“Come on,” she said with a laugh, and grabbing his hand she pulled him forward down the corridor. “Ah!,” she said, pointing to the end of the hallway, where a brass panel on a large leather-covered door announced “Captain.” “The Captain’s quarters for me,” she announced and ran to the door, which opened to reveal a cozy, shipshape room with bookshelves, armchairs, green-shaded lamps and a big, comfortable-looking bed with a dark green coverlet.
“I’ll just sit on the floor and guard your door till sunrise,” Liam said with melodramatic gallantry.
“Like fun you will,” she said, pulling him firmly inside and closing the door after them …
Liam was sitting on the sandy bottom of a small, cool stream under a balmy spring sun, listening to the birds sing and watching the minnows chase each other while his freshly washed clothes dried on the grass. He had to admit it, even to a deep-dyed city boy this bucolic peace seemed pretty good. In fact, despite the incredible abundance of bad people and bad things in it, the world was actually a pretty terrific place. Of course, this conclusion became possible only if your initial premise was the presence of Becky Fox, but even so …
“LIAM!” She was calling from the direction of the Delta and she sounded excited. “LIAM! COME QUICKLY!”
Drying himself hastily with one of the nice thick dark-green towels he’d found in the Captain’s bathroom, Liam hurried into his clothes and trotted back towards the airship.
Looking as fresh and rosy as one of the little pink flowers that speckled the prairie around them, Becky was waving Liam towards her, nearly dancing up and down in her eagerness to get him there faster.
“Gosh,” he teased when he reached her, “I know kissing me is one of the finest things any right-thinking woman could do with her free time, but even so you could have waited until …”
She kissed him briskly and then laid a finger on his lips to shut him up. “You remember how you were saying you wished you knew what was waiting for us when we got back?”
He nodded, puzzled.
“Well,” she said with a cat-that-ate-the-cream smile, “I went exploring and I found something very interesting!”
Taking his hand, she pulled him up the stairs into the main cabin, and across it to what looked like a double-length roll-top desk set into the wall opposite the control panel. Becky gestured towards it mysteriously:
“Pull it back!”
Intrigued, Liam walked over to the arched wooden cover, stuck his fingertips into the recess that concealed the latch and pulled the cover up and back. It rolled up into the wall with oiled smoothness, revealing an assortment of unfamiliar gadgets.
To one side was a brass viewing-port like the business end of a stereopticon, a sort of projecting shield with curved sides that prevented stray light from spoiling your view while you pressed your forehead against the straight part at the top. In bold red letters the brass plaque above it said “Bausch & Lomb ShurShot Bombing Sight,” and below it were a series of large black knobs with knurled edges that Liam didn’t really want to think about, especially considering the labels: “Canister Bombs,” “Fire Bombs” and “Dynamite Bombs.”
Next to that was another, similar viewing port with the label “TeslaLux Night Viewer,” and finally, at the right of the group was the appliance that Becky was so excited about. It was nothing much to look at—a rosewood bar with brass fittings at either end, each of which held a little brass bowl about the size of a demitasse cup, resting on a sort of hooked holder on the panel and connected to the panel itself by a long insulated wire. Above this gadget was a brass plaque that announced it to be a “TeslaVox Transmitter and Receiver,” and below it was a simple red knob with a brass arrow at its edge and the unambiguous legend: “ON—OFF.”
“Go on,” Becky urged, “pick the thing up and turn it on!”
Smiling a little uneasily, Liam picked it up and turned the red knob, at which point he heard a thin jabbering sound coming out of one of the brass cups. Liam gave it a mistrustful look, wondering what was supposed to happen next.
“For Heaven’s sake,” Becky said impatiently, “listen to it!” She pantomimed holding the thing up to her ear, and no sooner had Liam followed suit than he heard a thin, cross-sounding voice saying:
“Hello! Voicewire operator #81. Hello!?”
Without even thinking about it, Liam jammed the thing back onto its holder and stood staring at it incredulously.
