The Pinkerton Files Five-Book Bundle (6 page)

“Now I've seen it all.” He said.

The guards stepped aside so I could climb out of the harness. My pants were filthy and my shirt torn at the shoulder.

“You sure Harry's expecting you like this, madam?”

“Mr. Vinton isn't expecting me at all.” I said.

With shrugs all around, they led me through the kitchen to a set of double doors.

“Harry's in there.”

I stepped into a dining hall more lavish than any I had seen outside a society wedding. A chandelier reflected its thousand crystal pieces. Food was presented in an elaborate buffet, the old French style. A band kept the tempo for a dervish of dancing between tables, in the aisles, wherever space allowed.

This was Vinton's world. I picked him out with a single glance. People peeled off him like molting skin. He had a tip for every man and a secret smile for every woman.

Vinton cut a path straight to me. He smiled and bowed.

“Mr. Vinton.” I said. “I have an urgent message for President Lincoln.”

“Are you the woman who fell out of the sky?”

“I am detective Kate Warne of the Pinkerton Agency.” I said. “The President is in mortal danger.”

“Let me get you a drink.”

“Sir!”

“You have nothing to fear, Ms. Warne. The President will read your message at the top of the hour. I will make it his priority. The champagne is outstanding tonight.”

Vinton took my hand. Revelers were taken aback at the sight of me.

“You look lovely, if I may say, Miss Warne.” Vinton said. “Everyone will be dressing down tomorrow to copy you, I promise.”

Had I lost my mind or did I take some comfort in this?

Harry lifted two fingers and waiters came running. When I saw the bubbling flutes, I felt a desperate thirst. He turned with glasses in hand but, looking over my shoulder, the smile was wiped from his face.

“Harry, you never cease to amaze with the company you keep.”

It was Superintendent Kennedy.

“Miss Warne, is it not?”

Kennedy smiled. Coming from a man trying to put Robert in prison, it seemed an awful smile.

“One gets so used to seeing Pinkerton or his boys.” Kennedy said. “The Father and his sons. The sons and their father. Over and over.”

“Ms. Warne has a meeting with the President.” Harry said.

“Marvelous. A toast, then. To your success.”

We tipped our glasses and Kennedy left. I asked Harry what he was doing on Lincoln's train.

“Fraternizing with the President's men, no doubt.” He said. “Really, Kate. I think you are the only one with actual business here.”

The welcome returned to his smile.

“I will make arrangements with the President.”

Harry walked away and I felt very much alone in the crowd. It was a strong feeling, out of proportion, at first empowering and then frightening. My palms started to sweat. I tried to clear my head with a shake but the effect was like rattling dice. I was ecstatic one moment, despondent the next.

I covered my eyes. The darkness was like drowning. I opened them again and was dazzled by everything around me. The gowns of women seemed the most beautiful objects I had ever seen. The shapes of everyday things made a kind of sense to me, as though a clock were round for some deep reason. The thought of President Lincoln made me laugh out loud. Others laughed, too. These people were the closest friends I would ever have and all I wanted was for everyone to be happy.

The next thing I remember, I was being woken by Harry.

“Come back to us, Miss Warne.”

I crinkled my nose. Crinoline under my dress tickled the skin on my legs. Jewels hung from my neck and wrists. A silk embroidered tiara sat askew on my head. That I had been drugged was obvious.

I was so angry that I could have stabbed Harry with my emerald broach.

“What have you done?” I said.

“Surely you can't think I was the cause of last night's . . . merriment.”

“What would you have me think, then?”

“That you were Queen for a night but back in fighting trim the next day.”

Of course that was how he would see it. My anger was replaced by panic.

“Is Lincoln alive?”

“My goodness, yes. I told you, Miss Warne. I made your message a priority. He is most grateful you are here.”

I noticed, then, that guards were running in the hall. They wore body armor.

“As Mr. Pinkerton suggested in his letter, we have prepared to split this train and send the President ahead in secret aboard the engine car.” Harry said.

“How did you get hold of that message?”

“You gave it to me quite willingly last night. Now listen, this is why I've woken you. Everything is in place but . . .”

Guards were shouting in the hall.

“ . . . if we send the engine car forward on its own, word will spread. Everyone knows this is the President's train. Newspapermen follow us at all times.”

“Just cut the telegraph line.” I said.

“Mr. Pinkerton warned against that. It would be a red flag for Hunt.”

“What option does that leave? Defraud the entire telegraph system?”

“As to the whereabouts of the President, yes.”

My thoughts were still scrambled. It was a lot to take in at once.

“One more thing. It is rather important.” Harry said. “My men have spotted a train fast approaching. I am quite sure it is your William Hunt.”

*   *   *

Robert Pinkerton

February, 1861

My first reflex was to discard the message.

Marooned at PWB, I could not seek medical attention for my heel or mouth. I was in agony. My interest in the case waned to say the least. But Kate had never done me wrong. She didn't deserve to be ignored.

Robert : - I pray you are still in Philadelphia. Much depends on you now. I cannot fully explain. Telegraph system presumed to be compromised. Felton will grant you access to the eastern hub. Do not cut the line. Messages must be screened. Manage however you can. Send to all: Lincoln itinerary unchanged. – Kate

The scale of what she asked was preposterous. So much so that, in a leap of backward logic, I assumed there would be some simple way of getting it done. I shared this with Felton as he led me to the telegraph office.

“I don't know.” He said. “If there is, I've never heard of it.”

