Unthinkable

Chapter I

It was the curse of the Mummy that done it, the gruff blue-collar type asserts between sips of his beer. I’m telling ya, the ship was doomed before she left her mooring.

Some weeks earlier, a New York newspaper ran the improbable story that an ancient Egyptian curse was behind the sinking of the Titanic. As the legend goes, an unscrupulous art dealer attempted to smuggle the sarcophagus of an Egyptian king to America in the ship’s cargo hold. He planned to sell it to a museum in New York for $500,000.00, and then split the loot with the thieves who ransacked the tomb. In retaliation for this ghastly deed, the Egyptian god Anubis sent the Titanic to her underwater grave.

Sheer nonsense, the refined gentleman next to him at the bar announces with equal conviction. "Only negligence could have sent her to the bottom. From my travels, I know something of the protocol on these ships. It was the last formal evening, and the Champagne flows like water at every table. Dollars to doughnuts, the Captain was taking his final bows with the society people instead of tending to his duties. If you ask me, when the Titanic struck the berg, the Captain was the only thing on the ship resembling a mummy."

At the corner of the bar Allan Pinkerton, a lunchtime regular at Martin’s, a popular tavern at the southern tip of Manhattan’s busy Financial District, shakes his head disdainfully at the useless prattle. The passage of two months time has done little to ease the pain of the unspeakable tragedy, mourned with equal passion on two continents. The findings of American and British inquiries, though quick to the task and thorough in their approach, ultimately disappointed with their superficial conclusions. New Yorkers responded with an inquisitor’s resolve—determined that blameworthy officials be made to answer for the tragedy. Cries of whitewash and scapegoat resound from the many impromptu debates. The thoughts of George Bernard Shaw, recently quoted in the New York Times, instantly comes to Pinkerton’s mind:

What is the use of all this ghastly, blasphemous, inhuman, braggartly lying? Here is a calamity, which might well make the proudest man humble and the wildest joker serious. It makes us vainglorious, insolent, mendacious. The effect on me was one of profound disgust, almost of national dishonor. Am I mad?

Pinkerton finishes the last of his corned beef sandwich. The bartender arrives with an offer of fresh brewed coffee, but he politely declines and pays his tab; of late, there are rarely enough hours in the day.

The rain falls steadily as Pinkerton steps quickly along the streets of Lower Manhattan. He arrives at 57 Broadway, notes the black limousine parked in front—a sight more common as Wall Street bankers embrace the spectacle of the automobile—and enters the building lobby.

Pinkerton rides the elevator to the fourth floor, walks a short distance down the hall, and enters the office of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Unaware of the curious stares following his progress, Pinkerton moves past the row of desks to the wood partition, pushes through the hinged gate on the balustrade, and turns down the corridor. A moment later, he spots the two men wearing the distinctive look of government professionalism stationed outside of his office. Pinkerton acknowledges their presence with a cautious nod, and quickly turns his attention to his secretary who is approaching with a wide-eyed sense of urgency.

Mr. President … I mean, Mr. Pinkerton, it’s the President.

Kelly, calm down and start again. What President?

The President of the United States … he’s in your office, she explains in a whispered voice straining with excitement.

"Taft," he says incredulous.

"No … Roosevelt."

Theodore Roosevelt is in my office.

She nods firmly, and says, That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.

Pinkerton frowns thoughtfully for a moment, wondering what the former President could want with him. He moves quickly to his office door, but enters cautiously. Standing at the window, hands on hips gazing down at the Broadway pantomime is the unmistakable figure of Theodore Roosevelt. Pinkerton guides the door shut, loud enough to attract his attention.

Roosevelt pivots and says. Ah Pinkerton … I hope you don’t mind the intrusion on your busy schedule.

Of course not, Colonel, this is a wonderful surprise, he declares, quickly placing his hat and coat next to Roosevelt’s on the clothes tree.

Pinkerton knows of Roosevelt’s preference for the courtesy title Colonel rather than the customary Mr. President. Roosevelt enthusiastically thrusts out his hand and Pinkerton gladly accepts his greeting. Observing the portraits of the famous Pinkerton lineage hanging on the back office wall, Roosevelt then comments. Splendid … this is what the United States is all about. A successful family business passed on from generation to generation.

