Excerpt

One

"God has no need for dynamite!"

Beverly Haddad paused, her fist inches from the door. She leaned forward and tilted her head. Another voice responded, but the words were muffled through the thick wooden panels. She frowned.

She tried peering through the smoked glass, past the painted block letters that read "New York City Commissioner of Police Theodore Roosevelt." Nothing but vague shadows.

The first voice boomed back. "What do you mean, no dynamite? There has to be! Look again! You're a detective—detect something!"

Beverly jumped back as the door swung open before her. A red-faced man with a bulbous nose pushed past her as if she were invisible, then stormed down the hallway. She took the opportunity to slip into the room.

Roosevelt stood with his hands resting on a cluttered desk, his face glaring down. Pigeons flew outside the large window, briefly blocking the cloudy morning view of lower Manhattan. The sunlight glistened off his pince-nez glasses.

Beverly took a deep breath. This was the man she had come to see. She summoned up all her courage.

Roosevelt looked up with an angry face, his mustache bristling over pouted lips, but then immediately calmed upon seeing her.

"Ah, sorry, but this is a bad time," he said. "Please come back later, and don't miss the wastepaper basket under the table by the window. Also, there is a slight coffee stain on the floor—sorry, but you know how that can happen."

Beverly stood tall and took in a breath. "I am sorry, Commissioner, but I am not the cleaning lady." Her slight British accent rolled off her tongue.

Roosevelt raised an eyebrow for a split second and then immediately changed his demeanor. He gave a nod of the head and smiled broadly, showing off his large white teeth. "I apologize. How may I be of service?"

Beverly strode over to the desk, pulled out a chair, and made herself comfortable, placing her purse and coat on her lap. She noted approvingly that the Commissioner showed only the slightest annoyance. "My name is Beverly Haddad, and I am with the United States Department of Justice."

"What? You? The DOJ?" He paused, staring for long seconds. He then composed himself, brushed some non-existent lint off his jacket, and sat down in his padded leather chair. "Yes, of course. My apologies again. Are you… a messenger?"

"No."

She was used to people looking at her unbelievingly when she announced herself. A proud, educated Negro woman in white society was, indeed, unusual.

Another few seconds went by. She took him in, recalling the information she had compiled on the man. Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt, 38 years old. Called "TR" by his friends, and sometimes "Teddy." Degree from Harvard. New York assemblyman for twelve years. Lost a bid for mayor, later appointed to current post. Fierce reformer, anti-corruption, cleaned up the force. Angers Tammany Hall often. Apparently has no fear whatsoever.

She decided she would think of him as "Teddy." It would make him less intimidating.

Teddy finally spoke. "Of course, of course. What can I do for you?"

"As it turns out, Mr. Roosevelt, I was ordered to speak to you. I'm on assignment on the very matter about which you were yelling at your associate. I take it from your very loud conversation that evidence of dynamite may have been discovered at the scene of at least one of the lightning strikes?"

"No," Teddy said. "It has not. I was certain it would be, though. We have no idea how these explosions happen. We have found no—"

A small metal object slapped him across his face. He fell to one side, yelping incoherently.

Beverly jumped up, and her purse fell from her lap. She ran around the desk.

Teddy lay sprawled on the polished wooden floor. He blinked slowly and squeezed his eyes shut as if to deaden the pain. His hand was held against his cheek.

"You're bleeding."

"It's nothing," Teddy said. He waved off her attempts to help him rise but sat up on the floor with some difficulty. "Madam, why did you hit me?"

"I did no such thing," Beverly replied. She looked around for a second and then picked up a long piece of triangular metal from the floor. "This is what hit you. I have no idea where it came from." She held it before him. A nameplate, the kind that sits on the desk of an important person.

Teddy squinted at it, as if his eyes were not yet ready to focus. "William Stephen Devery?"

Beverly sniffed. Her body stiffened. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She grabbed Teddy and pulled him to his feet. "We have to go. Now!"

She sprinted for the door. She could hear Teddy pause and then follow, yelling, "Wait!"

She didn't wait.

A low-pitched hum grew louder.

Dashing from the Commissioner's office led her into the main large room, where a dozen or so officers lounged around, talking and drinking coffee. "Everyone out now!" Beverly screamed as she ran toward the exit.

A few racist comments and laughs were her response, but she ignored them and dashed toward the two large glass doors which led to Mulberry Street.

Teddy's voice, much louder than hers, echoed through the large room. "Listen to her!"

A few uneasy men began to move as the hum grew louder. She pushed her way through the front door just as the explosion hit. Hot flames singed her back as she flew forward and landed, face down, in the street.