The Titanic Plan (12 page)

Morgan’s look grew distant and his voice trailed low, as if now talking with himself. “And because you would be regulating a significant portion of the country’s commerce, you would, in essence, be the most powerful force in American business…” Morgan drifted a moment, trailing into some sort of personal reverie. He caught himself and gazed back to Astor and Vanderbilt. “There you have it, gentlemen, some flights of fancy from an old banker. Again, good luck to you.” He started toward the door and, as he passed them, he lifted his thick arm and gently, paternally, clapped Vanderbilt on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Vanderbilt was stunned. He had never witnessed anything as creatively brilliant as Morgan’s analysis. Not only had he spotted the flaws in their plan, but his astonishingly nimble mind came up with a spontaneous idea that was so visionary in its design and so far reaching in its scope that its brilliance shook Vanderbilt to his core.

Astor looked more confused than impressed. “What was that about?” he said after Morgan had left the room.

“
Jack,” Vanderbilt turned to Astor. “That really
was
the future.”

CHAPTER 12

A
rchie stood under the trestles of the Third Avenue El trying to protect himself from the freezing rain. Across the way the old bricks of the
Cooper Union
building glistened a dull wet red. He watched the herd of New Yorkers bustle home from work with their umbrellas open, looking like a field of black mushrooms scuttling over the sidewalks. Archie didn’t want to be there. He had received a phone call from Mick Shaughnessy three days earlier in his office. He was ready to hang up, the bitter taste from their visit to the Liberal Club lingered with him. But Mick sounded different this time. There was no bravado in his voice. He simply told Archie he needed to see him, that it was important. And then he evoked the one thing Archie could not refuse: “You owe me a beer, Captain.”

“
I never thought you’d call that drink in,” Archie answered.

“
There’s a time for everything. Now is that time. I’ll meet you in front of the Cooper Union. Thursday at five.”

Archie knew he had no choice but to go to New York. He had to buy the drink. It was a solemnly promised repayment of a long ago debt.

“
One more thing, Captain. Don’t tell Finch this time.”

It was not that Archie wanted to tell Finch anything. He had a deep dislike for the strutting little bantam rooster. But to not tell Finch would be disregarding his duty. For a soldier like Archie, that would be tantamount to treason. “I’ll see you on Thursday, Mick,” Archie said and hung up.

The El train rumbled overhead, shaking the ground and jolting loose a torrent of water that had collected on the tracks. The downpour splotched Archie’s gray suit. He pulled his bowler down then ran toward the
Cooper Union
to escape the deluge. A man whose face was hidden under the brim of a derby grabbed him in mid-stride.

“
Leaving already?” the man asked.

Archie bent to see the man’s face. It was Mick. Like a chameleon, he looked different again. He was not the ragged anarchist Archie encountered in Hell’s Kitchen, nor the romantic poet of Greenwich Village. With his long hair pulled under the derby and wearing a knee-length overcoat, Mick appeared like every other New York businessman on his way home from the office. “You’re looking elegant today, Captain,” Mick said, pointing to the red carnation that poked out from Archie’s lapel.

“
I thought it was right for the occasion,” Archie said.

“
Well, I’m thirsty and I know a particularly fine watering hole just around the corner,” Mick answered, taking Archie’s arm. After two steps, Mick stopped cold. His eyes darted to two hulking men standing beside the marble statue of Peter Cooper. The men were copies of each other – each wore long black coats, black vests and western style hats. Their faces were sharp and angular and their ears stuck out like jug handles. Identical handlebar mustaches curled above their lips.

“
Captain, I must ask you to leave for the pub alone. I want you to loudly say, ‘Sorry, but you are mistaken, I don’t know you,’ then cross under the tracks to Seventh Avenue until you come to McSorley’s Old Ale House. Go in, tell them you’re my friend and ask to be seated in the back room.”

Archie hesitated, confused by Mick’s strange request.

“
Now, Captain!” Mick snapped.

Archie stepped back and loudly said, “I’m sorry, but you’re are mistaken, sir. I don’t know you.” He tipped his hat, then noticed Mick reach for a small pistol tucked in his belt. Archie turned and walked quickly under the trestles toward the corner of Seventh Street. When he looked back, Mick was sprinting in the opposite direction. Then he saw another figure emerge from the far side of the square and follow Mick into the surrounding narrow streets. The hulking men by the statue didn’t seem to pay Mick any mind at all. One nonchalantly pulled out a pocket-watch to check the time.

A blast of humidity greeted Archie when he stepped into
McSorley’s
. The smell of malt and hops and wet wool permeated the old pub. Faces quickly turned to Archie as he entered and just as quickly turned away when they didn’t recognize him. Archie made his way across the sawdust-covered floor. An old man with huge white muttonchops greeted Archie from behind the bar. “What’ll it be?” the old man said in a thick Irish brogue.

“
I’m a friend of Mick Shaughnessy and I’d like a seat in the back room,” answered Archie.

The old man looked Archie over. “That’s fine, but what’ll it be?”

“
Jim Beam?”

“
This is a corner of Ireland, friend. Bushmills. Jamesons.”

“
Either would be fine.”

