Page 48 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
Bell dismissed this idea as soon as it formed in his mind. The kid fought harder than he’d expected, but he was such an awkward person to be considered for a solo mission that Rath put so much effort and sacrifice into. For something critical, like perhaps a meeting at a Dutch airfield, Rath would likely go himself or send a more senior man, not a callow boy who had no idea how to properly handle a gun much less himself.
If it wasn’t Georgi then it was something else. Something in the aircraft, perhaps.
Bell called over to Holmes. “Are you okay for a couple of minutes?”
“Yes, but make it quick. I’m going to need you to spell me for a bit. My arms are dead.”
Bell left his seat and made his way aft. Georgi was dead, lying broken on the floor, an unearthly white hand pressed to the entrance wound in his chest, as if that could keep in the blood. Bell knelt next to him, but rather than close Georgi’s sightless eyes or arrange his limbs in a more respectful pose, he rifled through his clothes with an expert’s touch.
Georgi carried nothing but a pocket watch and a cashless wallet with an identification card that said he was an Austrian named George Jaeger, but the ID was fake in Bell’s estimation. A good forgery, but not the real thing. It was in the embossing. It was slightly off. There was no notebook or envelope. He carried nothing that looked like he was acting as its courier.
If not the man, Bell thought, then the plane.
He performed a methodical search, opening the drawer under the navigator’s tiny desk, feeling along seams in the canvas walls for hidden pockets, looking on, under, and around everything he could.He crawled between the two rows of tall gas cans, feeling around each for anything that had been stashed away. Nothing.
Beyond the tanks was a little room with two storage lockers on the floor. On the far wall was a canvas flap snapped in place with brass fasteners. Bell left the lockers for now and opened the cloth door. The sound of the slipstream grew sharper. Bell crawled through the doorway and stood. He was in the Zeppelin-Staaken’s rear gunner’s station. There were mounts for a pair of 7.92-millimeter MG-14 light machine guns. Neither gun was aboard. Bell did a quick visual sweep and backed out when he saw there was nothing of note. He refastened the flap to cut down on the noise and opened the first metal locker. There were some spare parts, a couple of oilcans, and various tools a mechanic might need during a long bombing run.
The second locker, the last place Bell could check, was where he found a heavy steel case, like a piece of luggage, only more industrial looking. He opened it and saw it was full of asbestos sheets packed around another, smaller case. This was made of conventional leather and looked old, but well cared for.
Bell opened this case. It was stuffed with official-looking papers written in German with fanciful crests and stamps and the wordsStreng Geheimon each sheet. He guessed it meant “top secret.”
Mindful of Holmes still flying this big plane solo, he closed up the case and hurried back to the cockpit. He slid into his seat and placed the case between them. Putting his hands on the wheel, he said, “I have the controls.”
Holmes blew out a breath, flicked his wrists to loosen them up, and slumped back. “Thanks, mate.”
“How’s your German?”
“Schoolboy mostly.”
“See what you can make of the contents of that case,” Bell said,his eyes scanning the dials and compass and then returning to the windscreen.
Dawn was breaking behind them and the landscape below was starting to emerge from the darkness. They were just now climbing back up through eight thousand feet. The front was still fifty miles away, which would give them another few thousand feet of altitude at their predicted rate of climb. It wasn’t as high as Bell would have preferred. Remaining over the German side of the line wouldn’t be a problem. It was when they crossed into Allied territory that they would be potential sitting ducks for dawn patrols.
They didn’t have enough fuel to wait it out over German-claimed land until the Allied patrols had returned to their airfields. They would just hope their luck held. Bell occasionally turned to Holmes to see what progress he was making. The airman’s face went from confusion to understanding to concern with nearly every sentence he read.
Bell couldn’t take the wait and finally yelled over the plane’s rattling and the wind’s howl. “Well, what is it?”
“You’re not going to believe it,” Holmes replied, as though he wasn’t quite sure he did, either. “These are the detailed plans for a German invasion of Holland. They’re going to ignore Dutch neutrality and execute a lightning raid all the way to the port of Rotterdam. The Germans figure they can seize enough warehoused supplies like steel, oil, and gas, as well as chemicals and food for them to keep fighting until 1920. They think they can wear down the Allies in a continuation of the current trench war stalemate. It’ll be the biggest heist in history.”
Bell knew that wasn’t true, but was duly impressed anyway. It was audacious, but also brilliantly calculating. “When?”
“Ten days’ time.” He pointed at the open case on his lap. “In hereare troop numbers, railroad dispatch tables, air-cover plans. The works.”
Bell remained silent, his mind working furiously even as he continued to monitor the aircraft and the brightening sky around them.
“Lord knows how Rath and his thugs got their hands on this stuff,” Holmes continued, “but it appears our flight was meant to deliver a warning to the Dutch government. He is true to his word about wanting to end the war.”
Bell still kept his own counsel. The numbers didn’t add up. Georgi was a lousy choice to act as a courier and emissary. He was what generals called cannon fodder, an expendable soldier of little consequence in the grand scheme of war. Rath was too cunning to send the wrong man, so Georgi’s role was something else. The asbestos was the key, and when Bell realized it, his blood pressure spiked because his heart went into overdrive.
“Had we stayed on the route Georgi laid out, would we have flown over Amsterdam?”
Holmes caught the urgency in Bell’s shouted question. “Near enough. Why?”
“What time would we have arrived?”
“Hard to say. About now, really.”
“No time to explain. Take the controls. Slow us down as much as you dare. Hang her right above stall speed.” Bell jumped to his feet.
