The Death Instinct

'They still in there?' Littlemore asked.

'Yes, sir,' said Roederheusen. 'Still eating.'

'Anybody see you?'

'No, sir.'

'Good job,' said Littlemore. 'Fischer, you and I are going to wait here until the Commissioner comes. Spanky, you go down to Washington Square Hospital on Ninth and see how Miss Rousseau's doing. Just stay put there unless Doc Younger needs anything, in which case you get it for him.'

Twenty minutes later, Stankiewicz returned with Commissioner Enright.

'This had better be good, Littlemore,' said Enright.

'It will be, Commissioner,' replied Littlemore. 'Stand right here, sir. Keep an ear to the wall. You too, Fischer, just like we talked about. Don't move.'

'An ear to the wall?' repeated Enright indignantly.

'Yes, sir. Keep your ear right here.'

The detective crossed the lower-level concourse, wending through the crush of bustling passengers, many of them carrying on in extraordinarily loud voices, as New Yorkers like to do. When he got to the Oyster Bar's entrance, he turned around, confirming that he could no longer see Enright, Roederheusen, or Fischer, who, on the other side of the wide and busy gallery, must have been almost a hundred feet away. Littlemore ducked into the restaurant.

He found them at a table covered with nacreous and crustacean remains: Senator Fall, Mrs Cross, and William McAdoo, the former Treasury Secretary who was now a lawyer. No bottles were visible, but it was clear from the Senator's exuberance that considerable drink had been consumed with the repast.

'Agent Littlemore!' cried Fall. 'Savior of his country. Exposer of corruption. You've missed dinner. You've missed great tidings. You've

– you look ridiculous, son. What have you been doing, spelunking?'

'I need to talk to you, Mr Fall,' said Littlemore.

'Talk away. I think you're getting cold feet, boy, I really do.'

'Can we speak alone, Mr Senator?' replied Littlemore, still standing.

'Anything you want to say to me, Littlemore, you can say in front of my friends.'

'Not this.'

Fall was irritated, but he stood up. 'All right. I'm coming. But first give me one more dose of that dark medicine, woman.'

Mrs Cross inconspicuously removed a flask from her purse and put a splash into Senator Fall's glass. She topped off Mr McAdoo's as well. 'Whiskey, Agent Littlemore?' she asked.

The detective shook his head and, after Fall had downed his drink, led the Senator out of the crowded restaurant. He stopped at a discreet spot against the wall in the terminal concourse, a few feet from the doors of the Oyster Bar. 'I know who stole the gold, Mr Fall,' said Littlemore.

'The Mexicans,' replied Fall. 'You already figured that out.'

'Not the Mexicans, sir.'

'Houston?'

'It was Lamont,' said Littlemore.

'Impossible.'

'I saw the gold tonight. In the basement of the Morgan Bank.'

'Keep your voice down,' whispered Fall. 'You tell anybody yet?'

'Yes, sir,' said Littlemore quietly.

'Who?'

'You.'

'Apart from me, goddamn it,' said Fall.

'You mean Mr Houston?'

'Yes – did you tell Houston?'

'I came straight here, Mr Fall.'

'Good. Let's keep a lid on this, Littlemore. Don't want to cause a panic. Tell you what: Just leave it to me. I'll make sure the right people find out.'

'Got you, Mr Fall. Keep a lid on it. But somebody better talk to Mr Lamont right away.'

'Don't you worry, son – I'll talk to him.'

'What'll you say?' asked Littlemore.

'I'll tell him – why, I'll tell him-' Fall had difficulty finishing the sentence. 'Damn it, you're the one who said I should talk to him.'

'I figured you'd want to tip him off,' said Littlemore.

Fall didn't flinch. 'What did you say?'

'You know when I knew, Senator Fall? It was when you told me that you and Mr McAdoo always have dinner at the Oyster Bar. I realized that Ed Fischer was in Grand Central when you two met here a few months ago, after the Democratic Convention. A lot of people think Fischer's crazy, but everything I heard him say turned out to be true.'

'Are you drunk, Littlemore?'

'Then I saw the whole thing. Finding those Mexican documents was way too easy. Torres's apartment – it was a fake, wasn't it? A setup. That's why you had Mrs Cross come with me – to make sure I'd find the hole in the wall where the documents were hidden. What a sucker I was. Sure, a Mexican envoy is going to bring incriminating documents with him from Mexico in a cardboard tube – nothing else, no files, no suitcases, barely any clothes, just those documents – and then leave them for me in an open wall safe after I knock on his apartment door. Torres wasn't really a Mexican envoy at all, was he? You invented him. That's why Obregon denied the guy's existence.'

Fall took out a cigar. 'You're all twisted up, son. Not thinking straight.'

'From the very start,' said Littlemore, 'Lamont tried to put me onto Mexico. Every time I talked to him, something having to do with Mexico would come up. I just didn't see it. Same with you, Mr Fall. You pretended you thought the Russians were behind it, but you were steering me to Mexico the whole time. Brighton was in on it too, wasn't he? You and he staged that scene in your office for my benefit, when he was complaining about the Mexicans seizing his oil wells. Then Lamont calls me again and conveniently mentions that Mexican

Independence Day is in the middle of September. You were doing the same thing with Flynn, sending him hints about Sacco and Vanzetti, hoping he'd put together their Mexico connection, but he never did. So you had to make me think I'd found proof – the documents in Torres's wall. But they're all fakes. Forgeries.'

Fall lit his cigar, taking his time. He glanced left and right and spoke almost inaudibly: 'The Mexicans bombed us, Littlemore. Massacred us. You're the one who figured it out. Let's say those documents are fake. Let's just say. If that's what Wilson and his Secretary of War needed to see the light and send in the troops, that's the way it had to be.'

'Except the Mexicans weren't behind the bombing,' said Littlemore.

'What are you talking about?'

'You were behind it.'

Fall blew a cloud of smoke over Littlemore's head. 'You think I bombed Wall Street – killed all those people – to steal a little gold from the Treasury? You're out of your mind, boy. No one will believe you.'

'The gold was icing,' said Littlemore. 'The cake was war. Invading Mexico, getting rid of Obregon, installing your own man as president, taking the oil fields. That would have been worth maybe half a billion dollars to your pal Brighton. And a few hundred million more to Lamont. And who knows how much to you.'

'That's big crazy talk, boy. You could get in trouble talking big and crazy like that.'

'You're making a war for their oil.'

'Their oil?' Fall hissed. 'That's our oil you're talking about. We bought it, we paid for it, and now a bunch of Reds are trying to steal it. You think the Mexican people like being ordered around by a gang of God-hating, gun-toting bandits? The Mexicans'll thank us. They'll cheer our boys when we march into Mexico City.'

'Sure they will,' said Littlemore. 'They love the US of A., just like you do.'

At that moment Mr McAdoo came out of the restaurant, along with Mrs Cross, who was carrying Senator Fall's overcoat.

'What's going on, Fall?' asked McAdoo. 'Is there a problem, Mr Littlemore?'

'No problem. Senator Fall and I were just talking about how you and he planned the Wall Street bombing.'

'I beg your pardon?' said McAdoo.

'You were the one who knew about the gold,' Littlemore said to McAdoo. 'You were Secretary of the Treasury in 1917 – before you started working for Brighton. You knew exactly how and when the gold would be moved. You knew Riggs. You probably had him transferred from Washington to New York.'