. “Do you have it?”
“I think I do. A prominent financier has made three trips to Colombia in the past two years, and has met repeatedly with President Marroquin and senior members of the government and the military. The visits were reported in the newspapers and a presidential reception was given in his honor. Just after he left the last time, which was five months ago, there seem to have been some significant purchases of land in Panama, by an American, described as ‘committed to the country’s development.’ The article didn’t give what this American paid for the land, but I believe he got a very good deal. I recognized the name, because he summoned Harry and me to his home last week and demanded progress reports on our investigation. Said he was speaking for Senator Hanna, but we didn’t believe it. He also implied that you would not be displeased if President McKinley died.”
“Do I get a name, Mr. George?”
“Anthony Hawkesworth.”
40
Wednesday, September 18, 1901
Walter and Harry did not die in Wilkie’s office after all. Instead, they were to return to Chicago and close out what had the potential to be the worst scandal in American history. For this, they had been assigned personally by the president, with the understanding that no one else was to be aware of their assignment. Wilkie would remain in Washington, trying to determine who, if anyone, in the government was involved.
“We’re spending a lot of time on trains these days, Walter. At least this one is first class.”
“Just be happy we’re sitting up and not riding in boxes in the baggage car.”
“I am. You think TR was serious? And if he was, will he back us up?”
“He was serious all right. He wants this closed out without it leaking to the newspapers or anyone else. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have said it in front of Wilkie. And yeah, I think he’ll back us up. To a point, anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s not going to risk his position. He’ll support us as long as we’re invisible.”
“Yeah. I suppose. Has it occurred to you that we probably saved Wilkie’s job?” Harry snorted at the irony.
“I think it even occurred to him. He couldn’t wait to tell TR that we were shining examples of the high quality of his operatives. He stopped just short of saying we were his sons.”
“If he thought that much of us, what was the point of taking our guns and locking us in a room?”
/> Walter laughed. “He only adopted us after TR did. If TR thought the story was horseshit, we’d still be in there.”
“You told TR you didn’t think Hanna was in on it. Sounds to me like you just didn’t want to say what you really thought.”
“No way to know. He definitely prefers Panama and probably has some money in it, but he and McKinley were pretty close.”
“But Hawkesworth said he was speaking for Hanna. You think he was lying?”
“Dunno, Harry. He certainly wasn’t telling the truth about why he was interested.”
Harry grunted. “Think we’re gonna be able to bag him on our own?”
“We’d better. There won’t be any reinforcements. At least Wilkie made sure the Chicago coppers won’t be after us.”
“What about O’Neill?” Harry felt no need to mention Hannigan.
“The wild card,” Walter agreed. “If he’s in on it, we’re probably screwed. Even if he’s not . . .”
“He’s gonna know something was up with Hawkesworth. Of course, he might realize that the best thing is a sudden lapse of memory. He’s not stupid. Wilkie was right. No one is going to want to be within ten miles of this when it’s all over.”
“Including us.”
“Gonna be kind of hard to outrun it.”
“Well, Harry, we’re just gonna have to be inconspicuous.”
“Yeah, Walter. We’re so good at that.”
When they arrived at La Salle Street, Walter had a strange request.
“Are you sure?” Harry was stunned.
“Yeah, Harry. We can’t do much until tomorrow anyway.”
“Okay, Walter. I guess.”
41
Walter felt like a circus clown and was certain he looked like one as well. He probably should have just showed up in his usual clothes, grimy and worn as they were. Instead, the dress pants and shirt had been worn so seldom, they felt stiff and scratchy against his skin.
He stood before the door for a full minute before working up the courage to knock. In the few seconds before it swung open, he had to force himself not to turn and run. What could have possessed him to do something so incredibly stupid?
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