The Saboteurs by Clive Cussler (life changing books .txt) 📕

to the fishing boat, so they could be taken ashore. Chief Wilson had mentioned earlier he had horse-drawn hearses standing by on the dock. After the coroner’s investigation, they’d be buried in the city’s version of a potter’s field.

Bell and Wilson thanked the XO and disembarked onto the fishing boat.

Bell checked the hands of the last man recovered from the harbor, the presumed getaway driver, since he didn’t recognize his face. Minutes later, the last of the corpses were aboard, and the trawler pulled away from the warship with its grisly cargo laid out on deck. There was barely room for Wilson and Bell to stand.

“What’s next for you, Bell?” Wilson asked as they chugged across the bay.

“Panama, I suppose.”

The chief was taken aback. “Why? This isn’t your fight.”

“You asked me what I deduced from the bodies just before the fourth floated free, remember? Well, here’s my answer. Except for the boat driver, who didn’t participate in the attack, they all show calluses on the inside of the middle finger of their right hand.”

The veteran policeman didn’t need long to know what that meant. “Shooter’s callus. From the trigger guard.”

“Exactly. A very particular callus to develop. These men did heavy training for this mission, enough so they should have been expert marksmen. However, it appeared that they didn’t know how to use their weapons effectively, especially the Lewis gun.”

“Doesn’t figure.”

“Right,” Bell agreed. “But what if they intentionally fired like a bunch of yokels, for some reason? Recall that my man outside the dining room threw off their timing.”

“Okay.” Wilson paused, thinking, trying to see how any of this fit together. He finally shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s just it,” Bell agreed. “It doesn’t add up. If they were good marksmen, what was the purpose of intentionally missing the Senator during an assassination attempt?”

“Maybe it wasn’t an assassination attempt.”

“Maybe it wasn’t,” Bell agreed. “I’m missing a piece to this puzzle and it has to be in Panama.”

“Why?”

Bell chuckled a little darkly and looked at the bodies at their feet. “Because I’ve killed all the leads here in California.”

8

Bell was unable to reach Marion when he returned to the hotel but managed to talk with Joseph Van Dorn and brief him on the situation. The veteran detective assured Bell that following the trail down to Panama was the right call, though he wasn’t certain the clients would want to continue paying for his services.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bell fired back. “There are too many inconsistencies for me to ignore. Plus, there’s the personal component for me.”

“I know, I know. Our contract with the Republicans expires shortly, but we must still protect the man. The agency has a history with him, after all.”

“I’ll work on my own time, if necessary. We both know this attack won’t dissuade him from going to Panama, right?”

“You know him better than I do. He’s a close friend of your father, is he not?”

“Very close. He taught me how to shoot a rifle on his ranch in Dakota.”

“He’s not one to be intimidated, so we’ll have to assume his travel plans will remain intact.”

“Then tell the Republicans I’ll act as an advance man for a security detail.”

“Of course,” Van Dorn said. “One would hope they’ll want to ensure the safety of their candidate.”

“I’m heading to Panama on the first boat out of San Diego. The hotel’s booking agent is securing passage for me right now.”

“Not to pry, old friend, but aren’t you supposed to be enjoying a vacation with Marion?”

“Yeaaah,” Bell said, drawing out the word and indicating his discomfort. “She’s arriving within the hour. With any luck, I’ll have a day or two with her before I leave.”

“Good luck there.”

“Thanks.” Bell hung up the phone and stepped out of the glass and brass booth. Across the lobby, The Del’s booking agent saw him and waved him over. He was on the phone with another guest and kept a finger in the air to indicate it would be a short conversation.

“Yes, Mrs. Blandon, you’re all set. You have a starboard cabin for your journey, and your reservation at the Hotel Sorrento in Seattle has been confirmed.” A pause. “Yes, ma’am, it has been our pleasure having you with us. Enjoy your last day here, and bon voyage tomorrow.”

He settled the receiver on its cradle. Bell felt someone get in line behind him but didn’t turn around.

The agent beamed. “Mr. Bell, you are a most fortunate man. There’s a cabin available on a steamship heading for New York. It normally doesn’t call in on Panama as a regular port of call, but there are more than fifty workers needing passage to the canal so the ship’s owners agreed to a detour.”

“That’s terrific. When does the ship arrive?”

“She’s more than a day out of San Francisco, so she’ll put in late this afternoon and be gone as soon as her coal bunkers are topped off.”

Bell’s stomach sank. Marion had always been the most understanding and accommodating woman in the world but abandoning her without warning on the first day of a vacation was a line he shouldn’t cross. No one had that much forbearance.

“Is there any chance there’s another ship leaving tomorrow or the next day?”

The agent seemed genuinely hurt that his customer wasn’t overjoyed at getting exactly what he wanted. “Is there a problem? You said you needed to be in Panama as soon as possible.”

“It’s just that my wife . . .”

A sultry voice behind him finished, “. . . was promised a week’s holiday at The Del and hopefully she’ll forgive me if I stick around for at least a day.”

Bell whirled around and was met by an amused and mocking smile. Marion was wearing all white, the only splash of color being a green band around her large hat that perfectly matched the emerald hue of her eyes. Her blond hair cascaded around her shoulders. She was as slender as a teen, willow-waisted but curvy elsewhere, and she