A COLD DAWN WAS JUST breaking over Longacre Square as the sandhogs finished their work. Pendergast looked it over with no little satisfaction. These men were the best of the best at such tasks; they had done all he asked and more. Smee’s Alley was now completely secure. The mouth of the alley was thoroughly blocked off, the tenements surrounding it offering no access; the hole in the wall caused by the dynamite was boarded over, and the brewery gate at the far end of the alley had been reinforced and padlocked. Just inside the alley’s Seventh Avenue entrance, a sturdy, two-story guard station had been built into the temporary joists, beams, and supports, ready to watch over this small—but critical—alley way.
Pendergast understood only too well that, if the portal were ever to be opened again, it was vital to control the surrounding space and—even more vital—to prevent Leng from using it. If he ever passed through the portal and gained control of the machine from the twenty-first century of Pendergast’s home universe... the results would be unthinkable.
“Mr. Bloom,” he said, turning to the foreman. “Please assemble your men.”
Bloom quickly lined up the nine members of his crew. They stood straight in their motley work clothes and heavy boots, faces smudged with concrete dust and dirt.
Pendergast eyed them and, after a few words of fulsome praise, reached into his pocket and took out a fistful of $10 gold eagles. He walked down the line, dropping one into each outstretched hand. The expressions on the faces of the men at the sight of the gold were remarkable indeed.
“You,” said Pendergast, tapping one man on the chest. “What is your name?”
“Patrick McGonigle, sir.”
“Do you have any squeamishness regarding fisticuffs or acts of violence?”
“Squeam? I don’t have the clap or the coughing sickness, if that’s what you mean. As for violence, I can handle myself with fists or me shillelagh.”
“Very good. Step over there.”
Pendergast paused at another man. “And your name?”
“Tony Bellagamba, sir.”
“I can see where you got that moniker. Step over there.”
He placed his hands behind his back and turned, strolling once again along the line of ragged men, who were all trying to stand as straight as possible.
“And you?”
“Emil Krauss.”
“Where did you get that scar on your cheek?”
“In a duel, sir.”
“A duel! How marvelous. With what type of weapon?”
“A Korbschläger, sir. Back in Prussia.”
“And what happened to your opponent?”
“I spared his life, sir.”
“Why?”
“Humiliation is worse than death.”
“Excellent, most excellent. Please join the others.”
One final turn along the line. “And you, my good fellow?” He paused before a giant of a man.
“Francis Smith, sir.”
“What did you do before starting work on the Brooklyn Bridge?”
“I was in the iron mines, sir. In the Adirondacks.”
“Can you read and write?”
“No, sir.”
“Step over there, if you please.”
Pendergast questioned one other—a man of rather mysterious pedigree but obvious lethality named Perigord—then nodded with satisfaction. “Please join the others. The rest of you, thank you for your good work. You may go.”
After the others had left, just Bloom and five of his band remained. Pendergast waited until they were alone, then turned to address the group.
“You men now work for me. The pay is six dollars a day. The hours will be irregular, and you will be on call at a moment’s notice, any time of the day or night. You may well have to take up temporary residence within these buildings, but I will see to it you’re made comfortable. Any objections?”
No, there were no objections—just vigorous nodding and muffled expressions of satisfaction.
“Mr. Smith, you will stay here and occupy the guardhouse for the initial watch. Mr. Perigord, please patrol the surrounding tenements—and keep an eye on that brewery and its owner. It is of the utmost importance that no one enters the alley or surrounding buildings, now empty. Consider this our territory, not to be intruded upon. If either of you sees anything odd occur in the alley, such as strange lights or colors, you will stay where you are, remain calm, and get a message to me. The rest of you I’ll expect at this address at five pm this evening.” He handed out cards to each of them. “And now, Mr. Bloom, let us take a few minutes to finalize, to our satisfaction, the duties and responsibilities of your most excellent brigade.”