The Fall

by Sean Moynihan

  He then stepped off the curb and walked across the street, scanning the area for any potentially hostile malingerers. Approaching the stairwell leading to the church’s basement, he looked back once at Waidler and the others, tipped his hat, and then turned and descended the steps.

  114

  Falconer reached the bottom of the stairs and walked over to the large door leading to the church’s basement. Removing his revolver from his shoulder holster, he gently pushed the door open and peered inside. Seeing no one, he descended the inner stairs and arrived at the basement floor, where he lit a match.

  Moving quickly down the hallway, he entered the chapel and moved over behind the alter. Scanning the various figurines that stood there, he saw the small figurine of the shepherd boy with the sheep and gently pulled on it. The secret door opened, and hearing nothing within, he moved through it and down to the wide, brick-ceilinged corridor that was, as on his initial visit, lit with torches fastened to its walls.

  Walking carefully down the side of the corridor, he held his revolver at the ready in front of him, and, after about ten seconds, he began to see the vague shape of the familiar, open doorway leading to the large meeting room. He stopped momentarily and squinted, attempting to focus on what was inside. Stepping forward several more feet, he suddenly heard a voice coming from the interior, and he realized that it was that of a man sitting in a chair at the far end: “Come in, Detective Sergeant Falconer…we’ve been expecting you.”

  Falconer stepped forward another few steps and saw that the man was not alone: there were a couple of other men standing slightly behind him, silent and stone-faced.

  “It’s all right,” the man in the chair said. “Do come in—please.”

  Falconer walked closer to the open doorway, and as he did, he saw that there were many more people inside the room, in fact: a couple of long rows of men on either side—perhaps 80 of them in all—standing silently at attention and looking at him.

  “Yes, it’s perfectly all right, detective sergeant,” the man in the chair said. “I see you heard about our meeting. Please come inside.”

  Falconer stood for a few seconds and then stepped slowly into the room, keeping his revolver pointed in front of him, until he reached the middle. He then stood and looked directly at the man sitting in the chair. He was perhaps fifty years of age, with dark hair speckled with gray swept back above his forehead, revealing a high hairline bisected by a prominent widow’s peak. He was dressed in a dark suit with a black shirt and burgundy tie, and wore several, shiny rings on his fingers.

  “Well then, welcome to our abode, as it were,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t expect to ever see you down here like this, but at this point, it’s clear that you’re very good at what you do. So here we are.”

  “Yes,” Falconer said calmly. “Here we are.”

  “Oh, you needn’t keep that gun pointed at us,” the man said. “We’re no threat to you.”

  “Thanks,” Falconer said, “but I’d like to keep it handy, all the same, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to say this,” the man said, “but I do mind, actually. And I think you already know that we can’t allow you to have a loaded gun pointed at people in here, so you’ll need to hand it over—with your other weapons, too, of course.” He nodded at the line of men to his right, and the entire front row immediately pulled handguns out of their jackets and pointed them directly at Falconer.

  “You know that you can’t win this fight,” the man said. “Please do the prudent thing and hand over your weapons. It’s the only choice now. Then we can have a safe conversation.”

  Falconer hesitated, looking over at all the raised revolvers pointed directly at his chest, and then, realizing that he had no moves, he finally lowered his gun, dropping it to the floor. The man in the chair signaled with a wave of his hand and several of the men standing near to Falconer walked up to him quickly and patted him down for any more weapons, extracting his second revolver and the knives and blackjack. They then left him standing in the middle of the room and returned to their places in the rows.

  “There,” the man said. “That’s better, right? No reason for sudden unfortunate incidents down here. None of us wants that.”

  “So, what now?” Falconer asked.

  “Well, I was going to ask you the same question. Do you mind letting us know why you’ve come down here to see us tonight?”

  “It has something to do with several friends of mine who’ve been kidnapped, or perhaps killed, by your organization.”

  “Oh, yes, right. Your friends. Well, they aren’t dead, you’ll be happy to know. But we might have to go that route, I’m afraid. They are too dangerous to our movement, it seems. They are here tonight, actually, and they were going to hear of our decision concerning their fate.”

  He turned to the man standing behind his right shoulder and whispered something to him, and the man left the room out the back door. The man in the chair then turned back to face Falconer. “I’m sorry for getting in the way of things for you,” he said, “but we simply could no longer bear these intrusions that you and your friends were committing. You were just getting too close, and something had to be done, and so, we acted. Do you understand?”

  “I understand that you’ve broken the law of the State of New York, and perhaps some federal statutes, as well.”

  “Maybe,” the man said, standing up and coming around to the front of the table, where he leaned back and folded his arms in front of his chest. “But it’s getting to the point where we are the law, in fact. Does that make sense?”

  “Not really.”

  The back door suddenly opened, and Falconer saw several men leading in the bound and gagged forms of Penwill, Houllier, Goldman, Levine, and Bly, who all stepped gingerly into the room and appeared tired and anxious.

  “Ah, here we are,” the man at the table exclaimed. “Your friends, in the flesh. As you can see, they are still very much alive despite their compromised state.”

  “Well, I suppose I should give you thanks for that,” Falconer said drily.

