Bell nodded briskly. A male secretary in shirtsleeves sprang forward to drape a railroad map over a picture of nymphs in their bath. The map depicted the western railroads from Salt Lake City to San Francisco that served California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and Arizona.

"To pinpoint the railroad's most vulnerable locations, I've invited Jethro Watt, superintendent of railway police, to fill you in."

The detectives responded with derisive mutters.

Isaac Bell quieted them with a cold glance. "We all know the shortcomings of the railroad dicks. But Van Dorn hasn't the manpower to cover eight thousand miles of track. Jethro has information we couldn't learn on our own. So if anyone in this room says anything to make Superintendent Watt less than enthusiastically cooperative, he'll answer to me."

At Bell's command, the secretary ushered in Superintendent Watt, who in appearance did not contradict the detectives' low expectations of railway police. From the greasy hair pasted to the forehead above his ill-shaven, bad-tempered face to his grimy collar, wrinkled coat and trousers, to his scuffed boots to the bulges in his clothing that bespoke cannon-caliber sidearms, saps, and billy clubs, Jethro Watt, who was nearly as tall as Isaac Bell and twice as wide, looked like the prototype for every yard bull and cinder dick in the country. Then he opened his mouth and surprised them all.

"There's an old saying: 'Nothing is impossible for the Southern Pacific.'

"What railroad men mean by that is this: We do it all. We grade our own road. We lay our own track. We build our own locomotives and rolling stock. We erect our own bridges--forty in the new expansion, in addition to Cascade Canyon. We bore our own tunnels--they'll be fifty before we're done. We maintain our own machinery. We invent special High Sierra snowplows for winter, fire trains for summer. We are a mighty enterprise."

With neither a softer tone nor the hint of smile, he added, "On San Francisco Bay, our ferry passengers crossing from Oakland Mole to the City claim that our machine shops even bake the doughnuts we sell on our boats. Like 'em or not, they still eat 'em. The Southern Pacific is a mighty enterprise. Like us or not."

Jethro Watt's bloodshot eye fell on the ornate bar heaped high with a pyramid of crystal decanters, and he wet his lips.

"A mighty enterprise makes many enemies. If a fella climbs out of the wrong side of bed in the morning, he'll blame the railroad. If his crop fails, he'll blame the railroad. If he loses his farm, he'll blame the railroad. If his union can't raise his wages, he'll blame the railroad. If he gets laid off in a Panic, he'll blame the railroad. If his bank closes and can't return his money, he'll blame the railroad. Sometimes he gets mad enough to transact a little business with the express car. Robbing trains. But worse than robbing trains is sabotage. Worse, and harder to stop because a mighty enterprise makes a mammoth target.