Titanic 2012 (inspector alastair ransom) Read online

  “Maybe you’re right, American,” said Reahall. “It’s a long shot but perhaps you’re just the man for the job.”

  “What job? What am I right for?”

  Ransom knew it was only a matter of time before the damning news coming from Chicago to Belfast would reach Reahall now that the Marconi wireless operated between the countries. A full description of Alastair, down to his scars from his Haymarket Riot days on the force would prove to Reahall that he indeed had in his custody the escaped murderer of a priest in Chicago.

  The following morning at the Belfast lockup things seemed unsettled. Breakfast had not come on time and no sign of Sergeant Quinlan and that skeleton key that Ransom had had his eye on. Neither had Chief Constable Reahall brought his chess board and pieces as earlier promised for a hearty and heady game. Time passed. No one showed up until suddenly, Ian Reahall stood outside Ransom’s cage, white-faced.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Pinkerton Agent Tuttle,” he said outright.

  “They located his body? Where? Aboard Titanic? Sent word via the wireless, did they? Got Bellingham’s message, discovered the body, finally took the professor’s rantings seriously on seeing Tuttle’s black corpse? Turned back, did they?”

  “Shut up, will you, Alastair! No, no… Titanic is long gone… well on its way.”

  “To America, now?”

  “Your concern for the U.S. is touching,” said Reahall. “The ship is still in making its way to Southampton. There it’ll be taking on supplies and be outfitted for Easter celebrations.”

  “Dressed out, of course, for Easter?” Ransom being alone had long ago lost all connections to such holidays.

  “April 7th, she’ll be draped on all sides with flags—both British and American. So she’ll remain in port for the holiday; it’s why the schedule calls for April 10th as the date they set sail—three days later.”

  “Well then, damn it, man, tell me where was Agent Tuttle found?”

  “The ocean always gives up its dead.”

  “The ocean?”

  “Our unforgiving Irish Sea. He washed up south of Belfast—a small village. My counterpart there sent word by car—what appeared to be a corpse long in the ground had washed ashore there.” He held up a small note, waving it overhead. “I went to have a look, taking Dr. Bellingham and those two former cellmates of yours, along with me. They dissected the body then and there. What I saw…” Reahall was visibly shaken.

  “Hold on! Bellingham allowed them to do a dissection—after burning the other bodies at the steel ovens?”

  “How did you learn of that news?” Reahall asked.

  “Your Sergeant likes to play chess, too.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Reahall admitted. “I trust you can beat Quinlan at the game?”

  “Never mind that. Tell me more about Tuttle’s remains.”

  “Well… it seems Enoch’s been won over by those two students of his.”

  “Is that right? Bully for the boys.” Ransom imagined the sabre-toothed creature had a sobering effect on Enoch Bellingham as well as the idea of a medical journal article on the new find.

  “It appears so. At any rate, we all went to have a look together.”

  “And what did the medical men find inside Tuttle?” Ransom recalled the ugly egg sacs of the stillborn alien life forms he’d seen in the operating theater.

  “What did they find, indeed! Shocking,” replied Reahall, who was spinning a large skeleton key in his hand as he spoke. “Found similar results as found in the lab here—results you have yourself seen, Inspector Ransom.”

  “Wyland, it is Wyland, sir.”

  “I am sure.”

  “In any event, I’d thought Tuttle’s body aboard Titanic,” replied Ransom. “But if he was thrown overboard or rather killed himself by leaping into the water… what with this disease upon him… .who might he have come into contact with before he died? One of the interior workmen? Another Pinkerton agent? Someone aboard Titanic is quite possibly carrying the plague now.”

  “It’s a possibility shared by the medical men.” Reahall slapped the bars with what appeared to be a note gripped in his hand.

  “There were engineers and other Pinkerton agents who were aboard the night Anton Fiore and the two miners disappeared.”

  “Correct and true,” mused Reahall, “but Titanic’s long gone from here.”

  “But she will be remaining in dock at Southampton till the tenth!”

  “Understood, and sir, take these in hand.” Reahall’s note in hand was not a note at all but an envelope.

  Ransom took the envelope and searched its contents. “Three tickets aboard Trinity?”

