“I had an unfair advantage, Mr. Wilkie.” Robert took out his pocket watch and handed it to the chief. “This watch belonged to my father. I suspected it came from Alaska due to its Russian inscription and thought it might be connected to an atmospheric phenomenon observed over the Wrangell Mountains when we passed through the comet. I was wrong, and possibly on both counts. However, it nevertheless provided us with valuable foreknowledge on the weapon our enemies are using. The blue clouds my contacts observed above the mountains were caused by aerosols of cesium. Likely the same kind that would have destroyed New Haven.”
“So, you’re saying we can call off the search for little green men in Alaska.” Wilkie smirked.
Taft raised his hand. “That was my blunder,” he confessed. “Between what Robert told me about the pocket watch and the strange matter with Dr. Tesla, I thought the Morgan-Guggenheim syndicate stumbled upon something in Alaska that was not of this planet. The red planet was a red herring of my own invention.” He sulked.
“Our invention,” Robert acknowledged.
“Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Wilkie snapped the timepiece shut and returned it to its owner. “Mr. Lincoln, you said during our little joyride through Washington that this watch has potentially fantastic powers. If it came from Alaska, is it possible our enemies are harnessing something similar?”
“I don’t see how,” said Robert. “Even if they assembled all the components this watch is made of, I can’t imagine how they built it. This pocket watch is unlike any machine in history. It violates the very principles of thermodynamics.”
“Actually,” Taft interjected, “I saw Zaharoff sporting a timepiece just like that one. Only his was silver.”
There was a pause.
“Well, that’s a load off,” Chief Wilkie said sarcastically. “Hey, George, I think we finally have something we can nab J. P. Morgan for: conspiring to violate the laws of science.”
The attorney general shook his head.
“Mr. President…” Robert was trying not to laugh. “I am pretty sure you are mistaken. Superficially, there’s nothing special about this watch.”
“Just hear me out,” said Taft. “His watch had no keyhole; I did not see him wind it once.…”
It was evident to everyone in the room who was not a Taft that the president was wasting their time.
“… And his watch had the number four written ‘I-V’ in Roman numerals instead of four I’s, just like on yours.”
Robert went rigid. He flipped open his timepiece to see its Roman numerals depicted precisely as the president described. It was a rarity for clocks made in the nineteenth century. “You’re absolutely sure this man wore the same watch?” he asked, alarmed.
“Bob…” Taft leaned forward. “I walked into that tomb prepared to murder this villain with the same skull he sent my wife on our anniversary. I did not simply speak with him. I hunted him. I studied how he moved, breathed, and ate for anything I could use to end his life as quickly as possible. So, to answer your question: Yes, he did wear the same watch. Only his timepiece worked.”
“My husband is very observant,” confirmed Nellie. The first couple smiled at each other and shared a quick kiss.
“Well, bully for you!” Wilkie brimmed with confidence. “So please tell me, Mr. President: What does your killer instinct say the lot of us should do now?”
The president thought long and hard about this. He threw a salted almond in his mouth, chewed it, and then threw another one in. And then another. Finally, after thinking of everything he could, he turned to his most trusted adviser and asked, “What should we do, Nellie?”
Nellie sucked on her cigarette and looked over the waiting men in the room. “Do you have any beer on this train, Mr. Lincoln?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Damn.” With her legs crossed and arms folded, Nellie slowly assembled the next course of action. “What do we know about the enemy combatants at Yale?” she asked Wickersham.
“Not much,” he replied with disappointment. “There were no survivors to interrogate. All we have to work with are what the Marshals found on them.”
“What types of weapons did they use?” she put to Wilkie.
“Belgian Mausers armed with 7.65mm ammunition. In fact…” The chief rummaged through his jacket pocket. “I have one of their bullets. Here.” He tossed the cartridge to Brooks. “If you examine its headstamp, you’ll see that it was not manufactured in the U.S.”
As Brooks looked over the cartridge, the attorney general asked, “Why would someone smuggle bullets into the country they could have easily purchased here?”
