Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (9 page)

“Here we go,” muttered Lucas and threw the door open. They slipped inside.
 

The vast building was empty.
 

Bug-eyed, Morgan stammered, “So much for luck.”

“What does this mean?” wondered Eliza. “Could they know-”

“Not a thing,” said Lucas. “They’ve probably just moved it out early for the launch. Let’s cross through to the airfield.”

The group walked against the wall inside the huge building, their steps echoing in the cavernous space. At the far end, they found an exit in the hangar doors. Stepping outside again, they saw it.

The HMS
Artemis
was moored on the airfield not five hundred feet away. Thanks to their spy, they’d received blueprints of the massive ship and had memorized the major features. But walking toward the floating leviathan, they felt awe at the scope of the ship.

Soon they were walking under it. Even though only fifty feet off the ground, it blocked out the sun, casting a shadow across an area the size of a large farmstead.

Workers ran back and forth, hauling crates, electrical equipment, supplies, and huge coils of line. They began seeing more crew members now, recognizable in their dark-blue uniforms with gold piping.

“Best to look busy,” said Lucas, pointing to a nearby pile of crates. They headed to it, then waited while Lucas looked the pile over. He read lot numbers on the crate sides, moving the boxes around.
 

“You looking for something in particular?” asked Morgan.

“In fact, I am,” he said. “But it’s not here. Goddammit.” He stood, looking around the airfield, his face fallen.

“What’s going on?” asked Eliza.

Lucas started to answer her, then held his hand up as a man approached them.
 

He was dressed as they were, but had been working hard, as his face was caked with sweat and dust. Short and thick, he moved with an ungraceful rhythm as if walking were painful. He carried a briefcase-sized wooden box, and was coming straight for them.

“Lucas,” whispered Morgan.
 

Eliza scanned the area for escape routes, noting areas of cover she could shoot from.

“We’re good,” he told them. “Relax, and say nothing.”

The man approached Lucas and nodded with a tight, thin smile that held little humor. “You are Lucas?”

“Yes. You have a package for me?”

“It’s right here.” The squat little man patted the box. “Might I trouble you for a cigarette?”

“My sister convinced me to give them up,” replied Lucas.

The man nodded curtly and handed the box to Lucas. “Good luck, my friends.” Then he turned and walked away.

“What the hell was that?” asked Eliza.

“Let’s get aboard,” said Lucas.

Morgan and Eliza picked up their own cargo and followed Lucas toward the ship.
 

The silver zeppelin was a huge cylinder with tapered ends. The airship’s shape and strength came from a duralumin skeleton made of rings and longitudinal girders. Inside, sixteen hydrogen gas cells provided lift. Tanks of Blaugas were used for heating and lighting.
 

A central corridor ran the length of the ship, with another corridor fifty feet above that, joined by six ladder gangways. Along the outer belly, eight diesel prop-engine nacelles gave forward thrust. Between them, an extruding passenger compartment hung low.
 

The group saw five hatchways along the underside of the airship, but only two were currently open. Wooden towers had been positioned under the open hatches, providing stairs for workers to board the airship. A steady stream of men and women came and went at both towers.
 

Lucas steered them toward the nearest tower, and soon they fell in line with other workers hauling supplies and gear aboard. They climbed five stories up the stairs, and then they were aboard the
Artemis
.

As they stepped off the support towers onto the metal flooring of the ship, a foreman checked the crates they were carrying and barked orders at them.
 

“This goes to front mooring hub. That, crew quarters aft.” He looked over the electrical gear Eliza had brought aboard and frowned. “I have no idea what that is. Better take it to Einstein’s team. Axial corridor, room seven,” he said, pointing.

Eliza nodded agreement and headed in the direction he’d indicated. The foreman quickly lost interest in them and was scanning the new crates being brought aboard. Lucas and Morgan followed behind Eliza, lugging their cargo.

Once out of sight, they found a storage room and slipped inside. Setting down the cargo, they took a moment to regroup. Morgan checked the corridor.

“All clear,” he said.

“Room seven is one level above us and then forward,” Eliza said. “Chances are, that’s where Einstein is.”

“Agreed,” said Lucas. “But that’s not where we’re heading.”

“What?” she asked.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, but held his tongue.

“Our mission isn’t just to kill Einstein. We’re taking out the whole damn ship too.”

Eliza sat down hard on a crate. “Um, that’s an important detail to not share with us.”

“Need to know. Sorry,” Lucas said.
 

“And now, we need to know,” said Morgan.

Lucas nodded. He waved them forward and pried the lid from the small crate. They looked inside. Fourteen sticks of dynamite rested within, wired to a timing clock.

“My God,” said Eliza.

Lucas nodded. “This is one ship that will never bomb an American city.”
 

ROSABELLE, BELIEVE.

Colonel Browning raised his whiskey glass. “To the end of war. Or at least its mitigation.”

Tesla raised his glass and clinked it with the colonel’s. “Well said.”

The Petal & Thorn was busy tonight. John Roberts held court behind the bar, and several busty young women wove through the crowd, fetching drinks and bowls of hot lamb stew.

Tesla sipped slowly, enjoying the new brand of whiskey. “I like this,” he said. “What was it called again?”

“Jack Daniels. Young fella makes it in Tennessee.”

“He does good work.”

“That he does. So, tell me Mr. Tesla, what has you in knots over this thing? Is it the idea of contributing to the war machine?”

Tesla shook his head. “Not directly. If my work can make war less bloody, I am all for it.”

“Good, good,” said the colonel.

