Midnight Harvest (17 page)

“It has been a long day; the animal is tired,” said Rogerio, no longer as certain of this as he was a moment before.

“Perhaps,” said Saint-Germain as they left the goat-cart behind. “I hope the soldiers don’t find him, whatever the case. They might not be willing to leave him alone.” He shifted gears and picked up speed once more.

By dawn they had reached Alcobendas; they sought out a repair shop where Saint-Germain purchased and replaced two tires, commenting as he did, “The roads are very rough, here in the countryside.”

“Yes, señor, they are,” said the mechanic who changed the tires. “Pray God they do not improve, or my children will starve.” He grinned.

“Then I will also pray that no one will improve the tires,” said Saint-Germain sardonically, as he paid him and tipped the man ten pesetas for his work.

“Gracias, señor,” he said, nodding acknowledgment. He wiped his hands on a tattered bit of toweling and added, “If you are going far, they say there is trouble in Basque country.”

“There is always trouble in Basque country,” said Saint-Germain, recalling how Karl-lo-Magne had made just such a complaint, and the Visigoths before him.

“No; real trouble. The army is going after them, they say.” He crossed himself. “A bad thing.”

“Yes,” said Saint-Germain, preparing to help roll the Voisin out of the repair garage.

“The fighting gets worse and worse; they promise each fight will end it, but then there is another one and it never stops,” the mechanic said, and took the other side of the car to push it outside to where Rogerio waited. “You don’t want to be caught in it.”

“Truly,” said Saint-Germain.

“You were wise to buy fuel now, as much as you can. You may not find any as you go north,” the mechanic told him. “You could be left by the side of the road if you did not fill your tank now.”

“I would prefer not to be,” said Saint-Germain. “And I appreciate your warning.”

“It is my privilege, señor,” said the mechanic. “If you are thirsty or hungry, there is an excellent cantina in the next street. My brother-in-law runs it.” He winked at Rogerio as if he knew that working men shared a secret unknown to their employers. “You will get a good meal there, and wine at a reasonable price.”

“Another time,” said Saint-Germain as he opened the driver’s door.

Rogerio got into the passenger seat. “Thank you for telling us.”

The mechanic shrugged; he had done his best. “As you wish, señor. Buen’ viaje,” he said, waving them away.

Saint-Germain started the engine and listened to the sound of it. “It’s running well,” he told Rogerio as they drove out of Alcobendas.

“That’s a relief,” said Rogerio, his austere features set in stern lines. “We need only concern ourselves with insurgents and soldiers.” He did not expect Saint-Germain to reply, and he went on, “Where are we bound now?”

“Lozoyuela,” said Saint-Germain. “Then Burgos.”

“Assuming all goes well,” said Rogerio.

“Yes; making that assumption,” said Saint-Germain as he shifted into third gear and began to pick up speed.

T
EXT OF A REPORT SUBMITTED BY
C
OLONEL
J
UAN
E
NRIQUE
S
ENDA IN
C
ÓRDOBA TO THE
S
ECRETARIO DE
S
EGURIDAD
F
ORTUNIO
M
ORALES Y
S
ETO IN
V
ALLADOLID.

83, Calle Arruga

Córdoba

19 July, 1936

Fortunio Morales y Seto

Secretario de Seguridad

La Plaza della Sagrada Corazon

Valladolid

Dear Secretario Morales y Seto,

It is my duty to report to you my discoveries at Eclipse Aeroplano Industrias, formerly owned and financed by Ferenc Ragoczy, el Conde de Saint-Germain, and to that end I submit this to you. This is the sum of the information I have been able to garner in his regard, and I offer it to you.

Ten days ago, this Conde de Saint-Germain left the city of Cádiz. He had valid travel documents for Burgos, and apparently went there, for there is a reliable report that he and his manservant were there for the trials on the new design of the Eclipse Aeroplano Industrias’ Spartan airplane, this one with increased range. He watched the whole official tests of the airplane, and then said he was going to leave for the night. He did not return the following day, and, from all I can discover, he did not spend the night at any hotel in Burgos. It is always possible he had friends in the city, but if so, they have not come forward and he, himself, along with his manservant, is missing.

