by Dan Willis
The office of Admiral Walter Tennon was exactly as Alex remembered it, complete with the man himself sitting behind the desk, signing a stack of orders.
“Dave?” he said as Vaughn came barging in. When he saw Alex he smiled. “Nice to see you again, Alex. I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”
Vaughn let go of Harcourt and then went over everything Alex had explained in the outer office.
“I know it’s a bit light on the specifics, Admiral,” Vaughn concluded. “But if there is someone targeting whoever the FBI is protecting, then we need to find out. I figure you could call that friend of yours on the President’s staff.”
“No need for that,” Tennon said, steepling his hands in front of him. “I know exactly who Miss Kincaid and her FBI agents are protecting, Harry Woodring.”
“Who?” Alex blurted out.
“He’s the Secretary of War,” Vaughn explained. “Part of Roosevelt’s cabinet.”
“And he’s in the city,” Tennon said. “I got a call from him this morning to let me know he’d be coming by tomorrow to do a little informal inspection. Said he couldn’t come today because he had to go see something this afternoon.”
Alex looked up at the clock on the Admiral’s wall. It read eleven thirty-three.
Admiral Tennon stood up and walked around his desk, stepping so close to Harcourt that their noses almost touched.
“Woodring is your boss, Mr. Harcourt,” he said. “How do you think it will look on your record if you let him get killed?”
“Uh,” Harcourt stammered.
“Let me make this simple for you,” Tennon went on. “I am an Admiral in the United States Navy. There are only a handful of men who outrank me in the entire service. Now, if you force me to, I’ll pick up my phone and I’ll call my boss, and he’ll call his boss, and he’ll call the President. By that time, whatever these Nazi spies are planning will probably have happened. Eventually, I’ll get orders that tell you to tell me what I want to know. And when they’re looking for someone to blame for missing an attempt on Harry Woodring’s life,” Tennon poked Harcourt in the chest so hard the man staggered back, “I’m going to give them you.”
Harcourt’s eyes darted back and forth as he calculated what the Admiral had said.
“Or,” Tennon went on, not giving him time to think, “you can tell me what this is all about right now.”
“It’s a bomb,” Harcourt squeaked.
The Admiral sauntered back to his desk and sat down.
“Go on,” he said. “What’s so special about this bomb?”
“It…it flies itself.”
Alex exchanged glances with Tennon and Vaughn, then all eyes turned to Harcourt.
“The bomb is a plane,” he said. “I mean it has wings and a motor, just no pilot.”
“Then how does it fly?” Vaughn asked.
“When it takes off, it climbs to a certain altitude based on an altimeter inside,” Harcourt explained. “Then it picks up a special radio transmission that tells it when it’s flying too far one way. A second signal tells it that it’s gone too far the other way. Basically the onboard radio just keeps the flying bomb between the two radio beams.”
“So it will stay on course over a long distance,” Vaughn said, nodding. “But how does this bomb know when it’s over its target?”
“You set up the radio transmitters a few miles apart, then aim them just in front of the target,” Harcourt said. “When the beams cross, the plane goes into a dive and hits the ground.”
Alex snapped his fingers with sudden understanding.
“That explains the radio equipment,” he said. “The engineer at one of the stations that was supposed to get the equipment said that they needed a new transmitter to cut through the static generated by Barton Electric’s new tower.”
“I don’t see how that helps,” Tennon said.
“Whoever expropriated the equipment probably needed it for the same reason. But if the transmitter was sabotaged in a way that reduced the power output…”
“Then someone with a stronger signal could redirect the bomb,” Vaughn said.
“If there is a test of this flying bomb today, it’s over at Fort Hamilton,” Tennon said. “It’s the only base in range of that new tower.”
“I bet whoever is behind this is going to drop that flying bomb on the spectators watching the test,” Alex guessed. His hands clenched into fists as he remembered that one of the attendees would be Sorsha.
“But how would they know how to do that?” Harcourt said. “There aren’t more than a handful of people alive who know about this.”
“You’re forgetting Alice Cartwright,” Alex said. “I’m sure you had her check the math for something this important. She would know about the radio signals.” Alex jerked the folder of coded letters out of Harcourt’s hands and pulled one out. “All she had to do was tell whoever was sending her these instructions.”
“It doesn’t matter who leaked the information,” Admiral Tennon declared. “That test is happening this afternoon and I can’t afford to assume it hasn’t been sabotaged.” He picked up the telephone on his desk, then ordered, “Get me General Blake over at Fort Hamilton,” he said into the telephone.
Alex felt his muscles relax. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been, but now that someone finally took him seriously, the muscles in his neck unclenched. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but there was motion in the right direction.
“What?” Tennon yelled into the phone. “All right, all right. Get my driver out front, I’ll go myself.”
“What’s the problem?” Vaughn asked.
“That bomb is definitely being tested at Fort Hamilton,” Tennon said, rising and putting on his hat. “Reggie Blake has the whole base on lockdown. No one in or out and no phone calls.”
Alex looked nervously at the clock. It was at least a forty-five minute drive from the West Side of Manhattan to the south Brooklyn Army base, and he had no idea how much time was left before the test.
