Self-annointed good warriors' who fight good wars' accuse me with deep disdain of being a mercenary. I take it as a testament to my intelligence. Because for a mercenary the war is over when he says it is over. He retires a victor.
I hope you've ordered whiskey instead of tea, she said. O'Shay smiled. Yes, I know I'm bloviating. I am attempting to tell you that we are in the endgame, dearest.
What do you mean?
It is time to vanish. We will go out-and lay our future-with a bang they'll never forget.
Where?
Where they will treat us like gold.
Oh, not Germany!
Of course Germany. What democracy would take us in?
We could go to Russia?
Russia is a powder keg waiting for a match. I am not about to take you out of the frying pan into a revolution.
Oh, Brian.
We will live like kings. And queens. We will be very rich, and we will marry you to royalty . . . What is it? Why are you crying?
I'm not crying, she said, her blue eyes brimming.
What is the matter?
I don't want to marry a prince.
Would you settle for a Prussian noble with a thousand-year-old castle?
Stop it!
I have one in mind. He is handsome, remarkably bright, considering his lineage, and surprisingly gentle. His mother could prove tiresome, but there is a stable teeming with Arabian horses and a lovely summer place on the Baltic where a girl could sail to her heart's content. Even practice for the Olympic yachting event . . . Why are you crying?
Katherine Dee put both small hands on the table and spoke in a clear, even voice. I want to marry you.
Dear, dear Katherine. That would be like a marrying your own brother.
I don't care. Besides, you're not my brother. You only act like one.
I am your guardian, he said. I have pledged that no one will ever hurt you.
What do you think you're doing now?
Stop this silliness about marrying me. You know I love you. But not that way.
Tears hovered on her lashes like diamonds.
He passed her a handkerchief. Dry your eyes. We have work to do.
She dabbed, lifting her tears onto the linen. I thought we were leaving.
Leaving with a bang requires work.
What am I supposed to do? she asked sullenly.
I can't let Isaac Bell get in my way this time.
Why don't I kill him?
O'Shay nodded thoughtfully. Katherine was lethal, a finely tuned machine unencumbered by remorse or regret. But every machine had its physical limits. You would only get hurt. Bell is too much like me, a man not easily killed. No, I won't have you risk trying to kill him. But I do want him distracted.
Do you want me to seduce him? asked Katherine. She flinched from the sudden fury distorting O'Shay's face.
Have I ever asked you to do such a thing?
No.
Would I ever ask you?
No.
It destroys me that you could say such a thing.
I am sorry, Brian. I didn't think. She reached for his hand. He pulled away, his normally bland face red, his lips compressed in a hard line, his eyes wintery.
Brian, I am not exactly a schoolgirl.
Whatever seductions you allow yourself are your business, he said coldly. I have ensured that you possess the means and manner to indulge yourself as only privileged women can. Society will never tell you what you can do and not do. But I want it clearly understood that I would never use you that way.
What way? As a seductress? Or an indulgence?
Young lady, you are beginning to annoy me.
Katherine Dee ignored the very dangerous tone in his voice because she knew he was too careful to break up the furniture in the Palm Court. Stop calling me that. You're only ten years older than I am.
Twelve. And mine are old years, while I have moved heaven and earth to make yours young years.
Waiters bustled up. Ward and guardian sat in stony silence until the cakes were spread and tea poured.
How do you want me to distract him? When he started talking that way there was nothing to do but go along.
The fiancEe is the key.
She is suspicious of me.
How do you mean? O'Shay asked sharply.
At the Michigan launching, when I tried to get close, she pulled back. She senses something in me that frightens her.
Perhaps she is psychical, said O'Shay, and reads your mind. An expression as desolate as it was wise transformed Katherine Dee's pretty face into a lifeless mask of ancient marble. She reads my heart.
Chapter 46
YOUR FIANCEA%0E IS CALLING ON THE TELEPHONE, MR. BELL.
The tall Van Dorn detective was standing over his desk in the Knickerbocker, impatiently sifting reports for some decent news on the whereabouts of Eyes O'Shay or the stolen torpedoes before he hit the streets hunting Billy Collins again.
This is a nice surprise.
I'm across the street at Hammerstein's Victoria Theatre, said Marion Morgan.
Are you all right? She didn't sound all right. Her voice was tight with tension.
Could you stop by when you have a moment?
I'll be right there.
They'll let you in the stage door.
Bell ran down the Knickerbocker's grand staircase three steps at a time and set off a blast of horns, bells, and angry shouts as he ran through the moving wall of autos, streetcars, and horse carts that blocked Broadway. Sixty seconds after dropping the telephone, he pounded on the Victoria's stage door.
Miss Morgan is waiting for you in the house, Mr. Bell. Through there. Go in quietly, please. They're rehearsing.
A high-speed, rhythmic tapping echoed from the stage, and when he flung open the door he was surprised to discover that the source of all the noise was a small boy and a tall girl dancing in shoes with wooden soles. He exhaled in relief when he saw Marion sitting alone, safe and sound, in the eighth row of the partially darkened empty house. She pressed a finger to
