Meurthe wasted no time. “Of course you can. Here is a letter from President Pouchet telling you to do so.”
Vitary scooped up the envelope, ripped it open, and searched the letter for any flaws. Then he looked up. “I will have him escorted from his barracks,” he said.
“He is not in his barracks,” said Meurthe, continuing to one-up the pompous major. “I saw him heading across the parade ground to the reviewing stand.”
Vitary reached for the phone and rang the officers’ quarters, wincing as the first crack of lightning hit nearby. Was it true that these wires carried electricity?
“Lieutenant LeRond here.”
“This is Major Vitary. Come here immediately and take someone out to meet Captain Chevrier.” He stared across the desk at Meurthe. Maybe he’d get lucky and Meurthe and Chevrier would both be struck by lightning.
At the officers’ quarters, Lieutenant Guillaume LeRond put on his slicker and box cap and headed for the door.
Two young lieutenants’ playing cards looked up. “Did they tell you to find The Wild Man?” asked one.
“Yes,” said LeRond.
“Why not just leave him out there?” said the other. “The sky is more his friend than we. If she kills him, he will only be getting his just reward.”
“I have my orders,” said LeRond.
They both laughed. “And you always follow your orders, don’t you, Guillaume?” said the first. “That’s why you’re still a lieutenant.”
Guillaume mumbled an obscenity and walked out. Next time let one of them answer the telephone.
The wind whipped his slicker up around him. When the rain came, he would be drenched. He hugged the protection of the buildings as he made his way to headquarters.
Meurthe was waiting for him at the door. “Did he tell you why he was going to the reviewing stand in this weather?” Meurthe asked over the howl of the wind.
“He said that he was going out to review General Lightning and Marshall Thunder,” LeRond shouted.
“Then let’s join him,” said Meurthe.
The two men fought their way across the field. LeRond looked typical of the French soldiers who worked here, Meurthe thought. He was disciplined, comfortable with authority, but afraid of new ideas.
By the flash of the lightning, Meurthe could see the four-story-high crane with two outstretched arms that was used to test one’s flying ability. Meurthe knew the story. A primitive glider hung from the end of one arm, while the other held a weight. The glider went around in circles at seven times the force of gravity and made anyone who tested it sick to his stomach. Chevrier had gone around in it countless times.
Then he saw Chevrier. Alain was standing at the top of the reviewing stand, waiting for the storm. The wind had pulled his shirt back almost to the shoulders, the way a man to be guillotined had his shirt torn to expose his neck. It had blown his hair back from a high forehead, and forced his eyes to narrow slits. But it hadn’t moved him. He stood with his heels just over the edge, a 25-foot drop behind him.
Guillaume stopped and took cover underneath the stand. He called up to Alain: “You must come down!”
“Why?” bellowed Alain above the noise of the storm.
“Major Vitary wants to see you.”
“That old woman? If he wants me, tell him to come out here and get me himself.”
Guillaume was under the reviewing stand now, which gave him some protection from the coming rain. “What are you doing up there, anyway?” he asked.
“The most important thing a soldier can do, conquering my fear,” shouted Alain. A bolt of lightning seared the flagpole at the other end of the parade ground. Alain flinched, but only a little, and then caught himself. When he opened his eyes, he saw he was not alone. Meurthe had climbed the bleachers and now stood next to him, also facing the lightning.
“You must be Henri Meurthe, the richest man in France,” said Chevrier, with contempt in his voice. “I was told that you’d be coming. What do you want with me?”
“I think you know,” said Meurthe, in a voice that carried over the storm. “I want you to fly around the Eiffel Tower.”
Chevrier laughed. “Why me? I break all the rules.”
“Men who break rules also break records,” retorted Meurthe. “I believe that you are the one man in France who can win this contest.”
“Of course I can do it,” said Chevrier. “I have two designs for man-carrying airships that would work right now.”
“Then build them both,” said Meurthe. “We have a huge workshop in Saint-Cloud, just across the Seine from Paris, that will be ready for you.”
Alain hadn’t expected this. “And you expect Major Vitary to let me go?”