Pinkerton smiles at the compliment. Then, hastily, he slides the gold cuspidor away from the desk, a relic from the time of his famous grandfather, and invites the former President to have a seat. Roosevelt settles his broad figure into the high back leather side chair and, displaying the toothy grin immortalized in photographs and caricatures, announces, I had the privilege of observing your operation back in ’05 during the Steunenberg murder investigation, Roosevelt recalls. Agent McParland was the fellow who headed the Pinkerton team. Damn fine job he did … too bad those union scoundrels were acquitted.

Pinkerton nods knowingly at the reminder. During an Idaho labor dispute in 1899, Governor Frank Steunenberg declared martial law, asking President McKinley to send federal troops to crush the rebellion. The intervention resulted in the arrest and imprisonment of hundreds of union activists. Six years later, an explosive device planted in his home killed the former Governor. The assassination, it was alleged, was retaliation ordered by union leader William Haywood.

Clarence Darrow was quite convincing in Haywood’s defense, Pinkerton asserts.

Defense attorneys, Roosevelt utters, his jaw set sternly. A profession committed to defending criminals, libelers, and scandalmongers. Even so, I would rather a chat with you about this shady profession than the reason for my visit. The look of contempt unexpectedly bleeds from Roosevelt’s expression, and his mood is clearly somber. I trust you are familiar with the tragic circumstance of Major Archibald Butt.

Following an extended stay in Rome, Major Butt, Roosevelt’s former aide-de-camp and advisor was returning to New York on the Titanic when he perished without a trace. During his tenure in the White House, Roosevelt relied heavily on Butt’s guidance and support. An ideal clubman, Butt was also one of the few men who could physically keep up with Roosevelt’s exploits. Afterward, he remained a close companion of the former President, and a regular guest at the Roosevelt’s estate in Oyster Bay. Butt was a spit and polish military type, the kind of man Roosevelt holds in the highest regard, and their bond was a matter of common knowledge around Washington.

Butt continued his role as aide-de-camp in the Taft White House, and the current President came to rely on him as well.

Pinkerton bows his head and says solemnly, Of course … a tragedy of unspeakable proportions.

Very bitter to see that good, gallant, tenderhearted man leave life at its crest, laments Roosevelt.

Pinkerton considers the irony of the situation. For a man of such courage and stature to meet his end while on holiday seems so inappropriate.

For a long moment, Roosevelt’s head hangs in evident remorse. Then he abruptly straightens, and with his left arm firmly planted on his knee, asks, What do you know about the purpose for the Major’s trip to Rome?

Pinkerton thinks it over, and says, Only what I‘ve read in the newspapers. I recall some hearsay that he carried a message from the President for the Pope, but the main reason for the trip was his health.

Yes, some rubbish about his digestion being ruined by a round of political banquets, Roosevelt is quick to add, And that a trip up the Mediterranean would repair his constitution. Well, I can tell you Archie spent the weekend before his departure at my home. He looked the picture of health … and if appetite is an indicator, there was nothing wrong with his digestion.

Pinkerton nods, but before he can respond, Roosevelt continues: What I am about to reveal to you is done so in the strictest of confidence. I must insist upon your word that any mention of the matter of this meeting will be in the strict confines of our arrangement.

The word arrangement leaps out at Pinkerton. Of course, Colonel … my word is our bond.

Roosevelt reaches into the inside pocket of his morning coat and removes an envelope. This letter from the Major arrived at my home the week following the sinking. It is postmarked April the tenth … Rome, meaning he mailed it the morning of his departure.

Pinkerton accepts the letter with a gracious nod, and immediately begins to read:

My Dear Colonel,

My concern for the welfare of the United States compels me to alert you to a matter of potentially grave consequences.

As you no doubt suspected all along, my trip to Rome involved more than a vacation. Though my mission to this grand city was not in an official capacity, as the State Department was in no way concerned in the matter, the President did instruct me to call on King Victor Emmanuel of Italy. The King availed himself of the occasion to entrust to me a confidential letter for the President, saying only that it concerned a matter of utmost urgency. Since it is not an official communiqué, the substance of the message will not pass through the State Department, unless the President so desires.