A whole floor of the building was occupied by the hub. Hundreds of twittering telegraphs were arranged in a grid. Narrow pathways, wide enough for a single person to pass, provided access to the machines.

Felton stated the obvious.

“For every message we intercept, dozens will go through. Even if we hired an army, there would be no way.”

A pair of wires was attached to each machine. These converged in a thick trunk that ran along the floor to a panel in the wall. The panel was barred but Felton took a small axe from the fire box and chopped the lock away.

Inside, the trunk of wires was spliced into four main conduits.

“We should just cut the damn things.” He said.

Felton reared back to swing.

“Wait.” I said. “Bring me the bag from my interceptor.”

Felton dropped the axe. He left at a sprint and returned out of breath. I reached into the bag Father had thrown together in Chicago. On principle, he would not have wanted police to seize more of our equipment. The switchbox was inside.

I limped to the closest machine and rearranged its leads. The first message that came through was an obituary. I deleted the notice and replaced it with a confirmation that Lincoln was on schedule. The next message was a business contract. To this, I replied that the President's itinerary was unchanged. I replaced and replied to every message, sending word in both directions that Lincoln was travelling as planned.

After a twentieth message, the switchbox flared then mimicked my intervention. I pulled the leads and brought it to the wall. Felton helped me attach all four conduits.

The hub fell silent. If this didn't work, we would have to cut the lines.

“Cripes.” Felton said. “What's happening?”

The conduits hung in place yet the switches whirled around them like a top. Telegraph machines resumed their chattering. For the rest of the day, the only messages exchanged on the east coast confirmed President Lincoln's itinerary.

*   *   *

Kate Warne

February, 1861

We were approaching Harrisburg when the Golden Circle came into view. I watched them from the last car in Lincoln's train. Hunt leered through a window as though he might try to bite me from a hundred yards out.

Harry brought a pile of telegraph messages transmitted to his office. Each was a confirmation that Lincoln was travelling on schedule. Robert had done his best.

“Send President Lincoln on his way.” I said.

There was no reason to expect Harry would stay behind. Someone had to entertain the socialites on their way to Philadelphia. I was still disappointed when he left without so much as offering to help confront the Golden Circle.

Explosive charges fired and the engine car broke off. Disabled, our car was pushed back by the engine's thrust. If we succeeded, Hunt would be in custody by the time Lincoln reached Philadelphia with Harry and the hangers-on.

Hunt's train smashed into us. Iron spikes drove through the ceiling overhead as grapplers on their lead car took hold. I heard the shrill sound of metal sawing against metal. They were cutting through our back end.

I thought of Robert. He would have stayed for the fight. He would also have enjoyed seeing me don two melee gauntlets, one on each arm, and ultraviolet goggles to protect my eyes from the optical stunner Lincoln's guards employed. Robert understands that this is the future of our profession.

The stunner was mounted on a tripod. Two elliptical trays revolved in opposite directions, each holding an array of polished quartz pieces, mirrors and lenses. A gas flame created a flash of blue light that was captured in the shifting glass. Staring into the light, even briefly, had a destabilizing neurological effect.

The sawing stopped and the wall fell over. The first man through looked straight into the stunner. A violent fit seized him. He tumbled to the ground, cracking his forehead on the floor.

Others followed. Men in this first wave were all overcome.

I punched the iron spikes out of the ceiling. This made me feel part of the action, which I was eager to join, but had little impact on Hunt's boarding party. The trains were fused together and I could hear men crawling on the roof in magnetized boots and gloves.

The ceiling tore away. Gang members dropped into our car. They smashed the stunner, which cleared a path for the rest to rush through the back end.

It was a ragged bunch. Maybe I had been too impressed by the fashion and finery last night. Hunt's boys looked every bit like they just crawled out of the forest.

We fell back, conceding the car. We also gave up the kitchen. Once the last of us ran through, welders sealed the door shut. This would only delay Hunt's progress but we wanted to give President Lincoln as much time as possible. Every minute counted.

The same device that peeled our roof like a can made short work of the door. As planned, we set the kitchen ablaze and fell back again.

The dining hall was where we chose to fight. The stunner that Lincoln's guards had mounted on the tripod was a trifle compared to the one built into the crystal chandelier. We pulled goggles over our eyes.

There were a dozen of us. I could have sworn I saw Kennedy amid the guards.

The chandelier spun, drowning the hall in ultraviolet. Hunt anticipated that we would make such a stand. He and his boys crossed the burning kitchen and entered with brute force. The double doors splintered.

Hunt and one of his lieutenants drove some manner of farm equipment into the hall. It raked the floor with long arms, throwing tables into the air and chasing guards out of position. One of the tables brought down the chandelier.

The goggles were useless. Our plan was already in shambles. If not for the fire we set in the kitchen, which did more to slow down the Golden Circle than anything else, we would have been in serious trouble.

I wound the gauntlets at the wrist and ran toward the machine. Hunt's lieutenant swung the heavy metal arms against me. I caught the first at my knees and the second next to my head. Springs inside the gauntlet slowly unwound. So long as they held, I would be fine.

Hunt looked out from behind an iron plate and growled at the sight of me holding them back. He drove the machine forward, picking me off the floor. His lieutenant thrashed at the controls trying to free the arms from my grip.

I felt the gauntlet losing tension. With all my strength, I lifted the machine's arms above my head and bent them together. We crossed in front of the bar where Harry had offered me champagne. Standing on the surface of the bar, one of our men fired a pistol shot into Hunt's lieutenant.