“Vitary has no choice,” said Meurthe. “You will temporarily resign your commission here, but you can take whatever men you like to help you, along with everything you've worked on. My money, which you apparently despise, makes all this possible.”
From his shelter below the stand, LeRond watched the two men talk. The wind whipped up and slashed at them, but for all the effect it had, they might have been in a restaurant. They stood straight, facing the coming storm. Meurthe was slightly taller, even though his top hat had blown off and tumbled across the parade ground.
“My mother told me about your family,” Chevrier said.
“What did she tell you?” asked Meurthe.
“About you, nothing other than you’re rich. But your father signed the death warrants for my family in 1871, when the Commune was destroyed. And now you want me to work for you?”
“Listen to me, Chevrier,” said Meurthe. “We are very different men, you and I. But, I think, both honorable. Both sons of France. If we do not take action now, we will fail her. The contest starts on July 14.”
Alain turned his back to Meurthe and watched for the oncoming rain. “I will be in the International Balloon Race later this month,” he said. “After that, if I choose, I may enter your contest.”
Meurthe started to speak and then held back. He would not beg. He turned and started down the steps just as the skies burst open. He looked back to see Alain, still standing at the top, rain washing over him, his shirt and hair plastered to his body, facing down the storm.
“By the way,” Meurthe called up. “Tell your mother I said hello.”
At the bottom, he saw LeRond looking up at Alain, dark envy in his face. And, in an office across the quadrangle, Meurthe saw a tiny square of light where Vitary paced the floor in anger at having been passed over.
Alain, Alain, he thought, you can face down the elements, but what can you do about their envy? Envy is more to be feared than lightning.
Chapter Five: The Bodensee, South Germany—May 22
Far across the 50-mile long lake, Maximilian von Hohenstauffen could see the Alps looming, their white heads—like grandfathers—still covered with snow.
Nearby was an equally majestic sight: a huge airship in flight. The late-day sun caught the massive shape and spread its shadow across a mile of water. The dirigible was approaching fast, but at a great distance; Maximilian could not yet hear the hum of its diesel motors. At this quiet time, the only sound was lapping water.
Behind him was the great hangar where the dirigible would sleep. Maximilian stood at the mouth of the opening—more than 100 feet high—looking like an actor at the front of the stage awaiting his applause. He felt the platform sway gently under his feet; the whole structure floated on the lake so that, whatever the direction of the wind, the dirigible could always enter.
Maximilian heard authoritative footsteps behind him and knew immediately who it was. He turned and saluted.
Kaiser Wilhelm strode up, his blue eyes dark and brooding, the small, pointed upturned mustaches on his broad face waxed by a barber as they were every morning. He looked like every other member of every other royal family in Europe, thought Maximilian, except for that one imperfection.
Perhaps because he was on The Bodensee, the Kaiser was wearin
g a British admiral’s uniform today; white cap cocked over one eye, navy blue coat with gold braid falling from an epaulet on his right shoulder and, of course, a sword.
“The Kaiser does love his uniforms,” Maximilian thought to himself. If the French ambassador arrived, Wilhelm would surprise him by wearing a French marshal’s uniform, even though he had once called Paris “the greatest whore in the world.” When the Moscow ballet came to Berlin, he attended in a Russian uniform, and after the Barnum & Bailey circus captivated the city, the Kaiser had a ringmaster’s uniform made for him. But all the uniforms were tailored to hide that deformity...
His arm, the withered left arm. Only a stump, really. The result of his breech birth. As a boy he’d been tortured by it. Doctors had put him in a machine that pinned his head while it stretched his arm. They’d given it electric shocks, even “animal baths,” where they’d wrapped the carcass of a dead rabbit around it. Finally they gave up.
Wilhelm had mastered all the military arts in spite of it: riding, shooting, fencing. He had a grip like iron. Maximilian respected him for that. But there was still that imperfection in a world where imperfection wasn’t tolerated. Perhaps that was why the Kaiser kept it behind him in a sling. It made him look a little off-center. But of course, no one was expected to notice it. Instead, Maximilian shifted his gaze to the distance, where the new electric lights glinted off the spike-helmets and rifles of the stony-faced guards standing stiffly at attention.
