He lay down on the bed. Maybe he’d nap—or maybe just lie there and think.
Tomorrow he’d land in Lakehurst and a small truck would meet him. The vehicle would take him and his cargo directly to the American Museum of Natural History on New York’s Upper West Side.
The president’s representative, a man named Robertson, would meet him there. And what did he hope would come out of this? What could happen?
From the moment when someone contacted him in Basel with the news of this find, his head had been spinning with the possibilities. He knew he wanted to get it out of Europe. Each day the climate there turned more mad, more dangerous.
This find could be a ticket to a life in the United States. Not a bad thing for a Jewish scientist. He had heard his grandfather talk about the bad old days, had the fear drilled into him.
And strange…he chose the Graf Zeppelin. Speed was important, but he wanted the specimen to get a special crate, special treatment. Being one of a handful of passengers guaranteed just that.
But finding a life in America wasn’t the real reason that he made this journey. No. After the first tests on the specimen, he knew what he had to do.
People in power must know, they must understand the implications. And yes, the world seemed to be once again tottering toward chaos, maybe even racing to another world war—but still things had to be done.
A knock at the door.
“Ein bett, mein Herr?”
“Nein, bitte,” Mlodinow said, not needing his covers turned down.
The German obsessiveness for everything to be done just so.
Mlodinow hoped that Hindenburg could keep that obsessiveness in check. The German moderates hoped that the old general would stop the country’s wild spin to…to—
What?
That was just it. Who knew which small party, which sect would squeeze and fight and bully its way to power if Hindenburg didn’t stop them?
But he was an old man. And the German people can be so persistent, so obsessive.
Better to stay in America, Mlodinow thought.
Let the world learn that things—that this planet—is not as they imagined. And let them learn that from America.
He squeezed his eyes shut—and tried to fall asleep as the propellers moved the airship smoothly through the clouds.
44
Astoria, Queens—New York City
PRESTON PULLED CARL AWAY FROM Baxter.
“Hey, Preston, I’m talking to our star. Trying to keep him happy. Least I got him a costar. What’s up?”
“Carl, there are two trucks outside with jungle trees and plants.”
“Well, great, bring them in. Some of the sets are ready to be dressed. Maybe we can actually start doing some shooting.”
“But there are supposed to be three trucks. Three. That’s what I ordered.”
“Oh, right. That’s what you ordered, but I changed it.”
“Can you tell me why? That’s what the studio approved, that’s what’s in the budget—”
Denham fought hard to keep a smile off his face. “Exactly. That’s what they approved. So, that’s what they think we got.”
“But you’re only using two? And the money for the third truck?”
Now Denham walked Preston away from where anyone else might hear.
“Did you really think I was going to shoot a jungle movie with nothing but interiors and some phony-looking back-lot stuff? Did you really think that’s what I was going to do? And that—” He looked right in Preston’s eyes. Half the fun of moments like these was rattling his loyal but slow-to-catch-on assistant. “—that would still be a ‘Carl Denham’ movie?”
Preston licked his lips and pushed his glasses off his nose.
“You’re pocketing the money?”
“Not pocketing. Every penny is going into the production, every penny, Preston. Just not exactly where the studio wants it to go—or thinks it’s going. No matter, when they see the results, they’ll be happy.”
“And where is that money going?”
Denham looked left and right. “The Venture is going to wait. Englehorn is doing some repairs, holding off heading to Singapore or Sumatra for a zoo run. He’s waiting…”
“Now I’m scared. He’s waiting for what?”
“For me. I’m going to shoot some of these interiors. Got Jack Driscoll working on a new script for me too.” He held his hands up. “Completely new. With some changes…”
“Like?”
“A voyage to someplace amazing, Preston. A beautiful girl, a dumb but equally beautiful actor. Danger, romance, and things people haven’t seen before.”
“And where exactly is that?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“I’m your personal assistant, Carl. Who am I going to spill the beans to…you?”
“Okay. That place? I don’t know. Yet.”
“Great. And meanwhile we’re paying for the Venture.”
“At a good price. Englehorn, Hayes, Lumpy—they’re all enjoying some time in New York.”
“I would too if someone paid my freight. And how long—I mean, how much longer will you keep the ship waiting?”
“I’ve got to be a little careful, natch. If Zelman or one of his goons came to check things out, they got to see movie-making going on in this barn of a studio. I have to get some footage, some decent footage, to keep them happy. Meantime, I’m going to hunt for my destination.”
“Really?”
“You know those bars in Brooklyn, near the Navy Yard?”
“No.”
“Not your kind of places. But I went there, knowing that guys from the ships like to hang out, have a few bats and balls, talk to the floozies. Now, I got nothing yet, but some mug’s gotta come in with some story about shipping out to some place amazing. And if I strike out there, then there are the dives over by the Hoboken piers. One way or another, I’ll find a place.”
“And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see other items from the budget missing?”
“Could be, Preston, could be.”
Herb shouted from across the open space of the studio. “We’re set for you here, Carl.”
