Jake looked at Doheimer, and his mind raced, trying to figure out what in the world the angry plumber was raging about. “Scab plumbers?”
“Don’t deny it! We’ve got you dead to rights.”
Jake spread his hands. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I came here to oversee a late shipment. It’s got nothing to do with plumbers.”
“Then how do you explain the men over at your other building? The ones working on the pipes in the basement? One of my men saw them carrying pipes and fittings a couple of hours ago, sneaking around after dark so no one would know Brand and Desmet hires scabs!”
“Brand and Desmet does not hire scabs,” Jake retorted. As aggravating as Doheimer and his accusations were, the notion forming in Jake’s mind was much worse. “Show me these scabs. They’re no one we’ve hired.”
“So you say,” Doheimer grunted.
Kovach placed Charles on guard at the doors to the lab before he and Jake set off at a brisk pace behind Doheimer, following to the main building.
“It just so happened that Hank was coming back from the pub, and he walked past,” Doheimer said, giving Jake an accusing look. “He saw men carrying toolboxes and pipes into the basement, skulking around in the night so no one would know you’re cheating the honest Union workmen of New Pittsburgh!”
Doheimer paused to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Hank came around to my place, because he figured right that I’d want to know. When I heard what he saw, I roused a couple dozen of the boys and we figured we’d catch those scabs in the act and have them here to face you with the evidence in the morning.”
“So they’re still here?” Jake said, glancing at the non-descript utility wagon parked behind the main Brand and Desmet building.
Doheimer gave a sage nod. “Aye, though they put up quite a struggle. But my boys had their Irish up, and they were mighty steamed about scabs cutting into one of our big jobs. So when push came to shove and the fists started to fly, my boys came out ahead. Your scabs are worse for the wear, tied up neat as a Christmas present, proof that you’ve broken our contract. Bad enough you use those steam engineers for your airships instead of regular working plumbers. But this is going too far.”
“I haven’t hired any plumbers—scab or Union—to do night work at the main building,” Jake said. “And if George had hired them, Rick or I’d know.” He looked Doheimer straight in the eyes. “Those aren’t my men. So if they’re here, they’re up to no good.”
“Did anyone go into the basement to see what they were working on?” Kovach interrupted.
Doheimer shook his head. “Didn’t need to, because they told us right out they were fixing the pipes on your boiler.”
Oh God, Jake thought. Another bomb.
“I can’t get my men here fast enough,” Kovach said with a worried look; he’d evidently come to the same conclusion. “And we have no idea when they’ve set it to blow.”
Jake turned to Doheimer. “Those men aren’t plumbers. They’re anarchists,” he said, fudging the truth for ease of explanation. “And if they were working on our boiler, it was to set it to blow up.”
“Anarchists?” Doheimer repeated. “Here in New Pittsburgh?”
“Where are the men you captured?” Jake asked. Rick had come up behind them, close enough to hear what was being said, and Jake was sure Adam was hanging back in the shadows, out of sight but within earshot.
“I’ll show you,” Doheimer said, still looking skeptical. “Don’t expect my boys to give you a warm welcome.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Jake snapped, “not if the building is going to blow. Bring the men you captured and get your own people away from the building. Hurry!”
Doheimer headed toward the crowd, shouting orders. Boos and catcalls greeted Jake, Rick, and Kovach. Kovach and Charlie made a quick check to clear the area, but found no one else. A dozen or so plumbers moved to the relative safety of a spot across the street and down a block, then swarmed around them, chanting Union slogans. Jake paid them no heed, and focused on the sullen prisoners, who were tied with strips of the cotton duck cloth used by plumbers to wrap the joints of their pipes.
“Here’re yer scabs.” A tall plumber with a cabbie hat jammed down over his wild dark hair gave the nearest prisoner a kick before stepping back as Doheimer and the others approached.
The three men sat bound hand and foot on the sidewalk. They had the rough look of hired muscle, dressed in dark colors to blend into the night. Scars marked their faces from old fights, and one of the men was missing part of an ear.
“Who do you work for?” Jake demanded.