“Is that what I think …”
“Of course it is!” Becky exclaimed. “We saw the other night how well Tesla’s new electricity-transmitting towers are working. It seems plain enough that he’s actually figured out how to transmit the energy that makes the voicewire work, without a wire!”
Liam was shaking his head wryly: “But of course only the Department of Public Safety can have these.”
Becky spread her hands: “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth! In a few minutes I want to call Mr. Clemens at Shelter Island and dictate a full story on what’s happening—and for that matter what’s not happening—in Little Russia. He’ll be able to get it to every American paper that dares to print it and to all the foreign papers. By the end of the day the story will be going around the globe like wildfire: ‘No war preparations in Little Russia!’ ‘Little Russian Aerial Navy a pitiful sham!’ And finally, even if our facts are a little thin right now: ‘Revolution breaks out in Little Russia! Gigantic dynamite explosion at Viceroy’s palace!’” Becky grinned cheerfully. “I’m afraid Stanton will have to re-write his war plans, since France and England both have treaties with Russia that provide for military support in the case of unprovoked attack by a third party, and that would mean biting off a bigger risk than Stanton will want to chew.”
Liam was shaking his head again, this time admiringly: “Becky Fox, you are a wonder! Stanton will be as wild as a bear with a sore paw! Go on, what’s keeping you?”
She gave him a hug. “Silly man, I’ll be talking forever—I thought you might like to call Mike first and find out if he’s learned anything about your grandmother.”
Liam kissed Becky. “You really are a wonder. Let’s give it a try.”
He picked up the TeslaVox gadget, and this time another operator answered:
“Voicewire Operator #47, how can I help you?”
A little gingerly, still not quite believing in it, he gave her Mike’s voicewire number and waited for what seemed like forever. But finally a thin voice came from the cup at his ear:
“Vysotsky!”
“Misha!” Liam bellowed happily. “It’s me!”
“Hey, pipe down, durak, you’re breaking my ear! Where are you? What’ve you been up to? They got posters out now, you’re wanted dead or alive! What’d you do, anyway, pinch Stanton’s watch?”
Liam beckoned Becky over and instinctively cupped the thing in his hands to make it louder as she bent close to listen:
“Druzhok, if I told you, you’d say I was smoking hop. I’ll give you the whole story really soon, I promise. Right now I want to know how everything’s going in the city. How are you and the boys? How’s Gran?”
Mike barked a tinny little laugh. Then: “Ever since the other night with the riots this town is so bughouse I don’t know where to start. First off, old Pilkington is out of the picture. That’s O-U-T, out! His son Willie—his own son, would you believe?—has him under house arrest. And guess who Willie the Piglet put in charge of the New York Agency instead? None other than The Great Detective!”
“McPherson?” Liam said incredulously.
“I kid you not, batiushka,” said Mike. “So you can forget about any understandings you had with Papa Pig, they’re all ancient history now. Except don’t forget, the old man probably had to leave all his papers back at Union Square, which means including your arrest record, the indictment, the sentencing recommendation and all the other little goodies he was holding over your head.”
“Oh, man,” muttered Liam. “Well, OK, that’ll have to be for later. Right now
, #1 is where’s Gran?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, “that’s the part that isn’t so good. I got inside word you can make book on, says she and our boys and most of the other people they picked up in the sweeps are right now sitting in a big shed they used to use for a warehouse … you ready for this?”
“Nu podi zhe, chort voz’mi!” snapped Liam.
A tinny sigh at the other end. “OK,” said Mike, “they’re all at Sing Sing.”
Liam’s jaw dropped. He stared at Becky and he didn’t like what he saw there, either. He stood there for a long handful of seconds, his brain racing a thousand miles a minute. Then he put his hand over the TeslaVox gadget for a moment and spoke to Becky:
“Do you think once we pick a safe landing spot somewhere near Sing Sing you could ask Mr. Clemens to send Capt. Ubaldo to meet us there tomorrow night, the 3rd?”
Becky thought for a moment. “If he has enough warning I can’t imagine why he’d say no.”
