by Alex Myers
The superheated water had a disastrous effect on the supports; two of the men fell over the sides and into the river. The heavy generator was breaking free of the catwalk and two men were trapped on top of it. Jack handed across the long pole he was using to break the ice free and managed to pull one man over. As he was handing the pole to the second man, a large tree rammed the turbine, knocking it free from the supporting steelwork. The man was propelled backward, pulling Jack from the catwalk. He found a handhold on the metal frame of the generator, which plummeted straight down. Jack never heard the men yelling from the shore as he rode the generator as it scraped along the river bottom. The crashing of the water and the screams of metal along with the thick cloud of steam separated Jack from the world around him.
Jack was nearly decapitated as one of the metal guardrails from the catwalk clanged against the generator and shot past him into the fog. The generator was spinning and he was constantly moving to keep his balance, like a lumberjack riding a log. The heavy generator finally dug into the shallow river bottom and catapulted Jack into the air. He waited for the impact into the frigid water and, when it finally came, his chest slammed into a giant rock. The icy water revived him enough that he was able to give a few kicks and a stroke toward what he hoped was the shore. His feet hit bottom and he pushed his body forward and felt gravel under his face.
Because the thick steam was still flowing and obscuring visibility, it took twenty minutes to find Jack on the bank between the two retention ponds. He was on his back on the gravel shoreline, dazed.
“Jack!” Frances ran to him and helped him sit up.
“You’re alright? I thought the explosion came from the coal plant.”
“It did. Murphy figured out what was going on and got everyone out before it exploded.
Jack felt better by the second, “Help me up. I’ve got to check on my men.”
He was hurt but not badly enough to keep him from helping load other men into the back of a wagon; he rode along as the driver took them to the on-site infirmary. He had been warned and he wanted to kick his own ass for not putting better security in place. He also realized this might not have been the only sabotage.
CHAPTER 49
February 1857
Medicine and Security
Jack had some of the best doctors and medical researchers on the planet working at his medical facility. The building was two stories tall; the top floor was dedicated to research and the bottom level divided into four dormitory-style hospital rooms with a total of forty-eight beds.
His reputation and plenty of research money had made the facility the world’s medical hotspot. Louis Pasteur, Dr. Joseph Lister, and Dr. John Snow from Europe had sought him out and were there. He’d hired the first female doctor in the U.S., Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, as well as her sister Emily and their brother Dr. Samuel Dickson. As well, he’d hired the first African-American female physician, Dr. Rebecca Lee Crumpler. He guided them into more medical discoveries than the world had seen up till then. He gave them the basic chemistry or theory behind as much twenty-first century medical knowledge as he could remember as well as all of the transcribed notes from his iPhone. The brilliant men and women took off in one direction or another. They had already discovered penicillin and were currently testing vaccines for polio, whooping cough, smallpox, and diphtheria. Under his guidance, they already had performed a successful blood transfusion.
The facility had developed a clumsy, but safe X-Ray machine with a bigger, better version ready to be installed. Jack was particularly proud of the staff doctors’ ability to diagnosis patients with the help of the information from his iPhone.
Of the nearly fifty doctors, nurses and researchers on staff, a third were from New York hospitals as well as NYU and Columbia University; another third came from the Norfolk Hospital and the Portsmouth Naval Hospital; the final third had been brought in as experts in their fields. Since so many of the doctors had strong ties with nearby communities, they could gather patients and treat them for free at the facility.
The explosion at the coal plant had completely destroyed two of the boilers and flying debris had punched holes in two of the other four. The new turbine generator was destroyed and the original one was barely working. The good news was that the one unharmed boiler had been brought online ahead of schedule and was supplying more than enough electricity for the complex.
Jack oversaw the treatment and care of seven of his men and, despite the best effort of the doctors, two died. Jack was devastated because the one man had a family with two small children who lived with him on the site.
Jack was sitting in the corner watching a doctor treat one of his men when Scott O’Leary, a former Norfolk police captain and head of security at the site, came hurrying into the room.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Scott said, looking grim, “but there’s something you should know about the accident.”
“What’s to know?”
“It wasn't an accident that caused those tanks to explode. They were sabotaged. We've found explosives not only by the tanks, but also all over the compound. Someone was planning to blow the entire complex to pieces. It was just bad luck, or possibly good luck, that they set off the ones near the boilers because we've searched and found several more before they had a chance to destroy everything. I have no clue who might have done this."
Jack was distraught—there was a small measure of relief that it hadn’t been a design flaw or an oversight of his that had caused the accident. But he realized he should have taken the threat from the SAC more seriously. "I know who’s behind it."
“Who did this—and why?” Scott asked.
“Scott, you’re a smart man and I know you don’t have to ask those questions. Take away all the guns and weapons we’re working on and there is still plenty of reason someone would do this. What I think you’re trying to say is it’s hard to believe the extent someone would go to.” Jack told him about his run-in with the SAC. I suppose we’ve got to assume that either Cooper is with them or has sold them everything he knows.
