Page 50 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm (An Isaac Bell Adventure #15)
A rchie Abbott was one of those rare creatures that was a natural at just about anything he did. The first time he tried golf, he shot seven-over. The first time in a bowling alley, he rolled a two hundred. He won his first boxing match on a dare against someone who’d been training for years.
He never let the ease of his success go to his head.
He was truly grateful. That was the reason he’d given up a career as a stage actor to follow his friend Isaac into the world of the private detective.
He was good at it, for he was smart, observant, and had a knack for guessing people’s motivations.
More important, he’d seen how Bell made a difference for the people he helped and sought to do the same.
Most people who came to the Van Dorn Agency had nowhere else to turn, no other recourse open to them.
They were frightened, usually embarrassed, and most definitely desperate.
And when the agency solved the client’s problem, no matter the outcome, usually the person was relieved to finally have answers.
It was a good feeling making that happen.
His current client was his best friend, Isaac Bell, and he wasn’t going to be happy with the results of his investigation because there were none.
The job was a simple missing person’s case.
All he had to do was locate a man and keep him under loose observation.
It should have been a snap, especially because the guy was described as handsome to the extreme.
In Archie’s experience, handsome men liked to be around beautiful women.
Lord knows before marrying Lillian he spent more than his share of time in the company of some beauties.
The job was even easier in that he had a name, Balka Rath.
He’d sent junior agents out to canvas dance halls, brothels, and the nightclubs that vaudevillians frequented after their shows.
He got a big fat goose egg. Bell had said the man came from the Carpathian Mountains.
He put out feelers in Easter European neighborhoods.
There it was always a little tricky because recent émigrés didn’t like the police in any form and so they were reluctant to talk.
People were talking about a kid newly arrived from Hungary who fell from the window of an apartment of some other Hungarians who were out of town at the time. It was all very suspicious because he was seen in the company of a young woman shortly before his death.
Archie didn’t think this had anything to do with his case, but he personally went down to the bar where the kid had met the woman.
A few dollars were passed around. The bartender remembered the girl because she was dark and pretty and that he’d never seen her before or since.
He was the person who recognized the photograph of the kid’s face the cops had put on flyers around the neighborhood.
He knew nothing more. Archie made sure to give the man his business card.
Back at the office on the second floor of the Knickerbocker Hotel, Archie reached out to one of his police contacts, a detective in the First Precinct named Al Tanner.
“Tanner.”
“Al, its Archie Abbott. How’s life down at 100 Old Slip?”
“Archie,” Tanner said with genuine affection. “How are you doing?”
“I’d complain, but I know you wouldn’t believe me.”
“You’ve got a beautiful wife, a pile of dough, and work for the best agency in the country. What do you have to complain about?”
“She’s too pretty, I’m too rich, and the Van Dorns are all too good,” Archie answered with a laugh. He then turned serious. “I might have something for you about the bombing at the post office.”
“Agh, that fiasco. Postal police out of Washington want to run the investigation themselves. They must have brought up a dozen inspectors.”
“They getting anywhere?”
“No, not really. The bomb was homemade with dynamite that’s virtually untraceable.
The night supervisor who was blown up when the truck went off had been stabbed in the heart just before the blast. The explosion made it impossible to tell the size of the blade, or much else for that matter.
He was the only fatality. A couple of the drivers waiting to unload their mail that night sustained minor injuries. No one saw anything prior to the blast.
“The truck’s real driver was found dead out on Long Island about twenty feet from the road that was his normal route. He’d also been stabbed. The pathologist said the blade was about four inches long and thin.”
“Like a stiletto?”
“Maybe. I think even thinner, actually.”
“Any witnesses there?”
“Nothing. Our contact at the post office says the driver would’ve been in that area at around three in the morning, so it’s no surprise no one saw anything.”
“These guys knew what they wanted and where to get it.”
“Appears to be the case,” Tanner agreed.
“Listen, I’m on a missing person’s case that might be connected to a suspicious death.”
“And?”
“Bell put me on the case. He’s in Europe right now and came across a plot involving anarchists from somewhere in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. They’re a sophisticated outfit with deep pockets and real bad intentions.”
“Okay,” Tanner said, clearly not getting to where Abbott was heading.
“The leader of the group is a guy named Karl Rath. R-A-T-H. He sent his brother here to New York not too long ago. His name is Balka. He may have set himself up with anarchists here in the New York area.”
“Hold it right there,” Tanner interrupted.
“The postal dicks already pursued this line. They had us drag in a few so-called anarchist agitators. They’re all a bunch of pseudo-intellectuals better suited to a college campus than fighting in the streets.
They talk a good game and carry signs with the right logos, but they’re all paper tigers. Trust me.”
“That’s my point. This Balka Rath could be the real McCoy. A true revolutionary who isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. He might be the kind of guy who would have no problem shivving a couple of civilians and blowing up a federal building.”
“Got a description?”
“Early twenties, likely dark hair and eyes, and said to be very attractive in a feminine way.”
“Pretty boy.”
“Yeah.”
“Like you.” Tanner laughed.
“Watch it.”
“How do I know you’re not feeding me this so I spend my time trying to find your missing person for you?”
“In truth, you don’t, but I’ve got a hunch.
Bell thinks the older brother, Karl, and his men are heading to New York.
I believe that the guy who took a header out of a fifth-story window, who was from Hungary by the way, was sent from Europe as a courier by Karl Rath to alert his little brother to be ready for their arrival.
According to what I’ve been able to piece together, this kid, Vano Hetzko, had arrived in the country less than six hours before he died. ”
“Thin.”
“Absolutely gossamer,” Archie agreed. “But it makes some sense.”
“We had that down as a suicide.”
“Of course you did. Less paperwork. But my money says he had help going through that window. Balka Rath’s help.”
“Do you have any leads on finding him?” Tanner asked rather noncommittally.
“The dead kid was seen meeting a young woman in a bar on the Lower East Side.”
“Which bar?”
“Good Gotham’s.”
“Little out of my precinct, but I know it.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Funny.”
“Anyway, the dead kid was found only four blocks from it.”
“Description of the girl.”
“Same as Balka Rath. Young. Dark hair and eyes. Pretty.”
“I don’t know, Arch. All you got linking them together is an Eastern European background. If it even was murder, she could have been a working girl and lured the kid to her pimp and he tossed him out the window.”
“He’d been in America for just a couple of hours, Al. He was definitely meeting someone. Someone who didn’t want to be seen meeting him. The girl is a cutout.”
Ever a dedicated cop, Tanner said, “If Rath is as dangerous as you think, that could put her at risk.”
“All the more reason to look into this.”
“I don’t like being manipulated.”
“Then you never should have gotten married. How about it, pal?”
Tanner blew a breath like he was a long-suffering victim. “Fine. I’ll get some men to poke around. We’ve got a rookie from somewhere in Hungary or one of those places. Maybe he can make some headway.”
“Thanks, Al. I owe you one.”
“More like four or five by now, but who’s counting?”
“Only you,” Archie said and hung up the phone, a wide grin on his face.
Once set in motion, he figured his plan would need a day or two to work.