Bell was physically relieved. “I thought the worst when I heard him get slammed into the doors.” He held out a hand, and Wilson shook it. “And that’s Senator Densmore. This is Ensign Armstrong from the USS Maryland.”
The young naval officer offered his hand. “Ensign Frank Armstrong. Like Mr. Bell said, from the cruiser Maryland, sir. We rescued these men after the boat chasing them struck our anti-torpedo netting and exploded. My captain asked that they be delivered to you and that I give you the sidearm Mr. Bell carried at the time of his rescue.”
“That’s fine, son,” Wilson drawled. “Always best to tell a lawman that you’ve got a gun before you show him.”
Armstrong handed it to the chief of police, who inspected it closely. “Can’t say I much like the look of these,” he remarked and cocked a hip. Holstered there was a beautiful Colt .45 revolver with inlaid ivory grips. He gave the automatic back to Bell. Bell rammed it into his holster and resettled his rumpled and ripped suit coat.
The young seaman said, “I’m under orders to help the medical staff we brought ashore.”
“Okay, then,” Wilson drawled. “Have at it, son.”
Armstrong looked like he wanted to salute but wasn’t sure if that was appropriate. He finally touched two fingers to his forehead and then strode from the dining hall, his subordinate in tow.
Bell looked over to Talbot and Beau, the waiter. “You guys all right? Sorry for abandoning you like that, but we were so outgunned that I thought my only chance of saving the Senator was through the window.”
Talbot had an unreadable look on his face. “Who are you really? And why are you carrying one of the new .45 automatics? You’re not some Republican Party hack looking in on a strategy meeting.”
“I never said I was. That was your assumption. I’m the senior investigator for the Van Dorn Agency. I was hired by the Republican Party to listen to your assessment of the situation in Panama for them.”
“What for?” Talbot asked bluntly.
“I’m not at liberty to say. In fact, the only reason you know who hired me is that the Senator already disclosed it when we first sat down. Is there a problem, Major Talbot?”
The man gave a little shudder as if to shrug off some emotion or feeling. “I’m sorry. Everything happened so fast, and I knew my .38 didn’t stand a chance against those guys, and all of a sudden you let loose with that hand cannon of yours. I don’t know, it shook me, is all.” Talbot held out a hand to shake. “I’m not used to owing people my life, Mr. Bell, but I owe you mine. Thank you. Thank you on behalf of all of us.”
“Hear! Hear!” Densmore said.
Beau chimed in his thanks as well. “When you took off down the hill, I led the Major and Elizabeth around the corner to a service entrance that goes down into the cellar.”
“Good thinking.”
“So how about it, Bell?” Chief Wilson invited. “I’ve heard their version of what happened. What did you see and hear?”
Bell laid it all out, surprising Talbot that he’d posted a guard in secret outside the dining room. It was Renny Hart’s warning that gave him the time to be ready to defend the group even as the shooters were bursting into the room.
“That alone saved all our lives,” Bell concluded. “After we leapt through the window, I loaded the Senator onto a luggage cart, and we more or less rolled to the marina. We swiped some dandy’s motorboat, and I thought we were home free. Turns out there was a sixth member of the hit squad—their getaway driver. He was waiting for his companions in a boat that was larger and faster than ours, so they continued to press their attack across San Diego Bay.”
“How’d you escape?” Wilson asked. “There was mention of an explosion.”
“Yes. I recalled on my ferry ride here that the Navy was deploying heavy-gauge netting around their ships. They’re called anti-torpedo nets. From the surface, all you really see are hundreds of bobbing corks, but strung between them is a thick steel cable from which nets dangle into the depths. While they were chasing us, I ran for the big cruiser and took a long dogleg around her bow to avoid the netting. The other driver didn’t know it was there and thought he could cut me off and finish the job. Their boat hit the wire at full speed and came apart like it had been dynamited.”
“Well done,” Talbot said admiringly.
Bell gave a self-deprecating shrug. “There’s no heroism in saving your own skin.” He turned his attention back to Keno Wilson. “May I inquire about your investigation?”
“Nothing to tell so far. Five Hispanic men ran down the main stairs and, upon encountering your fella, Hart, they knocked him senseless with the butt of the machine gun, which Major Talbot identified as a Hotchkiss, and proceeded—”
“It was a Lewis,” Bell corrected.
“You’re right,” Talbot said, shaking his head. “I got that wrong. Sorry, Chief Wilson. Bell’s right, it was a Lewis gun, not a Hotchkiss. I’ve been a civilian too long to keep up with modern firearms.”
“Either way, it’s a poor choice of weapons for an assassination,” Bell said and waved a hand toward all the mangled joinery. “The gunman couldn’t control it.”
“If I had to guess,” Wilson said, “I’d think their plan was to burst in here and take you entirely by surprise. The machine gun would keep you pinned down while the other four with revolvers approached and killed the Senator and most likely the rest of you too. Turns
