China Jewel (5 page)

“No mistake,” said Reedy, his face grim.

Cutter put his arm on the Pastor’s shoulder in a gesture of support. “I’ll tell you what I find out. I’m just worried that one of our competitors might have researched this history and now plans to embarrass us. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Outside the barn a sweet smell drifted from the multicolored flowers blooming at the water’s edge. Cutter studied the blooms.

“You like gardens?” asked the pastor, his face perplexed as though he had found either a strength or a weakness in his tough companion.

“My mother wanted me to be a gardener. As a kid I recognized all the plants and their flowers and scents.”

Cutter walked back to his office alone. One person in Baltimore would help him solve this riddle and stop rumors before they started. He’d talk to Katy as soon as he could. She’d know how to research this with all her history files and books. He smiled at the thought of her and seeing her again.

Chapter 4

June 2, 12 noon

Atlantic Ocean

Cutter woke up to the droning sound of aircraft engines. He was in a stateroom in the restored Martin flying boat, going to the start of the race mid-ocean near the Azores. Getting to the race had proved in itself an adventure. The Johnson Company logo on the side of this epic machine, once the first passenger aircraft to cross the Pacific, drew media coverage when it arrived to pick him up in River Sunday’s small harbor. When the giant Martin came to River Sunday to get Cutter, the roar of the engines had brought another huge crowd to the piers for her noisy landing. Even in the takeoff, the old flying boat had to run up horsepower to lift off its heavy hull section. For lifting power, the pilot flattened the propeller pitch as the engines thundered. Needless to say, she also left a huge wake of white waves billowing out behind her metal hull. They in turn washed over the small harbor and its moored yachts.

Cutter walked forward through the interior among leather covered seats and interior walls done in a handsome blue and white decor. The four engine overhead wing seaplane, one of the original Pan American China Clippers, had been designed in the Thirties. Inside the original eight compartments had been redesigned for Bill’s corporate usage. The giant plane sported a lounge area, an airborne office, and several long distance passenger compartments with large square windows.

Monroe had come to wake him up for a meeting with Bill.

“Pretty,” he said.

“All designed by the marketing department,” said Monroe. She added, “The same group has been working on the design of our new booth in Guangzhou, China.”

“Did they leave enough room for the Clipper car when we win?” asked Cutter with a grin.

As they entered his office, Bill said, “We’re going to have the biggest booth in the show. Johnson Company always does. We’ve been exhibiting Johnson products many years.”

“The Chinese know us well,” Monroe added. Cutter sat down across from his boss, as Monroe began to arrange various corporate papers.

Bill said, “We do a large business with the Chinese, Jimmy. Years ago it was mostly import but these days we export our own stuff back to them. We sell our food products and they send us toys and electronics. If we are awarded the Clipper to sell, some of the components will actually be manufactured in our American factories.”

Cutter relaxed in his foam-filled chair. “This is the first time I’ve been in this plane of yours.” When he was in Africa, Cutter had heard that it was Bill’s pride and joy, a hobby restoration on which he had spent millions of his own money.

Bill smiled broadly. “This is the original China Clipper flying boat. Juan Trippe and his engineers designed her to cross the Pacific. When she made her first trip it was covered by the newspapers as a major occasion. People cheered it in those days like today they did the Apollo space blastoff. The China Clipper flew its route by Hawaii to the Far East in the remaining years before the World War started.”

“You and your clipper ships. Juan Trippe must have had a connection to the old sailors as you do.”

“He did, Jimmy, which is why he named the aircraft the way he did. His family was steeped in Chesapeake maritime tradition like mine. His cousins grew up in a town near River Sunday.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Experts had searched for this ship since it was lost before the Second World War. Many thought that the Japanese had sabotaged it. Anyway, we got a team together and went over all the information on the loss. After a lot of effort our instruments found an underwater shadow which we identified as a large aircraft. With divers we determined it was not one of the World War Two bombers shot down in those waters. Finally, we recovered Trippe’s plane in one thousand feet of water. It rested on a ledge off the shore of the Philippines where it crashed in July of 1938.”