“If I’d only known,“ Scott said looking away.
“I think this is bigger than what we’re set up for—I’m so sorry I didn’t bring it up with you. They threatened me two weeks ago. I just didn’t think they would do something like this.”
“I only have six men.”
“I know. Hire as many men as it takes and let’s keep a real tight perimeter around the compound and see what you can dig up about the SAC.”
After two days, Scott O’Leary met with Jack in his office. “These are very dangerous men, Jack.”
“I’m not going to be pushed around by a couple of goons,” Jack said.
“They are a lot better organized than a couple of goons. Winston Creed is head of the group and he rarely leaves his headquarters in Williamsburg. His ties run deep, though; he’s connected as high up as the President. The other guy, Adkins, is a patent lawyer.”
“Yeah, I know about him. He’s Frances’s ex-husband.”
“OK, that sounds messy.”
“It may be.”
“Oh, and Miles Drake is the big bloke. I remember him from the force. He was probably the most violent man ever hired by the Norfolk Police Department. Killed six people, not all at once, over the years and four with his bare hands. You broke the big boy’s wrist, by the way.”
“I should have done more, especially if they’re responsible for this.”
O’Leary was a mountain of a man himself, with ham hocks for upper arms and forearms that would have made Popeye proud. He was topped by a flame of bright red, meticulously combed, hair, looking every bit the Irishman he was. “Word on the street has it that he thinks you killed his brother.”
“That’s a long story, but I can assure you that I didn’t,” Jack said.
Scott O’Leary abandoned all pretenses. “This group of people is well-known for routinely torturing runaway slaves before they hang them. The Confederate land owners believ
e they send a message to the other slaves to think twice before they make a run for it. The organization is financed through the big plantation owners. Killing is a way of life for them and they seem to enjoy it. Other than pumping out products of which they have stolen the patents, they do some nefarious experiments.”
“So what are you suggesting? Should I ignore them, press charges, or what?” Jack asked, defiance in his tone as well as subtle challenge.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying that security around your compound here has been essentially nonexistent. My six men work in two shifts—that’s three men max in the field at any one time. And how many acres do you have here?”
“When you add in Murphy's, seven hundred acres.”
“Two square miles, I see. And how many buildings? Twenty?”
“Twenty-five, I think. And if you count the living quarters, the townhouses, apartments, and single family free-standing units, we have over sixty.”
“Jesus, that’s worse than what I thought and with only seven of us? Basically, anyone can come and go as they please. Our problems likely originated inside the company. From what I’ve been able to deduce, the people who planted the explosives were temporary construction workers.”
“Bob Cooper brought in people from Richmond and Williamsburg," Jack said.
"Williamsburg?”
"Yeah, I know,” Jack said. “In light of what’s happened it seems foolish.”
“With researchers, inventors, railroad men, people dredging Broad Creek—all told, I bet there’s close to five-and-a-half hundred, not including their families.”
“Closer to seven hundred,” Jack said.
O’Leary whistled and shook his head. “Sounds like you could use a man or two just to check out the employees.”
Jack was feeling the gravity of the situation. “That’s why I said hire more people.”
“I can’t find enough trustworthy people fast enough. The way the company’s growing and all, I think you need to bring in someone from the outside. I do know a good security force you can hire out. I’ve used them for overflow in our Chicago office. A man named Allan Pinkerton runs it; he’s from Glasgow, Scotland, but we can overlook that. They do a lot of work for the railroads. It’s pretty well known that the “Pinks” will chase down a criminal from one end of America to the other.”
“I know them,” Jack said. “Are they available?”
“They’ve just opened a big New York office and they can have fifteen men here by the weekend.”
“You’ve looked into it, I see. Good job, and thanks for all your help, Scotty.”
“And I thank you for the bicycles. My family will enjoy them.”
“These are for you and your men.” Jack took the lid off a small wooden crate stamped with ‘Colt Firearms.’ He took out what looked to be a 1911 Model Colt 45. He then pulled a similar crate stamped ‘Smith & Wesson’ and pulled out several boxes of bullets. “Gather as many of men as you can and I’ll meet you over on the test range this afternoon after lunch, say two o’clock. I’ll show you and your men how to use these.”
“Is this a revolver?”
“No, it’s a semi-automatic. Watch this.” Jack unpacked a pistol, opened a box of bullets, and loaded them into the clip. He engaged a bullet in the chamber, walked to the window that looked out over the water, opened it, and rapid-fired off ten rounds. Though smoke filled the room and the loud report still rang in their ears, the men were grinning ear-to-ear.
Kaz was down by the dock. He waved and yelled, “You got the guns?”
“Just came in,” Jack yelled back.
Dozens of workers stood dead in their tracks trying to figure out what had caused all the noise.
“Just me, no big deal,” Jack said to the multitudes.
“But it is a big deal,” Scott O’Leary said. “That’s a large caliber gun.”
