by Rhys Bowen
“Where do you think we should start?” I asked Ryan. We had reached the base of the tower and stood beside yet another pool with fountains playing. A breefce sprang up and the spray felt wonderful, as the day had become quite warm. Around us, men were mopping at foreheads with handkerchiefs and women were fanning themselves.
He shook his head. “I have no idea. This whole thing is futile, Molly. How can we possibly find him among these crowds? And I should be back at my theater. There are so many things to do before we open tonight.”
“But we can't just give up and go home,” I said. “What exactly did he tell you he was going to do? Do you remember his exact words?”
Ryan wrinkled his forehead. “He said he was going to make the damned capitalists sit up and take notice, pardon the language, and what better way than destroying that monument to capitalism, the Pan American Exposition. I asked him just how he planned to destroy a whole exhibition, single-handedly. I teased him that he'd need large pockets to carry in enough explosives to bring down even one of the buildings. And he said he'd find a way.”
“Why didn't you tell someone?” I was shocked.
Ryan pushed back a lock of hair in a gesture of annoyance. “My dear girl, I've told you before, I didn't take him seriously. He was always making wild threats and wild promises. He was going to kill the King of England, he was going to blow up the Eiffel Tower in Paris. All talk, Molly. His family thinks he's crazy, you know. He is penniless and quite dependent on them. So why should this fantasy be any different from the others?”
“We have to assume that it is,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “Yes, I suppose we do. Not a comforting thought.”
“So he was planning to blow up one of the buildings,” I said.‘Then it would have to be the tower, wouldn't it?”
“That or the new electricity power plant they've built beside the Niagara Falls,” Ryan said, thinking out loud, “Or my theater. Take your pick. All good targets.”
We walked around the tower, then stood by the fountain, examining the crowd for any sign of Leon. As Ryan had said, it was hopeless. A hundred thousand people must have been at the exposition that day, and there was no reason that Leon would have picked this very day to carry out his plan.
“Let's at least go to the police and give them a description of him. Then we'll have done all we can do,” I said.
Ryan nodded. “I don't see what other option there is. We can't station ourselves everywhere. I hate the idea of turning poor Leon over to the police, but what else can I do?”
“Why poor Leon? The man is a murderer, Ryan.”
“Yes, but also a very troubled person, Molly. I told you his family thinks he is crazy. His father wanted to have him locked away.”
“And do you think he's crazy?”
“Obsessed, I suppose, sums it up. He was obsessed with me for a while. Now he seems to be obsessed with anarchism.”
“I imagine most anarchists must be crazy,” I said.
“Leon isn't a true anarchist,” Ryan said. “As I said, he is obsessed with anarchism at the moment, although he was very good at spending capitalist money when I was paying. He even developed a taste for Havana cigars.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “True anarchists are good at concealing their identity. They behave like you and me until the time comes.” He jumped aside as he was almost mowed down by a group of children who rushed, screaming, toward a clown on stilts.
“Oh, this is ridiculous, Molly. Why on earth did I allow you to talk me into this? It's worse than looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. I've got to get back to the theater. The opening-night curtain goes up in”—he consulted his pocket watch—”in four hours.”
As we made our way back down the grand esplanade, we found that cordons were being set up. Men in uniforms were stationed along the cordons, channeling the crowds to either side. People were starting to line the route, many of them clutching American flags.
“What's this in aid of?” Ryan asked one of the soldiers. “More dignitaries coming today?”
“President McKinley's coming in a few minutes,” the uniformed man said, not looking up.
“But I thought he toured the exposition yesterday,” I blurted out.
“He did, but he liked it so well that he's decided to come back.”
“He'll be driving around in his automobile, will he?” I asked.
“No, ma'am—he'll be in the Temple of Music over there, shaking hands,” the man said. “Going to give the ordinary folks a chance to meet him. That's the kind of guy he is.”
Twenty–Six
I looked at Ryan to see if he was thinking the same thing I was. His face had also gone pale.
“Who would be in charge of the President's sec urity?” I asked. “We need to speak to him.”
The man laughed. “Don't worry yourselves about that. They've got enough National Guardsmen and Marines and Secret Service here to start a small war.”
The crowd enveloped us and moved us on. It seemed that everyone else was heading in the same direction—to an ornate domed building halfway along the grand esplanade. It was the most magnificently decorated of all, with pillars rising to that great dome and the whole edifice adorned with statues and flags.
I grabbed Ryan's arm. “We have to tell someone,” I said.
“Who?”
“We'll go up to the door and find out who is in charge. They can stop Leon from going in.” Ryan nodded.
But as we approached the temple, we saw that it was going to be impossible to get anywhere close. A long line had already formed, snaking its way between cordons and armed guards toward the entrance. Another line of guards stood around the perimeter to stop people from cutting into the line. Ryan took my hand and we forced our way through the crowd until we reached the nearest soldiers.
“We need to speak to someone in charge,” Ryan said. “We have reason to believe that a dangerous anarchist is among this crowd.”
“Anarchist, uh?” The soldier looked amused, if anything.