In as much as the request was conventional with regard to matters of diplomacy, I was quite prepared to carry out the instructions undaunted. However, the ensuing encounter compelled me to reach out to you in this manner. As I was leaving the palace, an emissary for Italian Prime Minister Giolitti, an individual associated with Italy’s secret service—and hence at his request shall remain nameless—approached me with a request for a private audience in a location away from his chambers in Parliament. Noting his apprehensive appearance, I put aside my plans and right away agreed to his appeal. Nothing could have prepared me for what followed. He informed me of a rumor intercepted by his network of spies of a plot intended to provoke the United States into a world war. The stratagem would involve the unprovoked sinking of an ocean liner carrying American citizens by a nation recognized as a would-be adversary. The public outcry in the United States and England about this cowardly act would no doubt result in swift retaliation that, in this turbulent time, would likely incite the world to war. Regrettably, he could not provide me with the identity of the rogue nation, or the intended method of the heinous deed. However, knowing of my plans to return to the United States on the Titanic, he alerted me to an astounding prospect; what better provocation than to attempt an attack on the new liner!

The Italian emissary confessed that he does not possess corroborative evidence of such a plot, but is certain the letter from the King contains sufficient verification for his story from sources recognized as unimpeachable. As the government of Italy shares the President’s reluctance for war and, I am certain, would do anything within their means to prevent it, I have little reason to doubt the genuineness of the appeal.

I trust you understand that my breach of confidence as emissary to the President comes not from disloyalty, but rather from the stark reality that if the voyage were to end tragically, the evidence I carry of the plot responsible for her sinking would vanish; hence, my letter to you.

I will board the ship presently, and alert the Captain and crew of the potential danger. With only the word of an American landlubber to alert them to the potential peril, my task will no doubt be a difficult one. Nevertheless, as you can bear out, I will persist in my appeal!

If the worst should happen, in the aftermath of the tragedy, I can think of no one better capable of forestalling a certain rush to war than you.

Yours faithfully,

Archie

For a long moment, Pinkerton stares incredulous at the letter, before silently handing it back to the former President.

Roosevelt carefully folds the parchment and slips it back into his inside coat pocket. His powerful chest expands from a deep breath; he quickly exhales and declares. I waited for the American and British inquiries to run their course. Of course, to my knowledge, it is indisputable the collision with the iceberg sank the ship.

The information certainly points …

However, Roosevelt interrupts, thrusting a finger into the air, I have been around politics long enough to understand that it is irresponsible to accept a final judgment … to the exclusion of all else that is possible, based solely on the conclusions of a government sponsored committee. Unexpectedly he gets to his feet, and with his hands clasped behind his back in a thoughtful posture, moves to the window.

Pinkerton nonchalantly retrieves a notebook from a desk drawer. Working through his uneasiness, he asks, What can we do to help you, Colonel?

Roosevelt rocks back and forth on his heels and begins again. I wish to engage the services of your agency in the hope that we may find the underlying cause of Major Butt’s warning. Mind you, under normal circumstances, I would deal with the problem directly. Roosevelt pauses to give the matter some thought, then turns to face Pinkerton, and continues, "Unfortunately, my decision to challenge for my party’s nomination for president prevents me from taking an active part in this investigation. In the current political climate, I would undoubtedly end up in a position of defending myself against charges of sensationalism, and exploiting the tragedy for political advantage. In the end, all I will accomplish is to provide a cause célèbre for the suspected conspirators to hide behind."

Pinkerton maintains a respectful silence as the former President, his deeply furrowed brows indicating the gravity of his dilemma, slowly paces the office. As a detective, an adventurer of sorts, Pinkerton is intrigued by the extraordinary challenge deposited at his agency’s doorstep. Nevertheless, a sense of apprehension tugs at him.