Mike was running out of patience: “Hey! You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here all right,” Liam said slowly. “Listen, Misha, I’m going to stay where I am for another day—that’ll give you enough time to get everything ready to go the minute I get back. So here’s the shopping list: First of all, do we still have people on the inside at the Brooklyn Bridge building site?”
“Yeah, sure, but…”
“I’m going to need you to buy us some supplies before I get back. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you in a minute. Number two is, I want you to get in touch with the two Dannys, we need to get together with them and make some plans. Invite them to our Fourth of July party.”
“Are you serious? You want to get together with the Whyos?”
“You bet I’m serious. The Dannys may think the Whyos are God, but we’re all going to need to co-operate for a while here, no feuding. We need to get the Whyos on board first because every other gang in town but us has to go to the Dannys to ask if it’s OK to breathe. If the two Dannys are OK with working together, then the rest of them will be OK. And believe me, there isn’t a single one of us can draw a free breath again until we get rid of Stanton and his mob, so we’re going to have to join forces to do it.”
“Man!” Mike said heavily. “You don’t like to play for pennies, do you?”
“Listen to me, Mishen’ka,” Liam said, “I just spent the last day or so with General Custer, you know?”
“Yeah, sure,” Mike chortled, “and I was shooting craps with Genghis Khan!”
“Dammit, Mike, listen to me. I’m not kidding, and Custer’s in this game with us. The advice he gave me was solid gold: He said if you’re going up against an enemy as big as Stanton, you want to do like the Sioux do with the white man: hit and run, hit and run over and over again, biting off a chunk here and a chunk there until he finally blows his stack and drops his guard. Then you can cut his gizzard out and throw him in the East River, OK?”
“OK, I’m listening,” said Mike reflectively.
“So: #1, the Brooklyn Bridge. #2, the two Dannys. And number three is I think maybe I have an idea what to do about Sing Sing, thanks to Little Adam. We still have any credit with the Grogans?”
“Lyovushka, milyi moi,” Mike said, “I told you they owe us, they’re gonna be our water taxi from now till they ferry us down the River Styx.”
“Good,” said Liam, “then here’s what we’re going to do …”
New York and Environs July 3–July 4, 1877
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Liam waded out into the chilly water and grabbed the skiff’s painter as Cap’n Billy Grogan threw it to him, then turned to haul the little craft in to shore only to find the older man striding along in the water next to him, clapping him on the back and chuckling happily through his enormous Santa Claus beard.
“Aye and begorrah but you’re a grand lad, Liam, I can’t thank you enough for letting me horn in on your party!”
“It’s me that should be thanking you, Cap’n Billy,” Liam said, “our plan wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel without you and your sons.”
They were speaking in low tones, acutely conscious of the grim pile hulking in the darkness behind them. Liam—like any professional cracksman—had seen Sing Sing more than once in his nightmares, but this was the first time he’d seen it with his eyes wide open and he was relieved at how dimly lit the building was both inside and out.
“Nice they’re keeping it dark for us,” he said to Grogan. Grogan laughed mirthlessly. “Sure now, and why would they waste the electric? Nobody’s broken out since Little Adam, and who ever heard of anybody breaking in?” His teeth flashed in a grin. “Besides, the electric costs good money, and they need to turn a profit for the state, that’s why they call it a model prison!”
A noise in the trees nearby made them both grab for their pistols but a moment later they relaxed as Becky—in a dark enlisted-aeronaut’s uniform from the Delta’s supply lockers—and Ubaldo, in an equally dark officer’s uniform, moved out of the shadows.
“Cap’n Billy?” Becky said. “We certainly are happy to see you!”
She took his hand and shook it firmly, and Grogan inspected her with frank admiration.
“No happier than I am to be here, Miss Fox,” he said. “My son Brian was snatched in the first of Willie Pilkington’s sweeps, and the Missus will be that glad to see him home again she’ll be walking on air.”
“Arturo Ubaldo, at your service,” the Captain said, stepping forward and taking Grogan’s hand with a grin. “Between us, sir, I believe you and I represent the total aerial and naval forces of this little alliance.”
