by Alex Myers
“What kind of ‘things’?” Jack asked. “I saw some of the prisoners looking out their windows, they looked like zombies.”
“Experiments. Those men are either prisoners that Creed and the SAC got from the government, life sentencers or…” Ken winced and continued, “Or patients from the asylum.”
“Asylum? What the hell, man?”
“From the Eastern Lunatic Asylum there in Williamsburg. Extremely violent people, both the patients and the prisoners.”
“What kind of experiments?” Jack asked.
“Toxins, drugs, weapons, psychological, just about anything you can imagine, and most things you can’t.”
“I’d still like to send that telegram, I’d at least like to let him know what we are up against.”
“I want to assure you I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your associates—“
“My friends.”
“Your friends. And the stuff going on at the plant, up until recently, it’s been a totally separate entity. I did a few things on the design of the building, but what I’ve heard and what I’ve learned, I don’t want any part of it.” Ken’s words seemed suddenly raw and angry. “I don’t want to be part of this anymore. I started inventing things to help people—that's why I loved my job with McCormick so much. Agriculture seemed like the quickest way to help the most people.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about this place where they are holding Kazmer and Sam?” Jack asked.
“It is fashioned after an insane asylum and guarded like a prison, really guarded. I don't know the exact layout, I was only there twice.” Ken looked like he was thinking it over. “I do know someone who does know more, Senator Stephen Brinkley.”
“That’s who my guy is trying to meet up with in Richmond. I don’t get this, why would Brinkley be so in the know? He's an abolitionist, isn’t he?”
“Damn near that these days, but that's not how it used to be with the good Senator from Virginia. He was one of the founders of the Fire-eaters. Helped build that plant, that’s a big part of why it’s in Williamsburg—it’s Brinkley’s home district, not Richmond, where Creed is from. It was Brinkley’s property where they built the plant. There was some kind of falling out about a year ago… now that I think about it, probably about the time they started building that new wing.”
“Where they do all the sadistic stuff. This is starting to get really layered,” Jack said.
“Brinkley’s the one I'd see. Do you want me to send some men up there?”
“How many spies, informants, whatever you want to call them, did you have in my organization? Three or four?” Jack asked.
“All told, with construction and all… about twenty. Yeah, I would say at least twenty.”
“How many men here that are working for you might be loyal to Creed?”
“I see your point.” Ken had a strained set to his mouth. “That means we can’t look to them for help with the fireworks bombing.”
“I never was counting on them. Let’s go take a look at that weapons depot.”
The weapons bunker was a low concrete block building that was half buried in the ground. The outer walls were painted a camouflage green-black that blended perfectly with the surrounding landscape.
“I’m surprised that you used green-black instead of green-brown like mine.”
“We got what you were trying to do, trying to obscure the building.”
“It’s called ‘camouflage’,” Jack said.
They passed a posted guard and entered the bunker. The only light came from a couple of small skylights, making it hard to see. Looking around at the empty shelves, Jack said, “I wish you had more stuff, some higher caliber stuff here… heck, at this point, just more stuff.”
“There's a whole other room to this place where we store the nitrocellulose bombs.”
They entered the next room and windows covered the entire upper southern wall. Barnett saw Jack looking strangely at the windows. “That’s our design, see how brightly lit this room is? Those windows keep us from having to light a lamp and chancing this stuff exploding. These windows are strong too, there are eight panels glued together. It’s practically bulletproof.”
Jack was impressed they stole the idea from him, yet he essentially stole it from someone else. It's one thing to know how something works, yet an even harder thing to put it together with no directions or help. “Where is the astrolite stored?”
“It’s made in Williamsburg, they keep it there too. They have a storage bunker full of it.”
What they were lacking in guns they made up for in explosives. There were bombs of all shapes and sizes. Jack studied them intently.
“What are you looking for?”
“This,” Jack said. It was a black, manhole-cover-size, round bomb. Jack screwed open a saucer-size plate off the top. He smiled to see it was lined with rubber. “It's called a limpet mine, it’s attached to a target by a magnet and delivered by a swimmer or diver. All this,” Jack rapped on the shell with his knuckles, “is hollow to give it negative buoyancy to make it easier to handle in the water.”
“Are you thinking of blowing up the barge?” Barnett lifted the mine to feel the heft.
“You said Creed would be on it, and possibly that goon Miles? If we can blow that bomb before it becomes airborne, keep it from raining down those toxins on those innocent people, then casualties will be minimal—“
“Except for the people on the barge,” Barnett said. “What about the person that places it there?”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “That will probably be pretty dangerous. Let’s get some grenades too.”
“Do you think they’ll use one of these to detonate the bomb?” Barnett asked, picking up one of the rectangular detonators.
“This transmitter with the hand crank can generate a signal three or four hundred feet. We’ll try this first.” Jack said. “I’ll try wrapping it a little tighter to get more distance. It won’t work to set off our limpet mine, because it’ll be underwater. Do you have any other kinds of fuses?”
“A bunch of percussion and black match fuses.”
