After Jordan handed his permit to a guard, they entered the gray interior of the building, and what stretched before them for a great distance was a concrete layout of the city of Venice without a single one of its structures and landmarks. The slabs of concrete represented the ground, the soil, the land foundation of Venice, and gouged into the concrete were deep depressions representing the canals of the city. Even as they studied the layout, real water was being pumped into the model, and the canals were being filled.
“This model took two years to construct,” said Jordan, “and was supervised by four teams of experts using bathymetric maps. The building covering this model is 16,000 square meters, and the model of Venice itself with its lagoon is 12,000 square meters—in all, roughly the area covered by the real Piazza San Marco.”
Schuyler Moore was mesmerized by the water streaming into the toy canals. His small eyes shone through his thick spectacle lenses. He shook his head. “Truly astonishing,” he said, and resumed making notes.
Jordan began pointing at certain locations. “The Piazza San Marco would be there. The Doges’ Palace there. That’s the Grand Canal in miniature, and then the Rialto Bridge. Now, way out there at the far left, at the other end—you can’t see it well from here—is a large tank that represents the Adriatic Sea. Let’s walk over there, all around the model, and I can show you fairly close up the source of Venice’s problem and our prevention apparatus in miniature and exactly how it works.”
Jordan led Moore, Marisa, and the two policemen along the side of the concrete model to the rear, where they ascended steps leading into a four-room electronic center. In one room, where an engineer was at work at a computer, they all gathered about Jordan at a wide window looking out upon the model.
“The equipment in use here,” said Jordan, “is a 100,000,000-lire Siemens System 300. This controls the action of the nearby pumps that make the water flow and simulate the tide in either direction, entering Venice and leaving Venice. If the flow of the high tide in real life takes six hours, the flow of the same tide on this model occurs in six minutes.”
Jordan gestured off. “There you can see the three channels, or openings, reduced, through which water flows from the Adriatic Sea into Venice. The nearest channel is the Lido, the next is Malamocco, and the farthest one is Chioggia. To prevent a high tide from entering through these channels and drowning the city, we contracted with Industrie Pirelli, which specializes in rubber, and Furlanis, which specializes in construction, to build flexible barriers or dams across each of those channels. One has already been completed and installed in the actual Lido channel outside the lagoon. You will see it in miniature on the model out there. Now, what is this flexible barrier or dam? It is a long container, resembling a kind of flattened-out dirigible, made of nylon fabric and a rubber compound. It is stretched across the mouth of the Lido channel and held fast on either side by anchor chains tied to metal pylons set in concrete. The container or bag, deflated, lies fastened to the bottom of the sea, on the seabed, so that it does not interfere with ships passing into the lagoon. But suppose a high tide is coming, or a gale, and Venice is about to be flooded? Here is what happens…”
Jordan signaled to the engineer, who nodded and bent over his electronic console. Jordan pointed below.
“Keep your eye on the Lido channel there. Water from the sea is mounting, starting to pour through the channel toward the lagoon and the city. An engineer activates hydraulic pumps, fills the nylon bag on the sea bottom with water, and inflated, filled, blown up, the top of the dam rises to the surface—there, look…”
In the model before them, a miniature elongated bag rose out of the water, setting up a dam that stopped the high tide from going through the channel into the lagoon. The lagoon’s water level was effectively protected by this inflated artificial barrier.
“You see,” said Jordan, “the bags keeps out the sea, and Venice is saved from flooding and destruction. Now, as soon as the high tide recedes, or the storm has ended, and the sea and lagoon levels are the same, the bag barrier is automatically emptied of water, deflated, and it sinks to the bottom, out of sight, to permit shipping to resume from the sea into the lagoon and the industrial port.”
“Remarkable,” said Schuyler Moore, intrigued by the device. “Once there is a warning that the channel should be closed, how long does it take for one of those barriers to be inflated and rise out of the water?”
“It used to take thirty minutes,” said Jordan. “But the pumps have been improved with a new invention, and now the flexible barriers can be filled and stretch from the seabed to the top in less than five minutes.”
“And that can save Venice?” said Moore.
“It can.”
“Has it been installed yet?”
“A real one has been installed in the Lido channel. It has not yet been installed in either of the other two channels.”
“Well, the one that’s been installed—is it being used at all?”
Jordan hesitated, weighing how much information he should give out to this journalist. But he knew Moore was shrewd, and one could not play games with him. If he was not given the truth here, he would learn it elsewhere.
“To answer your question honestly,” Jordan said, “no—no, the Lido flexible barrier has never been used.”
“Why not?”
