The Titanic Plan (56 page)

In New York City, Belle da Costa Greene was dining at
Delmonico’s
that Sunday evening with Katrina Ely Tiffany, the wife of the jeweler Charles Tiffany. Katrina was trying to convince Belle to join the suffragette movement. “Why don’t you come to one of our meetings? You’ll see we’re not wild-eyed, misguided, high-strung, emotionally overwrought women that the other side portrays us to be.”

Belle agreed to go to a meeting of the
Woman Suffrage Party
the following week. She went home tired and ready for a good night’s sleep. Before turning out her bedside light, she checked her engagement book for the upcoming week’s appointment. Wednesday afternoon was circled. “
White Star Pier 59. Titanic.
”

J. Pierpont Morgan left Paris by train late Saturday evening, heading southeast. On Sunday morning, April 14, he arrived in Aix-les-Bains, a small mountain town in the French Alps, renowned for its mineral baths and treatments. He checked into the town’s
Grand Hotel
, having reserved its entire upper floor, and spent the evening playing bridge with his sister at a franc a hundred points. Tired from the day’s travel, he retired to bed early.

CHAPTER 61

“
O
www!!” screamed Henry. Wheeler twisted Henry’s thin legs together then tied a coarse rope around his ankles. “You’re hurtin,’ me.”

“
Shut up,” Wheeler snapped, grabbing Henry’s arms and yanking them behind his back. Henry yowled again. Wheeler sent a sharp elbow into the boy’s ribs, taking cruel glee in the boy’s agony. He secured Henry’s wrists and then pulled the knot tighter so the rope scrapped off bits of Henry’s skin.

“
Dammit,” Henry swore. “Ain’t no reason to…” Wheeler pushed a gag into the boy’s mouth to quiet him and then tied it tightly with a sash. He threw Henry to the hard floor of the cargo hold, the same isolated room Henry had earlier sought refuge in. “This is what happens to boys when they snoop around like little rats,” Wheeler snarled, and then slapped Henry across the face with his oversized hand. Henry wailed through his gag and jerked forward, smashing his skull into Wheeler’s forehead, splitting the skin. Blood gushed and streamed into Wheeler’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. Henry slid along the floor and crawled for a narrow gap between two crates, trying to escape. He sucked in his breath then pushed his tiny body through the tight opening. Wriggling his head through the crack, Henry was able to undulate his body like a snake, using the tight pressure of the crates’ sidings to propel him along. He was serpent quick, disappearing into the dark slit, wedged into seeming safety, when Wheeler’s giant hand snatched his ankle and yanked hard, whipsawing Henry back, scraping his body and face along the rough wood. Hauling the boy out, Wheeler snapped Henry’s foot, twisting it with such ferocity that the small bones of his ankle shattered like crushed glass. Henry howled. Wheeler closed his fist and swung as hard as he could, striking Henry square in the temple. A little groan emerged from Henry before he went limp.

* * *

All the men cheered when Astor opened the bottle of
Courvoisier
. The night’s meeting in the First Class Lounge was more a celebration than it was serious business. Most of the arduous planning had already been done, the framework for The Plan was in place. With brandy snifters in hand, each man went over what they saw as their individual responsibilities within The Plan, then spoke of the specific actions they would be taking to achieve their goals. Archie reiterated that he would be a bridge to the government and would need the group’s cooperation in order to shepherd the project through the various political minefields. But as the words left his mouth, he felt like a traitor. How would these men, who were nodding at him so approvingly, feel if they knew that his real purpose was to spy on them? What would they think if they realized he was a mole who would ultimately destroy The Plan, not help usher it into existence? It disturbed Archie deeply, particularly because he liked these men. He felt a kinship with them. They were patriots, in their fashion. They believed what they were doing was best for the country.

After Archie talked, Astor rose to his feet. Even though alcohol usually loosened his tongue, words did not come easily at first. “Gentlemen,” Astor said, raising his glass for a toast. “Tonight my head is filled with gratitude to all of you and with what we are about to embark upon. We, here, together on this great ship, are the vanguards of civilization. It is men like us – men with vision and the courage of our convictions, who will continue to bring greatness to the United States of America.” Then Astor added wistfully, “If only George and Morgan were here.” It was obvious that in Astor’s proud moment of triumph, he wanted his partners to see the success he was responsible for.

Yes, they should be here,
Archie thought.
Why weren’t they?
And then it hit him – an insight that was so stunning, so inconceivable, and yet so obvious. The men before him were celebrating what they thought was a significant business opportunity. But, as the confidential report laid out, The Plan had the potential to be much more. And who but Morgan, the shrewdest and most powerful of them all, would want the even greater power that came with The Plan’s success? But he would have to wrest control from the others. There was only one way. It was too horrible to contemplate, yet there was no other explanation. Wheeler, the dynamite – it made absolute sense. Morgan and Vanderbilt were not on the
Titanic
because they were indisposed; they were absent because, in the most Machiavellian way, they had allied to hijack The Plan for themselves alone, the riches and power it brought not to be shared with anyone else.

“
God bless our country, America,” Astor declared. “And God bless us, the architects of the future!” The men liked the ring of the phrase and enthusiastically repeated: “The architects of the future!” They swallowed their cognac in triumphant gulps and began congratulating themselves, shaking hands and joyfully slapping each other on the back. Archie waited a moment before slipping out of the lounge, unnoticed.