The old man nodded and poured a hefty tumbler of golden Irish whiskey then stepped out from behind the bar, indicating Archie should follow. A fire in the wood stove crackled in the dark back room, sending out a weak orange glow. The old man led Archie to a small table near the stove and set the drink down next to a plate of cheese and crackers.

“
You say Mick Shaughnessy is a friend of yours?”

“
That’s right.”

“
Well, any friend of Mick’s is a friend John McSorley,” the old man said, extending his hand.

“
Archie. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“
No last name? An Irishman likes to know who he’s talking to,” McSorley persisted. Archie hesitated, took a bite of cheese and didn’t say a word. McSorley got the hint. “If you need a refill, you know where to find me, Archie.” He turned and walked back into the front room.

Archie glanced at an old Claddagh clock that hung over the door. Fifteen minutes ticked by. Then thirty. Archie nursed his whiskey. The Irish crafted theirs dry and smoky. He preferred the full flavor of bourbon – the hint of sweetness that soothed the fire of alcohol. After forty-five minutes, McSorley poked his head in and ambled up to Archie. “How we doin,’ lad? Time for another round?”

Before Archie could answer, McSorley tipped the bottle and began refilling Archie’s glass. A voice crackled across the room. “John, I see you’ve met Captain Butt.” Mick strode in and clapped a friendly hand on McSorley’s shoulder. “Can you get me a Guinness and put it on his tab.”

“
Will do, Mick,” McSorley said, stepping away.

Mick pulled up a chair and sat across from Archie. His manner seemed boldly confident as always, but Archie noticed Mick was breathing quickly and full of nervous energy. “Why am I here?” Archie asked.

“
To buy me a drink, Captain. To repay a debt.”

“
A drink could never repay that debt, Mick. Just the same, I’d have you know that I do not think these reunions of ours are helping you or me.”

“
I can assure you, Captain, after today I will never contact you again. I will disappear from your life. Poof!” Mick snapped his fingers. “However, if you ever have the desire to reach out to me, I will always be there for you.”

Archie nodded politely. “Are you still married, Mick?”

The sadness Mick was carrying bubbled to the surface. “You remembered I left the army for a woman. I guess I was exchanging one war for another.”

“
A tall draft of Guinness for a good son of Erin,” John McSorley announced, bringing Mick his drink.

“
Thanks, John.” Mick took his mug and raised it. “Here’s to you, Captain, and your honor. A rare thing in this hard world.” Mick drank the bitter black liquid as if it was water. When finished, he slammed the mug down, wiped his lips and turned to McSorley. “How ‘bout another round, John? For both of us.”

“
I don’t need another whiskey, Mick, I just got a refill.”

“
You can’t be nursing your drink in an Irish bar. It’s against the rules.” Mick turned back to McSorley. “Make it a full round, John.” The old man hustled away.

“
What’s wrong, Mick?”

“
Why do ask that?”

“
You bolted from the Cooper Union like a nervous rabbit. You’re carrying a pistol in your waistband and you seem to have it in your mind to get as drunk as you possibly can.”

The quick jolt of alcohol was now hitting Mick. He started muttering, “What’s wrong? The Captain wants to know what’s wrong.” He jerked his head up to meet Archie’s eyes square on. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, sir. This soldier’s been in the field a little too long and has seen too many disturbing things.”

“
War is never pleasant, Mick.”

“
I know that. It’s what I didn’t know that has me bothered. Let me ask you, Captain, does a soldier always have to believe in what he’s fighting for?”

“
It helps.”

“
Did you believe what we were fighting for in the Philippines?”

“
Of course.”

“
And what exactly were we were fighting for?”

“
For the United States of America.”

“
But for what?” Mick pressed. “What cause?”

“
For our country’s cause. A soldier’s only code is to follow the orders given him.”

“
But what if those orders are immoral, Captain? Is it still a soldier’s obligation to follow them?”

“
That’s a situation I have yet to experience.”

“
Perhaps because your eyes have not been open wide enough.”

“
Or they’re not as jaded as yours.”

McSorley arrived with the new round of drinks. Mick didn’t gulp this one immediately. Instead he reached across the table and took Archie’s second whiskey – the first glass was still barely touched – and shot back the drink then guzzled his Guinness as a chaser.

“
My eyes are not jaded,” Mick said, slurring his words with the infusion of whiskey. “Have you ever heard of Catilina?”

“
The island?”

“
The soldier. A courageous soldier. And a traitor. You should brush up on your Cicero, Captain. Roman history has a lot to teach us.” Mick rose on the balls of his feet and leaned his body across the table, drawing within inches of Archie’s face. “It’s all rotten. And do me a favor, report that back to Finch,” Mick said emphatically, wagging his finger in Archie’s face before losing his balance and tumbling onto the table, sending the mugs and drinks crashing to the floor, followed by his own twisting body. Archie leapt to help him.

“
Thank you, Captain. But you don’t have to.”

“
Perhaps we should get you home, Mick.”

“
To Hell’s Kitchen? Amid my people? My people who I’ve let down.”

“
You haven’t let anybody down,” Archie said, trying to steady Mick and guide him through the pub.

“
That’s not true,” Mick stumbled along. “I’ve let you down, haven’t I, Captain?” Archie didn’t answer. “Com’on, tell me the truth. The brave, honorable soldier, the best damn soldier you ever knew has let you down. And you don’t know the half of it.”