The Spy (45 page)

Since then, the one man who might know where O’Shay disappeared to fifteen years ago hadn’t shown up at either den. On the plus side, they’d had enough reports to know he was alive, and he was unlikely to leave Hell’s Kitchen.

Eyes O’Shay’s location was another story. Everyone over the age of thirty had heard the name. No one had seen him in fifteen years. Some people had heard he was back. No one admitted to laying eyes on him. But Bell knew a man described by Tommy Thompson as “duded up like a Fifth Avenue swell” could sleep and eat anywhere he chose.

T
AXICAB, SIR?” THE WALDORF-ASTORIA’S DOORMAN ASKED of a hotel guest stepping out in a top hat and loden green frock coat.

“I will promenade,” said Eyes O’Shay.

Wielding a jewel-headed walking stick, he strolled up Fifth Avenue, pausing like a tourist to admire mansions and peering into shopwindows. When he was reasonably sure that he wasn’t being followed, he entered St. Patrick’s Cathedral through the great Gothic arch in front. In the nave, he genuflected with the ease of a daily habit, dropped coins in the poor box, and lighted candles. Then he threw back his head and reflected upon the stained glass in the rose window, imitating the proud gaze of a parishioner who had contributed handsomely to the installation fund.

Since Isaac Bell nailed Tommy Thompson, he had to assume that every Van Dorn in New York, plus two hundred railway police, and the Devil himself knew how many paid informants, were hunting him, or soon would be. He exited the cathedral out the back, through the boardwalks and scaffolding where brick and stone masons were building the Lady Chapel, and strode onto Madison Avenue.

He headed up Madison, still watching his back, turned onto 55th, and stopped in the St. Regis Hotel. He had a drink in the bar and chatted with the bartender, whom he always tipped lavishly, while he watched the lobby. Then he tipped a bellboy to let him out the service entrance.

Moments later, he walked into the Plaza Hotel. He stopped at the Palm Court in the middle of the ground floor. The people seated around small tables for the elaborate afternoon tea were mothers with children, aunts and nieces, and here and there an older gentleman enthralled by a daughter. The maître d’ bowed low.

“Your usual table, Herr Riker?”

“Thank you.”

Herr Riker’s usual table let him watch the lobby in two directions while screening himself with a jungle of potted palms that would have given Dr. Livingstone and Henry Stanley pause.

“Will your ward be joining you, sir?”

“It is my fond hope,” he replied with a courtly smile. “Tell your waiter that we will have only sweets at our table. None of those little sandwiches. Only cakes and cream.”

“Of course, Herr Riker. As always, Herr Riker.”

Katherine was late, as usual, and he used the time to rehearse for what he knew would be a difficult discussion. He felt as ready as he could be when she stepped off the elevator. Her tea gown was a cloud of blue silk that matched her eyes and complemented her hair.

O’Shay rose as she approached his table, taking her gloved hands in his and saying, “You are the prettiest girl, Miss Dee.”

“Thank you, Herr Riker.”

Katherine Dee smiled and dimpled. But when she sat, she looked him full in the face in her direct way, and said, “You look very serious—ward-and-guardian serious. What are you up to, Brian?”

“Self-annointed ‘good warriors’ who fight ‘good wars’ accuse me with deep disdain of being a mercenary. I take it as a testament to my intelligence. Because for a mercenary the war is over when he says it is over. He retires a victor.”

“I hope you’ve ordered whiskey instead of tea,” she said. O’Shay smiled. “Yes, I know I’m bloviating. I am attempting to tell you that we are in the endgame, dearest.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is time to vanish. We will go out—and lay our future—with a bang they’ll never forget.”

“Where?”

“Where they will treat us like gold.”

“Oh, not Germany!”

“Of course Germany. What democracy would take us in?”

“We could go to Russia?”

“Russia is a powder keg waiting for a match. I am not about to take you out of the frying pan into a revolution.”

“Oh, Brian.”

“We will live like kings. And queens. We will be very rich, and we will marry you to royalty . . . What is it? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” she said, her blue eyes brimming.

“What is the matter?”

“I don’t want to marry a prince.”