* * *

“
It’s getting cold,” Captain Smith said to his Second Officer, Charles Lightoller. They were standing on the bridge, looking out over an eerily calm ocean.

“
Yes it is, sir,” Lightoller answered. “The temperature is dropping quickly.”

“
We need to make sure our fresh water supply does not freeze.”

“
I will take care of that, Captain.”

“
What do you think about icebergs?” Smith asked, remembering that Mrs. Thayer brought it up at the dinner.

“
We are well south of the ice region. There shouldn’t be any problem. Full throttle, Captain?”

“
That’s what Ismay wants, yes,” Smith said, still a little perturbed. “Full throttle. If it becomes at all doubtful, let me know at once. I shall be just inside.”

“
Yes, Captain,” Lightoller said, and saluted.

At 10 p.m., two young crewmen, Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee, climbed to the Titanic’s crow’s nest for their Sunday night lookout shift. Fleet had been disturbed the entire voyage because the crow’s nests’ binoculars, essential equipment for the lookouts, were missing. The officer responsible for the binoculars, Second Officer Lightoller, noted the problem and told the sailors that the matter was “in hand.” But another pair of binoculars were never delivered. The lookouts were essentially functioning as if one of their eyes, their strongest one, was blind.

CHAPTER 62

“
Y
ou’re drunk,” Madeleine said, smelling the alcohol on Astor’s breath. He had just returned from the celebratory meeting in the First Class Lounge. Astor wavered, his eyes skittering away from his scowling wife. “Yes, I am,” Astor slurred. “Drunk with love for you.”

Astor’s besotted declaration made Madeleine laugh. “Oh, my husband…” she said, shaking her head.

“
Oh, my wife…” Astor responded, moving to her and extending his hands. “Please, I want to feel our baby in your belly.”

“
Let’s go to bed, John.”

“
The baby…Now!” Astor insisted, placing his hands on her stomach. He closed his eyes.

“
I don’t think the baby is ready yet.”

Astor began to gently hum, as if that would somehow reach the baby in the womb. “There! Yes! I felt kicking.”

“
I didn’t feel anything. John,”

“
He kicked! I’m sure of it.”

“
How do you know it’s a him?”

“
It’s an Astor. It must be a him. A new Astor!” Astor spoke excitedly then leaned down and kissed Madeleine’s belly. “A new Astor.”

* * *

Archie raced down the Grand Staircase to the B-Deck, then ran down the long corridor that separated the First Class guests quarters from their servants. C-81! That was it, the cabin the Inquiry Room clerk said was Wheeler’s. Archie pounded the door. There was no response, so Archie thumped again, then pressed his ear to the door, trying to hear if anyone was rustling in the room. Nothing. Wheeler was somewhere on the ship and Archie had to find him. He closed his eyes and prayed – to God, to Mick, to any force that might lead him to Wheeler. He tried summoning Wheeler’s image into his mind, as if that might somehow help locate him. But as he focused his thoughts, his concentration was broken by the jangle of music coming from a deck above. The ship’s band was blaring
Come Josephine, In My Flying Machine
. Annoyed, Archie stepped away and wandered back down the corridor. He didn’t know where to go next, so he climbed a single flight of stairs that led to the Men’s Smoking Lounge. As soon as he stepped in, he heard a familiar voice calling: “Archie, over here.” He swiveled to see Millet waving from a card table. Millet was sitting with two friends, Arthur Ryerson and Clarence Moore. “Pull up a chair, Arch,” Millet said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“
I can’t right now.”

“
Something wrong, Archie?” Ryerson asked.

“
I have to take care of some business. I’ll join you all in a bit if I can.”

“
Promise?” Millet asked.

“
Frank, I wouldn’t miss a game with you for anything.”

“
Good then. We’ll hold your place”.

Archie quickly stepped through the Smoking Lounge then out to the Promenade, where his face was hit by the cold sea air. He breathed it in, feeling the tang of salt in his nostrils and the wisp of moistness on his lips. There was no moon. The smooth surface of the water mirrored the black satin sky that glittered with a million stars. He felt calm, serene. His serenity lasted only until he saw a man gazing out over the railing near the bow, a man with a hulking body and big jug ears. He quickly set out to the front of the ship. “Wheeler,” Archie called when he got close. The large man did a slow turn and saw Archie only a few feet behind him. The light caught the crescent scar that ran down the man’s jaw.

“
Archie Butt,” Wheeler said, his voice soft and full of menace. “Our paths cross in the oddest places, don’t they?”

“
What are you doing here?” Archie asked, trying to measure Wheeler out.

“
Crossing the Atlantic like you. Going home.”

Archie had no time for games. “You’re here to blow up this ship.”

“
Now where in the world did you get such a silly notion?” Wheeler said through his sinister grin.

“
When I threw the dynamite that you left in the cargo hold overboard.”

“
Dynamite?! You say there was dynamite on this ship?! And now it’s gone? Well, I say the only dynamite that existed must have been in your imagination.”

“
It was in the cargo hold and there’s got to be more.”

“
My, my, my,” Wheeler said, shaking his head. “Not only do you have quite an imagination, but a paranoid one as well. Don’t you read the advertisements? Trying to blow this ship up with dynamite would be futile. This is the Titanic. It’s unsinkable.”