After reading for several hours, Archie’s eyes started glazing over and he was having a hard time making his way through the jungle of technical analysis. He was ready to put the report down when a seemingly innocuous sentence caught his eye: “The political benefits will be as consequential as the economic advantages.” What an odd statement. Archie understood The Plan would greatly enrich the businessmen involved and give them an unparalleled monopoly over commerce. But the more he read, the more he understood that what was being put foreword in the report was far-reaching in its scope and ambition. The writers of the report proposed that with the economic advantage, The Plan would provide the opportunity to have significant control over America’s policies and politics. “Such influence,” the report said, “would be all-encompassing, from the crafting of legislation to the selection of preferred legislators and nationwide office holders.” With such a radical proposal came a caution against overt political interference. “Any influence must be exerted in a measured and outwardly responsible way, lest the populace feel a circumnavigation of America’s laws by the business class.”
Archie was beginning to understand why Belle wanted him to see this report. What was being put forward was far more than a business proposition; it was the strategy for a power grab, designed in an extraordinarily shrewd way. Archie noticed that his hands were trembling. He was holding the blueprint of a coup – a brilliant, stealth takeover of America by its most powerful tycoons.
* * *
Sleep did not come easily for Henry. The electric lights burned day and night in the cargo hold, creating a surreal atmosphere that suspended time and space. Added to that was the continual churn of the Titanic’s massive engines that caused the room’s floorboards to buzz with a constant, noisy vibration. And then there was the cold, which was growing increasingly unbearable as the ship moved north through the Atlantic. Henry had picked the locks of several crates in search of a shelter. The first crate he opened contained bottles of champagne; the second was filled with golf clubs and tennis rackets. Finally, he opened a large steamer trunk that was stuffed with oversized shirts and trousers. He grabbed a bundle and carried them to a far corner of the room where he found a tight space tucked between two stacks of crates. He began assembling a makeshift lair. It took two more trips before he had enough shirts and trousers to construct a crude nest he could burrow into.
With some relief from the cold, Henry was able to drift off into a twilight sleep that was filled with half-dreams. The constant roar of the Titanic’s engines sent his mind into a railroad car, part of a long train that was heading toward a cliff. The chill had him shivering in a busy New York street in the middle of a snowstorm. And when he heard footsteps in the room, he dreamed of horses clopping over cobblestones. But then, in his semi-conscious state, he realized the footsteps were real and that someone was in the hold with him. His eyes slit open and he peered out from his hideaway. There was a man, a large man lugging a heavy canvas rucksack across the cargo hold then setting it near the metal hull. The man leaned over the bag and opened it. Henry tried to catch a glimpse of what was in the bag. What he saw was the face of the man himself – a hard, angular face that was bracketed by jutting ears. Henry recognized the man immediately; he had spent time with him in a New York City jail cell – interrogated by him, beaten by him and, ultimately, manipulated and betrayed by him. He was the man who had Henry sign the confession that sent him to Sing Sing. Henry hated him as much as his young soul could hate.
CHAPTER 58
Sunday, April 14, began with church hymns reverberating through the decks of the Titanic. It was a cold, crisp spring morning in the North Atlantic. Captain Edward Smith led the prayers for the first class passengers in the Dining Saloon. The ship’s orchestra played the hymns. Archie sat near the back of the makeshift sanctuary with Frank Millet, who was nursing a hangover, having had too many Saturday night gin and tonics. The Titanic was two-thirds through its voyage, passing 300 miles southeast of Newfoundland.
After the service the two friends lunched at the Café Parisienne. They mostly talked about Taft’s chances in the November election. Archie left early to make his daily meeting in the A-Deck Lounge. That afternoon a timeline for The Plan was created. The men projected that the first commerce center could realistically be completed within 18 months. They set a goal of building ten within three years, twenty within four. They broke at 4:30, agreeing to push the evening session back an hour, to 9:30, because George Widener and his wife had invited several in the group, including their son Harry, John Thayer and Archie, to join them for a dinner honoring Captain Smith on his retirement. Because of the late hour, the group decided that the evening meeting would be in the First-Class smoking room and the session would be kept short.