  “I have seen to it you have a berth on a merchant ship aptly named for your mission, Detective, if you are willing to go to work for me in the capacity of a deputy of Belfast—”

  “Deputy?” Ransom smiled wide. “Deputy Constable Wyland of Belfast. Has a pleasant ring to it.”

  “I am sure it sounds better than an executioner’s rope.” Reahall held out a badge to him through the bars. “Not as a snitch but as the long arm of the law.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” replied Alastair, astonished.

  “The good ship Trinity leaves in half an hour. Be ready to make Southampton by early morning tomorrow. Your young surgery friends have agreed to be aboard but only if you will travel with them. It’s the bargain we struck… the only one we can all live with, and I for one intend to live a long life, so now it is your decision, Deputy Constable Wyland? Southampton or the hangman’s noose?”

  “I would be proud, sir, to serve under you,” Alastair lied but he felt good about the lie.

  “Good, then you won’t mind if I escort you to Trinity where you then can play Father to the Son, and The Holy Ghost.”

  “Apt undercover titles for three saviors, eh?”

  “Come then.” Reahall unlocked the cell, stepped in, and began reciting the oath of office to Ransom as Ransom up held his right hand. When he got to the part calling for Ransom to declare his name for the record, Alastair thought it all a ploy to get him to confess. To avoid this, he shouted his reply: “I Alastair Wyland, being of sound mind, do hereby swear to uphold the laws and constitution of Belfast and Ireland.”

  “That should make it legal enough, Constable Wyland. Now… shall we have at it?”

  Alastair grabbed his overcoat, top hat, wolf’s head cane, checked the time on his gold watch—all of which he’d negotiated back from Quinlan and Reahall over these days, and he announced, “Well then… do lead on, Constable.”

  Reahall hustled him out and down a back stairwell, and soon they stood in the morning light of a Belfast alleyway slick with a night rain. Even the odors rising like steam off nearby trash cans proved a balm to the freed man.

  Alastair asked,“You’ve arranged for a berth but why? What’s changed your outlook? Tuttle’s condition?”

  “Better you with your bloody principles and ethics to go chasing this damnable thing down than me; I’m no hero but perhaps… just perhaps you are more like those tow-head boys than you think.”

  “I’m no naïve lad; you know that much about me.”

  “No, not naïve by any means, certainly not innocent, but I find in you a certain recklessness and thumbing your nose at authority as well as perhaps death itself. Some might term it Yankee gallantry; as in rushing into a burning building, or-or that mine shaft that first night.”

  “They say fool’s rush in.”

  “And so I take you for one mad enough and wild enough to go chasing Titanic. Besides, you can never hope to win at chess if you allow men like Quinlan and me to beat you at chess.”

  Ransom’s laugh carried to the sea on a brisk, cool breeze. They had made their way to the pier and the ship called Trinity. Anyone seeing them might think them old comrades, possibly two old soldiers reminiscing about the old times.

  “Touché, you’ve found me out and wanting. But you’ve not answered
my question. Why?”

  “To answer why?” He took in a deep breath where they came to a standstill. Some sixty odd yards from them, Ransom saw the beautiful Bluenose schooner where crew worked to prepare her for the open sea. He saw Declan and Thomas waving from the deck as he neared.

  Reahall indicated the two interns. “I’m told by those two that you sincerely care about all this… about putting an end to this… this thing—whatever the holy hell it is.”

  “Yes, go on.” Ransom was clearly enjoying this turn of events.

  “I am not about to go chasing something that could leave my body in the same state as those we’ve both seen. But you… you I give your freedom to, if you will give me your word that you will do all in your power to catch Titanic before she sails out of Southampton, and to order it held there and quarantine her in dock until more can be learned.”

  “More can be learned? How long is that?”

  “Until you are satisfied there is no contagion aboard… until your two young doctors and Titanic’s doctors, and perhaps Southampton’s chief public medical officer can do likewise. I’ve wired them of the possibility.”

  “Then if they heed the warning, perhaps we have a chance; perhaps they’ll delay her taking off for America.”