The way I see it, Pinkerton, Roosevelt continues in a determined, high-pitched voice, there is a certain agenda to be followed. First, we must establish whether the collision with the iceberg was solely responsible for the sinking … and bear in mind we cannot rule out the possibility the collision was the result of deliberately poor seamanship.

Pinkerton nods in agreement, but without conviction. Roosevelt adds, Far be it for me to interfere with your agency’s work. Regardless of what you have no doubt heard of me, I am a man who believes in picking the best man for the job, and then not interfering with the performance of his duty. And yours, Pinkerton, is the finest detective agency in the world.

Pinkerton smiles gratefully. Thank you, Colonel … we have a rather imposing legacy to uphold, he says, gesturing toward the portraits of the legendary agents, from his grandfather’s time to the recent past, adorning the back wall. There’s always someone looking over my shoulder … making sure we do our best.

That’s all I ever expect of a man … that he does his best, Roosevelt adds, nodding resolutely. He returns to his seat, and moves to the next item. Should your investigation uncover evidence of wrongdoing, you will endeavor to learn the identity of the culprits and discover the motive behind their plot. His eyes filled with an unrelenting resolve that speaks to the manner of the man’s greatness, Roosevelt brings his fist down hard on the arm of the chair, and proclaims, By thunder, I do intend to bring these people to justice.

Roosevelt’s no-nonsense approach is inspiring—his daring and his quixotic crusade for justice certainly a noble cause. However, in Pinkerton’s world, caution has its place, and the race doesn’t always go to the swiftest afoot. Pinkerton leans into his carved oak desk, and utters with caution, What precisely would you expect us to do?

Roosevelt nods, and answers, If you should see fit to take on this assignment, your mission would include undertaking to discover whom in the Italian government the Major spoke with, and what message the letter from the king contained. We must assume the letter vanished with the Major; therefore, this will be a difficult task, requiring your agency to be at their clever best. Roosevelt shakes his head, and quickly adds, And should King Victor Emmanuel attempt to communicate again with Taft, it is unlikely the opportunity to learn the substance of the message would present itself.

Although a daunting task, launching an investigation into the cause of the Titanic tragedy would not represent a remarkable departure from the agency’s typical workload. Murder is murder, regardless of the scale. On the other hand, infiltrating the Italian secret service is a different matter entirely. The Pinkertons do not have the requisite contacts in Rome, or a network of spies in Europe for that kind of intelligence gathering. Allan would love the opportunity to work with one of the truly dynamic figures of the last century, but would never accept a case beyond their capabilities. Colonel, I should remind you that we are essentially a private detective agency, with a limited résumé when it comes to work overseas. Wouldn’t a case like this be better suited to the capabilities of the BOI?

The Bureau of Investigation, with its own staff of agents handpicked by the Department of Justice from the Secret Service, is a special force created during Roosevelt’s presidency to provide the government with a federal police force to handle extraordinary cases.

Roosevelt nods resolutely. Very perceptive of you Pinkerton. While president, I recognized the need for a federal police force to handle only the most critical cases … much like the British have in Scotland Yard. So, I authorized the selection of a handful of our most trusted Secret Service agents and authorized their transfer to the Department of Justice … thus, the creation of the Bureau of Investigation. Did you know their first official assignment was to inspect houses of prostitution in preparation for enforcing the White Slave Traffic Act, or Mann Act?

Yes, Colonel, I remember reading ….

Damn fine job they did. Nevertheless, their responsibility is limited wholly to domestic matters. Roosevelt’s propensity for being the center of attention had once prompted his daughter Alice to comment to a reporter: My father always wanted to be the corpse at every funeral, the bride at every wedding and the baby at every christening.

Not unlike our agency, Pinkerton reminds Roosevelt. He shrugs and adds in a matter of fact tone, All things being equal, I would have thought the government would be more comfortable using their own agents.

Roosevelt shifts uneasily, and for a long moment, appears to wrestle with a matter of considerable importance. His mind made up, he folds his arms across his chest, and says, I will be completely frank with you, Pinkerton. I am not acting as a representative of the United States … in fact, no one in the government is aware of my meeting with you.