Herb, limping a bit, but back to what he loved.
“Right. I’ll be there in a second.” He turned back to his assistant. “So, I just need to know, Preston—you’re okay with this? You with me? ’Cause if you’re not…”
Preston nodded. “Yes. I guess it wouldn’t be a ‘Carl Denham’ picture of it didn’t have that imminent sense of danger.”
“Now you’re thinking. And hey, I’ve got a scene to shoot. Take care of the foliage, will you?”
Preston nodded, as Denham hurried back to his cameraman.
45
Atlantic City, New Jersey
THE FIRST DAYS AFTER THE club attack turned into a blur for Ann…though Susan wouldn’t stop talking about how Ann had saved her.
“I owe you, sister, big-time, and I ain’t never gonna forget it,” she kept saying. “Never!”
Ann wished she would. All she did, after all, was drag Susan out of there. Anyone could have done it. And while Susan talked about how “exciting” it all was, Ann more than ever felt that this was the wrong place for her.
But what else could she do? She certainly didn’t have much of a nest egg to take back to New York and start auditioning…to try and get her acting life started again. The diving show would slowly give her a little savings…nothing to walk away from these days.
And guys?
Ann’s experience with guys, anything approaching romance, wasn’t ever good. Sooner or later you get disappointed, she thought. It’s what her mother said, though Mom herself never stopped trying…guy after loser guy.
Maybe Ann had let herself become too hard, too well protected.
Or maybe she was one of the few who knew the score. Love was a chance to get hurt, an opportunity to get burned. She didn’t want to get burned anymore.
So Ann kept diving, and planning for when
her real life—as an actress—would truly begin.
Ann led Belle from the paddock, getting the dappled horse ready to dive. And she looked at his eyes.
Instead of the clear white pools surrounded by the bull’s-eye brown pupils, the horse’s eyes looked wet, and crisscrossed with red veins.
Belle didn’t look good.
She went to Eddy and told him.
“Yeah,” he said, taking a cigar out of his mouth. “I noticed. The horse has got a cold. Not surprising, with all the in and out of the water they got to do.”
“Well, maybe she shouldn’t dive.”
“I gotta keep her in the rotation, kid—otherwise it’s too much on the other horses. Besides, it’s no big deal. Just a cold. We all get them.”
“I don’t know,” Ann said. “She looks weak, tired.”
Eddy looked up. “Okay. Tell you what. Let’s see how she does with her first dive. If she looks bad, we’ll talk about what we can do, okay Annie?”
Ann nodded. She started to turn away.
“And say, kid—how are you doing?”
Ann stopped, and turned back to the trainer. “Me? Fine. Okay.”
He stood up. “Really? You can’t tell me you aren’t a bit rattled, after all that.” He laughed. “I know I would be.”
Ann forced a smile. “No. I was worried about my friends. But it happened so quickly, then we—” She laughed, genuine this time, remembering their flight from the club. “—we got the hell out of there.”
Eddy grinned, nodding. “Bet you did, Annie, bet you did. But look, if you need someone to talk to, you know, just to talk—let me know. My eyes are kinda going—but I do have two good ears.”
She reached out and gave his forearm a squeeze.
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
Then she turned and went back to Belle.
On the first dive, Belle seemed fine. She jumped smoothly, landed well in the ocean, slicing through the water, and quickly got out. Eddy thought that Belle could continue diving, even though Ann was still not sure—as though she could sense how the horse was doing inside.
Then on each subsequent dive, Ann felt a bit of hesitation from Belle, taking more time on the ramp, then a longer pause before jumping.
When Ann looked down at Eddy from the diving platform, she could see that now his face showed concern also.
After the last dive of the day, she went to him.
“She’s not doing well.”
“I see.”
“So tomorrow off?”
“Maybe. Could be. I have to talk to Mr. Nadler. It will affect half the shows. You know people come here to see you and this horse. It’s a big deal to disappoint them.” He reached up and stroked the horse’s neck. “I’ll talk to Mr. Nadler. See what I can do. Get the vet to take a look.”
“Thanks. Maybe a day off will get her back to normal.”
And Ann thought, she too wouldn’t mind a day off.
“Check in during the morning—and we’ll see.”
Ann showed up at the paddock early thinking that today she wouldn’t be diving.
But she found Belle saddled up, and ready to go. Her eyes looked, if anything, worse. And she kept snorting as if now her nose was giving her problems.
“What did the vet say…and Mr. Nadler?”
“Look, kid, the Aquacade is an important part of the Steel Pier. And it’s a weekend—gonna be jammed today.”
“You mean Belle has to dive?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But what did the vet say?”
“Hell, he works for Nadler. So he’s not going to give the boss bad news unless he has to. He said Belle has a cold, but it was nothing she wouldn’t shake off…eventually.”
“ ‘Shake off,’ with all this diving? She’ll only get worse.”
“Sorry, Annie, I’m just an employee too. I gotta do what the boss says—and he says the horse dives, with or without you.”