The air was chilly and brisk when the men stepped out of the sitting room. Most of them ambled back to their rooms for an afternoon nap. Archie was itching for fresh air and began strolling the promenade. It was already late afternoon. The sun was descending toward the horizon. When Archie leaned over the side rail he was hit with a blast of crystalline sea air that refreshed him.
“Captain?” Archie thought he heard a small voice behind him. “Captain?” the voice floated by again. Archie turned and there was Henry, looking pitiful – unwashed, shoulders slumped, eyes cast down.
“Who are you?” Archie said, acting distant, as if he didn’t know the boy.
Henry was confused. “It’s me, Captain. Henry! Don’t you recognize me?”
“Henry who?” Archie said, trying to keep up the game but Henry saw through it. The boy ran forward and embraced Archie tightly around the waist. “I’m sorry,” Henry kept repeating, not letting go of Archie. “I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay, Henry,” Archie said, trying to comfort the despairing boy.
“I jus’ couldn’t stay. I was afraid, what I did to you…”
“Ssshh. We don’t need to talk about this now. Are you hungry? You look like you could use a good meal.”
“Nah, I’m fine. I went lookin’ for you ‘cause I seen something that you should know about.”
Archie saw how distressed Henry was. “Then talk, Henry, what’s upsetting you?”
“You need to see it yerself,” Henry said, then took Archie’s hand and tugged him away from the rail.
They descended down a twisting stairwell, flight by flight, past the 2nd and 3rd class decks, then deep into the depths of the ship. Henry led Archie through a series of cavernous rooms that seemed to be an embodiment of hell, with massive, fire belching boilers hungrily devouring coal that was shoveled into their inferno mouths by half naked men dripping black tar sweat. They finally emerged into a small chamber that was as frigid as the boiler rooms were scorching. The room was crowded with cargo and freight. “This is my stateroom, Captain,” Henry said, not without a little pride.
“It’s freezing here, Henry. How did you manage to sleep?”
“Who slept?” Henry said, and then pulled Archie over to the large canvas bag that was placed near the hull. “This is what I wanted you to see.” Henry kept jabbing his finger at the bag until Archie knelt down beside it. It was an army-style rucksack, secured by a row of brass buttons then double fastened by a looping belt. Archie undid the belt and nimbly worked the buttons free. “Be careful,” Henry said as Archie spread open the bag.
“My god…” Archie whispered, stunned by what was before him: the large bag was filled with what looked like seven or eight bundles of bright red, cylindrical sticks bound together by a network of fuses.
“It’s dynamite, ain’t it, Captain?”
“Sure looks like it. Take a step back, Henry. Who knows what could set this off?” Archie peered into the rucksack again, trying to make sense of the mass of explosives placed so near the hull. He noticed the fuses snaking to a single spot, then saw, buried under the bright dynamite sticks, blasting caps and a detonator.
“What do you think he wants to do with it?” Henry asked.
&nb
sp; “Who?”
“Him. The guy who put it there?”
“You saw a man bring this in?”
“Yeah. It was him, Captain.”
“Who?” Archie asked again, puzzled.
“The son of a bitch who grilled me about Mick’s murder and got me to sign that confession. Huge. Big ears.” Then Henry repeated, “Son of a bitch.”
Archie felt a tightening in his stomach. The danger that was lurking ever since his first premonition had finally found him. Fate’s specter had arrived. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Archie said, talking like an Army commander. “I want you to go right to my stateroom and wait there until I come back. Do you still have the key?”
“Yeah.”
Archie pulled out his pocket watch. It was already six o’clock. “I have a dinner engagement at 7:30 in the ship’s restaurant. It should be over by 9:30. Do not go anywhere other than the stateroom. Do you understand, Henry?”
Henry nodded, then looked back down at the bag of dynamite. “What are we gonna do with it, Captain?”