Pinkerton’s eyes squint ever so slightly as the substance of Roosevelt’s statement gradually sinks in. He assumed that the former president had informed the proper authorities about the Major’s letter, and despite their much publicized differences, was acting with the knowledge of President Taft. Pinkerton clears his throat, and as calmly as he can manage, says in an even tone, "As I understand it then, Colonel, you are not acting under the direction of the Federal government."

Indeed I am not, Roosevelt declares with a regretful sigh. In fact, to my knowledge, they are unaware of the Major’s concerns. I am here entirely of my own volition.

Pinkerton stares vacantly ahead while considering the potential ramifications to the agency. Dating back to the time his famous grandfather, and namesake, foiled a plot to assassinate Abraham Lincoln, the US government has played a major role in the agency’s growth. A grateful Lincoln immediately hired Pinkerton agents to handle his personal security during the Civil War and, in the ensuing years, the government would contract the Pinkerton National Detective Agency for additional services, including private military contracting work, and pursuing criminals suspected of violating federal law. At its peak, the number of agents employed by the Pinkertons rivaled that of the standing army of the United States. Although, with the passage of the Anti-Pinkerton Act in 1893, a federal law prohibiting anyone employed by the Pinkerton Agency from working for the Federal Government, the agency still maintains a favored relationship with the Washington elite.

Trying to mask his apprehension, Pinkerton speaks in a measured tone, Colonel, I hope you understand there are certain guidelines that I must consider before committing to a case like this one.

As if anticipating Pinkerton’s reaction, Roosevelt raises a hand and says with genuine regard, "Your indecisiveness is honorable and well founded. I am aware of the considerations you are alluding to … you have a fine reputation to uphold and I must admit, thinking like the proprietor of a business, I would certainly share your concerns. Nevertheless, you must fully understand my position. With no authority over any government agency, I must turn to the best alternative to pursuing what may be a dastardly crime, and I consider it most fortunate to have so splendid an operation as yours to call upon."

Pinkerton nods his head, and then says in an uncertain voice, Your confidence is not lost on me, Colonel. With that, he leans far back into his chair and for a moment, an awkward silence fills the room.

Roosevelt removes a handkerchief from his pocket, and while methodically cleaning his pince-nez, considers his next move. I did not come here bearing writs or mandates compelling you to accept the case. I am acting as a private citizen, and consequently can offer you no protection under the law for any actions you take that the government might consider subversive. My only desire is to see that justice is done.

I see, Pinkerton says, still struggling with the unexpected turn of events. He takes a long moment to gather his thoughts, then asks the obvious question, Colonel, forgive me for being so forthright, but what reason could you possibly have for not bringing this to anyone’s attention in Washington?

Roosevelt’s features tighten into a look of righteous indignation. Choosing his words carefully, he says, Behind the ostensible government sits enthroned an invisible government owing no allegiance and acknowledging no responsibility to the people. He pauses to allow his stunning allegation to sink in, then settles his pince-nez’s on the bridge of his nose and continues. I knew the major better than anyone … first and foremost he was a military man who believed in following regulations. The very fact he conveyed his concerns to me and did not request that I forward the matter to Washington suggests that he shares my misgivings … that governmental bureaucracy and the influence of corporate trusts would prevent any federal agency from conducting a thorough and impartial investigation. Therefore, I believe he left it to me to do as I see fit … and that’s why I’ve come to you, Pinkerton.

Pinkerton stares at Roosevelt, unable to find the right words. Finally, he acknowledges his understanding of the state of affairs with a nod. For the time being, all concerns for his agency’s wellbeing vanish.

A perceptive judge of character, Roosevelt appears for a moment to gauge Pinkerton’s reaction, and quickly renews his appeal. However, the circumstances in no way should act as a deterrent to the mission before us, he declares. "In fact, I can argue strongly that my situation could in the long run turn into an advantage. Besides, knowing as I do the true measure of your capabilities, I am convinced the Pinkerton Agency is infinitely better qualified than the Bureau of Investigation to handle the Titanic case."

Pinkerton nods courteously, but without enthusiasm. For the first time looking at the case through the eyes of a detective, he strokes his chin and asks, Was President Taft expecting a message from the king?