“He's of slight build, big dark eyes, probably dressed all in black,” I said. “He likes to wear a black cap.”
“Sounds like a regular good anarchist to me,” the soldier said, still grinning.
“If you'd let us in, we could identify him for you,” Ryan added.
“Oh, so that's your game, is it?” the soldier sneered. “Trying to cut the line? Go on, get to the end and wait your turn like everyone else.”
“But we need to talk to someone in charge,” I insisted. “Don't you realize the President could be in danger?”
“If that's what you're worrying about, little lady, then there's no need,” the man said. “Anyone who goes into that theater has to pass a rigorous inspection. If we don't like the look of someone, he doesn't get in. The President will be safer than in Fort Knox.”
He moved us away.
“I wish I could believe him,” I said. “See if you can spot Leon in the line.”
Ryan strained to peer through the crowd. “Too many people in the way.”
“Hopeless,” I said. “Maybe if we made a fuss, we'd get taken straight to the man in charge. He'd listen to us.”
“We could also find ourselves thrown into jail,” Ryan
said. “Which would seriously disturb my opening tonight.”
“Then what do you suggest?” I snapped. The heat and the enormity of the moment were getting to me.
“If we could find a way into the building”—Ryan was staring up at the dome above us— “then we could spot Leon the moment he entered, before he got anywhere close to the President.”
“We'd have to make ourselves invisible.” The temple was surrounded by a great throng, half of whom seemed to be armed guards.
“Let's see what happens round at the back of the building.”
We forced our way back through the crowd still making for the end of the line. As we came around to the other side of the building, a great cheer went up, getting closer and clos
er. A band played a fanfare. We got a glimpse of the black roof of an automobile. The President had arrived. The far side of the temple was no better than the other. Here was the exit door where those who had shaken the President's hand would leave the building. It, too, was heavily guarded and there was a second perimeter of soldiers to stop anyone from getting too close.
“I wonder if they've locked the stage door,” Ryan said. “It's a theater, isn't it? There has to be a performers' entrance.” We went around to the back and, sure enough, there was a little door, half-hidden behind a pillar. We tried it and of course it was locked. Ryan glanced at the back of the armed guards who formed a circle around the pavilion. “Do you happen to have a hairpin, Molly, my dearest?”
“Yes, but…” I tugged one out of my hair. “You can't think of—”
“I have acquired some extremely useful skills during my long and checkered career, and picking a lock was one of them,” Ryan said, kneeling down before the lock. “Keep guard for me.”
I moved away from the door. The stage door was in deep shade and blocked from view by the pillar. If Ryan was quick, we might have a chance to get inside undetected.
Then I looked up to see one of the guards turning in my direction.
“Hey, you,” he called. “What are you doing?”
I picked up my skirts, revealing a good expanse of ankle, and ran straight toward him, looking suitably distressed. “I'm sorry, sir, but it's my little sister.” I gazed up at him and fluttered my eyelashes. “She's become separated from our party and my mother is fit to be tied. She sent me to look for her. You haven't seen her yourself, have you? She's the family beauty, you know. Only sixteen, but she has the biggest blue eyes and hair like spun gold, and she's so dainty, not like big, clodhopping me. You'd know her if you'd seen her. All the men swoon over our Eileen.”
“I can't say that I have seen her, miss,” the soldier said. “But I'd certainly like to if she's anything like you describe.”
“Oh, she is. Even more so. All the boys are crazy for our Eileen,” I said. “That's her name. Eileen Donovan. So if you'd be good enough to keep an eye out for her … Tell her that the family are waiting for her in line to see the President and if she doesn't hurry up, she'll miss her chance.”
The soldier gave me a friendly wink as he tipped his cap. “Right you are, miss. I'll keep my eye out for her.”
“I'd better get back to my poor mother in the line, then,” I said. “I'm much obliged to you, officer. I'm so relieved to know you'll spot her if she comes this way.” I fluttered my eyelashes yet again, then ran back, as if I were going around to the front of the building. Once the soldier had turned away, hoping no doubt to catch a glimpse of the ravishing Eileen, I dodged into the shadow of a pillar and crept back to Ryan. The door now swung open and Ryan was standing just inside it, looking very pleased with himself.
“What did I tell you? There is no end to the man's talents.” He gave me an excited grin as we stepped inside to complete darkness.
I held my breath as we tiptoed along a dark passageway. At every step I expected to be confronted by an armed guard, but nothing stirred. At last we found ourselves behind the stage. The curtains were drawn, but through the gaps we could see the shapes of yet more men standing guard.
“We could alert one of them,” I whispered.
“And if we took them by surprise they might shoot first and ask questions afterward,” Ryan said. “This is America, land of the gun. No, we have to get to a position where we can see for ourselves.”
He led on, following the back wall of the theater past the stage and into another passage. We were now in almost total darkness again. Then we came to a stair in the wall. Ryan turned and gave me a thumbs-up sign.