It may be that since he was wounded by random gunfire, he has decided to isolate himself, which is understandable, for he is a foreigner and inclined to avoid direct conflict It may be that his injury was more serious than anyone supposed and he has gone to seek appropriate medical help. He may have encountered an enemy from his past and decided that it was wiser to disappear than fight Whatever the case, his absence is to our advantage just now, for with the generals finally making their move, we will not want to have to gain the approval of this foreigner for all we need this company to provide us. We have only to declare him an enemy of the revolution, and then claim his business.

The woman presently acting as Chairman of Eclipse Aeroplano Industrias, a Czech woman named Druze Sviny, who is a mathematician, tells me she has had no instructions from Saint-Germain, either by telegram, telephone, or letter, since his appearance in Burgos. She has no notion of where he can have gone, although she says he has planned to visit a blood relative in Provence, and may well have gone there.

I have busied myself the last four days trying to learn everything that I can about the condition of his company, and, I must say, it appears to be in excellent financial and design health, and the worth of the airplanes has been proven many times. This company is going to be a real asset to the army as soon as we can take possession of it I have already filed the papers of military acquisition to claim this business as strategically necessary for our eventual triumph over the guerillas who so plague our country. The Junta will need all the support we can provide them: with Cádiz and Seville rising in their favor, we must have victory, and soon.

The various airplane designs that we have seen here may be adapted to military purposes without adding significantly to weight or fuel consumption. I believe there are men here who are willing to stay on and aid us—not all are Spanish, but they live here and have some interest in seeing the country stable once again. I will enclose the names of those I recommend for employment.

I was relieved to discover that Saint-Germain had stockpiled steel and aluminum; this plant can continue to produce airplanes for another ten months at the current rate without requisitioning more materiel, which is to our advantage with the possible shortages we anticipate being part of our coming struggle. These stockpiles are an unanticipated asset, and one that we should make a gesture of recompense to Saint-Germain, to show that it is not our purpose to strip him of his company entirely, for that would be seen as plundering a business, which would not be to our advantage at this time. A settlement for the supplies should soften the blow of our laying claim to this fine manufactory.

The financial records I have seen indicate that this company has been turning a profit for the last two years, and that those profits are increasing, and therefore we will have no debt that we would have to discharge. This, too, is good news. I don’t suppose you can authorize any accountants to inspect the books, but from my cursory inspection, you will not find hidden debts or other indications of mismanagement.

If you have any specific information you wish me to provide, it will be my pleasure to comply with your request as quickly as possible.

Most devotedly at your service,

Juan Enrique Senda, Colonel

JES/ay

chapter seven

Cherbourg was warm and breezy, the morning limpid in its newness. Saint-Germain stood at the edge of the airfield, hatless and shading his eyes as he looked up at the airplane that was coming in for a landing on the private airstrip that was flanked with open fields basking in the rising summer sun. Behind the two, the control tower rose up, topped with an octagonal cupola of glass. “Is that our—” he asked, turning to Rogerio.

“Yes; it is our airplane,” said Rogerio from his place by their chests, crates, trunks, and suitcases. “You chartered it and it will carry us to America.” If he was disquieted, he gave no indication of it. “You can stay with your native earth all the way.”

Saint-Germain nodded, saying apologetically, “I’m sorry to fuss so, but being high in the air, over water…” He stepped into the shadow of the control tower.

“I am cognizant of the problem,” said Rogerio with a trace of humor. “I have explained that you are terrified of flying, and that you have been given a calmative by your physician so you will sleep for the whole journey. You are so wealthy, the pilot thinks you are indulging a foolish eccentricity.”

“And so I am. Clever as always, old friend,” said Saint-Germain as the airplane touched down and rolled down the long paved stretch toward the shine of the English Channel, three kilometers beyond the fence at the end of the airfield.