Admiral Tennon led the group out of his office into the waiting area.
“I’m going over to Fort Hamilton,” Tennon said to the lieutenant at the reception desk. “As soon as I’m gone, get on the horn to the State Department and tell them there’s going to be an attempt on the life of Harry Woodring today while he’s at Fort Ham—”
Three shots rang out, booming in the enclosed space of the office. Alex flung himself in front of the Admiral, not knowing where the shots had come from. Two more shots rang out, much closer, but Alex didn’t have time to figure out who was shooting now. Tennon’s eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the floor. Alex grabbed him and eased him down. When he let the man go, there was blood all over the front of his suit coat.
“Admiral?” he said. “Walter!”
He felt for a pulse, but there was none to be found. Admiral Walter Tennon was dead.
27
Static
Alex leaped to his feet. His first thought was Harcourt. The man was a weasel and he hadn’t wanted anyone looking into Alice Cartwright’s death, but Alex never suspected him. Could he be the spy, now desperate enough to shoot the Admiral to stop him going to Fort Hamilton?
But Harcourt had been behind the Admiral, where he now stood, clutching the folder of coded letters to his chest.
Not him.
Alex turned. Beside him, Commander Vaughn was holding Alex’s gun out, pointing it toward the door. Just inside the door lay the Shore Patrolman that had been standing outside. Two large red circles were spreading out over his white uniform and a smoking pistol lay on the ground next to him.
“Is he dead?” Vaughn demanded.
The young lieutenant rushed to check, kicking the smoking gun out of the man’s reach. He knelt by the Shore Patrolman, then looked up and nodded.
“Sir,” the Lieutenant gasped. “The Admiral.”
“Get hold of yourself,” Vaughn commanded in a voice that refused all disobedience. “Call the Sick
Bay and have the surgeon report here on the double, then call Major Blanchard over at the Marine barracks. I want him and two dozen of his best men fully armed and over here on the double.”
“Yes, Sir,” the young man gasped, snapping out of his confusion.
“Lockerby,” Vaughn said, grabbing Alex by the shoulder. “What can you tell me about that man?” He pointed at the dead patrolman.
Alex went and knelt over him. He appeared nondescript, average height with brown hair and blue eyes that stared eternally up at the ceiling. Turning out the man’s pockets, Alex found a jackknife, a dollar twenty in change, a book of matches, and a pack of cigarettes.
Nil cigarettes.
“German brand,” Alex said, holding up the pack. “Just like the guy who took a shot at me.”
“Well this one wasn’t shooting at you,” Vaughn growled, looking down where the Admiral’s body lay. “He was too close to miss you.”
“He must be part of the attempt on Woodring’s life,” Alex guessed. “Put here to prevent anyone from stopping the test.”
“That’s convenient,” Harcourt sneered. “He just happened to be on duty today.”
“There are a dozen ways he could have arranged that,” Vaughn said, finally kneeling down beside the body of Admiral Tennon. “He probably just traded shifts with whoever drew the duty assignment.” Vaughn removed a set of keys from the Admiral’s trouser pocket and a small black book from his shirt pocket, then he closed Walter Tennon’s eyes.
“All right,” he said, standing up. There wasn’t time for grief; that would come later. “I’m assuming command of this base as of now.” He looked at the lieutenant who was dialing the phone. “As soon as you’re done, note that in the duty log. I’m going to Fort Hamilton. You’re in charge of this scene until Major Blanchard gets here, then turn it over to him.”
With that, Commander Vaughn set Alex’s gun down on the lieutenant’s desk and walked out, with Alex and Harcourt scrambling to catch up.
Outside, a long black car was just pulling up in front of the office. At the same time a police squad car pulled up from the direction of the gate.
“Commander,” Alex called as Vaughn opened the door to the black car. “I think I might be able to sabotage the Germans. Maybe give you more time to sound the alarm.”
Vaughn thought about it, but only for a moment, then he nodded.
“Good luck,” he said, then disappeared into the car, pulling Harcourt in after him.
“Where are they going?” Detective Nicholson said as he climbed out of the squad car.
“I’ll tell you on the way,” Alex said, climbing into the back of the car.
“On the way to where?”
“Barton Electric’s new Brooklyn Tower.”
“So, why are we here?” Detective Nicholson asked as the patrol car rounded a corner and Barton Electric’s Brooklyn Relay Tower came into view.
“If I’m right,” Alex said, leaning forward so he could see the doughnut-shaped power antenna on top of the building, “the Germans that Alice Cartwright was talking to are going to use a radio transmitter to disrupt a top secret military test at Fort Hamilton. They sabotaged the high output transmitter that the military is using so their signal will be stronger.”
“So?” Nicholson griped. He was upset that Alex wouldn’t tell him about the Army’s top secret flying bomb.
“So, the Army needed that fancy equipment to cut through all the static that Barton’s tower puts out,” Alex explained. “If I can increase the amount of power the tower is projecting, I can increase the static.”
“And disrupt the phony radio signal,” Nicholson said, catching on. “But do you know how to do that?”