“Do what I tell you. I’ll take care of the bag.”
The clerk at the Inquiry Office was not surprised when Archie stepped in. He had become familiar, always dropping by to check for a message or send one to Belle. “I’m sorry Major, nothing arrived today. Did you want to send a message?”
“No. Today I need information. About another passenger.”
The clerk’s brow furrowed. “Passenger information is privileged, Major.”
“Of course,” Archie said genially. “He’s a friend.”
The clerk hesitated for a moment. “I really can’t give out any information. That’s policy.”
“I just want to know his cabin number so I might visit him. His name is Wheeler. Edwin Wheeler. Oh, it’s okay, he’ll really get a surprise out of it. Wheeler. Edwin Wheeler. It would really mean a lot to me.” Archie reached into his trouser pocket and produced a five-dollar bill, which he slid across the counter to the clerk.
“There’s no need for that, sir,” the clerk said carefully. “If you only want his cabin number…”
“That’s all I want. It would be such a surprise for Edwin when he sees me.”
The clerk went below the counter and pulled out the ship’s manifest. “Wheeler, you say?”
“Yes,” Archie answered, and watched the clerk work through the pages of the large notebook, searching for the name. “There doesn’t appear to be a Wheeler listed,” the clerk finally said.
Archie was disappointed, but not overly surprised. Then the clerk yelped as if striking gold. “Yes! Wheeler! Edwin Wheeler. Here he is. He boarded late.”
“So he’s on the ship?”
“Yes,” the clerk said, reading from the manifest. “Second class ticket in the servants quarters. Cabin C-81.”
“Servants quarters? He’s working on the ship?”
“Oh no. He’s listed as Mr. George Vanderbilt’s manservant.”
“But Vanderbilt didn’t even board!”
“Well, it appears his valet did,” the clerk said, examining the manifest closely. “With all of Mr. Vanderbilt’s luggage.”
CHAPTER 59
J. Bruce Ismay sat alone on his private veranda tightly twisting the waxed tips of his mustache. A pink ribbon of light, the afterglow sunset, stretched over the ocean’s long horizon. Gazing out over the still water gave Ismay a sense of peace, something he rarely enjoyed on maiden voyages. His whole life had been dedicated to the business of ships. His father bought the bankrupt White Star Line in 1868 and turned it into one of the premier shipping companies in the United Kingdom. Bruce Ismay took over the company when his father died in 1899. Ever ambitious, Ismay tied his fate to J. Pierpont Morgan in 1901 when he allowed the White Star Line to become part of Morgan’s shipping conglomerate, the International Mercantile Marine Company. With Morgan’s backing, Ismay attained managing control of IMM in 1904.
“Excuse me, sir,” Ismay’s butler said, ending Ismay’s daydream. “You have a passenger who says it’s urgent that he speak with you.”
“I told you, Richard, I’m not available for the next hour,” Ismay answered with an accent that carried a hint of his native Liverpool.
“Yes, sir, but this is Major Butt. Taft’s Military Aide. And he is rather insistent.”
Ismay heaved a big sigh. “Show him into the parlor,” he said, resigned. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
It was stiflingly warm in Ismay’s parlor. A fire was roaring in the suite’s fireplace. Archie was wearing a bulky wool overcoat to protect him from the cold of the North Atlantic and he was beginning to perspire. Perfect for flowers, Archie thought, noticing the number of bouquets spread about the room: bunches of roses, golden pillars of daffodils, forests of white irises. Spring had not yet arrived in England, but Ismay’s opulent suite was a blossom-filled hothouse. “Welcome Major Butt,” Ismay said, walking briskly into the parlor. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you for taking this time, Mr. Ismay,” Archie said, shaking Ismay’s extended hand. “I know you have many duties to juggle on a voyage like this.”
“One of the more pleasant ones is to meet distinguished passengers as yourself, Major,” Ismay said, putting on a well-practiced charm. “And how has your trip been so far?”