  “I know how persuasive you can be, Alastair.” He took Ransom’s hand and heartily shook it with both his hands. Ransom saw it as a sign like Pontius Pilot washing his hands of a decision that rocked the world. But Alastair was not naïve, and like Pontius Pilot, whose career hung in the balance when deciding Christ’s fate, Reahall too was a selfish soul and in the end a little man concerned for his small fiefdom.

  “This is quite the turn of events, Ian—if I can call you, Ian—and quite the turn of mind on your part.”

  “I saw the results up close this time; I hardly gave it a look in Enoch Bellingham’s lab that day we arrested you! Must admit, my zealous desire to clamp the irons on you may’ve clouded my judgment, I’m afraid. At any rate, Irvin and Coogan convinced Enoch, and Enoch convinced me of just how virulent this plague is.”

  “Now that I can believe.” Ransom took the RIC badge of the Royal Irish Constubulary and attached the gold-plated shield to his vest, and he then placed the lapel of his overcoat across it; he could flash it when needed, hide it when needed. “Well now, boss, let’s get me the hell out of Belfast and onto that ship headed for Southampton.”

  “She’s a Bluenose schooner class is Trinity—very fast. She reads the ocean like she has her own mind. I’ve made channel crossing on her in the past. Trust me; if anyone can get you to Southampton in record time, it’s Captain McEachern.”

  “All well’n’good, but Ian—may I call you, Ian?”

  “Go on.”

  “I’d be able to move a lot faster working alone.” He indicated the two interns already aboard. “Besides those lads there, they’ve already placed their lives on the line twice now.”

  “Young Doctors Declan and Coogan,” he thoughtfully replied, rubbing his chin. “I agree, brave lads, the both. But they’ve volunteered, and besides you’re going to come up against a great deal of resistance in asking the owners of Titanic to stand her down.”

  “All the same, I don’t want to see—”

  “Ahhhhh! You will need medical men for what you need to do. It will not be easy to convince officials in England, nor officials aboard Titanic, that there is reason to end her progress before she’s made any headway toward the western horizon.”

  They stood below a sign that read: SLIP 506.

  “What about you, Ian?”

  “I am too old to go chasing about the continent, Alastair.”

  “You’re not so old as I am!”

  “I can’t leave my responsibilities here. Besides, as I said, I’m no one’s hero.”

  “Do you think the place will fall apart without you? Old men like us, Ian, we’re seldom called to adventure at our age! Danger, man! It’s the thing gets your blood racing, the heart pumping.”

  “I see you are made for it—Ransom.”

  It was not lost on either of them—or the young interns who were meant to overhear it—Ian’s calling him Ransom again at this juncture. Alastair met his eye. “Come with us,” he urged the other policeman. “It could make a new man of you. One you might actually like.”

  “This old carcass is too far along to change now.”

  “It’ll make you young again to give chase to the greatest ship on the high seas! Think of it man. If we succeed, you become a hero—whether you like it or not. And a changed man in the bargain.”

  “Changed man or a better man?”

  “Both!”

  Reahall took a moment to consider it, but only a moment. “No… no more talk of my joining you on the Trinity. I’ve set you up for failure, Ransom; you must know that I’ve no hope of success. This is a Hail Mary is all.”

  “A long shot, I understand, Ian.”

  “And I clear my conscious of it while… while not going anywhere near this disease ever again.”

  Ransom recognized pure fear when he saw it in a man’s eyes, so he shut up about Reahall’s joining them in attempting to stop Titanic from leaving Southampton. Ian was right about its being a long shot. Ransom surmised that only God or one hell of a ship’s captain, or some act of nature that might delay Titanic beyond Easter dress-up-day might make it possible for them to even attempt to talk to Captain Edward Smith about quarantining Titanic.

  For the moment, this mad dash of theirs to get to the party on time was merely step one.

  Titanic had indeed arrived in Southampton just after midnight for provisioning and staffing while Alastair Ransom sat in a Belfast jail. And by April fifth, Good Friday, Titanic was “dressed” in an array of flags and pennants for a salute to the people of Southampton, England, and what the English jokingly termed “the US Colonies” while Ransom had cooled his heels in jail. And by April 6th recruitment for the remainder—and majority—of crew members while docked in Southampton was underway. This while Ransom had played chess and paced his cell.