“Pretty sure,” Alex said. He’d need to pin the breakers like Barton’s crew had done so that would keep them from tripping, then he could use a few linking runes to draw more power into the south side transfer plate from the main. That should overload the system, but with the breakers pinned, the power would continue on to the projection antenna, blocking out the German radio broadcast.
I hope.
The policeman driving the patrol car brought it to a stop by the curb and then got out with Alex and Detective Nicholson. He had grey hair and a gray mustache, but his stride was easy and vigorous, and he caught up to Alex and the Detective easily.
“Shouldn’t you call Barton about this?” Nicholson asked, as they crossed the lawn toward the front door.
“I’ll have the security guard do that,” Alex said. “We need to keep moving, I don’t know how much time we have.”
He took hold of the heavy metal door that was the building’s entrance and pulled, stepping back so that the Detective and the officer could enter.
“I need you to call Mr. Barton right away,” Alex said, coming in behind the other men. “There’s an emergency and we need him here right…”
Alex stopped as he locked eyes with the guard. Alex recognized him, but he wasn’t one of the regular guards. The last time Alex had seen this man, he’d put three slugs into Alex’s chest.
The guard already had his gun and he raised it and fired in one smooth motion. Alex threw himself to the side, but the bullets weren’t directed at him. He heard the policeman cry out as he was hit. Since he was the only one of them obviously carrying a weapon, the phony guard had targeted him first.
Alex started to push himself up from the floor when the guard swung his pistol around to point in his direction.
“Have the courtesy to die this time,” the guard said, firing.
Alex rolled away from the guard and a bullet hit painfully in his lower back. The guard fired again and Alex felt the last of his shield runes fade from existence as the bullet hit his spine.
Another shot rang out and Alex flinched, but no burning impact came. Forcing himself to act, he rolled and pushed off the ground, getting his feet under him. Another shot boomed in the confines of the building lobby and Alex felt the slug tear a hole in his trouser leg, grazing his calf.
Two more shots came in quick succession, but these weren’t aimed at Alex. Detective Nicholson had pulled his own service revolver and the barrel smoked as he fired a third time.
The German’s .45 slipped from his hand as he staggered back against the wooden guard station. He wore a dazed expression as he looked down at the red circles spreading across his upper body. Nicholson might have taken his sweet time pulling his gun, but Alex couldn’t fault the detective’s aim.
Alex stood as the imposter guard slid slowly down into a sitting position. His eyes went to where he’d dropped his gun, but he couldn’t seem to make his arm grab it.
“You all right?” Nicholson asked, giving Alex the once-over, looking for blood.
“Clipped my leg,” Alex said, nodding at where the patrolman lay on the floor. “I’ll be fine. Check him.”
“John,” Nicholson called, turning the man over.
The patrolman had blood on the left side of his uniform, just under his arm. He must have knocked his head on the floor when he fell, but he woke up gasping when Nicholson moved him.
“Got me in the ribs,” he growled, clutching his side. “Doesn’t feel too bad.”
Nicholson pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit coat and pressed it against the wound, causing the man to grunt in pain.
“Hold this and don’t move,” he ordered the patrolman. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”
“Call for a squad of officers too,” Alex said as Nicholson stood up. “This is the German who took a shot at me in the five and dime. If he’s here, it’s a cinch his pals are upstairs.”
“Why?” Nicholson asked, picking up the phone at the guard desk.
“Power,” Alex guessed. “He took a shot at me because they knew I was on to their scheme. They didn’t know if I told the military about their sabotaged equipment, so they decided to connect their transmitter to a bigger power source available. That way they could be sure their signal would override the Army’s.”
“Line’s been cut,” Nicholson said, holding up the cord that usually connected the phone to the wall. “Your car have a radio, John?”
The gray-haired man shook his head.
“I’ll take the car and get help,” Nicholson said, heading for the door.
“We don’t have time,” Alex said, pulling chalk out of his pocket.
“You…” the German gasped, making a wet wheezing noise, “…might as well…let him go. It’s…already…too late.”
Alex didn’t bother responding to that. Since there was no way to know if the man was lying, he’d have to just assume that he was. Alex chalked a door right next to the elevator and tore a vault rune from his book.
His mind raced as he ignited the rune and unlocked the heavy door with the ornate skeleton key. The policeman, John, needed a doctor and sooner rather than later, and the German, too. Alex wasn’t terribly concerned about the latter, but the government would want to interrogate him and that meant he needed to be alive. He could go through into the brownstone and get Iggy easy enough, but then the secret of his vault’s multiple doors would be out. Nicholson and the policeman would know, and so would the German, if he survived.
What if the Government sends him back to Germany?
The risk was too great, so Alex opened the heavy door and went straight to the telephone on his rollaway cabinet.
“What the hell is that connected to?” Nicholson asked from the open vault door.
“It’s a radio,” Alex lied. “As long as the door is open, I can relay the signal to the phone in my office.”
Nicholson raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t offer further comment.
Alex’s first call was to Captain Callahan. He informed him about the saboteurs in the Brooklyn tower and the wounded policeman and spy. Callahan promised to get men out right away, but Alex knew the nearest help was likely to be half an hour out and that was time he didn’t have.
