Beth knew Tesla was referring to the Imagination Station. But she also knew it was Mr. Whittaker’s invention. She said, “Mr. Whittaker made it work. Don’t forget him.”
Latimer said, “I haven’t seen Mr. Whittaker for years. What happened to that pleasant inventor?”
Beth was surprised. How many people in 1923 knew Whit? But she really couldn’t explain where he was. So she said, “Oh, he gets around. I see him here and there.”
“Tell him I said hello,” Latimer said.
Beth nodded.
Tesla looked through the papers. Then he turned pale as sour cream. He asked Latimer, “Do you think Edison would steal my ideas? I don’t have the money to fight him in court. He would win.”
Latimer raised his hands, palms out. It seemed like a gesture to keep Tesla calm.
“Edison did not see the details of your design,” Latimer said. “He was making sure his new patent didn’t copy your ideas. We’re paid to protect your ideas, not help others steal them.”
“Ha!” Tesla said. “I’ve never been protected by the lawyers or the courts.”
“You’re referring to the Marconi incident?” Latimer asked.
“Yes,” Tesla said. “That scoundrel won a Nobel Prize for my patent on wireless radio.”
Beth was shocked. “Really?” she said. She looked at Latimer for an explanation.
Latimer sighed and said, “Mr. Marconi was working on radio in England. At the same time, Mr. Tesla was working on it in America. But Mr. Tesla’s lab burned down. He lost his research.”
Beth looked at Mr. Tesla. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes seemed dull. He suddenly looked tired and hopeless.
Latimer added, “Mr. Tesla did have the first patents. But Mr. Marconi had money to continue researching. Mr. Marconi was the first to present wireless radio to the world. And then Mr. Edison and others invested in Mr. Marconi’s company.”
Beth thought, Another reason Mr. Tesla might not like Mr. Edison. Then she said, “What happened next?”
Tesla said, “The courts gave Mr. Marconi rights to the radio patents in 1904. Several years later he won the Nobel Prize. The world doesn’t know that I, Nikola Tesla, invented radio.”
Beth wanted to put a hand on the inventor’s arm. But instead she said, “I’m sorry.”
Tesla placed his hand on the counter. Beth could see it was shaking with emotion.
“I don’t want another patent stolen,” Tesla said. “Who else wanted to see my radiation converter plans?”
“Henry Ford is looking to make an affordable electric car,” Latimer said. “He wants to eliminate the need for charging stations. He and I discussed many alternative sources of power.”
“Do you like Mr. Ford?” Beth asked Tesla. “Why don’t you work—”
Beth stopped talking when she saw the expression on Tesla’s face. It had turned into a fierce scowl.
“Ford is Edison’s best friend!” Tesla said. “Those two work only with each other. They would never include me in their inventions.”
Beth shrank back. Again she said she was sorry. The list of people Tesla had disagreements with was getting longer. Beth silently listed them: Mr. Edison, Mr. Whittaker, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marconi, and now Mr. Ford.
Latimer coughed politely. Beth thought he wanted to change the subject.
Latimer pulled out a large black book. He opened it flat on the desk.
Beth could see the book had two columns. The first was filled with names. The second was filled with numbers.
“Let me see who the third gentleman was,” Latimer said. He dragged a finger down the names column.
“Ah yes,” Latimer said. “Here we go . . . The last name starts with M. But the handwriting is a bit messy. I can’t read it properly.” He reached behind the counter and pulled out a magnifying glass.
Tesla looked defeated. “Tell me, was it M for Marconi? I need to know.”
Latimer said, “No, Marconi’s first name starts with a G.” He held up the magnifying glass and studied the page. “The first initial here is clearly an E. The last name is Mel—
“Meltsner!” Beth shouted. “Eugene Meltsner was here!”
“Yes, I remember that white-haired gentleman now,” Latimer said. “A very curious older fellow. He was engaging and definitely rich. He asked me all about Nikola’s inventions. Especially about the transmitter and harnessing energy from the atmosphere.”
Latimer turned to Tesla and smiled. “Perhaps you should meet him. He might lend you money to build a new invention.”
