PENDERGAST SAUNTERED DOWN TO the seaport, where a huge board fence had been erected around a construction site on the East River. The fence was painted green and had been up long enough to be plastered with many layers of playbills and announcements. Slots had been cut in the boards so that passersby could view the activity beyond, and there were quite a few availing themselves of the opportunity.
Pendergast made use of one of these slots. Peering through it, he saw a massive site crawling with hundreds of workers. There were great piles of cut stone, steel, cranes, steam shovels, huge metal caissons. A monstrous cut had been made into the bedrock of Manhattan Island along the river’s margin, mostly filled with concrete, stone, and steel. A half-built tower of granite and limestone rose up from the river itself, and a second could be seen in the distance, near the far shore.
The Brooklyn Bridge was nearing completion.
After observing the activity for some minutes, Pendergast strode alongside the fence until he came to a gate manned by a guardhouse. He offered his inspector’s badge and papers and was allowed to enter. He walked down to a large staging area near the tower just in time to hear the noon whistle blow.
Not long afterward, men began to emerge from the top of the gigantic caisson at the base of the tower, their faces and work clothes black with muck. These were the sandhogs, the men who removed mud and rock from beneath the riverbed, replacing it with massive granite blocks as they sank the foundations of the bridge into the bedrock below.
Pendergast positioned himself strategically, inspecting the filthy, exhausted men as they filed past on their way to clock out. The sandhogs were the toughest construction workers in the city, and many had died—and more would still—before the bridge was completed.
The men paid no attention to him, but he paid keen attention to them. As they lined up at the exit, Pendergast strolled down the line and tapped the shoulders of ten men in particular, including one of the foremen, motioning them to step out, while at the same time opening his coat to display his badge. They did so, looking apprehensively at the badge, while the foreman eyed Pendergast suspiciously.
“What’s this all about, sir?”
“Inspection,” said Pendergast. “Perfectly routine. Not to worry—nobody has done anything wrong.”
The foreman nodded dubiously. Pendergast turned to the men, who eyed him, unsmiling, exhausted—wanting nothing more than to go home.
“Gentlemen,” said Pendergast with a smile, “I understand you are earning two dollars a day down in the caissons. And you, sir,” he said, turning to the foreman, “make three.”
They shuffled nervously.
Pendergast lowered his voice. “My name is Alphonse Billington, and I’m here to offer you an overnight job. One night only. The pay is ten dollars each.”
At this, a gleam of interest shone in the men’s faces.
“Go home, gentlemen, clean up, change, get some rest—and then meet me in Smee’s Alley off Longacre Square at nine o’clock sharp. As a gesture of my sincerity, I’m offering a signing bonus of one dollar, right now.” He put his hand into his pocket and went down the line, slipping a coin into each filthy hand, along with a freshly printed card.
As the men turned to leave, he stayed the foreman with a hand to the elbow. “I’ll just need a moment more with you, sir. Mr. Otto Bloom, is it not?”
The foreman looked surprised and suspicious all over again. “How did you know my name?” he asked in a thick German accent.
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Bloom. Now, I’m placing you in charge of this group of men—which means you’ll receive double wages.” Pendergast pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here is a list of supplies I will need you to bring to Smee’s Alley an hour before the other men arrive. That means you might need to be quick with your purchases. Hire a wagon for transport, and spare no expense.”
Bloom took the list and stared at it. “Explosives, sir?”
“A trifling amount. I understand that as foreman you have the requisite license.”
“I don’t want to be involved in any funny business.”
“It is all perfectly legal, I can assure you, if a bit unorthodox.” Pendergast dipped into his pocket and took out an envelope. “Here are the funds you’ll require. And your full remuneration of twenty dollars—in advance. I shall be offering bonuses upon successful completion of the job.”
The man hesitated, then took the envelope.
“I’m an honest man, Mr. Bloom, and I believe you to be one as well,” said Pendergast in a pleasant voice. “Should you prove otherwise, it would be most unfortunate—for you, I mean.”
“Yes, sir.” Bloom touched his forehead with the envelope, then slid it into his jacket pocket. “Eight o’clock, Longacre Square.”