“Probably an army whose rifles were already loaded when they arrived,” Brooks appraised.
“Exactly,” said Wilkie. “Madam President, your son’s kidnapping and last night’s incursion in New Haven were most likely carried out by a foreign military secretly operating in the U.S.”
“Are there any armies besides Belgium that use these weapons?” asked Nellie.
“Only Argentina,” replied Brooks. “Can anyone think of a reason the Belgian government would be waging a clandestine war against the United States?”
“I don’t think our enemies are working for any government,” said Wilkie. “Even if their henchmen had military equipment and training, it sure as hell did not come through in their methods. Kidnapping the president’s son, holding a city hostage, and”—the chief bowed his head with respect—“poisoning the head of state’s spouse; I’d say that’s a crook game to be playing.”
“Such cruelty was not out of character for King Leopold II.” Nellie glowered. “He deceived the whole world with his vile intentions for the Congo Free State. For all the pomp of the White House, my husband and our children are still but one family. Leopold and his merciless agents slew millions of families in the Congo.”
A deathly silence fell over the train car.
“Well, can we stop splitting hairs and agree that these henchmen were soldiers from the Belgian Congo?” asked Wilkie. “They used Belgian rifles armed with Belgian ammunition, and they couldn’t fight a pitched battle to save their own lives. With Leopold dead, I imagine he has a whole private army in Africa that is suddenly out of work. Perhaps someone gave them two weeks’ notice before putting them on a steamer bound for New Haven Harbor. Mr. President, Mr. Lincoln, you remember those ‘gentlemen’ from the Tesla transmission. One of them was from Belgium and another from Congo. The writing’s on the goddamn wall!”
“Could this man you met in the Tomb have been one of these gentlemen?” asked Robert.
Taft shook his head. “Not those two. When we met, he offered me chocolate.” He looked to Wilkie. “French chocolate.”
The chief raised his eyebrows and took a great puff from his cigar. “The Gentleman from Paris, I presume.”
Taft nodded. “Most likely. But there’s more to that. Bob, I think Zaharoff was the specialist Jack told us about. The one who took over in Alaska after he quit. I think he’s the emissary in the group. If we capture him, he should be able to implicate everyone in the conspiracy.”
“What are you proposing?” asked Wilkie.
Taft looked back to Nellie, but she did not want to answer. She was too afraid to. Wilkie was right, Taft realized. The writing was on the wall.
Or, more specifically, printed out on telegraph tape in a different part of the train.
There was a knock on the door from an adjoining car.
“Come in,” said the president.
Agent Jervis entered the opulent train car. Behind him, Taft could see his son eating a hearty meal with four Secret Service agents surrounding him. “How’s everything with my boy, Jervis?”
“Mr. President, this just arrived from the U.S. Marshals at Yale. They say it’s urgent.”
The agent handed Taft a piece of paper:
NEW HAVEN CONN 1127P JUN 22 1911
URGENT! URGENT! URGENT!
MR. PRESIDENT:
; MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH. DEAD BUTTERFLY FOUND IN BASIL ZAHAROFF’S BRIEFCASE. ACRAEA LUALABAE ACCORDING TO YALE PROFESSORS. DID NOT COME FROM UNIVERSITY. NATIVE ONLY TO CONGO. NAME TAKEN FROM LUALABA RIVER.
SIDNEY E. HAWLEY US MARSHAL
“It’s a good thing you have a wireless telegraph on this train,” Agent Jervis said to Robert Todd Lincoln. However, Robert did not hear this. Everyone was focused on Taft, whose face was turning white with each sentence he read.
“Mr. President?” asked Jervis.
Taft’s hands were shaking.
Wilkie leaped out of this chair. “Mr. President!” Together with Agent Jervis and all the men in the room, the Secret Service chief assisted the faint president back into his seat.
“Will, what’s wrong?” asked an alarmed Nellie.
Taft stared almost deliriously over the faces in the train car until his eyes eventually fell on Robert. “What time is it in England right now?”
“Will, what are you talking about?” asked Lincoln.