Tesla wasn’t ready to dive into his reservations just yet. He paused, looking around the tavern.
So much fun others were having
, he thought.

The colonel was a crack poker player, which meant he read men well. He knew pushing the issue would only delay things.

“I made colonel down in Mexico City,” he offered.

Tesla’s brows rose, and his sympathy for the man climbed. “By all accounts, that was a horrible situation.”

“Was a goddamned mess. We ended up saving South America from the Crowns, but it cost us bad. ‘Course, we wanted the buffer state, so it wasn’t totally altruistic.” He shrugged. “Nothing ever is, in war.” His eyes went glassy, and Tesla knew he was revisiting Mexico City.

The colonel blinked. “Anyway, I lost a lot of boys there. And now we’ve got Crown forces landing on our mainland. So, I’m with you. If Beowulf takes men out of war, it’s worth anything.”

“I understand. The technical challenge is mountainous, of course. I have no idea how it could be done.”

The colonel waved dismissively. “Sure, but if it could?”

“Then I suppose we come to the real issue that bothers me, though it took some time to surface.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

A waitress appeared beside him, all smiles, in a low-cut green velvet dress. “Bring you anything?” she asked.

Tesla frowned and waved her off. “No, no, please. Thank you.” She slipped away in the crowd.

Tesla set down his glass. He leaned forward to keep his voice low, despite the noisy atmosphere.

“Say I can do it. Say I figure a way to put a man’s mind into a machine. What would that mean? Am I playing God? Would he even be a man any longer? And what would it do to him? He would have no body, at least in the traditional sense. His body would become a machine. No man has ever experienced such a thing. What if it drove him insane?”

“Oh, I’ve given much thought to the very same questions.”

“You have? Why? What’s your role in all this, anyway?”

“Me? My role is easy. I just have to die.
You
have to resurrect me.”

“What?” Tesla’s spine went straight as an iron rod.

“I’m the logical choice. I have the military strategy up here,” he said, tapping his temple. “And I have the cancer.” He tapped his chest.

“You mean you’re…”

“Going to die. Yes, I am. Fairly soon now.”

“My God. I had no idea.”

“Course not. But now you see why I’m asking the same questions you are. I’m the one going into the machine. If you can do it, of course.”

Tesla held his head in his hands, staring at the table. “I don’t know if I can.”

“None of us know what we can do, until we do it.”

Tesla looked up. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Buy me another round then.”

Tesla waved the waitress over, and they got another set of whiskeys.

The colonel took a sip. “Doctor told me no drinking or smoking. I got weeks to live, and he tells me that. That’s what I call a complete lack of situational awareness.”

Tesla chuckled at the gallows humor.

“Good man,” said the Colonel. “You’ll be OK.”

Tesla grew silent, then asked, “What about Savannah? I assume she knows?”

The colonel nodded. “She does. And her little girl, Madelaine, too.”

“Oh, I didn’t know she was married.”

“She was. We don’t talk about him.”

Tesla heard the warning tones in his voice and didn’t pursue the question.
 

He rubbed his cheek, feeling the stubble of a long day. “I didn’t realize this project was so personal for your family.”

“You play the hand you’re dealt, right? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not thrilled with the idea of crossing over into… whatever it is. Or even worse, not crossing over completely.”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s not exactly a field manual for this kind of thing. What if some of me comes over, but not all? What if it’s not truly me anymore? Gives me the creeps.”

“I hadn’t thought of that yet. You’re right, that would be a macabre situation.”

The colonel stared down at the table. A hint of a scowl appeared on his lips, then disappeared. “My sister was close with that magician, Houdini. Before he died, he was worried all sorts of charlatans would come to his wife, pretending to be in contact with him from beyond the grave. So they arranged a secret phrase. If anyone came to her and used that phrase, she’d know her husband really was there, talking to her.”

“Clever. I’m sure given his fame, the con men must have come out of the woodwork.”

“They did. My sister said dozens came to Houdini’s widow, all claiming to speak for her dead husband. But not one of them said the phrase. They were liars, just after free publicity. After a few years, she made the secret public and said she was done looking for ghosts.”

“What was the phrase?”

“‘Rosabelle, believe.’ From a play they both enjoyed, I think.”

The men both grew silent. The talk of death had brought the mood down, and despite the raucous environment around them, they sat brooding on the heavy subject.

Tesla sensed the spark go out of their evening and felt responsible for it. If this man was to die soon, he shouldn’t have to spend that time poorly.
 

“Your granddaughter is how old?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation into happier waters.

“Madelaine?” The colonel’s face lightened, and Tesla knew he’d hit the mark. “She’s twelve. A very precocious twelve. Her mother’s girl, for sure. She’s at the lab pretty often, so I’m sure you’ll meet her.”

The colonel sat back in his chair. “Assuming you take the job, of course.”
 

Tesla felt the spotlight intensity of the unasked question. “Your confidence in me is extremely gratifying, Colonel. It really is. But the weight of the thing… you are putting your life in my hands, as it were. I am completely unaccustomed to such a thing.” Tesla realized the irony was that his father, as a parish priest, would be better suited to such mortal issues.
 

“Nikola, despite my chosen profession, death scares the hell out of me. But since the reaper isn’t under my chain of command, I figure I better maximize the benefit while I can. And my gut is telling me you’re the man we need.”

Tesla gulped the last of his whiskey. “I wish we had met under better circumstances, Colonel. I like you.”

“Me too, son. Me too.”

TAKING SHUNT CONTROL