Page 88 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
Bell relayed his overseas exploits, providing an unvarnished description of the horrors he witnessed at the front. He spoke of the unfailing bravery of the men he fought with, and of the higher vision that men like Winston Churchill saw of the critical nature of the war’s outcome.
Wilson stared at him for a moment. “Are you saying this is a just war and we should do our part?”
“No, Mr. President. There is no such thing as a just war. But this is one we must fight if for no other reason than to bring it to a swift end. During our Civil War, the average soldier could fire his musket four times in a minute. In just three days at Gettysburg there were over fifty thousand casualties. Today that same average soldier can fire between twenty and thirty rounds a minute if you factor in all the machine guns. The Allies and Central Powers have already slaughtered millions of men with no end in sight. If they keep at each other, Europe’s population will simply collapse and the remaining people will be driven back to the Dark Ages.
“And there’s something more. Without our involvement in the fighting, we won’t have a say in the peace accords that follow. TheEuropeans need our leadership on this front if they are to break their generational cycle of war. By us fighting on the Allied side, we can ensure a lasting peace. You have an opportunity to make certain that this is the war that H. G. Wells said would finally end all war.”
Wilson quietly repeated Bell’s last words, then grew silent and reflective. “I have always been committed to peace,” he said after a few moments. “Germany’s unrestricted submarine warfare has placed our ships in harm’s way. The news of this letter from Zimmerman to Mexico, seeking their aid to Germany in exchange for our southwestern states, is a further offense. Yet I still had hopes of a peaceful resolution.” He gave a deep resigned sigh. “I can see from your report that we can no longer remain neutral.”
“From what I saw, an Allied victory is essential for democracy and self-determination to survive. Not to mention a lasting peace. The impact, I believe, will go well beyond Europe.”
“Then I suppose war it must be,” Wilson replied with a heavy heart. He stood to leave.
“I have been made to understand that this attack on New York was not made by Germany, but by a group of independent anarchists.”
“Yes. They wished to draw us into the war to help elevate their goal of chaos and destruction.”
“A second enemy?”
Bell drew silent in thought. He recalled something Karl Rath had said just before his death that dovetailed with a comment Magdalena had made back in her father’s tavern. Rath had claimed there were other men who would prevail. He’d mumbled something about fulcrum, a seemingly nonsensical comment, but now Bell was certain it meant more. He came to believe Rath was bragging aboutbeing part of a globe-spanning collective of anarchy cells that would outlast him, which he called Fulcrum.
“Yes,” Bell replied to the President. “A second enemy that may very well still exist.”
“If that’s the case, Mr. Bell, I trust that I can rely on your help in defeating them, as well as the Germans.”
Wilson turned and strode from the lounge before Bell could respond, already knowing the answer.
—
It had been a monthof healing and reflection. Things were finally getting back to normal, with one notable difference. Upon hearing how her fiancé had put himself at risk following her boss on another of his harebrained adventures, Helen Mills demanded an immediate wedding. Joe Marchetti’s long engagement came to an abrupt end three weeks after the incident.
The wedding had taken place at the nearby Holy Cross Church and now the wedding party was enjoying predinner drinks in the Knickerbocker Hotel’s sumptuous main ballroom.
Isaac Bell’s left hand was still in a cast. The Harvard doctor who’d set it had studied in Vienna under the famed surgeon Carl Nicoladoni. It had taken four excruciating hours of meticulous work to manipulate the broken bones into their proper alignment before he immobilized Bell’s hand in plaster. The doctor was very optimistic, but it would be another month before the cast came off and Bell would know if he had two fully functioning hands. With one hand in a cast, the other was around a crystal flute of champagne.
With him were some of the principals from the office, Archie and James Dashwood, Grady Forrer, the head of the research department,as well as bulldog-faced Eddie Tobin. In the aftermath of the bombardment, Archie and James had needed stitches for their wounds and were prescribed a steady diet of liver and spinach to help replace lost blood, but otherwise they were fine. Hanzi Muntean had also made a full recovery and was currently awaiting trial in the city prison known as the Tombs. Hanna had come to accept her brother’s fate when Bell had made her a promise that he would help get him a sentence in proportion to his crime rather than be scapegoated for the entire attack.
Joseph Van Dorn was also at the wedding reception, having come up from the Washington office. He was nursing his standard Bushmills Manhattan. This last-minute reception was his gift to the newlyweds.
The groom, looking sharp in his black dress uniform, and the bride’s father, Army Brigadier General G. Tannenbaum Mills, rounded out the little group. Marion and Archie’s wife, Lillian, along with James’s date, Hanna Muntean, were in the ladies’ room helping Helen with a dress emergency.
A band played softly in the background.
Bell had just finished telling his cohorts all about his escape from the German intelligence headquarters.
Archie added to the group, “For anyone keeping score, we can now add a tank to a locomotive and a whaling ship on the list of Isaac’s stolen vehicles.”
“And that’s not including all the cars and trucks he’s ‘borrowed’ over the years,” James teased.
“I gave most of them back,” Bell protested.
“Hard to believe it was all for nothing,” Grady mused.
“What was all for nothing?” Lillian Abbott asked as she and the other ladies returned from the restroom.
“That Isaac’s entire mission for President Wilson was a needless exercise,” Archie replied. “The release of the telegram sent by German Foreign Secretary Zimmerman to entice Mexico into attacking us forced Wilson’s hand to ask for a declaration of war.”
Bell and Joseph exchanged a look. They were the only two who knew that Isaac had met secretly with President Wilson when he’d rushed to New York on the day after the attack. Only they were aware that it was Bell’s report and opinion that had actually persuaded Wilson to declare war.