“Would you settle for a Prussian noble with a thousand-year-old castle?”

“Stop it!”

“I have one in mind. He is handsome, remarkably bright, considering his lineage, and surprisingly gentle. His mother could prove tiresome, but there is a stable teeming with Arabian horses and a lovely summer place on the Baltic where a girl could sail to her heart’s content. Even practice for the Olympic yachting event . . . Why are you crying?”

Katherine Dee put both small hands on the table and spoke in a clear, even voice. “I want to marry
you.
”

“Dear, dear Katherine. That would be like a marrying your own brother.”

“I don’t care. Besides, you’re not my brother. You only act like one.”

“I am your guardian,” he said. “I have pledged that no one will ever hurt you.”

“What do you think you’re doing now?”

“Stop this silliness about marrying me. You know I love you. But not that way.”

Tears hovered on her lashes like diamonds.

He passed her a handkerchief. “Dry your eyes. We have work to do.”

She dabbed, lifting her tears onto the linen. “I thought we were leaving.”

“Leaving with a bang requires work.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked sullenly.

“I can’t let Isaac Bell get in my way this time.”

“Why don’t I kill him?”

O’Shay nodded thoughtfully. Katherine was lethal, a finely tuned machine unencumbered by remorse or regret. But every machine had its physical limits. “You would only get hurt. Bell is too much like me, a man not easily killed. No, I won’t have you risk trying to kill him. But I do want him distracted.”

“Do you want me to seduce him?” asked Katherine. She flinched from the sudden fury distorting O’Shay’s face.

“Have I ever asked you to do such a thing?”

“No.”

“Would I ever ask you?”

“No.”

“It destroys me that you could say such a thing.”

“I am sorry, Brian. I didn’t think.” She reached for his hand. He pulled away, his normally bland face red, his lips compressed in a hard line, his eyes wintery.

“Brian, I am not exactly a schoolgirl.”

“Whatever seductions you allow yourself are your business,” he said coldly. “I have ensured that you possess the means and manner to indulge yourself as only privileged women can. Society will never tell you what you can do and not do. But I want it clearly understood that I would never use you that way.”

“What way? As a seductress? Or an indulgence?”

“Young lady, you are beginning to annoy me.”

Katherine Dee ignored the very dangerous tone in his voice because she knew he was too careful to break up the furniture in the Palm Court. “Stop calling me that. You’re only ten years older than I am.”

“Twelve. And mine are old years, while I have moved heaven and earth to make yours young years.”

Waiters bustled up. Ward and guardian sat in stony silence until the cakes were spread and tea poured.

“How do you want me to distract him?” When he started talking that way there was nothing to do but go along.

“The fiancée is the key.”

“She is suspicious of me.”

“How do you mean?” O’Shay asked sharply.

“At the
Michigan
launching, when I tried to get close, she pulled back. She senses something in me that frightens her.”

“Perhaps she is psychical,” said O’Shay, “and reads your mind.” An expression as desolate as it was wise transformed Katherine Dee’s pretty face into a lifeless mask of ancient marble. “She reads my heart.”

Y
OUR FIANCEÉE IS CALLING ON THE TELEPHONE, MR. BELL.”

The tall Van Dorn detective was standing over his desk in the Knickerbocker, impatiently sifting reports for some decent news on the whereabouts of Eyes O’Shay or the stolen torpedoes before he hit the streets hunting Billy Collins again.

“This is a nice surprise.”

“I’m across the street at Hammerstein’s Victoria Theatre,” said Marion Morgan.

“Are you all right?” She didn’t sound all right. Her voice was tight with tension.

“Could you stop by when you have a moment?”

“I’ll be right there.”

“They’ll let you in the stage door.”

Bell ran down the Knickerbocker’s grand staircase three steps at a time and set off a blast of horns, bells, and angry shouts as he ran through the moving wall of autos, streetcars, and horse carts that blocked Broadway. Sixty seconds after dropping the telephone, he pounded on the Victoria’s stage door.

“Miss Morgan is waiting for you in the house, Mr. Bell. Through there. Go in quietly, please. They’re rehearsing.”