Suddenly Tesla’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Beth. “Isn’t this Eugene Meltsner your friend in Arkansas?”
“Yes, but . . . I don’t understand,” Beth said. She leaned across the counter to look Latimer in the eye. She asked, “Did you say he had white hair and was old?”
Latimer nodded. “Older than I am. And I turn seventy-five tomorrow.”
“The Eugene I know is a young man,” Beth said. “He has red hair.”
Tesla slammed his palm on the counter again. “I knew it!” he shouted. “This Eugene fellow was wearing a disguise. He’s a spy for John Whittaker.”
Beth silently added Eugene Meltsner to Tesla’s list of enemies. Who will be next? she wondered.
Tesla turned toward Beth. He pointed a long, thin finger at her. “And you’re a spy too!”
The Long Island Lab
Patrick opened his eyes.
The white Imagination Station had landed. It stood in front of a long, single-story brick building. A small tower jutted from the top.
Weeds grew around the building in sandy areas. Lumber and rusted wire fencing lay in piles not far away.
Eugene said, “We’ve arrived at Wardenclyffe, Tesla’s abandoned lab.”
Patrick opened the door of the Imagination Station and got out. Then he helped Eugene out of the machine.
“What now?” Patrick asked his old friend.
“Let’s go inside,” Eugene said. “I want to show you something. Then we’ll go find Beth and Mr. Tesla.”
Patrick helped Eugene walk to the door. Eugene pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
Patrick stepped inside the lab. It was too dark to see much. Black paper covered the inside of the windows.
“Allow me to turn on the lights,” Eugene said. “But first I must close the door. I don’t want anyone to see in. It’s important that everyone think this building is empty.”
Patrick heard the door close and then a soft click. The room instantly filled with light.
Patrick looked around. He whistled and said, “This is amazing!”
Inside the building was an enormous workshop. There were lots of electric contraptions, coils, cylinders, and small towers. Scattered everywhere were car parts, helicopter parts, wire antennas, and small motors. Hundreds of mechanical drawings on paper were pinned to the walls.
Patrick slowly walked around the room. He touched what looked like a giant crystal ball. Suddenly his hair stood on end.
“Use extreme caution,” Eugene said. “You can shoot bolts of electricity from that one.”
Patrick remembered Mr. Inumaru’s warning about the dangers of Tesla’s lab. He quickly removed his hand.
“Go stand in the center of the lab,” Eugene said. “And then rub your hands together vigorously.”
“Is it safe?” Patrick asked.
Eugene laughed. “We’re in Nikola Tesla’s lab. Not even he would be totally safe here,” he said. He chuckled and then added, “But this experiment is harmless. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”
Patrick did as he was told. He stood in the middle of the floor. He rubbed his hands together. Then he opened them. Suddenly a cloud of swirling electricity appeared on each of his palms.
Patrick was too stunned to say or do anything.
But Eugene clapped slowly. “Well done, Wizard Patrick,” he said.
Patrick moved from the center of the room. The electricity disappeared. He shook his head in a
mazement.
“Where did you get all this stuff?” Patrick asked.
“Tesla’s lab was shut down six years ago,” Eugene said. “It’s taken me since then to slowly rebuild it. I buy pieces wherever I can. Thankfully I have a good knowledge of history. That enables me to know where to find the resources I need.”
“But why are you doing it?” Patrick asked.
“Because I need to know how to fix the Imagination Stations,” Eugene said. “That’s why I sent you to find Mr. Tesla in the first place. The answer is in one of his experiments. I’ve replicated them exactly. Except for three of them.”
“Which three?” Patrick asked.
“In 1899 Mr. Tesla moved to Colorado and created a way to make lightning. That experiment drained the nearby electric company,” Eugene said. “Out of an abundance of caution, I decided I wouldn’t attempt that one. A million volts is significantly more than the Imagination Station could handle.”
“A million!” Patrick said. “Wow!”
Eugene added, “And making a death ray wasn’t going to be helpful either.”