“What’s got him all riled up?” Wilkie helped himself to the page in the president’s hand, but Nellie snatched it and handed it to Brooks.
“Just tell me the time in London.”
Stupefied, Robert glanced at his pocket watch, but then remembered it did not work. “It should be early morning there. Why?”
“Just curious,” Taft said wearily. “Once we’re in Washington, we’ll need to get Joseph Conrad on the telegraph.” The president looked to his wife and held her small hand. “Nellie, I am so sorry, but we need to change our tactics. The White House is no longer safe. Our children are no longer safe. You are no longer safe. I can no longer sit here waiting until our enemies strike again. It is time I engaged these villains no matter where they are hiding.”
An unshakable Nellie tightened her grip. “I will take the children into hiding. The military will protect us.” She turned her head. “Mr. Wilkie, while we are under guard, I want you to interview every possible lead we have in this case. After that, you will go to Europe and meet with your secret agent. We need her now more than ever.”
The Secret Service chief coughed out a cloud of smoke. “You know about her?” he gasped.
“Mr. Wilkie, Miss Knox works for me. She always has.”
The Secret Service chief went stiff, his only movement the string of smoke from his cigar.
Nellie looked back into her husband’s worried eyes. “Do what you must,” she instructed.
The president nodded and turned to the assembled. “We must go to the Congo.”
Chapter XXXI
The Airship Logbook of Major Archibald W. Butt
August 11, 1911.
We departed Washington, D.C., shortly after nightfall. Our crew consists of the usual hands plus one troop of cavalry from the New Haven operation. Their commanding officer is Captain Charles Young, who was reassigned from Fort D. A. Russell for this mission at the special request of the President. The Captain is also serving as my second-in-command, and I have spent the last few weeks preparing him for the task.
As of this hour, Mr. Lincoln is our only passenger.
There was a serious risk of thunderstorms shortly after we left the city, but Mr. Lincoln assured me the zeppelin could withstand a lightning strike. Nevertheless, I brought the airship to 17,000 feet as a precaution. Thanks to the full moon, we were able to steer through the storm as if the clouds were icebergs.
We just passed New York City on our way to Beverly, where the President is waiting for us.
August 12, 1911.
We arrived at Beverly just before five o’clock. It was still dark and the skies were clear, but I did spot some rainclouds lingering in the west.
After the President bid adieu to Mrs. Taft, he boarded the airship with Sloan, Wheeler, and Jervis of the U.S. Secret Service. The President looked exhausted and I imagine he did not sleep a wink all evening. When I inquired about Mr. Wilkie’s absence, Sloan reported the chief was on assignment in San Francisco and would not be joining us.
We departed at daybreak, leaving Mrs. Taft and the first family in the care of nearly one thousand soldiers and sailors patrolling the summer cottage. The family is to be relocated to Fort Banks at the first sign of danger, which I am outwardly confident but secretly hopeful will not happen.
From Beverly, we turned east for Casablanca. And from there, the Belgian Congo.
August 13, 1911.
Egad! What an incredible day!
It all started over breakfast with the President and Mr. Lincoln. We were about halfway across the Atlantic and Captain Young was piloting.
The conversation started with the President renewing his gratitude for the immeasurably thoughtful present Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln gave to the Tafts for their silver wedding. The gift, a truly remarkable and uncanny device, is a freestanding viewing machine similar to a Mutoscope, only far more luxurious than any I had ever seen. Its cabinet was built out of polished mahogany that was rich with engravings and appropriately adorned with silver. When its silver hand-crank is turned, its viewer is treated to a moving picture of the President and Mrs. Taft dancing at their inaugural ball in a seamless, uninterrupted loop.
Had Mr. Lincoln stopped here, he would have won the hearts of the Tafts and their entire family for the rest of their lives. But instead, Mr. Lincoln chose to push his creative energies to levels more befitting Leonardo da Vinci. The viewing machine also has a Victrola built into it, which is simultaneously operated by the hand-crank. The result is nothing short of one of the most heavenly images I have ever beheld: the President and Mrs. Taft, immortalized in black and white on one of the happiest days of their lives, dancing for eternity to the theme from Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in A major, K. 331, first movement.
