Page 7 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
The implications of that statement hung over the table in a pall as thick as the cigarette smoke. While everyone in the room was a lawyer by training and had never seen even a moment of combat, including Colonel House, whose title was honorary, they had all read accounts and seen uncensored footage of the carnage andhorror of the modern battlefield. Wilson was considering sending American men into such a meat grinder.
House continued. “Newt, your predecessor was quite the war hawk, and for that President Wilson accepted his resignation. You’re a more measured man, like the President. We need an honest assessment of what our boys will be facing. Lord knows I’ve been to Europe and back for two straight years trying to broker a peace deal to no avail, but in all that time I never got within a hundred miles of the front. The President wants a firsthand account of life in the trenches.
“The Brits and the French have made all kinds of assurances, but given the circumstance it would be foolhardy to trust them at their word. It seems a good amount of what they tell us is more sugarcoated than a pastry at a county fair.”
“Is this to be an official fact-finding mission?” the war secretary asked.
“No. This is personal for the President. He all but told me that. He needs to know what our men will be marching into before he asks Congress for a declaration of war.”
“Hell,” said Secretary Baker. “He’s sending them to hell. The British have lost about half a million men. The French twice that if you include all the civilians.”
“He understands that, Newt. He also understands that every military aide he’s spoken with is eager to get into this fight. Tanks, airplanes, submarines. They all want to play with the new toys. England and France are desperate for us to take up the fight. Their diplomats keep saying that if we enter the war, the Germans would capitulate even before our men reach Europe. But if they don’t, and they keep on fighting in the face of our mobilized army, he needs animpartial observer to tell him what the situation on the ground actually looks like.”
“Isn’t he concerned that if we send a military man, that he’d be as eager as the generals to see us in the fight?” Franklin Roosevelt asked.
House nodded. “Very good, lad.”
Knowing how he’d react to being called lad, Josephus Daniels moved to put a restraining hand on his undersecretary’s arm. He was too late.
“With all due respect, Colonel House,” the thirty-five-year-old rising star said icily, “it’s Secretary Roosevelt, Mr. Roosevelt, or if you prefer, Franklin.”
Unused to such a rebuke, especially from one whose presence here was more of a courtesy to Daniels, House sat open-mouthed for a solid three seconds before saying with overexaggerated politeness, “Mr. Roosevelt, my apologies.”
“Think nothing of it, sir,” Roosevelt said.
House gave a tight grimace, but then carried on with the meeting. “Mr. Roosevelt hit the crux of the problem. The President is concerned that getting a field report from some West Point graduate itching to see combat for the first time is as counterproductive as listening to the Allies’ propaganda.”
Newt Baker asked, “What about someone who’s retired from the military and has no dog in the hunt, so to speak?”
“That’s our thought exactly,” House said, pointing a finger across the table at the secretary of war. “We need someone who is seasoned. An officer, of course. A man who won’t let himself get carried away and who will understand what he’s seeing firsthand. Does anyone come to mind?”
“I’d have to think about it,” Baker admitted. “Joe?”
The Navy secretary shook his head. “This will have to be an army veteran who understands the weapons and tactics he’s seeing in front of him.”
“I have a suggestion,” Roosevelt said. If he felt his role in such distinguished company was to be seen and not heard, he gave no indication. “I know someone outside the military, but who is more versed in fighting than anyone I’ve ever known. The President even met this fellow some months back after he thwarted an attack on the presidential yacht as it was sailing down the Potomac.”
“I know who you’re talking about,” his boss exclaimed. “You told me about him. You knew him when you were both in school.”
“Yes, sir. His name is Isaac Bell. He’s the lead investigator for the Van Dorn Agency, which should tell you plenty on its face.”
That was greeted with several nods. Everyone knew of the fabled Van Dorn Agency. Though not as large as Pinkerton, they had a stellar reputation and lived up to their motto of “Always getting their man. Always.” The fact that Roosevelt was suggesting the top man within that organization carried some considerable weight.
The Navy undersecretary continued. “I imagine the President feels some urgency in this matter.”
“Yes he does,” House replied, any lingering issue over being reprimanded by the brash upstart having evaporated. “Now that the Boche have unleased their submarines, they could sink an American-flagged ship any day now with tremendous loss of life. We could be at war within weeks or even days.”
“Isaac Bell has something else going for him. I know for a fact that he is in England right now. If we hire him for this fact-finding mission, we wouldn’t have to wait a week or ten days for some retiree to get himself across the Atlantic, provided we can find such a candidate in short order.”
“How do you know he’s in England?” Joe Daniels asked his subaltern.
“My wife was involved in a charity fundraiser among New York’s high society that collected several million dollars’ worth of gold to give to the British government for their war effort. Bell’s wife was involved as well. Bell got Joseph Van Dorn to offer his company’s services to guard the bullion until it reached England. Bell and another agent from their Manhattan office made the voyage. Eleanor and I saw them off.”
“And you say he has combat experience?” House asked.
“Not in the trenches like they have in Europe, but over a few dinners we’ve had this past year, he’s told me about some of his tougher cases and the gunfights they invariably end in. He knows his way around violence.”
“I don’t like it,” House said. “I’d rather have a man who’s been in uniform.”