“She must have been in bad shape.”

“The wreck sat upright in deep water, barely hurt, sweet as you please. The pilot had apparently landed her safely. Then he and the others left the ship in rafts. They were never found. We figure the boat sank slowly right into the ocean and came to rest sitting as if she were waiting for her passengers to come aboard.”

“Corrosion?”

“She wasn’t in the greatest shape. We could not repair the engines. Willoughby found me similar ones, some Twin Wasp radials, from Douglas DC3 aircraft. We had to rebuild a lot of the skin with aluminum and fabric. That took three years of time and money. Inside we gutted her and installed furniture and electronics. This plane flies with far superior instruments and avionics.”

Monroe added, “Our promotion people love her, Mister Cutter. She creates a pretty good image for our firm. Although the old airline has nothing to do with our company, Pan American had a reputation for quality in many of the countries where we do business.”

Bill looked up at his assistant and said, “Smart lady, eh, Jimmy? That’s why she gets big money in salary.”

Cutter liked her too. She was one of those women who enjoy men as much as they enjoy her. She’d been with Bill for a long time. He was married to his company and had never had a family. He wondered if Monroe could ever convince him to settle down. She was probably the only woman who might be able to accomplish that feat.

He said, “You being a former soldier you’ll appreciate this. Take a look behind that door on my wall.”

Cutter went to the metal panel and opened it. Inside was a rack holding four Barrett heavy duty fifty caliber semi-automatic rifles of the latest sniper design. He smelled the gun oil on their glistening barrels. These weapons were known as “light fifties” capable of penetrating fairly heavy steel.

“You ready to fight somebody from up here?” Cutter said, turning back to his boss, his face grim. Cutter knew war and he also remembered the human damage caused by powerful guns.

“Some of my friends at the Defense Department installed these for my round the world flights. Now don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t want you to start a war.”

“I’ll remember,” Cutter said.

“Push the switch in front of you.”

He touched a red button in the cabinet. He heard a mild rumble and a few clicks back in the passenger compartment.

“Monroe, show him”

She led him to the lounge. Four more of the Barretts had descended to point out newly opened windows. She said in the calm way she had, “Each is ready to fire.” Her hair flew back from the wind draft.

“Like old times,” Cutter said.

Bill had walked to stand behind him. “When we visit some of the sites, we make sure the local terrorists know we have them aboard. I can aim them from a little console in my office. They fire one of the ten fifty caliber rounds in their magazine each time I tell them to. I keep the other rifles for guys like you who can hit what you are aiming at.”

“This flying boat is set up like a Vietnam or Afghanistan gunship.”

“You got that right.”

Cutter sat down on one of the lounge seats. The guns retreated back into the ceiling and the windows closed. Then he said, “We do have one new glitch. May be a problem.” Cutter briefed Bill about the controversy of the duplicate name of the brig.

“You going to head this one off, Jimmy?”

“I’ll check it out. I don’t want any rumors that might disqualify us before we even get a chance to race,” said Cutter.

“Keep me posted.”

He went forward. The pilot, Willoughby, looked like a veteran flier with many hours in large planes. The man was small and muscular with the kind of body that would fit easily into a cramped jet fighter pilot seat. He was studying his instruments as the plane gradually gained altitude and turned his head as Cutter entered the cockpit area.

“Willoughby, I’m Cutter,” Cutter shouted over the engine noise.

Willoughby nodded to his copilot to take over. He stood up from his seat and shook hands. “You were in Vietnam,” he said. “Bill wanted me to meet you.”

Cutter said, “I was there after the peace talks were done. You a late bloomer too?”

“Yeah. Money was good. I was mostly flying for the agency,” said the pilot. He had a gruff voice.

Cutter said, “I remember getting on your CIA Air America DC3’s. You had to climb the aisle like going up a hill.”

“You had to step over the wooden crates of chickens.” They laughed. He added, “Bill told me you got shot up on the last prison camp raid.”

Cutter nodded. “Khanh Hoa Province.”