“Well, then, young fella,” chuckled Grogan, “how can we lose?”
“If I may say so, sir,” Ubaldo said respectfully, “I am a little anxious about where in town you’re planning to deliver your passengers. I was in the city earlier today and I couldn’t believe how many people Stanton had out in the streets. Not just Eyes and New York City police and State militia troopers, but something new. On me, anyway—hard-looking types in black uniforms with red trim and brass buttons. You know who I mean?”
“I surely do, lad,” said Grogan with a grim smile. “They’re our beloved Willie Pilkington’s newest toys, John-darms I think they call ’em, and from what I hear if they get their hands on you that’s all she wrote, next stop Hart Island and Potter’s Field. But don’t you worry about my passengers tonight—this ain’t Billy Grogan’s first waltz, even the dock rats won’t know we’ve landed them.”
He gestured towards the Hudson: “As soon as the party starts, my boys will move in from where they’re anchored offshore and come close enough to take passengers aboard. We’ve got four big steam launches that’ll outrun anything on the River, and if we pack them tight, there’s more than enough room for everyone. Liam, lad, my brother Kevin will be in our racing cruiser waiting for you and your boys. It’s only thirty miles to the city, so all our passengers should be back on the streets before these yokels know what hit them.”
“Perfect,” said Liam. “Capt. Ubaldo, how are things on your side?”
Ubaldo grinned and twirled his little moustache, giving Liam a twinge of embarrassment as he remembered the natty pilot’s narrow escape from a brass-knuckle shampoo.
“Couldn’t be better, Mr. McCool. You and Miss Fox picked a fine landing spot—no nearby neighbors, but close enough to the prison that Miss Fox and I were able to cover the path through the woods in ten minutes.”
Liam smiled. “My grandma can walk a harness bull right into the ground, I expect you’ll find she beats your record through the woods.”
“How long will it take you to fly out to Shelter Island?” Grogan asked Ubaldo.
The aeronaut laughed and shook his head—“That big Delta can get us there in no time flat. Say twenty minutes or so. Miss Fox’s meeting with Mr. Clemens and President Lincoln and the others will probably last longer than it takes us to get to get there.”
Grogan nodded. “Then I’ll keep one of
my lads waiting for you with a speedboat until you’re ready to leave, Miss Fox. You just get yourself to Cedar Island Cove and we’ll have you back in the City before you can say Jack Robinson!”
“Sounds like that’s it, then, folks,” Liam said briskly. “Let’s get going, and damn the torpedoes!”
The outbuilding where the prisoners were housed was several hundred yards away through nearly pitch darkness and surrounded by a formidable fence of closely woven barbed wire supported by ten-foot-tall wooden posts, making it impossible to reach the big warehouse and a number of smaller outbuildings without going through the swinging gates—each of them another ten feet or so wide, meeting in the middle and locked with a couple of stout padlocks set into substantial steel hasps.
To one side of the gates stood a guardhouse in front of which a single blue-uniformed guard could be seen in the light of an electric bulb, sitting on an empty pickle barrel and snoring as he leaned against the wall, his rifle standing neglected on the other side of the guard booth door. The little group of rescuers was huddling behind a hay wagon parked in the shadows near the gates.
“That one guard there’s as good as an army,” Liam muttered, “worthless as he is. All he has to do is wake up long enough to grab that rifle and fire a single shot, and that’ll be all it takes to alarm every guard in Sing Sing.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Ubaldo said. “Why don’t I make you my prisoner? You cross your arms behind your back and put on your best shiftless-ruffian look, I’ll be one of those mad-dog Department of Public Safety officers and I’ll get him to open up so I can throw you in the hoosegow. Miss Fox and Cap’n Billy can join us as soon as the guard’s subdued.”
Liam grinned with relief. “You’re a genius, Captain.” He stood up and crossed his hands behind his back. “Your prisoner, sir!”
They moved out into the dim circle of light from the sentry box, Liam shuffling along disconsolately while Ubaldo marched stiffly behind him, every inch the martinet.
King of the Cracksmen Page 27