Page 51 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
“Whiskey, get away from him, you bad cat.” The voice was pure American upper crust. “Raoul, do something about this mangy beast.”
Bell looked up, now even more confused. Several pilots and mechanics had arrived from across the airfield. They wore a patchwork of uniform coats, riding breaches, overalls, and all manner of nonregulation hats. The pilot who’d spoken was on the short side, and despite the thin mustache, possessed a classic baby face. No oneseemed to show any animosity toward the pilots of a German bomber that had crashed their home turf. If anything, they showed amused curiosity.
Another pilot arrived. The lion immediately padded to his side, and he gave its dark mane a couple of affectionate strokes.
Bell chanced getting to his feet.
“I say, chaps, I could use a hand,” Liam Holmes called from his perch atop the plane’s wing.
Two mechanics quickly got into position to catch him as he slid off of it. “Thanks, boys.” He accepted a handful of cotton waste to wipe the worst of the blood from his face. He managed to merely smear it and looked even more demonic.
The squadron that had strafed the plane were on final approach.
“My name is Isaac Bell. Where exactly are we?”
“American? What do you know?” said the baby-faced flyer. “Welcome to the Lafayette Escadrille. Home to a mad bunch of American pilots willing to go at it against the Boche on behalf of the Allies. I’m John Drexel.”
Bell was very familiar with the volunteer American flyers. If not for Marion, he probably would have joined up as well. Then the young pilot’s name rang a cord in his memory. “Are you Tony Drexel’s little brother?”
“Dear God,” he said with a toothy grin. “The world’s a small place, but I still wouldn’t want to pay to dry-clean it. Bell? I know who you are. You’ve flown at a couple of events around New York with Tony. He’s mentioned you to me. How the hell did you end up here flying this…pterodactyl?”
Just then another pilot approached, this one better turned out, with shined boots, a pressed uniform, and his cap at a rakish angle. He had a typical Gaulish face and the obligatory mustache.
“Bonjour. I am Captain Thenault, commander of the Lafayette.”
Holmes came to attention and saluted. “Captain Liam Holmes of the Royal Flying Corps.”
Thenault returned the salute and looked to Bell. Bell stretched out his hand for a shake. “Isaac Bell, chief detective of the Van Dorn Agency. I’m a civilian on a fact-finding mission for our President, Woodrow Wilson. I was briefly attached to the British 22nd Aero Squadron on the request of Winston Churchill, the former Lord of the Admiralty and current Minister of Munitions.”
Bell knew he was laying it on pretty thick, but he had a sense of urgency coursing through him like electricity in a high-voltage wire, and the sooner he established his bona fides the better. He wanted to get back into Belgium on the jump because his interest in Karl Rath was far from over.
“Perhaps we should go to my office to talk. Captain ’Olmes, do you require medical attention? I can send for our corpsman.”
“It looks worse than it is, but it’s not going to stop bleeding without a dressing. One would be greatly appreciated.”
“D’accord.” He spoke in French to one of the mechanics, who dashed off in the direction of the airdrome HQ.
Ten minutes later, the three men were enjoying coffee in Thenault’s office overlooking the airfield. In the distance, mechanics and off-duty pilots were crawling all over the Zeppelin-Staaken like ants over a dead bird’s carcass.
Bell told the Frenchman about his mission on behalf of the President and how he came to be shot down over German-held territory and captured along with Liam Holmes, who’d been shot down a few days earlier. He told him about the escape and subsequent recapture by Karl Rath and his men. He kept his tale as dry as possible so as not to push the captain’s credulity. He then handed over the briefcaseand explained the circumstances around their flight and escape back over the Allied lines.
“Is this genuine?” the Frenchman asked, pawing over the sheaf of documents.
“Not remotely,” Bell assured him. “They are very good, to be sure, but they’re forgeries. But I don’t think that matters. I’ve been thinking about this for a bit. The Dutch have been surrounded by war for three straight years. Their people are suffering. They want it to end just as badly as everyone else. This gives them an excuse to open a new front against Germany and accelerate the end of the conflict.”
“Why would this anarchist, Rath, want that?”
“No country that has fought in this war is going to look the same once it’s over. An entire generation of young men have been gunned down. That alone will change demographics for the rest of the twentieth century. Empires are crumbling. I believe the monarchies of Europe, the Hapsburgs, the Romanovs, the Ottomans, Prussia’s Hohenzollern, are all going to be swept aside in populist uprisings. Maps are going to be redrawn in ways no one will recognize. Into all that there will be power vacuums that men like Karl Rath know how to exploit. The greater the chaos, the better he will do when the guns finally fall silent.”
Thenault and Holmes nodded in silence at Bell’s grim assessment because neither man had a counterargument for what could happen to Europe in the foreseeable future.
“Captain Thenault, I need to return to occupied Belgium.”
“What?” This was the first Liam Holmes had heard of Bell’s plan and his eyes goggled.
“I don’t believe our flight was Rath’s only operation.” Bell pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he’d found in the trash in Rath’sheadquarters. He’d given it a glance during the flight. He straightened the scrap and held it out to Liam Holmes. “What does your schoolboy German make of this?”
Holmes took it. There were two columns of words, one in a language he didn’t recognize but looked Slavish. They were apparently then translated into German. “Ah, let’s see.Ankeris anchor. Um,Munitionaufzugis an ammunition hoist or elevator.Vollgasmeans top speed or maybe full speed. Not positive aboutDampfrohr. I think it’s some kind of pipe.” He handed it back to Bell. “What is this?”