“For the same reasons the device has not been installed in the other two channels. Business and politics. The political obstacles are that two new inflatable dams would cost between $16,000,000 and $20,000,000 to install, and after the Ministry of Public Works has approved, nine other government agencies such as the Ministry of Cultural Works have to give their approval. But the main problem is the lobbying of big business interests representing petrochemical, aluminum, steel, ammonia plants on the mainland. Right now, shipping goods to their doorstep at Marghera and Mestre is easy and cheap. They want to keep it that way. They don’t want any inflatable barriers to hamper shipping. These industrialists are not sentimental or romantic. They don’t give a goddamn about saving Venice as a museum. They would just as soon let it sink into the sea and have its area as a bigger harbor for importing and exporting. That’s why the Lido barrier has been installed—yet never used. Its installation soothed the romantic museum faction. Its immobility satisfied the business and labor elements. That’s why the other two haven’t been installed at all.”
Moore raised his head from his notes and squinted at Jordan. “I appreciate your frankness,” he said. “If I quote that, will it give you trouble?”
“Probably. But let the truth be told. Let everyone know what the Venice Must Live Committee is up against.”
Marisa stepped forward. “Mr. Moore, if you use that, please use it without attribution. Do not use Mr. Jordan’s name.”
He smiled at her. “Protective, aren’t you? Of course, I won’t use his name.”
“Let me show you around further, Mr. Moore,” said Jordan.
For the next half hour, Jordan guided the columnist and the others around the interior of the Center, explaining more about the operation and its potential, and answering Moore’s incisive questions.
At last, they had finished and gone out in the sunlight and started back to their car.
Walking alongside the columnist, Jordan said, “I hope you got a good story.”
“A very good one, thank you. It’ll take up two columns, which I’ll file soon as they let me fly out of the city. What’s going on here? I can’t believe they’d quarantine a tourist city with a tourist economy at the height of the tourist season merely to catch some second-rate spy. Any idea of what’s behind it?”
“There’s probably nothing more behind it. I think they’re quite serious about getting their hands on the spy.”
“Well,” Moore was saying, “I’d love to get to the bottom of it. But I’m afraid I’ll have to use up my days here digging for something else.”
“Do you have any other stories you’re going to do?”
“Only one is set,” said Moore. “The day after tomorrow, a travel agency is taking a dozen American and British industrialists on a preview tour of a new innovatively furnished petrochemical factory in Mestre. I was invited to cover it. Sounds dull, but what the hell.”
“How are you getting to Mestre?” asked Jordan, suddenly interested.
“The same way I got here with you. Special dispensation from the mayor, and a couple of police guards.”
“What agency is taking you on this tour?”
“I believe it is called CIT.”
“Yes, that’s one of the big ones.” Then Jordan added casually, “Did they assign you a guide? I know most of them, and I can tell you if you got a good one.”
“Some woman. I don’t remember—Wait, I think I have a note on it in my pocket.” He fished into the pocket of his seersucker suit and came up with several cards. He glanced at them, then held up one. “Here. CIT. The guide’s name is Felice Huber. Is she any good?”
“The best,” said Jordan enthusiastically as they reached the Mercedes. “You’re very lucky.”
And so am I, he thought, watching the columnist get into the car. Bruno Girardi had been one light at the end of the tunnel. Now there were two, and the second was named Felice Huber.
Jordan felt better, much better. The odds on hope had just improved. Two for one.
* * *
It was late afternoon when Jordan returned to his suite in the Hotel Danieli. As he stepped into the sitting room, Alison, having heard him, came quickly out of her bedroom. Her face was tight with anxiety.
“Tim, there was an important phone call for you,” she said without preliminaries. “Bruno Girardi got your messages and called. He wants to speak to you. He’ll be in his office at Il Gazzettino until six o’clock.”
“That’s the call I’ve been waiting for,” Jordan said. He held up his wristwatch. “Still time.”
“Was everything all right today?”
“Bring you up on that later,” he said, stripping off his jacket. “I want to catch Bruno.”
“Mind if I listen?”
“We’re in this together,” he said, going to the sofa and pulling the telephone closer to him.
As Alison sat down at the desk, Jordan took up the receiver and asked the hotel operator to put him through to Il Gazzettino. Moments later, he had Bruno on the line.
“Bruno? Tim Jordan here.”
“Yes. I meant to report to you sooner. But it seemed pointless because of the delays. Our—our party of the third part—our partner—he was jittery and broke two of our appointments. So I was waiting until I really saw him.”
“He broke two appointments?” Jordan repeated for Alison’s sake. “Have you seen him yet?”
“Yes, yes. I saw him at lunch today in the Piazzale Roma.” There was a brief silence, and then Jordan heard Bruno speak to someone in the background. His voice came on again. “Someone stepped into the office. I’m alone now.”
“Did you discuss the matter with our partner?”
“I discussed it fully. He was definitely interested, but thinks the sum involved only moderate for the risk involved.”
“Did he want more?”
“He did not speak of more,” said Bruno. “He was worried about the consequences if the—if the venture did not work out.”
“Well, what was his decision?” Jordan asked impatiently. “Did he turn it down?”
“No, absolutely not. He wants to consider it. He wants to discuss it with his wife, for her opinion.”
“Discuss it with his wife?” repeated Jordan. “Do you know his wife?”