“The pilot and his assistant pilot are both accustomed to dealing with very rich customers—their business depends upon them. They boast of the oddities they have to accommodate; by comparison with some, you are quite tame. He said one of the Rockefellers demanded a half-sized table be brought on, for table tennis, so he and his friends could amuse themselves playing the game all the way to Boston. It was a fairly smooth crossing, so they actually played awhile.”

“I shan’t need anything so athletic.” Saint-Germain patted his pocket. “All our papers are in order, so there is no reason to stay here much longer; once our things are aboard and the pilot is satisfied, we should be ready.” He squinted at the sky. “It will be hot before noon.”

The airplane turned and started back up the runway toward the control tower and the two waiting men.

“It is a good-sized airplane,” said Saint-Germain, studying it with narrowed eyes.

“It has four propellers, and it can accommodate seventy-eight passengers in its usual commercial set-up, but it has been modified for private charter use, with sofas and a lounge in front, and sleeping cabins behind, instead of rows of seats. Very luxurious. You will be accommodated in one of the two sleeping cabins. It’s all arranged.” Rogerio patted his leather portfolio. “I have everything here. Mr. Dylan has assured me that the pilots have made this crossing many, many times, very successfully.”

“Mr. Dylan is the agent for the airline?” Saint-Germain asked.

“Yes”; the man Miles Sunbury suggested we contact; his offices are in Paris, but the company is Irish,” said Rogerio. “He has been very helpful in making our arrangements.”

“I thought I recalled the name,” said Saint-Germain, mildly distracted.

Rogerio knew Saint-Germain was growing more nervous—a rare event for him—and wished he could allay his discomfort. “You have survived a month in the hold of a ship; twelve to fifteen hours in an airplane should not be intolerable. The speed is worth the discomfort, or so you’ve said. You have had a few days to recover from our rapid journey to France, so you are not as exhausted as you were.”

“You mean that I visited that young dancer in her sleep, yes; and it did somewhat restore me,” Saint-Germain admitted.

“And you’re prepared for this journey, as much as one of your blood can be,” Rogerio reminded him.

“So I try to tell myself, and I recall other journeys in other times that were more arduous for both of us,” said Saint-Germain, coming as close as he would to admitting his unease.

“Truly,” said Rogerio, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the engines as the airplane swung around and came toward them.

Saint-Germain pressed his lips together in thoughtful silence, then said, “You have done very well; I know I have been a trial.”

“We have left Spain behind,” said Rogerio, “and that is more urgent than any of these arrangements.”

“Yes. Spain is no longer safe in any way, not with the turn events have taken. Still, I dislike having to slip away as I did, but I gambled and lost.” He looked off toward the Channel again.

“You got Doña Isabel out,” Rogerio reminded him.

“Hardly significant in light of all that has transpired.” Saint-Germain shook his head once. “The war is well and truly begun there, and nothing will stop it until one of the combatants has been defeated. The generals are pressing their advances from every garrison. Cádiz is already in their hands, and Zaragossa, and Burgos will be next, and Sevilla, then Barcelona, and then they will take Madrid. And, of course, Eclipse Aeroplano Industrias.”

“A foregone conclusion,” said Rogerio. “But you have left other things behind in Spain.”

“Many times, as have you,” Saint-Germain agreed, recalling the past with an intensity that made him wonder if Csimenae was still alive, and if she was, where she was hiding during this latest upheaval.

The airplane halted, the propellers ceased their rotations, and two men rolled out a tall flight of stairs; slowly the door in the side swung open and a young man in a blue-grey uniform stood aside as the pilot, his second in command, and the navigator came down the steps. When they were on the ground, the young man came after them, leaving the door open for the ground staff to deal with the airplane.

“You mustn’t worry. The crew will be with you shortly,” said the young man. “They are allowed forty minutes between flights to recruit themselves, so they are going to have breakfast. While they dine, the fuel tanks will be filled again, as they were in Paris, and your belongings will be put aboard, and then, as soon as the crew is ready to leave, we will be on our way to Ireland, then on to Newfoundland.”