The man with the missing ear looked up and gave him a sly grin. “Brand and Desmet, guv. Just here to do a job on the cheap.”
The plumbers howled their anger, and began their chants again. Doheimer silenced them with an ear-splitting whistle.
“Now what do you say?” Doheimer demanded. He turned to face Jake with his hands on his hips, ready for a fight.
Jake ignored him and moved down the line to the second prisoner. “That your story too?”
The second man glared at him. “I don’t got nothin’ to say.”
“You hired us, and now you don’t want no one to know about it, so how ’bout you let us go and pay us our money?” the third man shouted at Jake. Beneath the bluster and the subterfuge, Jake heard a note of fear and realized none of the saboteurs had bargained on being close to the building when their handiwork went off.
“I had guards patrolling the building,” Kovach said, and the tone of his voice made the plumbers quiet down. “What did you do to them?”
“You mean the drunk guys out back?” one of the plumbers yelled. “We found three big oxes sleepin’ like babies with an empty bottle of vodka.”
“My men don’t drink on duty,” Kovach grated. He grabbed One-Ear by the shirt and dragged him to his feet. “What did you do to them?”
One-Ear smirked. “Just helped them get a good night’s sleep, that’s all.” Kovach threw him to the sidewalk, cursing under his breath in Hungarian.
The plumbers began to shout once more, threatening everything from personal violence against Jake and Rick to organizing a tradesmen’s boycott of Brand and Desmet.
“These men are burglars and anarchists,” Jake yelled above the noise. “They didn’t come here to fix anything. They came to plant a bomb!”
“Who are you kidding, bub?” one of the plumbers shouted back. “Yer just duckin’ the charge so we don’t picket yer building.”
Jake turned back to the three prisoners. “How about we all wait here together until daybreak?” he said, looking from one of the bound saboteurs to another. “How long will it take for the pressure in the boiler to build up? Maybe we should move you three into the basement and we can all wait for the explosion together?”
One-Ear licked his lips nervously. “We just do what we’re told, guv. Nothin’ personal.”
“I ain’t going back in there!” the third prisoner said. He was the youngest of the three, with a dirty, pock-marked face and a nose crooked and flattened from fighting. Beneath the dirt that streaked his face, he had gone pale. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but don’t put us down there to die!”
His outburst silenced the plumbers, and Doheimer stepped forward, bending over to go nose-to-nose with the man. “What did you do and why did you do it?”
“Shut up, Dave!” One-Ear said.
“I don’t want to die either!” the second man said. He had the beat-down look of a man who had tried and failed at everything, with a sallow complexion and basset eyes. Jake stepped closer to him, catching a whiff of tobacco and cheap gin.
Doheimer gave Dave the pox-faced man a shake. “What did you do?”
“They said we’d be clean gone by the time it went off,” Dave said, panic clear in his voice. “Just a quick job. Break in to a building, mess up the boiler, and be across the river before it blows. Then we’d get paid. Now we ain’t get
tin’ paid and you’re going to get us all killed.”
“I’m going in there,” Jake said. “We’re wasting time. If there’s a way to undo what’s been done, we’ve got to get to it.”
“You don’t know a thing about boilers,” Rick argued.
“But you do,” Jake retorted, “so help me! And for that matter, I’ve helped Cullan more than once with the boilers on the Allegheny Princess.”
“You’re all scabs,” Doheimer said, throwing Dave to the sidewalk and landing a kick to One-Ear’s rump in the same movement. “Don’t know a boiler from a horse’s ass.”
“So you’ll go in with us?” Jake challenged. Doheimer looked like he was about to decline, but he did not have the chance to say anything before they were interrupted.
“I’ll go. I know more about boilers than either of you.”
Jake turned to find Adam Farber behind him, his face hidden by the up-turned collar of a rain slicker. Lars the werkman was behind him, a dirty jacket thrown over his elevator operator’s uniform.
“You ain’t a plumber,” Doheimer challenged. “And I bet you ain’t Union, either.”
“Actually,” Adam said, “I am. International Union of Operating Engineers, Local #06.”