  General cargo began to arrive marked for Titanic yet in Southampton. Cargo bound for merchants in New York, Chicago, Richmond, and indeed every corner of the US. Cases, boxed sets, bundles, pounds—silk bails, furniture, auto and machinery parts, crated books, mail sacks, crates of cognac, brandy, wine, plants, orchids, vats of Dragon’s Blood dye, rolls of Linoleum, stores of feathers, linens, ribbons, hats, scarves, shoes stamped for pick up by Wells Fargo and American Express Delivery, some goods going to Marshal Field’s of Chicago, and some to Macy’s in New York. Then there was the fleet of automobiles. The final total cargo included 559 tons and 11,524 separate pieces of equipment, as well as 5,892 tons of coal. All of which required loading aboard. Few men working the docks in the shadow of the monster ship could resist the call to go to sea aboard this history-making ocean liner.

  By April 8th fresh food supplies were being taken aboard as Alastair Ransom, Thomas Coogan, and Declan Irvin raced for Southampton aboard Trinity. But by this time, all final preparations aboard the largest ship ever to set sail were being overseen by the ship's builder. Thomas Andrews saw to it all, down to the smallest detail—including written invitations on each place setting on each table for first class ticket holders. Andrews wanted every detail to be perfect, with nothing left to chance. The ship was his greatest pride and joy, and it would make his career. Builders the world over would be seeking him out.

  Even as Ransom stretched and yawned, having slept out on the open deck of Trinity, even as the young interns and Trinity’s crew gathered about her bow railing at dawn on April 10th, Captain McEachern wailed, “There’s she is, our prey!”

  An unusually large man-made object on the horizon had everyone’s attention: Titanic. Captain Peter McEachern joined Ransom at the rail. They had spoken at length about his purpose the night before. “It’s her—Titanic yet in the slip built for her at Southampton. We’ve made it, Constable Ransom.”

  “Aye, Capt
ain, against all odds, we’ve caught her.”

  In the distance, Titanic’s signature four smoke stacks rose from the horizon as if Poseidon’s trident had grown a fourth prong. Unmistakable, Ransom thought.

  Ransom had seen no more reason to hide his identity either from the young doctors, the captain of this ship, or the world. He’d had a dream while in Ian Reahall’s jail, a dream so real, so powerful he considered it life-altering, as strong as any premonition. It was a strange yet clear story of his death—as he’d seen himself go down into the sea to freeze and drown. But today, here and now, the chase alone—and now the end of the chase—the prize at hand—brought a smile to Alastair Ransom, and he muttered to himself, “Well done old man… well done.”

  At 7:30am, April 10th aboard Titanic, Captain Edward J. Smith boarded to fanfare, and why not? It was announced in every paper that while this was Titanic’s maiden voyage, it was also Smith’s last before retirement, and save for the accident while guiding Olympic, the troublesome one with the naval vessel Hawke, which had so delayed Titanic’s completion at Harland & Wolff, Smith had not a single mishap in his long career. So came a shrieking boson’s whistle followed by cheers, all proper naval protocol in welcoming Smith aboard under a brisk, cool morning wind.

  Finally, Titanic with full crew wanted now to find the open sea. Officers William Murdoch and Charles Lightoller and others had spent the night on board. Once on the bridge and at the helm, after greeting all his officers, shaking hands with First Officer Murdoch and Second Officer Lightoller, Smith received the sailing report from Chief Officer Henry Wilde. All looked in order. In fact, by 8am, the entire crew stood on the foredeck while Officers Lightoller, Murdoch, and the ship’s physician and assistant physician mustered in every man—filling rosters in ledgers. His majesty’s Royal Navy had nothing on the White Star Line for keeping lists. Once mustering in was complete, Lightoller led a lifeboat drill cut short by orders brought to him from the bridge as Captain Smith realized how few lifeboats—sixteen wooden structures capable of holding sixty, perhaps seventy each—had been made available to his command. As a result, Smith decided it a rather unnecessary exercise that might just as well be conducted again after they were underway, if at all. Smith felt confident that what Ismay and Andrews had said about Olympic and Titanic was true—that she was indeed unsinkable; after all, when Olympic had struck The Hawke with such force, any other cruiser with so gaping a hole if of standard size surely would have sunk! But not Olympic, Titanic’s sister.