“Watch your step, it's narrow,” he said and started to climb. I picked up my skirts and followed. The door at the top opened onto an elegant hallway. Below us rose the echoing murmur of voices. We pulled back a red velvet curtain and stepped out onto a balcony. We stood in the shadow of the velvet curtains looking down on a vast auditorium. Around the walls were brightly painted pillars and archways, and above our heads the most amazing dome, decorated in the same brilliant red and gold. It was enough to take your breath away. To our right was the stage we had just passed and to our left, a pipe organ as big as a house, with pipes rising right up to the dome.
What a noise that would make when it was played. Both the stage and the organ were still, however. The action was happening on the floor below us. Most of the seats in the auditorium had been moved to create a lane down which a solid line of humanity had begun to file. And there, almost directly below us, was an area draped with giant American flags and potted plants. A large grayhaired man in a dark suit was seated there, surrounded by dignitaries and flanked by an armed escort.
“Serious breach in security, wouldn't you say?” Ryan whispered. “He'd be a sitting duck from up here.”
The first of the line of well-wishers was now approaching the President. Excited faces poked out of the crowd, craning to get their first view of the great man. My, but it was hot in that auditorium. Men were wiping their foreheads. I saw one woman dabbing eau de cologne on her forehead, another fanning herself with her program. I could feel the sweat trickling down my own neck, although whether that was from the heat or from fear, I couldn't tell.
We waited and watched. The line went on and on—an endless procession coiling across the auditorium like a giant snake, in one door and out the other. The President obviously had handshaking down to a fine art. While he shook hands with his right, his left was already motioning the person to move along.
Suddenly Ryan grabbed my arm. “There he is,” he hissed.
“Where?”
“There. Behind the woman with the baby.”
I stared at the person he was indicating and then looked up at Ryan in surprise. If this was Leon, I never would have recognized him. Gone were the black clothing and the cap. He was dressed conservatively in a brown jacket, shirt and tie. He looked like any other visitor—a serious young clerk or college student. And, more strangely still, I saw for the first time that his hair was light brown, parted in the middle and slicked down neatly. I had never noticed his hair, because he had always been wearing that black cap, so he had always given me the impression of being dark. Of course, I was too far away to see his eyes. I would have remembered them anywhere.
“What should we do now?” I whispered.
As I turned to Ryan, I saw him reach into his pocket. At that moment the world stood still. I saw how stupidly naive I had been. Ryan must have planned this whole charade. What had he just said about real anarchists not looking the part? Was he not a brilliant actor who had played his part perfectly? I realized how cleverly he had kept me in his sight and not let me go to the police, even to the point of making sure I slept in his theater. He had tricked me into thinking he wanted to prevent Leon from committing the crime, when he was the mastermind behind this plot, now poised in a perfect position in case Leon somehow missed his target. And I—I had become the accomplice, the hostage, trapped up here with someone who was a ruthless killer. I looked around wildly, but help was quite out of reach. Well, I wasn't going to let him carry out his deed if I could help it.
His hand came out of his pocket and I saw that the object he held was not a gun, but a white handkerchief. At that moment I noticed that Leon, like several other men, was holding a handkerchief in his hand. It had to be used for a signal.
As Ryan went to raise his arm I flung myself onto him. We staggered sideways together, and almost went over the railing.
“What the devil?” Ryan shouted, grabbing on to me to steady us both. “Have you gone mad?”
At that moment we heard the shot. It echoed back from that great dome, sounding just like the popping of a large firecracker. Then all hell broke loose. Women were screaming. Men were wrestling below us. Others had clustered around a fallen man.
“He's done it!” Ryan gasped. “He's really do
ne it!” He spun around, grabbing my shoulders. “I could have stopped him! Who are you? Are you one of them? Did you wish the President dead?”
He was shaking me violently.
“I thought you did.” I felt as if I was about to burst into tears and fought to master myself. “You got out that handkerchief. I thought it was a signal.”
“The sweat was running into my eyes, you stupid girl!” We stood glaring at each other. “I was about to call out his name. He'd have panicked and they could have grabbed him. What on earth made you think I was in on it with him?”
“Paddy Riley, the detective that Leon killed—he snapped a photo of you and Leon the day before he was murdered. I've never truly known whether I could trust you or not.”
He looked at me quite tenderly now. “Then you're a brave little colleen to come up here with me. I could easily have thrown you over.”
“I know,” I said. “I was well aware of that.”
“It doesn't matter now,” Ryan said. “We're too late. We failed.” He gave a big sigh and turned to leave the balcony.
“Maybe he didn't hit his mark. Maybe the President is just wounded,” I said.
At that moment there were shouts and the clatter of boots coming up the stairs. Before we could move, guns were trained on us.
“We've got them. More of the gang,” a voice shouted.
Hands grabbed us and we were manhandled down the steps.
“Let go,” I yelled in fright as my hands were wrenched behind my back. “We're not his accomplices. We were trying to stop him, you fools.” But nobody listened to me as we were dragged out of the building.
“Do you know who I am? I'm Ryan O'Hare, the famous playwright,” Ryan shouted. “We thought this man might do something and we tried to stop him.”
