Page 64 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
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 beenstabbed. 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.