“Now we’re talkin’,” Doheimer said, and broke into a grin. “Hey fellas! We got a Union brother!” Adam looked uncomfortable as a cheer went up from the plumbers.
“The question is, do you have his back?” Jake asked. “Or did you forget that there’s a boiler set to blow?”
Doheimer’s expression hardened. “I’ll go in with you. Nothin’ against engineers, but they ain’t plumbers.” He turned toward the others. “Boys! Listen up! These three sa-bot-eers messed with a boiler in that building. Eddie! Sam! Haul these sons of bitches out of the way and keep an eye on them. Don’t let them go nowhere. The rest of yunz clear out the area and block off the streets around here. Keep the rubberneckers away.” He turned back to Adam, Rick, and Jake with a curt nod. “Let’s go.”
“We’re coming with you,” Jake and Rick said in unison.
Kovach grabbed Jake by the arm. “No, you’re not,” he said, holding Jake back.
“Here,” Adam said, shoving something into Rick’s hand. “One of you, put these on.” Then Adam, Lars, and Doheimer headed into the open basement door of the Brand and Desmet headquarters.
“Let them do what they’re good at. We’d only be in the way,” Rick said.
Jake shook off Kovach’s hand, but did not move to follow. He and Rick withdrew to a safe distance down the block while Kovach went looking for his missing men. Before long, he showed up with one man slung over his shoulder.
“Here,” he grunted, unloading the man like a sack of flour onto the sidewalk. “That’s one of them. Looks like they’re all drugged. Don’t go anywhere.” He took off at a run. Jake dragged the unconscious man out of the middle of the sidewalk and propped him against the wall of the building down the block and out of harm’s way. Kovach returned in a few minutes with the second man, and headed after the third.
“I hope they’re all right,” Jake said, staring at the darkened windows of the Brand and Desmet headquarters.
“Nothing’s blown up yet,” Rick replied.
Once Kovach had retrieved the last of his men, he walked over to One-Ear and hauled him to his feet, pushing him hard up against the wall. “What did you use on my men? Because I know damn well they didn’t get drunk.”
“Why should I tell you?”
In response, Kovach put One-Ear in a headlock and began to drag the bound man back toward the Brand and Desmet building.
“All right!” One-Ear cried, and Kovach stopped. “We shot ’em with darts.”
“What was on the darts?”
“Don’t know,” One-Ear replied, and howled when Kovach kicked him in the leg. “God’s truth, honest! The guy who hired us gave us a bottle of some kind of liquid, told us to put it on the dart tips but not get any on ourselves. That’s all I know. Worked like a charm.”
Swearing in Hungarian, Kovach dragged One-Ear back to the sidewalk. He drew his revolver, and stood where he had a clean shot at all three saboteurs. “I wouldn’t mind some target practice right now to let off some steam,” he warned. “Don’t give me a reason.”
A short way off, Rick pressed the goggles into Jake’s hand. “Here, you can do the honors.”
Jake looked down at the goggles. The thick frame that encased the lenses was filled with wires and small, intricate gears, while the lenses themselves glittered with a strange iridescence. “Those are the gadget glasses Adam showed me,” Rick said excitedly. “He must have gotten them working!”
“Never saw a pair of glasses with a switch,” Jake said, turning them on and lifting them to his face. “Well what do you know? I see what Lars sees.”
Rick moved to stand beside him, as if to see what he was looking at.
“They’re working their way toward the boiler,” Jake said. “Looks like One-Ear and his buddies trashed the place. All right. They’re at the boiler. Not good. I don’t have to hear what they’re saying. Lars can see the gauges. If they can’t bring down the pressure real quick, that boiler’s going to blow.”
“Can they do it?” Rick asked, his voice taut.
“I don’t know,” Jake replied, squinting. One-Ear and his men had added some kind of infernal mechanism to the boiler.
Jake could see Doheimer shouting at Adam as they both bent to the work of undoing the damage the saboteurs had done. “The emergency release valve has been badly damaged, welded shut—they can’t budge it. And there’s a timer mechanism attached to the side.” Jake watched as Doheimer and Adam strained to turn valves and knobs with wrenches. Lars lent his mechanical strength but was also thwarted.