Roosevelt shakes his head. I cannot say with certainty what Taft knows. However, aware as I am of the ways of international diplomacy, I would expect that a message conveyed through diplomatic channels was responsible for the Major’s courtesy call on the king. In that case, Taft would have expected a communiqué was forthcoming.

It would help if we could learn whether the letter survived the sinking, Pinkerton utters. Thinking quickly, he adds, Maybe there was someone on the ship … a woman perhaps … that the Major could have entrusted the letter to.

"Excellent idea, Pinkerton, Roosevelt exclaims. The letter would go a long way toward telling us what we’re up against. He again pauses, as if reflecting, and says in a low but determined voice. Pinkerton, one benefit of my stubbornness is that I am not a man who is easily taken in by fantastic tales. But so help me if I didn’t hear rumblings about certain of Taft’s advisors stomping around like damned fools ready to spring into action at the first indication of the Kaiser’s dirty work. Roosevelt pauses to consider the matter, and adds. It is no secret I’ve had my differences with the President over his administration’s foreign policy. At times, I wonder if his personal timidity is such that he is more afraid of war than of any dishonor. But one thing he is not is a warmongering fool."

Still reconciling himself to the shocking story, Pinkerton brings his arms to rest on his desk, and for a moment, sits alone with his thoughts. He shakes his head, and says in a low voice, I don’t quite know how to respond, Colonel. I thought I had heard the worst of this terrible tragedy, but apparently not. I can’t imagine a more important mission for our agency to be involved with. However, I hope you understand that before I can commit to so important an operation I will need to confer with our Chicago office. It’s only proper I defer to my Uncle William’s experience.

Quite understandable … I would do the same, Roosevelt declares. I believe I’ve said all that I can … anything more would just take up your time unnecessarily.

With that, Roosevelt abruptly gets to his feet. Pinkerton, for the moment caught off guard, hastily follows suit. I will remain in New York at my head-quarters in the Metropolitan Tower until Sunday, Roosevelt explains while slipping on his top coat. I would appreciate your answer by then. Please be sure to convey to your uncle the seriousness of this situation. The fate of the world is at stake … and I dare-say the well-being of a generation of Americans might hang in the balance.

I certainly will, Colonel.

Roosevelt then adds, I will be personally funding the operation. I hope you will take this into consideration when considering your fee.

The former Presidents’ appeal catches Pinkerton off-guard. Well, uh … of course I, uh … I’m sure that given the circumstances, an accommodation can be reached.

"Bully. I will offer as much support as I can … but you understand it is imperative that no one link my name to any of your work. And should you decline my offer … this meeting never happened."

Of course … you have my word.

The two men walk briskly through the main office to the front door. Roosevelt thrusts out his hand, and Pinkerton accepts the hearty handshake. Leaning toward the detective, Roosevelt offers parting words of advice: Remember, in a moment of decision the best thing you can do is the right thing. The worst thing you can do is nothing. Roosevelt didn’t say the words, but the message was clear: it’s your patriotic duty.

Pinkerton waits at the door until Roosevelt and his Secret Service bodyguards enter the elevator. He shuts the door, and dismissing the questioning looks from his staff with a half-hearted wave of his hand, moves with a determined gate back to his office. He pauses at the window and watches as Roosevelt enters the black brougham; then stands vigilant as the automobile starts down Broadway toward Battery Park. Massaging the strain from the back of his neck, he goes to his desk and settles into his high back chair.

He didn’t exactly lie to the former president. When he assumed control of the New York office after his father Robert’s sudden death in 1907, he continued the agency partnership with his Uncle William, respectfully deferring in most cases to his elder’s experience. However, the truth is an enduring disagreement over the direction of the agency has fueled the often-strained relationship between the decidedly conventional William, and his enterprising nephew. Pinkerton will present the proposition, and his uncle, concerned with his own legacy, will typically argue against taking the case. It is an overseas operation … clearly out of our jurisdiction. Besides, we do not have the personnel qualified to handle it.