  The man grinned. “Yes,” he said, “I know that it’s not the best show of hospitality on our part, but as I mentioned, you and your friends have become enemies of our movement and our cause, and this simply cannot be tolerated.”

  “And what cause is that?”

  “What cause? Why, the recapturing of the American character and the American way of life. It is the single most important initiative going on in our country right now. The war to take back America.”

  “A war, huh? And who are the warring parties? I haven’t heard of Congress declaring war on anybody.”

  “We don’t need Congress,” the man said, stepping away from the table and walking a few steps towards Falconer. “We are a patriotic group of men taken from all walks of life in America, from all industries and all levels of society, all devoted to the central principle that Anglo-Christian culture, that great bastion of human progress and human productivity, and led by the male head of the household—the man, who knows what is best for his family and his country—must be preserved and fostered in the face of increasing attacks from without. We must save our great country from the foreign hordes that currently threaten it, Falconer. They are at the gates and the walls are crumbling.”

  “Foreign hordes?” Falconer said. “I take it, you mean Jews, Chinese, Middle-Easterners, and other non-whites in general, right?”

  “Well, that is a bit simple, but yes.”

  “The negroes, too, I suppose?”

  “Indeed. They are becoming increasingly troublesome and impertinent for such a low and uncivilized race.”

  “And how are you proposing to stop these hordes? Are you going to murder all of them?”

  “No, of course not,” the man said, smiling. “That would be too difficult logistically, and we are not mass murderers.
We occasionally have to remove certain key figures, that’s true, but in general, we are contemplating a system of purification whereby these degenerate and unproductive drains on our society are told to leave—or else. It is time to simply let them know that they are not welcome here. They don’t look like us, dress like us, talk like us, or act like us, and a good Christian society cannot live long with such festering wounds riddling its body. We must remove those who already here, and then lock the gate. It is the only way to save our people.”

  “I see,” Falconer said, “and my friends here are some of those festering wounds.” He looked over at Penwill, Houllier, Goldman, Levine, and Bly, who stood in a line in the corner of the room, unable to speak or move.

  “Well, certainly your professor, who, despite his intellectual gifts, is yet another troublesome Jew with questionable views,” the man said, looking over at the prisoners. “And Miss Goldman is the same—a filthy, vulgar Jewess with a big mouth who wants to topple society and create anarchy and lawlessness. We can’t have that, Falconer—you know that. And as for the inspectors and the famous Miss Bly, well, they are condemned merely for attempting to reveal us. They cannot be allowed to undermine this great, glorious movement taking over the country. So, they must go, too.”

  “So, what about me?” Falconer asked. “I suppose I’m in for it, too, given that I’ve led the investigation into your group.”

  “You actually present a more difficult question, Falconer. You are a very formidable policeman—a man of action and fortitude, and character. You are actually someone we would be very interested in working with. If you joined us, you could become an important man—someone who could lead the charge and be heralded by future generations as one of the great knights of the crusade to save the white, Christian race. Do you understand?”

  “Not really,” Falconer replied nonchalantly. “I never saw myself as some savior type.”

  “Well, you are someone we would value very much, if only you would see things our way and be open to our cause.”

  “I don’t think I can do that. I’m a policeman, as you know, and I generally don’t care for people who murder and kidnap.”

  The man chuckled. “There you go again,” he said. “Characterizing us as common thugs and killers, as opposed to dedicated soldiers and protectors of the American way of life.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to. As far as I remember, the Declaration of Independence says that all men are created equal, not just white men.”

  “Ah,” the man said. “Quoting Jefferson. Very good…very good, indeed. But he and the other great men of that age—Washington, Madison, Adams—they did not believe that the negro was actually equal to a well-educated, cultured, Christian white man. That notion was absurd to them. You must know that.”

  “No, I don’t know that. All I know is that my father fought with the Union in the war to free the slaves and allow them an equal place at the table. He and his fellow soldiers fought, and some died, for that cause. And they won, Mister…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Just call me Ames,” the man said.

  “Very well, Mister Ames,” Falconer said. “As I was saying, the Union won, and the Confederates lost. Your cause—it lost.”

  “Not so fast. That was a war of oppression—not a noble war. The North had too many men and too much materiel—the South’s cause did not have a chance in the end because of simple arithmetic. But it still lives on and still has momentum. Go down to the South sometime and see what life is like there. I don’t think you’ll like it.” He smiled slightly, as if satisfied with his latest barb.

  “No, thanks,” Falconer said. “I’ve got enough cheap, low-down white supremacists to deal with up here.”

  “You’re really very humorous,” Ames said, “for a condemned man facing his death.”

  “Well, like they say, you’ve gotta’ make the best of things, right?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Ames said, taking a seat in his chair again. “But, alas, it seems that our attempts to sway you to our side have failed. And that is most unfortunate, because now I must inform you that our only other recourse is to move you out of the way. It is the decree of this council therefore that you and your friends will be sentenced to death. Your bodies will be taken out into the middle of the river and dropped beneath the waves, to disappear forever. And that is a pity for you, I must say. But you have forced the issue.”