“They can’t turn down the pressure. And the boiler looks like it’s straining at the seams.” Through Lars’s eyes, Jake could read the gauges. Every one of the gauges was in the red zone.
“They’re not going to make it. It’s going up any second. Everyone pull back!” The group moved another block down the street, dragging the saboteurs and unconscious guards with them; still within sight but, with luck, out of the range of flying debris.
Jake’s field of vision changed so quickly it nearly made him lose his balance. Rick put a hand on his shoulder to steady him as the scene blurred, and when the images cleared, Lars was on the other side of the boiler.
“Oh, no,” Jake murmured, knowing what the werkman intended an instant before Lars’s metal fist slammed through the emergency release valve.
Caught up in the vision, Jake reeled as scalding water burst from the ruptured valve, dousing the werkman and spraying the room behind him. Clouds of super-heated steam billowed from the tank, hot enough to sear skin and lungs. A muted bang rumbled across Smallman Street, and Doheimer’s plumbers cried out in alarm.
“Adam and Doheimer?” Rick pressed.
“I can’t see them,” Jake said. “I can’t see much at all.”
Steam clouded Jake’s vision even as the werkman tried to back out of the way. His metal skin and clockwork mechanisms protected him beyond the limits of fragile skin and bone, but Jake knew as the image flickered and faltered that the damage was done. Lars looked down at the fist that had ruptured the damaged release valve, and the metal was melted and misshapen, fingers fused together.
Lights flickered at the edge of Jake’s vision, warning signals from the difference engine in Lars’s mechanical brain alerting him to critical data. Perhaps with forethought, Adam could build a werkman especially suited for the conditions of the ruined boiler room, but Lars had been intended as an elevator operator, not meant for extreme conditions.
“He’s dying,” Jake said.
“Who? Adam?” Rick’s worry was clear in his voice.
“No, Lars,” Jake replied. “He’s shutting down.”
The warning lights from the difference engine were dimming. The point of view did not move—perhaps, Jake thought, Lars’ le
gs were fused, like the fingers of his hand, by the superheated steam. The images in the gadget glasses flickered, obliterated by bursts of static. Colors faded. The lenses went dark.
“He’s gone.” Jake swallowed down the lump in his throat. He’s mechanical, Jake told himself. Adam can fix him, build another one. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loss.
“Jake.” Rick shook his shoulder. “Jake. Take the glasses off. Look. Adam and Doheimer. They’re coming out of the cellar. They’re alive!”
Jake removed the gadget glasses and tucked them into a pocket of his jacket. He saw Adam’s loping figure next to Doheimer’s squat, bustling form. “They made it,” he said, relief flooding him. “It didn’t blow up the building.”
The plumbers sent up a cheer as Doheimer and Adam crossed the street to rejoin them, crowding around and shouting in triumph. Jake left Kovach to mind the prisoners, and went to greet them.
Adam’s glum face was in marked contrast to the celebratory mood of the plumbers gathered around Doheimer. “You saw?” he said, meeting Jake’s gaze.
Jake nodded. “Yeah. What was that thing?”
Adam shook his head. “I didn’t have time to study it. Some kind of detonator that would have magnified the blast, I’d guess. They’d welded the knobs. The only thing I could think to do was release the pressure, and Lars was the only way to do it in a hurry.” He looked haggard. “Doheimer and I barely had a chance to find cover before I had to give Lars the order. I didn’t go in there intending to destroy him.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake replied. “Can you fix him?”
Adam let out a long breath. “I can build a new body, but each werkman has his own quirks, little design flaws that make them individual. Once he’s fixed, he’ll function, but I don’t know if he’ll still be Lars.”
“Someone meant to do you a world of harm.” Doheimer stood in front of Jake, backed by his men. “Never thought I’d say it, but I’m mighty glad those guys were scabs. No Union man would do such a thing.”
Iron and Blood Page 26