Pinkerton will counter that a top-secret operation such as this ideally utilizes only a small force, headed by an agent with the shrewd skills to maneuver around the red tape. It is a considerable task, indisputably, beyond what they would consider customary work. But, hasn’t this been the cornerstone of the Pinkerton Agency from its humble beginnings, to take on the particularly difficult cases and administer justice where all others have failed? He will also add the coup de grace to the argument: He cannot envision his grandfather turning Roosevelt down.

Pinkerton spends the remainder of the afternoon shut in his office, with orders not to be disturbed. Every so often, he jots a random thought into his notebook. He likes to work that way, finds his best ideas often come to him unexpectedly. All at once, inspiration emerges from the word jumble. Pinkerton leans into his desk and with bold strokes of his pen, begins to outline the rudiments of an operation. He pauses to consider his plan, and then quickly embraces it with a determination meant to drive away all of his remaining reservations.

Chapter 2

Pinkerton detective Francis P. Dimaio, the General Superintendent of the Pinkerton Agency’s Pittsburgh office, is at home helping his wife pack for their forthcoming trip when a telegram from the East Coast headquarters arrives by messenger:

PLEASE REPORT TO THE HOME OF PRINCIPAL ALLAN PINKERTON, 81 EIGHTH AVENUE, BROOKLYN—TOMORROW—SUNDAY—PROMPTLY AT 2 P.M.

Dimaio tosses his head back and groans. He and his wife Bernadette are to leave the next morning for a two-week vacation in Saratoga Springs New York, which includes a stay at the world famous Grand Union Hotel and Spa. The trip is her idea, the often-postponed second honeymoon they have been talking about for years, but had never managed to find the time.

Just that moment, the upstairs hall comes alive with the sound of his wife singing her favorite Irving Berlin tune:

Come on and hear, Come on and hear … Alexander’s ragtime band. Come on and hear, Come on and hear … it’s the best band in the land.

Dimaio cringes; hearing her in such an upbeat mood only worsens his guilt feelings. Exasperated, he folds the note, tucks it into his pants pocket, and begins to pace the room. Keeping the appointment, and accepting the subsequent assignment, is the customary thing to do. His reputation is that of the company man who, in a pinch, can be counted on to tackle the most challenging assignments. As much as his heart yearns to be with his wife, his soul has always belonged to his work, and she accepted the fact without envy or bitterness. However, this occasion is different; he understands her disappointment will not easily go away, and that their relationship may be at a crossroads, and with good reason.

Dimaio puffs out his cheeks, and reflects on the considerable time he has spent away from home over the years in the line of duty, and the unintended neglect that has troubled their marriage. There were the two years in South America pursuing the famous bandits Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, from the barrios of Argentina to the jungles of Bolivia. He convinced his wife it would be a worthwhile career move, and she agreed to the uprooting without complaint. It fulfilled a lifelong ambition, to experience the life of a lawman in the old west, and he promised his wife he would make it up to her.

They returned to the United States, and Dimaio, assigned to the agency’s Philadelphia office, quickly established himself as one of the Pinkerton’s most versatile agents with a talent for disguise and a natural inclination for languages. Fluent in Italian, French, and Portuguese, his ability was frequently put to use by the Agency, which assigned him to challenging undercover work. His repertoire included such varied roles as a Latin dance instructor, a Portuguese seaman, and an Italian immigrant. He is so convincing … he could be an actor, a supervisor once boasted about Dimaio’s performance.

Soon, word of his extraordinary ability caught the attention of William Pinkerton, the head of the Pinkerton Detective Agency’s Chicago office. At the time, Pinkerton was working through the rudiments of a difficult case and needed an agent with guile and determination, a fearless character who knew when to cross the line between lawfulness and resourcefulness. Dimaio’s capacity for undercover work filled one part of the requirements. As it happened, a particular incident recounted in a local newspaper convinced William he had the right man.

It is reported on the best authority that Detective Francis Dimaio, assistant superintendent of the Philadelphia Pinkerton Detective Agency, sat on the stomach of a suspect for three hours Sunday in his Georgetown jail cell. After having the life almost crushed out of him, the suspect finally acknowledged the crime.

William immediately summoned Dimaio to his Chicago office, and laid out his plans for a uniquely challenging assignment.

