"In some respects, Mr. Pitt's theory isn't as farfetched as it sounds," she said.
Magee stared at her as if she was an errant child. "Not one passenger or crewman who survived to tell the tale, or a robber confessing on a deathbed, not even a corpse to point a finger? Not a fragment from an entire train come to light after all these years ... not possible."
"It would have to be the greatest vanishing act of all time," added Chase.
Pitt did not look as though he was listening to the conversation. He suddenly turned to Magee. "How far is Albany from here?"
"About twenty-five miles. Why do you ask?"
"The last time anyone saw the Manhattan Limited up close was when it left the Albany station."
"But surely you can't really believe."
"People believe what they want to believe," said Pitt. "Myths, ghosts, religion and the supernatural. My belief is that a cold, tangible entity has simply been misplaced for three quarters of a century in a place where nobody thought to look."
Magee sighed. "What are your plans?"
Pitt looked surprised at the question. "I'm going to eyeball every inch of the deserted track bed between here and Albany," he said grimly, "until I find the remains of an old rail spur that leads to nowhere."
The telephone rang at 11:15 p.m. Sandecker laid aside the book he was reading in bed and answered.
"Sandecker."
"Pitt again."
The admiral pushed himself to a sitting position and cleared his mind. "Where are you calling from this time?"
"Albany. Something has come up."
"Another problem with the salvage project?"
"I called it off."
Sandecker took a deep breath. "Do you mind telling me why?"
"We were looking in the wrong place."
"Oh, Christ," he groaned. "That tears it. Damn. No doubt at all?"
"Not in my mind."
"Hang on."
Sandecker picked out a cigar from a humidor on the bedside table and lit it. Even though the trade embargo with Cuba had been lifted in 1985, he still preferred the milder flavor and looser wrap of a Honduras over the Havana. He always felt that a good cigar kept the world at bay. He blew out a rolling cloud and came back on the line. "Dirk."
"Still here."
"What do I tell the President?"
There was silence. Then Pitt spoke slowly and distinctly. "Tell him the odds have dropped from a million to one to a thousand to one."
"You found something?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you working on?"
"Nothing more than a gut feeling."
"What do you need from me?" asked Sandecker.
"Please get ahold of Heidi Milligan. She's staying at the Gramercy Park Hotel in New York. Ask her to dig into old railroad archives for any maps that show New York Quebec Northern Railroad tracks, sidings aivd spurs between Albany and the Deauville-Hudson bridge during the years eighteen eighty to nineteen fourteen."
"Okay, I'll take care of it. Got her number?"
"You'll have to get it from information."
Sandecker took a long puff on the cigar. "How does it look for Monday?"
"Grim. You can't rush these things."
"The President needs that treaty copy."
"Why?"
"Don't you know?"
"Moon clammed up when I asked."
"The President is speaking before the House of Commons and the Senate of the Canadian Parliament. His speech centers around a plea for merging our two countries into one. Alan Mercier let me in on it this morning. Since Quebec went independent, the Maritime Provinces have been considering statehood. The President is hoping to talk the Western Provinces into joining too. That's where a signed copy of the North American Treaty comes in. Not to coerce or threaten, but to eliminate the red-tape jungle of the transition and stonewall any objections and interference from the United Kingdom. His pitch for a unified North America is only fifty-eight hours away. You get the action?"
"Yes ..." Pitt said sullenly. "I've got it now. And while you're at it, thank the President and his little group for letting me know at the last minute."
"Would it have mattered otherwise?"
"No, I guess not."
"Where can Heidi get in touch with you?"
"I'll keep the De Soto moored at the bridge site as a command post. All calls can be relayed from there." There was nothing more to say. So Sandecker simply said, "Good luck."
"Thanks," Pitt came back. And then the line went dead.
Sandecker had the number of Heidi's hotel in less than a minute. He dialed direct and waited for the connection.
"Good evening, Gramercy Park Hotel," a sleepy female voice answered.
"Commander Milligan's room, please."