After dropping off the carriage, Henry walked for a few hundred meters, then turned and walked back, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of a tail. He repeated the process twice. Satisfied he wasn't being followed, he ducked into an alley, changed his disguise, and then hailed a cab, giving the driver the address of the apartment on 42nd Street.
At the Pinkerton headquarters in Chicago, the agency's founder, Allan Pinkerton, and his eldest son, Robert, were discussing the destruction of their New York branch.
"Our losses are at least two hundred thousand dollars," Allan said. "What are your thoughts, Robert?"
"It's clear the arsonist was the one who fired the warning shots," Robert said, his analysis sharp and concise. "The agent in charge, John, reported that Alston and his six best men are missing. I suspect one of their operations went south and this was retaliation."
"And considering that the Raven Brotherhood and the Whyos were both destroyed in the same manner, the answer is obvious."
"We ordered Alston to cooperate with the black market's operation against Henry. He must have sent his men to tail him, Henry discovered them, and this was his response. The only thing I don't understand is why he showed mercy."
Allan nodded in approval. "So what do you suggest we do?"
"We have two options: retaliation or forbearance," Robert said. "Retaliation is risky. Henry's combat prowess is off the charts. Even a surprise attack is no guarantee of success, and we would suffer heavy casualties. He might even attack our headquarters here in Chicago. Therefore, I suggest we wait. We let him expose himself, let him commit a major crime, and then we use the full force of the government to crush him."
"He has powerful new friends," Robert continued. "The old tricks won't work. A direct move against him now would only provoke him further, with unpredictable consequences. The fact that he showed mercy means he is still wary of our power and our influence. As long as we don't provoke him, he is likely to leave us alone."
Allan was pleased. The agency would be in good hands.
"And the black market's continuing operation against him?" he asked.
"We withdraw," Robert said decisively. "Unless William Vanderbilt himself hires our men to provide security for his granddaughter's party. If that happens, we can have men in place, and if an opportunity presents itself during the fight between Henry and the black market, we can take it."
"But that is also risky. Alston is gone. The other agents in New York don't know the full situation. The black market is set to make its move tomorrow. There are too many variables. My official recommendation is to stand down and wait."
"And who will replace Alston?"
"Senior Agent Kent. He's been in New York for over five years. He's cautious and competent. He can rebuild the branch."
Allan nodded. "Make it so. And double your own personal security, just in case."
Henry arrived at the apartment building on 42nd Street and found the area deserted. He walked to the second door from the left and knocked: two long, three short.
He waited. Nothing.
He picked the lock and stepped inside. The room was empty. He checked the other two safe houses. Also empty.
He went back to the first apartment, locked the door, and sat down on a comfortable leather sofa he summoned from his space. He began to read the intelligence files. He had a dinner engagement at the Jones' estate at 7 PM, but until then, he had time to kill.
He had decided not to visit Linda or Alice again. It was too dangerous for them.
After over an hour, he heard a knock at the door of the next apartment. He stored his sofa and files and stepped out into the hall. A tough-looking man in his thirties was standing at the door, two suitcases at his feet. The man turned, saw Henry, and his hand instinctively went to his gun.
"Hands up," Henry said, a revolver now steady in his own hand.
The man complied.
"Turn around. Face the wall."
Henry closed the distance in a single step and knocked the man unconscious with a sharp blow to the back of the head.
He cuffed him, dragged him into the empty apartment, and began the interrogation. The man's name was Anderson. He was one of the black market's Diamond-level operatives, sent here to kill him. He was to wait here until 5 PM for the rest of his team to assemble. Their leader would have a special golden raven token to identify himself.
After getting what he needed, Henry snapped the man's neck and stored his body. He checked the suitcases. One contained a Sharps 1874 rifle, the other, clothes.
He sat down and went back to reading.
By 5:30 PM, he had ambushed and eliminated two more of the assassins as they arrived. With his dinner engagement looming, he couldn't wait any longer. Two of them, including the leader, were still at large, but he had thinned the herd. Their threat was greatly diminished.
He left the apartment and went to the Jones family's dinner party.
At that same time, three more men arrived at the 42nd street apartment. They knocked, and when there was no answer, they knew something was wrong. They immediately left and went to a secondary safe house.
An hour later, at a ball in a luxurious Fifth Avenue mansion, a man named Ian Smith was introduced to a beautiful French socialite named Beretta de Lautrec. The two danced, and by the end of the night, he had secured her as his date for Consuelo Vanderbilt's upcoming birthday party. He was quite pleased with himself.
At 10 PM, the leader of the three assassins, a man named Jacob, returned to the safe house.
"The Pinkerton's New York branch was burned to the ground last night," he said, his face grim. "The chief, Alston, is missing, presumed dead. We can't count on their support."