What do you know about the Hennessy case, William Pinkerton asked, referring to the recent murder of the New Orleans Police Chief. Dimaio only knew what he had read in the papers. On the evening of October 15, 1890, New Orleans police Chief David Hennessy was returning from a board meeting that had run late, when a group of assassins ambushed and shot him outside his home. It was widely believed that he was murdered to prevent him from testifying at a trial involving a dispute between two rival groups of Italian immigrants working on the New Orleans docks. Before he died the next morning, Hennessy whispered to a bystander, The Dagos did it.

Pinkerton carried on with the details. Chief Hennessy was one of our oldest friends. When he was murdered, my brother and I vowed to do anything to get his killers. Eleven men are currently behind bars awaiting trial. The evidence against them is substantial, but it is likely the State’s case will fail. The New Orleans Mafia is openly threatening or bribing witnesses, and the word on the street is there isn’t much of a chance for an uncorrupted jury. These bastards are boasting to the prison guards that they’ll be back in business before long. There is only one way of getting the evidence necessary to stop them from beating the rap … and that’s why I brought you here.

William Pinkerton pulled out a bottle of Kentucky bourbon from his desk drawer, poured three fingers worth into two water glasses, and slid one in front of Dimaio. He took a drink, and then laid out his plan for Dimaio. I want you to pose as a Sicilian counterfeiter in the New Orleans Parish prison. You will go in as a criminal, and will be treated as one. You’ll occupy the same cell as these hoodlums, and I hope learn something useful for the prosecution.

Emboldened that out of the hundreds of Pinkerton agents, he was the one selected, Dimaio said there wasn’t any assignment he could not handle.

However, Pinkerton was quick to caution. Here’s where it gets dicey. You‘ll be on your own … only a handful of people will know your real identity … certainly, no one in the prison. These Mafia people have some of the guards in their hip pocket, and won’t hesitate to order you killed if they find out who you are. Pinkerton regarded the young agent for a long moment, and then added. You can refuse the assignment … it will not be held against you.

Ambitious, Dimaio was not about to let the opportunity slip away. I appreciate your concern, sir… when do I start?

For six weeks, Dimaio shared a prison cell with the Mafia assassins, gradually winning their confidence. Eventually, he succeeded in extracting from one of the gunman the details of the murder, and the plans to intimidate or bribe potential witnesses. The experience, though, exacted a heavy price. In prison, he contracted dysentery and malaria. Terribly underweight and seriously ill, Dimaio needed more than a year to recover before he was healthy enough to resume fieldwork. In the interim, Bernadette took up the challenge without a whimper, during the day tending to his needs, and at night working a job as a chambermaid in a hotel. Once again, he promised to make it up to her.

Soon after, Dimaio resumed his undercover work for the Pinkerton Agency. Using his Mafia uniform, a disguise consisting of corduroy trousers, a red and black plaid shirt, red and green tinseled vest, corduroy coat, bottle green overcoat, imitation sealskin hat, hobnail shoes, and a pair of gumboots, he infiltrated Mafia organizations in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Louisiana with incomparable success.

His average size and deceptive gentle appearance disguised a tough as nails demeanor, and the Mafia came to regard Dimaio with respect and fear. His penetrating dark eyes, olive-skinned complexion, and thick black hair earned him the Mafia nickname of the Raven.

In 1908, he received an appointment as the General Superintendent of the Pittsburgh office of the Pinkerton Agency, in charge of the division running west from Pittsburgh, and including Cleveland and Cincinnati. In this capacity, he worked with the United States Postal Inspection Service to end a Mano Nera (Black Hand) extortion scheme operating through the mail and supervised a group of detectives that worked against Mafia kidnappings in the Midwest.

With each case came an extended period away from home or, on occasion, a temporary uprooting of their home. The conditions would have sent a less considerate woman running for a more stable life. There were signs Bernadette came to look upon their life together with resignation instead of fulfillment, the most telling being her decision not to have children. Nevertheless, through each harrowing assignment, she stood by him, encouraging and devoted, and on each occasion, he promised to make