“I did that one. Flew out the ones still alive. You must have been one of the wounded Rangers.”

“I only remember that they put us in a twin engine plane with a lot of bullet holes in its side.”

Willoughby smiled, “I flew her.”

“How’d you get with Bill?” Cutter asked.

Willoughby said, “Helped him and some other boys restore her. I found him four rebuilt Pratt and Whitney radial engines which fit the wing mounts. We did all the set up to get her air worthy and certified. Cost him some money. We had to replace wiring, cables, rubber.”

Within several hours taking advantage of a good tailwind, they came to the flotilla. In the old days of sail, the clippers would travel to a mid-Atlantic latitude and longitude where they caught the trade winds driving them south. Thus, the start was at this historic location, a place of open sea but deep tradition.

Navy and civilian ships cruising the area appeared one by one. Their white wakes in the blue surface indicated they circled around a central spot. Bill glanced down and said, “Right on time. Keep your eyes open. We’ll be upon the brig pretty soon.” He reached down into a box built into his chair and handed Cutter a pair of binoculars.

Cutter went to the lounge and scanned through a port window. Finally, within another few minutes, Cutter spotted tiny square-rigged masts rising over the horizon to the east. Others appeared as the big flying boat roared over the cluster of racing brigs below. In the bright sunlit ocean several cruising schooners and sloops, their sails full, mixed with the racers near the start. These smaller escorts would be heading back to the European coast ports soon. Like a line of security guards, Cutter spotted large trawlers crowded among the sail-powered vessels, waiting for emergencies.

From the air, differing design characteristics of the brigs were obvious. The Willow had the arcing curved bow popular with British shipwrights. The Louis 14 was lower to the water than the Willow. Its masts raked, but not as much as the Chesapeake-designed Peregrine. All had a single deck, the same in the bow as the stern, and they had a cabin near the rear mast. Forward was a covered hatch allowing sailors access. The French ship had a wider hull. The builders liked to double the number of ribs in their designs for safety and sturdiness but the extra weight made them slower. The fourth brig, America, entered by Strand International, was a more conservative design, having masts without a rake. Its bow was rounded, far less sharp or pointed than the others. Cutter thought it would be much slower going through the water.

Cutter smiled. The Peregrine appeared ready to win. Its low black hull and raked masts gave the impression of speed. At the stern he saw Captain Hall, in white uniform and officer’s cap. Also, among the figures on deck he thought he spotted his son, Jamie.

He remembered Hall's remark during his interview, one which illustrated the skipper's determination. Hall had said, staring into Cutter’s eyes, “I want this command because I’ve always sailed like the old saltwater mariners did long ago. I relish the risk of the past, Mr. Cutter. I’ll sail her as those skippers would have and I won’t let you down. No matter what, I’ll get her ahead of the others, too.”

Hall had trained the crew while in River Sunday. In one workshop he gave each crewmember a two foot length of old rigging line or rope. He showed them how to unwind the strands and mix them with pine tar. He said, “Read Dana about life on a brig like ours. Whenever you don’t have any regular duties to accomplish, you pick oakum; in other words, make caulking to use on all the leaks.” Then he set them to work in that boring, tedious job. He told Cutter he was satisfied he heard no grumbling.

Captain Hall had set up the organization of the brig. The chief mate and the second mate, the carpenter and sail maker, the cook and the medic made up the command structure. The chief was Hall’s assistant as well as navigator. The other mate worked more with the crew’s daily needs. The cook was a woman who had many ocean voyages on single mast racers. She knew how to make menus using canned goods to save on cooking time in storms. The crew ate in shifts and worked in two watches, one for starboard and one for port. The chief had charge of one and the second mate took charge of the other. They were on duty in a classic system of four hours on, four hours off. Special hours were set to cover the dog or twilight duties.

The captain had his chief, a bearded man who had been with him for many years in the coastal trades, participate in the selection of talent. Members of the crew, who were especially handy at navigation including use of the sextant, and handling the helm, were prized. Cutter was pleased to find his son excelled in these skills.