“No. If she is a worrier type, she will influence him to turn it down. On the other hand, if she wants the extra money, she will persuade him to accept. I can say only one thing, Tim. I am sure the man and his family need money. So we shall see.”
“How long?” pressed Jordan.
“What?”
“How long before we know?”
“Oh. I would say a day or two, no more.”
“Will you keep after him? I can’t wait longer.”
“You leave it to me,” said Bruno. “The second I have a favorable answer, I will find you.”
“I’m depending on you, Bruno. Good luck.”
Hanging up, Jordan summarized the conversation for Alison.
When he was through, she did not seem reassured. “What do you think, Tim?”
“I think I’d better make another phone call. Try to get us a backup position.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning after I showed Schuyler Moore around the Center today, I asked him if he was going to do any more stories about Venice. He told me a small party of industrialists has been given permission to leave the city briefly the day after tomorrow and tour a new advanced factory at Mestre. Moore is going to cover it.” Jordan reached for the telephone again. “The woman assigned to guide that tour happens to be a friend of mine.”
“You think something’s possible?”
“I’m sure going to try to find out. Alison, my personal address book is in the right-hand drawer of my desk. Toss it over.”
She found the address book and handed it to him.
He looked up Felice Huber’s phone number and put through the call.
There were two rings, and he heard Felice’s voice on the phone.
“Felice, darling, this is Tim Jordan.”
“I wondered what happened to you. Here I handed you and your friend a free Program A tour yesterday, and you walked out on me. When we reached the Bridge of Sighs, I looked for you and you were the man who wasn’t there.”
“I had to find a toilet for my friend.”
“Anyway, I’m glad to hear from you,” said Felice. “What can I do for you?”
“See me for lunch.”
“Nice. Business or pleasure?”
“Both. With you it’s always a pleasure. But there is some business.”
“It’s a date. Where? When?”
“Tomorrow. Let’s say twelve noon. Quadri’s. Down in front of the orchestra. Are you free?”
“Umm, let me check the schedule. I’ve a tour group at two. Noon is fine.”
“Look forward to seeing you, Felice.”
Dropping the telephone into its cradle, Jordan lay back on the sofa, tired, and watched Alison as she wrapped her light pink robe more closely around her.
“Do you think she’ll cooperate?” Alison asked.
“I don’t know how tight the security is on her Mestre party,” Jordan said. “If Felice can do me a favor, within reason, I think she might.”
“And if you can pull it off?”
“We’d have a way of getting the professor out of Venice. Just in case Bruno doesn’t come through. It would be the harder route. Much of it would depend on how resourceful the professor is. Do you think he is resourceful?”
“You’d better ask him.”
Jordan started to get to his feet. “That’s what I intend to do right now. The contessa’s dinner party starts in two hours. Let’s get to her palazzo an hour earlier, so we can have time to lay plans with MacDonald. Can you be ready to leave here in forty-five minutes?”
“I’ve had my bath, and I’m all dressed underneath. What do I wear on top? I’ve never been to a Venetian palace.”
“Not formal. But no jeans either. Do you have a snappy cocktail-type outfit?”
“Just bought one off the Mercerie.”
“You’re set,” said Jordan. “Meet you out here again in forty-five minutes.”
* * *
When they had arrived at the Palazzo De Marchi a half hour before guests were to assemble for the dinner party, the contessa had personally met them. Without wasting a moment, she had taken Jordan and Alison up to the second floor.
“He’s such a nice man,” she had said along the way. “The professor and I talked for almost an hour this morning. I brought him some books in English, and then we chattered away. He wanted to know about my fa
mily, my background, and I told him what I could—I hope I didn’t bore him—and then I asked him about his own beginnings and his experiments with C-98. At first, he was somewhat reticent, but then he warmed up to me and tried to explain. I pretended to understand, but I’m afraid I was out of my depth with his scientific language.”
“But you do understand what he has achieved?” Jordan had asked.
“That part was clear. People doubling their lives on earth, and in good health. It will astound the world.”
“Provided the world hears about it.”
“If I have anything to say in the matter, the world will hear about it. The professor is welcome to stay here safely, in hiding, until you find a means of smuggling him out of this Red-infested bedlam.”
“Thank you, Contessa.”
When they had arrived at the door to the guest bedroom, the contessa had tried to reassure Jordan and Alison. “As you can see, the bedroom is out of the way. The best hiding place.”
“How many people do you have staying here?” Jordan had wondered.
“Four in Cedric Foster’s party, plus Cedric himself. Then my live-in couple and my secretary. But have no fear. No one knows he is here. In fact, I don’t even trust the servants to bring him his meals. I do it myself. Now you can go right in.”
“You’re the perfect hostess,” Jordan had said.
“The perfect hostess serves dinner on time,” the contessa had said. “Please don’t be late.”
Jordan and Alison had gone into the bedroom, a small room elegantly furnished in Empire style, and found Professor MacDonald stretched out on the bed, an open British paperback on his chest. Apparently, he had fallen asleep, but their arrival awakened him.
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