A high-speed, rhythmic tapping echoed from the stage, and when he flung open the door he was surprised to discover that the source of all the noise was a small boy and a tall girl dancing in shoes with wooden soles. He exhaled in relief when he saw Marion sitting alone, safe and sound, in the eighth row of the partially darkened empty house. She pressed a finger to her lips. Bell glided up the aisle and sat beside her, and she took his hand, and whispered, “Oh, my darling, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“What happened.”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. They’re almost done.”

The orchestra, which had been waiting silently, burst into a crescendo, and the dance was over. The children were instantly surrounded by the director, the stage manager, costumers, and their mother.

“Aren’t they wonderful? I found them on the Orpheum Circuit in San Francisco. The top vaudeville circuit. I’ve persuaded their mother to let them appear in my new movie.”

“What happened to your movie about the bank robbers?”

“The detective’s girlfriend caught them.”

“I suspected she would. What’s wrong? You don’t sound yourself. What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I may be silly, but it seemed sensible to call you. Did you ever meet Katherine Dee?”

“She’s a friend of Dorothy Langner. I’ve seen her at a distance. I’ve not met her.”

“Lowell introduced her to me at the
Michigan
launching. She hinted that she would like to come out to the movie studio. It was on the tip of my tongue to invite her. She looks like she might be one of those creatures the camera is so fond of—you know, as I’ve told you, the large head, fine features, slight torso. Like that boy you just saw dancing.”

Bell glanced at the stage. “He looks like a praying mantis.”

“Yes, the narrow head, the big, luminous eyes. Wait ’til you see him smile.”

“I gather you did not invite Katherine Dee. What changed your mind?”

“She’s very strange.”

“How?”

“Call it what you will. Intuition. Instinct. Something about her does not ring true.”

“Never deny a gut feeling,” said Bell. “You can always change your mind later.”

“Thank you, darling. I do feel a little silly, and yet . . . when I was away in San Francisco, she came out to see me in Fort Lee. Uninvited. She just showed up. And now she just showed up again this morning.”

“What did she say?”

“I didn’t give her a chance. I was rushing to the ferry to see these children and their mother, who is also their manager and very ambitious. I just waved and kept going. She called out something about offering to give me a lift. I think she had a car waiting. I just kept moving and hopped the ferry. Isaac, I’m sure I’m being silly. I mean, Lowell Falconer knows her. He didn’t seem to think she was strange. On the other hand, I doubt anyone in a skirt would be strange to Lowell.”

“Who told you she had shown up when you were in San Francisco?”

“Mademoiselle Duvall.”

“What did she think of Katherine?”

“I think she sensed what I sensed, though not as strongly. Strange people often show up at the studio. The movies tug at them. They imagine all sorts of fantastical futures for themselves. But Katherine Dee is different. She’s obviously well-off and well-bred.”

“She’s an orphan.”

“Oh, my Lord! I didn’t realize. Maybe she does need the work.”

“Her father left her a fortune.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ve investigated everyone in the Hull 44 set.”

“So I’m probably imagining things.”

“Better safe than sorry. I’ll have Research dig deeper.”

“Come meet the children . . . Fred, say hello to my fiancé, Mr. Bell.”

“Hello, Mr. Bell,” Fred mumbled, staring at his shoes. He was a shy little guy, seven or eight.

“Hello, Fred. When I came in, I heard you dancing so fast I thought it was a machine gun.”

“Did you?” He looked up and studied Bell with a warm smile.

“How’s Miss Morgan treating you?”

“Oh, she’s very nice.”

“I agree.”

“And this is Adele,” said Marion. The girl was buoyant, several years older, and did not need any coaxing. “Are you really Miss Morgan’s fiancé?”

“I’m the lucky man.”

“I’ll say you are!”

“I’ll say you’re very wise. What’s the movie about?”

Adele looked surprised when little Fred answered for her. “Child dancers are captured by Indians.”

“What’s it called?”

“
The Lesson.
The kids teach the Indians a new dance and they let them go.”

“Sounds uplifting. I look forward to seeing it. Pleased to meet you, Fred.” He shook his little hand again. “Pleased to meet you, Adele.” He shook hers.