“To be honest, it’s turned into quite the adventure, sir. Quite the adventure.”
“I’m not sure ‘adventure’ is how we’re promoting a cruise on the Titanic,” Ismay smiled. “More like a luxurious, once-in-a-lifetime experience. But if you’re finding adventure, then I hope you’re enjoying it.”
“Actually, it’s become rather troubling.”
“Oh?” Ismay appeared to be genuinely concerned. “I hope it’s not too disagreeable?”
“If you call finding a luggage bag filled with enough dynamite to blow this ship to kingdom come ‘too disagreeable,’ then yes, something ‘too disagreeable’ has happened.”
Ismay fixed his eyes on Archie’s face. Gone was his vibrant social front, replaced by an alarmed expression. “You say you discovered explosives on the ship?”
“In a cargo hold on the starboard side. I believe there is a man aboard who would bring this ship down.”
“This is very serious, Major. Do you know this man?”
“I believe I do. And it’s imperative he be apprehended.”
“Yes,” Ismay murmured gravely. “And you have a description?”
“Large,” Archie said, raising his arms above his head. “With big ears that stick out and a distinctive scar on his face.” Archie traced a crescent line from his ear to jawbone on his own face.
“I can’t say I’ve seen him,” Ismay said. “Of course, there are over 2200 people onboard. I couldn’t possibly have crossed paths with everyone.”
“He’s in the manifest as Mr. Vanderbilt’s manservant.”
“But Mr. Vanderbilt is not on the ship.”
“No, he isn’t. I believe the man is here under false pretenses. He’s very dangerous. He’s in the 2nd class servant’s quarters. His name is Edwin Wheeler.”
“Yes, yes…” Ismay nodded earnestly. “I’ll be sure to look into it. But more importantly, what cargo hold is this dynamite luggage bag in? I will send some crew members to inspect it.”
“Mr. Ismay, I deemed the explosives an immediate threat to the safety of this ship and everyone on it. As such, I took it as my duty to eliminate that danger.”
“And how did you ‘do your duty?’” Ismay inquired, sounding slightly miffed.
“I threw it overboard.”
“With all due respect, Major, that was not your job to do. I would have preferred you inform us so we could have determined that it was indeed explosives and that we could have disposed of it properly.”
“I know dynamite when I see it, Mr. Ismay. And trust me, it was disposed of properly. It can’t be any threat on the bottom of the ocean.”
“I understand your concern, but let
me assure you that even if there was an accidental explosion in one of the cargo holds, it would hardly put us in danger. This ship was built with watertight compartments. In the remote chance a catastrophic mishap would occur, the compartments would be immediately closed, secured and isolated. You need not worry about the safety of this ship, Major.”
“I know that, Mr. Ismay. And that’s why it’s so curious.”
“Major, we’ll look into this, I promise. Be assured that the White Star Line puts passenger safety as its highest priority. We only have two days left on the high seas. Let us take care of any problems. You enjoy the crossing, as it should be.”
“Quite honestly,” Archie said, “nothing is as it should be. And that is what concerns me.”
* * *
Henry sat on a bench near the entrance to the Turkish Baths. It was warm there, a contrast to the plummeting temperatures outside. He had not gone directly to the stateroom as Archie had ordered, not wanting to lock himself away in a claustrophobic room for a couple of hours. He had lingered on that bench before, watching the parade of flushed faced people emerge. It gave Henry a sense of indulgence, even if it was vicarious. He sat there for over a half hour, luxuriating in the humid air until the ornate Oriental door swung open and out strolled Wheeler. Henry quickly turned away. Wheeler didn’t see him; he just ambled down the corridor and waited for the elevator. The hulking man appeared preoccupied, continually checking the time on his pocketwatch until the elevator door opened. “Up,” Henry heard him say. When the door closed, Henry raced down the corridor to watch the elevator’s floor needle creep up. It stopped on the Boat Deck, the top of the ship. Henry ran into the stairwell and began bounding up the stairs.
The Titanic Plan Page 36