“We need to put this under the waterline so the radio detonator is out, percussion no… how long do we have with those black powder fuses?”
“Airtight, underwater? Three or four minutes at most.”
“That's close. From the time of lighting, attaching, getting away and then detonation, that's cutting it real close,” Jack said. He looked out the window onto Lynnhaven Bay and saw the dredge barge that was keeping the channel clear. Something poked him, but couldn't put his finger on it.
Jack and Barnett walked out of the weapons building and past the armed guard at the front door. The man eyed them warily as each had a repeater rifle slung over their shoulder. Ken Barnett carried the limpet bomb and detonators, and Jack hauled shells, a radio transmitter, and 5 grenades. The guard had a repeater rifle and Ken Barnett asked if he could have it.
The hard-edged man looked at Jack. Jack shrugged. He searched Ken’s face, and then looked like he was trying to get the answer from his rifle.
The man hesitated, and then handed the rifle to Ken. “Need bullets?” The guard asked.
“On second thought,” Ken said, “keep the rifle, you might need it.”
As they walked away, Jack said, “You never thought you needed that rifle, did you?”
“I wanted to find out who he worked for, me or Creed. I figure forty, fifty percent are aligned with him.”
They stood in the middle of the complex. Jack turned towards the giant hangar building that stood at the heart of the complex on the opposite end of the runway. “How far along are you on the airplane?”
A questioning look crossed Ken’s face and Jack pointed toward the hangar.
“Oh that? Not as far along as in other areas.”
“So not many spies fly?” Jack made a joke that Ken missed.
“It just wasn't that big of a priority. Creed never thought it had a
ny practical applications.”
“Really? Flying is the second thing I’ve heard in which Creed completely missed the boat. What about spying for instance?”
“We have dirigibles for that.”
“What about weapons delivery or getting somewhere quickly?”
“Tell you the truth, I think he thought it was a fool’s errand.” He looked away and said quietly, “I did too. The things you come up with are remarkable, but on this one, I think you missed the mark.”
“What, you didn't think it would fly either?” Jack asked.
“Nope, don’t see how it could.”
“Did y'all do anything with it at all?”
“We built the one model, but couldn’t figure out where to put the motor.”
“No means of propulsion? Which one was that?”
“The one made out of bamboo and rubberized sailcloth,” Ken said.
“That was never meant to have an engine. It’s a rogallo wing. Didn't anyone try to test it?”
“It didn’t seem finished, so I didn't allow it.”
“But you finished it?”
“Finished up to your plans.” Barnett opened a small garage door and inside the hanger the air wing sat assembled and even included the harness.
Jack stepped up to it, inspected it and separated the support strut and folded the wing in half. “Let's take this if we have room.”
“It's never been tested, and who would fly it if we did?”
“I will,” Jack said.
CHAPTER 20
Saturday, July 4, 1857
Jack started rewrapping the wire core of the radio transmitter for the detonators at noon and by quarter till two he had tested both detonators. Both detonators triggered at fifty yards and the higher frequency model triggered at seventy-five.
Ken Barnett pulled up with the wagon loaded. "Are you sure you don't want me to bring some men?"
“I’d like to take them, but would they be shooting with us or against us?"
"Can't say."
"Then no, leave them here."
“It's going take over an hour to get there, especially with this," Barnett thumped the covered wing in the back of the wagon. "I'm sure you are going to want to scope things out once we get there. Here I have these…” He threw Jack a hat and kept one for himself.
The only way Jack could describe the hat would be a hillbilly hat.
"I know it'll be hot, but that way we'll blend in with the crowd."
They arrived on the Norfolk waterfront just before three o'clock. Jack squinted to see the barge in the bay. People were arriving early; they stood amid the gathering crowd in Town Point Park. There were red, white, and blue banners, ribbons, and American flags everywhere. People were festive, they had their picnic baskets, their families—they were feeling American.
The barge was about two miles out, almost in the middle of Hampton Roads Harbor. The stiffening wind was blowing directly at them from there.
"What the hell would they have done if the wind was blowing from the opposite direction?" Jack asked.
Barnett pointed at the mouth of the Elizabeth River in Portsmouth. "That was supposed to be their backup launch point.”
"There's no way I could use that glider,” Jack said.
"That wing thing? And this is coming as a surprise to you?" Barnett laughed.
"I actually fly those pretty well."
Barnett rolled his eyes.
"This is too far for the radio transmitter too. We need a boat."
“Jack!” It was Frank Sanger.
So much for the hat being the ideal disguise, Jack thought. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York?”
“I know all about the bomb, poison, all of it. I came here to find you,” Frank said.
“No, I mean what are you doing here in Norfolk?” Jack asked.
“Long story.”
“How did you find out about the bomb?”
“Frances told me.”
“Frances? How does Frances know?”
“Abner Adkins. She stopped by to warn me to stay away,” Frank said.
“And she was with Adkins?”
“She was going to Williamsburg with him about two hours ago. They came by in a little steamboat, fast as lightning. She said you’d be here and that you would probably need my help?”
