The Wrecker by Clive Cussler (book club reads .TXT) 📕

will spur them on. Builders make America great, and we are honored to be in the presence of the boldest builders in the West.”

Shouts of “Hear! Hear!” echoed to the rafters. The Californians rose as one, clapping loudly. Osgood Hennessy nodded his thanks.

“Just as we applaud these men who build with their hands and their hearts, so do we entreat another man in this splendid banquet hall to build the future of our great nation with his leadership and wisdom. I refer, of course, to our good friend Senator Charles Kincaid, whom I believe just might make an announcement that will gladden the heart of every man and woman in this room. Senator Kincaid.”

Kincaid rose, smiling, acknowledging applause. He hooked his thumbs to his lapels as the clapping died down. He gazed at the admiring faces. He turned and smiled at Lillian Hennessy. He looked Osgood Hennessy in the face. Then he turned his attention to the elk and grizzly bear heads jutting from the log walls.

“I have come here at the invitation of the most accomplished businessmen in California and Oregon. Men who have worked long and hard to develop this great land. Indeed, this rustic setting reminds us that our manifest destiny in the American West is to tame nature for the prosperity of the entire United States. Timber, mining, crops, and cattle, all served by the great railroads. Now these gentlemen have asked me to lead them toward new accomplishments to benefit our great nation and protect her from her enemies ... They have been very persuasive.”

He looked out over the tables.

Bell noticed that he possessed the politician’s gift for seeming to look at each and every person. Suddenly, Kincaid turned his lapel inside out, revealing the red-and-white KINCAID FOR PRESIDENT button he had shown Bell.

“I am persuaded!” he said, his handsome face wreathed in smiles. “You’ve talked me into it. I will serve my country as you gentlemen see fit.”

“President?” Osgood Hennessy asked Bell, as the room erupted in applause and the band played loudly.

“Sounds that way, sir.”

“Of the United States?”

Preston Whiteway called out, “That’s right, Mr. Hennessy. We gentlemen of California pledge our considerable support to Senator Charles Kincaid, the ‘Hero Engineer.”’

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Surprised me, too!” shouted a wealthy redwoods lumberman from Marin County. “He fought us tooth and nail. Practically had to hog-tie him before he agreed.”

Preston Whiteway acknowledged the laughter, then said, “I believe that Senator Kincaid has a few more words on the subject.”

“Just a few,” said Kincaid. “I’ll be glad to go down in history as the president who gave the shortest speeches.” He acknowledged their laughter, then grew sober. “As you say, I was honored but hesitant when you first broached the possibility. But the horrific events two weeks ago in New Jersey and New York City persuaded me that every public servant must rise to the defend the American people from the Yellow Peril. That dastardly explosion was detonated by a Chinaman. The streets of the city were littered with broken windows. As I went to the aid of the stricken, I will never forget the sounds of the ambulance tires crunching the glass. A sound I will never forget ...”

Isaac Bell listened closely as Kincaid went on in that vein. Did Kincaid believe what he was saying? Or was his warning about the Yellow Peril the kind of political claptrap his supporters expected? Bell glanced at Marion. A mischievous light was igniting her eyes. She felt his gaze on her and looked down, biting her lip. Lillian leaned behind her father to whisper to her, and Bell saw both women cover their mouths to stifle laughs. He was happy, but not surprised, that they had taken a liking to each other.

“... The Yellow Peril we face, the tidal waves of immigrating Chinamen taking American jobs, frightening American women, was suddenly driven home that terrible night in New York City. That dastardly Chinaman exploded tons of dynamite in a busy rail yard near a crowded city for his own unfathomable reasons that no white man could ever begin to understand ...”

IN THE SHADOW OF a string of freight cars, Philip Dow watched the lighted windows of the railroad president’s special. Senator Kincaid had given him the dining schedule for the employees who lived on the train. He waited until the diner crew had served the guests. Then, while they were eating their own suppers with the porters and the white train crew ate in the baggage car, he climbed aboard the front end of Car 3. He checked the layout in Car 3 and Car 4 and traced escape routes through the train and off each.

Car 4’s porter station was a small closet with a curtain for a door. It was crammed with clean towels and napkins, cold and hangover cures, a shoe-shine kit, and a spirit stove to heat water. Dow unscrewed a lightbulb to cast shadow on the short length of corridor along which he would dart to Marion Morgan’s Stateroom 4. Then he rehearsed.

He practiced watching the corridor through the porter’s curtain, tracing the route Isaac Bell would take from the front of the car toward the rear. Then he practiced stepping silently into the corridor and swinging his sap. Restricted by the confines of the narrow space, he swept it underhanded. The momentum of running the three steps, combined with a long reach that started well behind, would accelerate the heavy pouch of lead shot with deadly force into Isaac Bell’s temple.

ISAAC BELL PRESSED FINGERS to his temple.

“Headache?” Marion murmured.

“Just hoping this ‘short speech’ will be over soon,” he whispered back.

“Anarchy?” shouted Charles Kincaid, building steam. “Emperor worship? Who knows how the Chinaman thinks? Hatred of the white man. Or deranged by smoking opium, his favorite vice ...”

His supporters leaped up, applauding.

Preston Whiteway, red-nosed on good wine, bellowed in Osgood Hennessy’s ear, “Didn’t the Senator nail the Yellow Peril threat square on the head?”

“We built the transcontinental railroad