Ann looked at Belle. She’d gain nothing by refusing to dive with the horse. Some other girl could fill in. And she didn’t want to be away from Belle, not when she looked so sick.
“I’ll dive.”
“Good. Better you’re the one there, you know?”
“I know…”
The heat turned brutal, even at the end of the pier with the ocean surrounding the amphitheater. Now, when the wind blew off the ocean, the temperature made rib-bony heat waves rise from every surface.
The audience had to be cooking in their seats below, trying to keep from touching any exposed metal.
As the announcer began her introduction, Ann climbed aboard Belle for the first dive of the day. Again the horse snorted, and Ann wondered whether the vet checked if Belle had equine flu. What would happen to her if she kept diving, not with a cold, but with an influenza that could kill her?
She leaned down to Belle.
“I’m with you, girl. Let’s just take it nice and easy.”
As if understanding her soothing words, Belle reared her head back, nuzzling Ann.
And to think that people thought Belle was difficult.
Sometimes, Ann guessed, there were things you could depend on: Belle on her, she…on Belle.
“Nice and easy, okay?”
The announcer finished, they started up the ramp. Ann could feel that each step was labored, that the horse had a hard time even lifting one leg up and moving it forward.
This is wrong, she thought.
After this, she’d stop it—one way or the other.
Now the brilliant morning sun hit them both, and the heat felt as though someone had opened the door to an oven.
More snorts—the heat had to be making the horse feel worse.
Still Belle climbed up to the platform, as Ann kept stroking its neck, whispering, “Thatta girl…almost there…almost done….”
The horse reached the platform, and turned.
Ann remembered to turn to the audience and wave while the announcer directed all eyes to the amazing feat that was about to occur.
“Okay. Let’s do this dive. One dive…”
Ann almost didn’t have the heart to give it the kick to its flanks to set her leap into motion. But it was the cue—Belle needed it.
But Ann knew she’d make it as gentle as possible, while still being clear it was time.
She leaned down to the horse and again whispered, “Ready, girl?”
Another tilt of the head back and—
Ann kicked her heels into the horse’s flanks.
Belle stepped back for the jump. Ann heard something.
The horse started urinating, a stream of water coating the platform, something that never happened before, more evidence of just how sick the horse was.
Ann considered grabbing the reins to stop the horse, but it all happened too quickly, like a machine set in motion, irreversible.
Belle started racing to the edge of the platform, struggling for the speed that would send it flying safely out into space, and into the ocean.
Hooves thumping, speeding over the now wet platform toward the edge.
When Belle suddenly slipped.
The horse tilted left, then went crashing down. But it was too late to stop the jump, and Belle kept careering forward. Ann quickly looked down and back, to see Belle’s left leg twisted under her body. She saw some red, a bit of bony white.
And then the two of them went sliding off the platform, Belle actually spinning so that Ann felt the horse above her as they plummeted to the water. Still she held on, as they crashed into the ocean.
The deadweight of the horse smashed down, pushing Ann deeper under the water than she’d ever been.
She let go of the bridle, pushing away, kicking away, realizing that all the air had been kicked out of her.
She broke the surface.
For a second she didn’t see Belle. Then the horse’s head, nostrils flaring, eyes wild with terror, also broke the surface. Belle started paddling to where she could get out of the sea.
But she paddled so slowly.
Ann hurried to Eddy, waiting. She pushed herself out of the water, and stood up, watching the struggling animal fight her way to the platform.
The announcer started telling the audience that everything was okay. That they shouldn’t worry. Then, just as Belle reached the platform, eyes nearly bugging out of her head, the announcer told the audience that the show was over, to please leave quietly.
So they wouldn’t see, Ann thought…so they wouldn’t see what Belle looked like when they finally got her out of the water.
It had taken Eddy and two other men to help Belle out, and Ann immediately saw the right rear leg, twisted at an odd angle, a chunk of bone sticking out. Belle made a terrible moaning sound—once, twice—and then laid her head down on the boardwalk floor, and breathed deeply as if she couldn’t get enough air.
Ann crouched close by, stroking her head.
By now Nadler and the vet were there.
The vet stood at a distance, as though he didn’t want to be connected to what was his handiwork. Ann turned to them both.
“You did this. You made her dive.”
Nadler started to say something…“Ann, I—”
“You killed her.”
She fought back tears. She wanted them to feel her anger, her disgust—and not just her girlish tears.
And when she couldn’t fight anymore, she leaned into the horse’s heaving head so no one would see the tears as they started to flow.
Ann heard a click.
The vet stood there with a rifle.
She turned around.
“No. You can’t—”
Even though Ann knew there was no other way. Eddy crouched down.
“Ann, you know it has to be done….”
Her head still against the animal’s head, she nodded. Nothing lasts, she thought for the hundredth time. Everything can be taken away from you.
Eddy tightened his grip on her shoulder, then pulled her away. Slowly she released her hold on the horse’s neck, and allowed herself to be pulled to a standing position.
The Island of the Skull Page 18