  “I see,” Falconer said. “And I understand. Sorry to decline your invitation, but a man has to be true to himself.”

  “This above all,” Ames said. “To thine own self be true, and then it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.”

  “Very nice. Your own?”

  “Shakespeare. Polonius to his son, Laertes, Act One, Scene Three of Hamlet.”

  “Very impressive. May I have one last request?”

  “Certainly. What is it?”

  “A last smoke?” Falconer said, gesturing to his jacket pocket. “Your men generously left my cigarillos and matches.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Ames said. “We are gentlemen, after all.”

  “Thanks,” Falconer said, and then he reached slowly into his pocket and extracted a cigarillo and a box of matches. Lighting a match, he carefully lit the cigarillo and placed the box back in the pocket. “You know,” he said, taking a deep drag of the cigarillo, “I’ve been doing some thinking these last few minutes, and although you’ve made this decree about our fate and all, I just don’t think I can let you do that, Mister Ames.”

  “Oh, really?” Ames said, smiling and looking around at his men, some of whom were also smiling or chuckling. “And what do you propose to do about it, I wonder?”

  “Well, I think actually I’m going need to end your cause and your operation right here and now, frankly. You’re just a public menace.”

  “I see. But you’re out of options, Falconer.”

  “Well…not quite,” Falconer said, slowly taking his hat off and bringing it down in front of him as if he were holding a bowl. “You see, your men searched me and all, but they didn’t quite cover everything.” He then took his cigarillo and gently lit the three, broken sticks of dynamite that he had secreted in his bowler prior to arriving at the church. The fuses lit and immediately started burning down towards the explosive cartridges, which he had cut earlier in the evening to allow for their being placed inside the hat. He then looked up at Ames.

  Thanks, Ralph…I owe you for this one…

  “What the devil are you up to?” Ames said, standing up out of his chair.

  “I’m purifying this place,” Falconer said as he quickly threw the three burning sticks to his left, right, and front, respectively. He then started sprinting towards his friends in the corner of the room as the mob of men tried to escape the bombs. He knew that they only had a few seconds before the sticks detonated, and so he ran hard directly at Bly and Goldman, and, just as he got to within a few feet of them, he yelled out to the others: “Inspectors! Professor! Get down!” And then he leaped forward with all his might, reaching out for the two women, as the room erupted in a bright, roaring flash.

  115

  Falconer was on the floor of the alcove to the great underground meeting hall and was trying to make sense of his surroundings. Lying on his stomach, he raised his head slightly with his ears ringing and saw smoke, fire, and rubble all around him, as well as some bodies back closer to the middle of the room. He looked around closer to where he lay and saw Goldman, Houllier, and Penwill starting to move on the floor, apparently not injured—at least not seriously.

  He wondered where Bly and Levine were and then remembered what had happened: he had tackled both Bly and Goldman at the same time and had covered them as they all hit the floor, but then the concussion of the dynamite explosions had blown him off them several feet away. He now looked for Bly de
sperately through the thick smoke hanging throughout the room but could not spot her. Then he saw a dark figure moving away to his left, towards the doorway leading out the back of the meeting room, and he realized that it was Ames, and he had two others with him. He got to his knees and looked again and realized that Ames was armed with a revolver and was shepherding both Bly and Levine out the doorway.

  Getting to his feet, he walked quickly over to Goldman, who was sitting up slowly, and helped remove her gag. “Are you all right?” he said loudly over the din of fire and destruction happening all around them.

  “Yes, I think so!” she yelled back, rearranging her spectacles that had miraculously stayed on her face through the explosions.

  “Stay with Penwill and Houllier,” he said into her ear. “They’ll take you up to the street.”

  “Yes, all right!” she shouted back at him, and then he turned and hopped over to where Penwill was helping Houllier to his feet and removing his gag. “Sorry about that, gentlemen,” he said loudly. “It was the only way to get out of this.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, old boy,” Penwill exclaimed, grabbing his arm. “Glad to see you’re all right, too!”

  “Listen—Ames has taken the professor and Miss Bly out the back,” Falconer said. “I’m going to follow them. You help Miss Goldman up to the street—my men are up there.”

  “Right,” Penwill said. “We’ve got it!”

  Falconer then moved quickly to the doorway and exited the alcove. The corridor he entered was, like the others, walled with bricks and lit by a series of torches fixed to the walls, but a thick blanket of smoke now hung over everything, and he struggled to see what was happening ahead. He thought he could see figures moving and heard shouting. Moving quickly along one of the walls, he could tell that the corridor was longer than the others he had been in, and he walked rapidly along the wall for what appeared to be well over thirty yards.

  Coming to an intersection with another corridor, the smoke started clearing and he could hear more of the shouting to his left, down the bisecting corridor. Turning and making his way down its length, he followed the noises of the voices and eventually came to a dark staircase that led up towards the street. Stopping to make sure that no one remained on the stairs, he could smell the unforgettable scent of the sea and quickly bounded up the steps. Coming to a doorway at the top that was ajar, he carefully looked out and saw that he was down along the wharves, with the large, wooden docks right above his head and the Hudson River slowly lapping the shore just feet away.