Patrick gulped. “Mr. Tesla made a death ray like the ones in comic books?”
Eugene nodded. “Thankfully it was impractical for military use. It never went into production.”
“What was the last experiment?” Patrick asked.
“Mr. Tesla built a transmitter tower to send signals around the world. But the tower was torn down in 1917,” Eugene said. “I couldn’t possibly build a 225-foot structure without people noticing it. But that’s the critical experiment. It’s the key to fixing the Imagination Stations.”
“Why?” Patrick asked.
Eugene shuffled over to a desk. He fumbled around till he found a file folder. He pulled out a black-and-white newspaper. He laid it on the desk.
“This is what I wanted to show you,” Eugene said. He tapped the corner of a photo on the front page and asked, “What do you see?”
Patrick squinted and stared at a group of men. They were watching as a giant wood tower toppled over. One of the men was Nikola Tesla. There was another familiar face too.
“It can’t be,” Patrick said.
“It is,” Eugene said.
“How did Mr. Whittaker get in that photo?” Patrick asked.
Broken Glass
“Me? A spy?” Beth said to Tesla. “I’m still in elementary school.”
Latimer said, “Really, Nikola, you’re taking this too far. She’s only a child.”
Tesla merely scowled. He scooped the patent papers off the counter. He turned, opened the door, and left the offices of Hammer and Schwarz. The door slammed behind him.
The pretty stained glass in the door shook loose. It fell to the floor and shattered.
Beth bent to clean it up.
“Don’t do that,” Latimer said. “I’ll sweep up the shards. You follow Mr. Tesla. He needs someone with him when he’s angry.”
Beth nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Latimer,” she said. “You’re kind.”
Beth was careful to step around the glass. Then she hurried out the door to find Tesla.
She looked up and down the sidewalk for the unhappy inventor. She spotted him already a block away. It looked as if he was headed back to the Hotel Marguery.
Tesla walked at a fast pace. The patent papers were rolled up under one arm.
This time he hadn’t opened and closed the law office door three times. And now he didn’t stop to feed the pigeons. He didn’t hide from women wearing pearls.
Beth had to jog to catch up with him. Her shoes hammered the sidewalk. Leaves crunched as she ran. She was fuming. I am not a spy. I am not a spy, she thought. She wondered if Tesla would ever help them fix the Imagination Station now. Perhaps her trip here would end in failure.
She looked at the skyline. She could see the Hotel Marguery up ahead.
A streetcar passed through the intersection in front of them. Tesla paused at the crosswalk at Forty-Eighth Street and Park Avenue. The white pigeon flew down and landed on his shoulder.
Beth caught up with the inventor at the curb. She still felt angry that he thought she was a spy.
“Why won’t you trust me?” Beth asked him. “I’m not going to steal your ideas. I can’t even read the long words in the patents you’re carrying. And I haven’t seen Mr. Whittaker in years.”
It wasn’t an outright lie. But it felt like a half truth. She added, “I mean, I haven’t seen him for years in your time.”
Tesla looked down at her. His piercing, dark eyes seemed to see into her soul.
“My time?” he asked. He held up two fingers. “So there are two times—mine and yours?”
Beth didn’t answer. But her eyes grew round with panic. She’d said too much.
Suddenly the scientist smiled. “He did it!”
“Who did what?” Beth asked.
“John Avery Whittaker built a time machine,” he said. “I thought he was a madman. But he did it!”
Tesla was practically tap-dancing with joy. He raised his arms into the air. “Whittaker did it!” he shouted and spun around. The movement frightened the pigeon. It flew away.
Beth said quietly, “It’s not exactly a time machine. We call it the Imagination Station.”
But the scientist didn’t seem to hear her.
“That’s what that voice meant in the machine! You wanted to prevent me from using this Imagination Station to travel through time, didn’t you?” Tesla gave Beth a piercing glance.
“Not exactly,” she said, unsure of how to explain.
“Quickly!” Tesla said. “We have to get to the roof of the Hotel Marguery. I must learn how the time machine works. Then I can turn in a patent! I’ll do it before Edison and Ford even know it exists!”
