The Bootlegger (Isaac Bell 7)

The telephones were working. She reached Richter by long distance. Germany had the most highly developed telephone system in Europe and the connection was so clear he could have been across the table in the Prater Garten.

“Hamburg? Are you all right? We have reports of heavy fighting.”

“It’s over,” she said.

“How bad was it?”

“Worse than even you could imagine. How is it in Berlin?”

“Quiet as a tomb. The Comintern got their signals crossed. They called off the Berlin and Bremen attacks. The fools in Hamburg were left in the lurch.”

“Who is Marat Zolner?”

She listened to the lines. They made the faintest hissing sound of falling water. Finally, Richter asked, “How did you find out about Zolner?”

“Johann Kozlov was his right-hand man.”

“I did not know that.”

“Didn’t I tell you I would bring you information?”

“Very good information,” Richter admitted.

“Now it’s your turn. Where is Marat Zolner?”

• • •

“FELLOW HERE to see you, Mr. Van Dorn,” said Isaac Bell.

Van Dorn’s haggard face lit with a weak smile. The boy was standing in the doorway in civilian clothes, fidgeting with his hat. “Seaman Somers! Come on in, son. Don’t let that nurse dragon scare you. Come by the bed where I can see you. Dorothy! This boy saved my life.”

“Are you getting better, sir?”

/> “Tip-top,” Van Dorn lied. “Have they made you captain yet?”

Somers hung his head. “They discharged me.”

“What?” The outraged eruption set him coughing, and the rib-racking cough turned him pale with pain. When he finally caught his breath, he waved the nurse aside and demanded of Bell, “Isaac? What’s going on?”

Bell explained how Somers had run afoul of the Coast Guard brass.

“That’s outrageous. They should have struck a medal . . . So you need a job?”

“Yes, sir, I do. But who would hire me being discharged?”

“Who will hire you? I’ll hire you. Starting here and now you’re a Van Dorn Apprentice Detective. Isaac, make it so!”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Van Dorn,” said Bell, not at all surprised by the turn of events, having engineered it. He didn’t doubt that young Somers had the requisite courage, daring, and enterprise to become a Van Dorn.

As for the Boss, he suddenly sounded invigorated.

“Welcome aboard, Somers. Of course we’ll have to clear it with your parents.”

“I’m an orphan, sir. I never knew my father. My mother died of tubercular trouble, working in the mill.”

“Kiss of death?” asked Van Dorn.

“Yes, sir.” To save money, mill owners held on to the old shuttles that required threading the eye with a suction of breath.