“It’s a 45. I’ve got rifles coming any day now from the Winchester Company and bullets from Remington.”
“I haven’t seen anything like this before—I’ve never even heard about things like this.”
“Because Kaz and I came up with them. I picked the four biggest arms companies and gave them all a little piece of the pie.”
“How many people should I hire?”
“Get us ten great ones and another ten good ones—and get Allan Pinkerton.”
“I almost forgot. We’ve lost one more employee.”
“Because of the explosion?” Jack asked.
“No, the docs say his heart just stopped beating.”
“Who was it? Do I know him?” Jack knew almost everyone.
“Charles Goodyear.”
“No, it can’t be!” Jack said as he collapsed into his chair. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. “But I saved him.”
“Saved him? How so?” Scott O’Leary asked.
Jack realized that he was talking out loud and covered. “Ah, just that I hired him out of that squalor on Staten Island. I have some things I need to do—see Clarissa, Charles’s wife, make sure she’s OK. Are the kids all right?”
“Other than the obvious, they’re doing fine.”
“Thank you, I’ll see you this afternoon, Scott.”
Jack was deeply affected. He knew that in his version of the past, Charles Goodyear had died penniless of a broken heart over the death of his daughter. While Goodyear’s daughter was still alive, Goodyear had died right on schedule. If Jack couldn’t stop the death of one man, what chance did he have of stopping the Civil War?
CHAPTER 50
May 1857
Allan Pinkerton
The number of workers at the complex had now grown to eight hundred and Jack was able to purchase the rest of the land up to and including the Westminster Inlet. In his effort to expand, he purchased several single-family homes and several farms and structures. He incorporated these into his complex and its ever-expanding need for space. He now owned over two thousand acres on which to grow.
Other than the railroads, Jack was the biggest employer of Allan Pinkerton’s security guards. Ten to twelve “Pinks” were always on duty; most were visible to anyone happening by while others were a bit more clandestine. They also conducted background checks on employees, issued security passes, and established levels of access to privileged information. Scott O’Leary and Allan Pinkerton were of very like minds. Scott became Allan’s man in charge; he oversaw all the operations at the compound including the “Pinks.” In addition to the Pinkertons, Jack had a high security fence installed around the compound’s perimeter and alarm systems were put in place nearly everywhere.
The background checks instigated by the Pinks turned up two potential infiltrators and two other corporate spies. The “Pinks” put in a special field office and Jack met several times with Allan Pinkerton and told him as much as he could about twenty-first century security. Jack would have loved to install video cameras, but the low-tech alarms were a good start.
“Another attack by the SAC? Where this time?” Jack asked.
“At the Anti-Slavery Fair in Boston,” Allan Pinkerton said.
“I’ve never heard of it,” Jack said. They were in Jack’s office in the original warehouse building by Murphy’s house. There were also offices for Elisha Root, William Stuttgart, Scott O’Leary, Murphy, and Kaz.
“It was a fundraiser put on by the Women of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. Over sixteen people died, most of them women. That was last week and just yesterday at the Convention of Delegates from the Abolition Society in Philadelphia, a man walked into the meeting and blew himself up.”
“A suicide bomber,” Jack said.
“Suicide bomber? That's a good name for it. Six more people were killed, about three dozen people were hurt in the two incidents, and that doesn’t include a family that lived in a house next door that perished in the subsequent fire.” Allan Pinkerton seemed really upset.
“And the SAC has claimed responsibility?” Jack asked.
&n
bsp; “They have, but I’m not sure if it’s the same SAC as our SAC. Southerners Against Compromise has grown into a group of—what did you call them? Terrorists? The SAC we were dealing with were industrialists and patent pirates.”
“Why don’t you think it’s the same people?”
“This SAC seems to be everywhere in the North; it’s spreading. They seem to be pushing us toward war. They are becoming very brazen in their threats.”
“Tell me about the explosions. The one at the Anti-Slavery Fair—were there any witnesses?” Jack asked.
“A speaker had been orating for twenty minutes and no one had been in or out of the hall. The bomb just exploded in the middle of the room.”
“And the suicide bomber?”
“He walked into the church crying, saying how sorry he was, and without warning, he turned into a fireball,” Pinkerton said.
“I think they must have used remote detonators on those bombs, but as far as I know, that doesn’t exist yet.” Jack noted the confusion on Pinkerton’s face. “It’s a device that would activate a bomb from up to a half a mile away.”
“Such things are real?”
“They are now and I think they got them from me. We made our first ones about a month ago,” Jack said.
“This scares me. Your big meeting is less than a month away.”
“And I guarantee the SAC will be there.”
CHAPTER 51
Tuesday, June 16, 1857
The Meeting
The Church on Washington Square
Wind and rain crashed against the city of New York; it was not a good night for a meeting. People entered the church on Washington Square soaked, their hair plastered against their scalp, their dripping wool suits smelling musty. However, the weather did nothing to deter those invited from attending; only the newly-elected President Buchanan, in New York on official business, declined the invitation.