The Photo
Patrick stared at the 1917 photo of Whit at Wardenclyffe. He blinked. He looked at the newspaper clipping again. Whit was still there. The photo showed the transmitter tower being taken down.
It all began to sink in. Patrick put together his jumbled thoughts.
“Mr. Whittaker knew Mr. Tesla,” he said. “Mr. Whittaker built the first Imagination Station. He used Mr. Tesla’s ideas and maybe even his help. So Mr. Tesla knows how to build an Imagination Station.”
Eugene was quiet.
Patrick looked toward his friend and added, “But Mr. Tesla doesn’t know he knows. Is that right?”
Patrick’s second question was also met with silence.
Eugene was standing across the room. Now Patrick could hear faint clicking sounds. The noise was coming from a machine sitting on a wood table.
The machine looked half piano and half reel-to-reel movie projector. The row of piano-like keys had letters and numbers on them.
A narrow piece of paper was coming off a reel.
Eugene gently held the paper as it emerged. It was about as wide as the paper in a fortune cookie.
Patrick walked over to Eugene and stared at the paper. He was expecting a code with dashes and dots. But the paper had words printed on it.
The message said, “EM, I told NT about you. The girl was here with him. He has the patents. He’s headed to HM at a quarter to two. LL”
Patrick figured out that EM was Eugene Meltsner. NT must be Nikola Tesla. The girl had to be Beth.
He looked at a clock on the wall. It was nearly two o’clock. The telegram had taken only a few minutes to be routed.
“What does the HM stand for?” Patrick asked. “And who is LL?”
Eugene didn’t answer. He flipped a switch on the machine. He pushed the piano-like keys to enter “On our way.” The machine clicked for a few seconds. Then it fell silent.
Excitement lit up Eugene’s expression. Patrick thought his friend seemed a bit younger.
Eugene finally said, “HM stands for the Hotel Marguery. And LL is Lewis Latimer, a friend.”
Eugene picked up his laptop off a nearby desk. He started to shuffle to the door. “I can’t explain how long I’ve waited for this
moment!” he cried. “Let’s go meet Nikola Tesla! We’ll take the Imagination Station to the roof portal.”
“Isn’t that risky?” Patrick asked.
“Not compared to the New York public transportation system,” Eugene said.
Race to the Rooftop
Beth felt like sticking out her tongue at Tesla. But she knew that was too rude. Instead, she stomped her foot on the sidewalk and cried, “You said you invented the machine! You said you had the patents! You said you had honor!”
Tesla blushed. Beth wondered if he felt ashamed for lying.
“I helped Whittaker perfect the power system,” Tesla said. “I didn’t know the machine could enter another time dimension. That’s the most fantastic invention ever created!”
Tesla looked at the sky. He raised his hands as if motioning to God. “We can change history!” he said. “I can get my patents back. I’ll be rich! Thomas Edison will ask to work for me!”
Passersby stared at Tesla. They moved to the other side of the street.
Beth saw a wild gleam in Tesla’s eyes. She wondered why Eugene had sent them to find this man in the first place. He was definitely a troublemaker. No good could come from a mad scientist traveling through history. She had to get to the rooftop before he did. She had to hide the Imagination Station.
“I’m going to stop you,” she said. “You don’t deserve to use that machine. Mr. Whittaker would never allow it.”
The streetcar finished passing. Suddenly a nearby church bell rang twice. Beth burst into a sprint down Park Avenue. Her shoes slapped on the sidewalk. She ran so fast that her hair lifted and flapped in the wind.
She arrived at the hotel and scurried up the front steps. She dodged past the doorman and into the vast lobby. She passed under the gold chandeliers and raced by posh furniture. Up ahead was the guest elevator.
Three ladies were waiting for the elevator. Beth’s heart sank. The elevator might stop once for each person. Three stops would take too long.
Beth couldn’t make up her mind which way to go. Maybe the ladies all lived on the same floor. Maybe the elevator would be faster if there were only one stop.
Madman in Manhattan Page 3