“Why did she go to Williamsburg with him?”
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Jack said.
“A little of both.” It was the most uncomfortable that Jack had ever seen Frank Sanger. “When I couldn’t find Frances last night, I stopped by your house and talked to your Negro. He was worried about you. I told him you would probably be out here.”
“Hercules, that’s his name, and he’s kind of a friend of mine.”
Jack turned to Ken, but before he could speak, Ken said, “Hello, I’m Ken Barnett, a friend of Jack’s too, nice to meet you, sir.”
“I’m Frank Sanger, pleased to meet you.” He looked at Jack. “How can I help?”
“I need a boat, I don’t have time to go all the way out to my place to get mine.”
Frank Sanger pointed to a large three-masted schooner. “Would that do?”
“That’s huge.”
“Too big?”
“No, I suppose not,” Jack said. He turned to Ken. “Have you ever—“
“Sailed? Quite a bit, I can help you.”
“Whose boat is it?” Jack asked.
“Mine, as of noon today, and there’s a captain and crew aboard. They were going to sail to New York tonight. What are you going to do?”
“Going to try to stop them from shooting that bomb filled with toxins over these people.”
“How are you going to do that?” Frank Sanger asked.
“By being flexible,” Jack said.
CHAPTER 21
Saturday, July 4, 1857
The Lady Maryland
“Where are the Captain and crew?” Jack asked. The Lady Maryland looked abandoned.
“I’ll check below,” Frank Sanger said as he disappeared down a hatch amidships.
They met up with Hercules on the way to the boat and he gingerly climbed aboard. Ken Barnett boarded with the sure-footedness of a man that had spent some time at sea.
Frank Sanger stepped out of the pilothouse holding a piece of paper and looking perplexed. “This note was stuck on the Captain’s door with a knife. It’s from Captain Sturgis. He said he and his men are not going to be treated like no-account nigger slaves.” Frank Sanger looked at Hercules uncomfortably, “No offense.”
“None taken, sir.” Hercules said.
“The last owner was four months in arrears with their salaries, and if I want them to continue, I would have to make them current. Ten years ago, they were getting $25 a ton for shipping; nowadays, they are lucky to get $10. I want to use them to make runs up and down the East Coast.” Frank Sanger turned the paper over twice looking at both sides. “It’s signed by Captain Kent also. No wonder I got such a great deal.”
“Ken, are you okay with helping me sail this?” Jack asked.
“More than okay, we have to do this.”
“Hercules, can you help? It’ll probably be dangerous.”
“If’n somebody can show me what to do, I’ll help all I can.”
“Mr. Sanger, Frank, can you help me?”
“Oh Lord, this ship is 103 feet long,” Frank said.
“I’ll bet at least that,” Jack said.
“No Jack, it is 103 feet long and twenty feet wide,” Frank said.
“Well, they will definitely see us coming. I’m not sure what kind of damage the ship will take.”
“I paid $4200 cash for this ship. If we can stop this from happening, I’ll consider it money well spent.”
“Then, let’s load it up and see what it can do.” Jack was untying lines.
They used the large manual windlass at the front of the ship where the oiled, white pine deck met the mahogan
y deck railcap. Hercules cranked, Ken and Frank fed and tied off lines on the pinrails, and they first raised the jib and then the foresail. Jack oversaw things and steered with the 52-inch iron wheel.
Grenades, one of the two limpet mines, the repeater rifles, and the hand cranked radio detonator sat neatly by the one of the ten foot dories that served as a life raft for captain and crew. A 250-pound fisherman’s anchor with 100 feet of five-eighths inch chain protruded through the bowsprit.
There was no dusk drop off in the wind as the sun sank to the roofline of the Naval Medical Center on Hospital Point. It was a stiff 15-knot breeze, directly into their faces from the Northeast. The sails caught and they were underway.
Ken and Frank joined Jack at the wheel. “Here, Frank, take the wheel and hold it on a course passing about 100 to 150 feet off her port side. That’s our left side to the barge’s left side. We’ll take down the foresail and just run on the jib. Keep it filled with wind and head for that little spot of open water between Lambert’s Point and Craney Island.” Jack pointed.
“I’ll get the sail down,” Ken said.
“I am going to start cranking that transmitter trying to set off the detonator on their bomb. I’m going to start about 400 yards out, but when we get inside 100 yards, everyone will need to stay behind cover as much as they can. I’m pretty sure if we can blow the bomb they have while it’s still on the barge, the cloud of thallium dust should only rise forty feet or so into the air. The wind will carry it away from us and it would dissipate before it ever gets to anyone on shore. In the water, it’s no problem. It’s the wood shards with the stingray poison I’m concerned with; they could fly a hundred feet in any direction.”
They were traveling faster than Jack could work. With just the smallest of the three sails up, the boat still approached the barge at a chopping speed. Ken trimmed the jib so that it wasn’t catching as much wind, then he and Hercules squatted beneath the rail on the port side of the ship.