Detective Isaac Bell returns in this exhilarating new adventure from the #1 New York Times-bestselling author.
It is 1902, and a bright, inexperienced young man named Isaac Bell, only two years out of his apprenticeship at the Van Dorn Detective Agency, has an urgent message for his boss. Hired to hunt for radical unionist saboteurs in the coal mines, he is witness to a terrible accident that makes him think that something else is going on, that provocateurs are at work and bigger stakes are in play.
Little does he know just how big they are. Given exactly one week to prove his case, Bell quickly finds himself pitted against two of the most ruthless opponents he has ever known, men of staggering ambition and cold-bloodedness . . . who are not about to let some wet-behind-the-ears detective stand in their way.
Excerpt…”THE MARMON 32 SPEEDSTER PARKED ON WALL STREET IN A shadow between two lampposts. Roundsman O’Riordan took notice. It was the dead of night. Orders said let no one bother the bigwig politicians and office- holders who were horse-trading upstairs in the Congdon Build- ing. And the auto had a clear shot at the limousines waiting for them at the curb. Its side curtains were fogged by the damp rolling off the har- bor. O’Riordan had to get close to see inside. The driver was a pleasant surprise, a beautiful lady with straw-blond hair, and the cop relaxed a little. But all he could see of the gent beside her were steely contours. Still, you couldn’t rap your stick on a Marmon 32 and tell the swells to move along like they were bums on the sidewalk, so with his right hand by his pistol, he tapped the side curtain lightly, like touching his glass to the ma- hogany to signal the bartender of a classy joint he was ready for another but didn’t mean to be rushing him.”
A big hand with long, nimble fingers slid the curtain open. O’Riordan glimpsed a snow-white cuff, diamond links, and the black sleeve of a dress coat. The hand seized his in a strong grip. “Paddy O’Riordan. Fancy meeting you here.” Raked by searching blue eyes, the roundsman recognized the gold mane, the thick flaxen mustache, and the no-nonsense ex- pression that could only belong to Isaac Bell—chief investiga- tor of the Van Dorn Detective Agency. He touched his stick to his helmet. “Good evening, Mr. Bell. “…