Stunning. Simply stunning. If only my mother could have seen this!
After this brief thank-you, the conversation shifted to the more pressing issues awaiting us in the Congo. In addition to the diplomatic crises we could trigger by engaging in hostile actions overseas, there was still the delicate matter of how to hold our international adversaries responsible for their crimes. The President expressed regret over our failure to capture any prisoners for questioning during the New Haven operation, to which I replied that quite a few enemy deaths were revealed to be due to suicide. The President thought about this and asked if there were any nonlethal alternatives to the weapons currently used on the battlefield. I said there were none. He then asked if some could be developed, to which I replied that such an effort, while noble, would run counter to the increasingly industrial nature warfare has been taking.
Mr. Lincoln, however, did not offer an opinion. He simply excused himself and rushed to his workshop, pausing only for the copy of Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle he left on the table. Hours later, one of our wireless operators reported that Mr. Lincoln had been flooding the radio room with messages all day to and from Nikola Tesla in New York, and that some of their correspondence included phototelegraph images. I went to Mr. Lincoln’s workshop to discuss this only to find the door locked and my knocks drowned out by what sounded like classical music. Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, second movement, I believe. Concerned, I went at once to the Oval Office and gave a full report to the President, but he only leaned back in his chair and said: “Let him alone. When Bob gets this way, it’s usually for the best of everyone.”
The President was correct.
That evening, I was summoned to the Oval Office for one of the President’s private salons. I arrived to find the delighted chief executive sharing a bottle of red wine with Mr. Lincoln. I also noticed one of the soldiers’ Browning Auto-5 shotguns resting on the President’s desk. When I asked what this was about, the President directed me to a sheet of paper underneath the weapon. It showed designs for a working, patentable invention Mr. Lincoln and Dr. Tesla developed over the telegraph and which Mr. Lincoln built that afternoon using equipment found on the airship.
I am including a facsimile of Dr. Tesla’s designs for this
remarkable “electric rifle,” as well as Mr. Lincoln’s description of how the device works:
“Dr. Tesla’s electric rifle transfers an electric ‘bullet’ by shooting two wires from the barrel of the shotgun. The projectile itself is a hollow wax bullet containing a spool of wire that uncoils when fired. The wires are separated by insulated coating except at its pointed tip, where two exposed needles deliver a debilitating but nonlethal jolt of electricity. The high voltage is generated using the common form of circuitry for electric sparks (Fig. 1). To power the device, a modest electric current was obtained from an alternator attached to one of the airship’s propeller shafts (Fig. 2). This current enters a small transformer that is attached to the Tesla coil in Fig. 1 to generate the required voltage. A common condenser stores the transformer current to be fed into the Tesla induction coil. A rifle trigger (Fig. 3) is used to both shoot the electric bullet and electrify the Tesla coil by completing the electric circuit. For ease of use, this secondary trigger can be added alongside the shotgun’s existing trigger. Not only does this allow the electric rifle to operate almost identically to any rifle, but its wooden stock can be hollowed out to store the necessary equipment to power it.
“Unfortunately, only a single electric bullet can be shot from the rifle without a reload, which would be a long and cumbersome process this early into the development stage. However, if fired correctly at a range commensurate to the length of wire inside the bullet, Dr. Tesla’s electric rifle should be able to successfully electrocute an enemy into submission without killing or destroying them.” —Robert T. Lincoln.
As I said earlier, stunning. Simply stunning.
But I must go now and try to get some rest. We are expected to arrive in Morocco within the next few hours.
August 14, 1911.
We are in Africa.
Airship One landed in Casablanca at about 3:55 a.m. local time. We encountered no difficulties and all necessary arrangements were made by Fred Carpenter, the President’s former secretary and now U.S. envoy to Morocco.
The Great Abraham Lincoln Pocket Watch Conspiracy Page 22