For a moment they stood there, side by side, as if equals. Then Maximilian picked up his binoculars and scanned the shore. Two of his men had built a smoky fire so he could tell which way the wind was blowing. The smoke was drifting nearly straight up. Max nodded at the signalman at the side of the platform where the canvas curtains were pulled back, and he flashed out a message on the heliograph to the crew on board. All was going well, Maximilian thought, and—with the Kaiser here—it had better.
“I was impressed by what you did in Paris,” the Kaiser broke the silence. “Your announcement could not have been more effective. You embarrassed the French President.”
“Our intelligence was very good,” replied Maximilian. “It came from Fabian Bouchard, a member of their own Aéro Club.”
“Yes,” said the Kaiser, and now his voice was steely. “But you also committed Germany to this contest. You made a promise you must now fulfill.”
Maximilian pointed to the dirigible. “You see what we can do.” The airship was now turning its bullet head toward them for a final approach. It was enormous, with three tons of hydrogen inside, and, with no wind to obstruct her, she waltzed on the water like a dowager empress.
“I have seen many things in my life and heard many promises,” said the Kaiser. He sounded unconvinced. “I saw an airship explode over Berlin and the man inside drop three thousand feet. I heard him scream as he fell. And the problems you have had here...”
“We have solved them,” Maximilian interrupted, and then added “Your Majesty.” The Kaiser looked at him sharply. No one ever interrupted him. He was the master of the German Empire, the most powerful nation in Europe, and he considered only God to be his equal. But von Hohenstauffen’s lineage was old too. It went back to the Holy Roman Emperors. In a world where birth and breeding were everything, Maximilian did not have to humble himself.
“But your ship is 420 feet long and 38 feet high,” challenged the Kaiser. “How will you transport it? You can’t fly it all the way to Paris.”
“We won’t. We will build another one. In Paris itself.”
The Kaiser gave a snort of surprise and then looked at Maximilian to see if he was serious.
“Arrangements have already been made through Monsieur Bouchard,” Maximilian continued. “He’s putting up a huge building in the city where a dirigible, similar to this, will be assembled.”
“And the French?” asked Kaiser Wilhelm. “They may be degenerate, but they’re not stupid. Will they be asleep while this happens?”
“Having opened the contest to other nations, the French now have no choice. Bouchard tells me that they will begin this contest on their Independence Day—July 14. That gives us enough time.”
“And will there be other contestants?”
“An American named Neville Bishop claims to have a novel design for an aeroplane, a heavier-than-air machine that flies with wings,” Maximilian scoffed. “Ridiculous.”
“But what if the ridiculous happens, and the French or Americans fly first? They’ll win, and we’ll be humiliated.”
“They won’t,” said Maximilian, watching the airship dip lower and lower as it approached. The crew had unfurled St. Andrew’s Cross, red on a white banner, as a signal that they were ready to dock.
“You sound very sure of yourself, von Hohenstauffen,” challenged the Kaiser. “Are you prepared to do what is necessary to win?”
Maximilian laughed harshly. “I went to kriegschule. Do you remember what they made us do when we were 12?”
Kaiser Wilhelm nodded grimly. “My personal tutor made me do it too. You are thinking of the day when they take the boys to the stables where the yearling calves are to be slaughtered.”
“Yes,” said Maximilian. “They showed us how to pick up the sledge hammer, swing it over our heads, and strike the calf where the tip of the skull joins its neck. I was afraid the first time, so it took me several blows. I was so ashamed that I went back and asked to do it again. I have killed several times since then, and I have never hesitated.”
The two men were silent for a moment, trapped in their own memories. Maximilian watched the crewmen at the front of the airship throw down the two 300-foot drag ropes that skimmed along the water. Thirty men lined up on either side of the hangar, waiting to pull them in. Now was the moment that could be most treacherous, when the dirigible lost momentum. At this moment it could dip or soar or catch a gust of wind. And it was at this moment the Kaiser broke in with another question:
“What is the future for this flying machine, apart from annoying the French?”
Maximilian thought for a moment. “In 10 years, 20 at most, there will be only one great power in the world. And that great power will rule the sky. There will be fortified cloud cities, castles if you will, 100 times bigger than this airship. They’ll be capable of raining bombs down on those below.
“Only the fiercest warriors and their women will live up above the rest in these castles, men like myself...and you, of course. They will joust in sleek machines that streak through the sky, like the knights of old, except thousands of feet in the air. Because the gases we use to levitate will catch fire, these men will fight with the ancient and honorable weapons, swords and broadaxes, and save the gunpowder and poison gases to use on the inferior people beneath them.”
The Kaiser nodded. They shared a heritage with others of their class. They might insult each other, seduce each other’s wives, cheat at cards and even kill each other in the occasional duel, but to the outside world they were united and, in their own minds, invincible. They were the sons of men who had taken their land at swords’ point, and, if they could, they would do the same.
He liked the concept, but there was a small nagging doubt in the back of the Kaiser’s mind. He was the absolute ruler on the ground, with an army of soldiers who would shoot down their own families if he so ordered them. But who would rule in Maximilian’s world? He thought about this as he watched the propellers at the back of the airship slow to a halt and then reverse direction. The dirigible began to fill up the opening, forcing both of them to move to the side.
“Excuse me,” said Maximilian, “this is the most delicate moment.” He turned his back on the Kaiser and walked away.
This time, Wilhelm noticed, he didn’t bother to salute. The Kaiser walked in the other direction toward his yacht. He looked back just once to see Maximilian standing in the open door of the hangar with his back to him.
“That bastard,” thought the Kaiser to himself. “But I wonder...can he pull it off?
”
Maximilian was wondering the same thing. He remembered the eyes of Henri Meurthe as he stood on the podium in Paris. Meurthe was not stupid or degenerate, and he would fight. It would not be as easy as killing a calf.
The turning of the water-borne hangar had placed Maximilian in a direct line with the Alps, and he remembered folk tales about The Bodensee. There was one that—as a child—had scared him. It was about the only time in the last century when it had frozen over. He could imagine that ocean of endless ice, stretching like a glacier all the way from those mountains. There was a man with a very fast horse and sleigh who foolishly boasted to his friends that he could ride all the way across the lake—even in the spring, when the ice was melting.
His sled had reached the middle when he heard the ice start to crack under his runners. Panicked by the thought of being sucked into the lake’s dark center, he whipped his horse and flew faster and faster, all the while the cracking of the ice getting louder and louder behind him. Finally, just as the lathered horse was ready to drop from exhaustion, he reached the opposite shore. Then, when he looked back and saw the yawning chasm he had escaped, he died of fright.
“But I am stronger than that,” Maximilian reminded himself.
Chapter Six: Death of “The Conqueror”—Afternoon, May 26
Down below, a thousand feet below, Mary Ann saw caterpillars turn into butterflies.
Brightly-colored skins on the grassy floor of the Champ-de-Mars suddenly took life, bobbed like corks on a wave, and then popped up as balloons. Sunlight reflected off their silver tops so brightly that it hurt her eyes. Colors of all descriptions blossomed below her; yellows, blue fleur-de-lis, indigos, scarlets.
“This is the greatest event in the history of aviation,” said Henri Meurthe, standing at the railing beside her. Then he paused and smiled. “Except, of course, for our own.”
Our Own. So now she was part of it; in Paris, one of five privileged people standing at the top of the new Eiffel Tower and talking very calmly about flying around it.
Mary Ann looked closely at the tall, angular Meurthe, a man willing to give a million francs to anyone brave (or foolish) enough to do the impossible. People had told her that the President of the Aéro Club was distinguished, even fierce. But today, with the balloons about to go up, he looked as if he were a child holding them all in his hand, about to let go. He reminded Mary Ann of her own father, in the happy days before his self-imposed exile to Jericho.