His business, Aviation Consultants, Incorporated, was doing very well. The boys had more than earned their keep, and Harry had proved invaluable even after he was recalled into the Air Force. Vance had turned managing both the firm’s and the household’s money over to Madeline, and she had done her usual remarkable job. The house was run on a very tight budget, and he sometimes had to complain to make her loosen up and spend a bit more on the menu. On the business side, she was very conservative about the stock market but had investments in utilities, railroads, and metals. The only thing he had cautioned her about was investing in the aircraft companies or in airlines. He didn’t want there to be the shadow of a doubt about any conflict of interests. Madeline had put most of her effort into buying real estate, small outlying parcels in the San Fernando Valley and well outside the San Diego city limits. He doubted if they would ever appreciate in his lifetime, but the taxes were low and the parcels would undoubtedly become valuable for his sons. As always, she resolutely refused to have her name on any of the investments or property. To counter this, Vance had his lawyers draw up a new will, which divided the estate equally among Madeline and his two sons. When she read the will, she was furious and did not speak to him for two days. It was impossible to understand, and he had to relent, essentially cutting her out of the will. He knew this boded ill for their future but could not make her see what a rebuff it was to him. It was so inconsistent—she was constantly stroking his ego, making him feel good about himself, and then behaved in this abnormal, insulting fashion. Too bad he was such a mouse when it came to dealing with her.
Madeline had also revamped his small workforce, hiring Jill Abernathy to help her. The two worked together hand in glove, and Madeline seemed to be backing more and more out of anything to do with airplanes and concentrating on the real estate. Jill turned out to be wonderful, a handsome woman of about forty-five, quiet, and able to make decisions on her own. Madeline transferred all the administrative work to her within a period of a couple of months, and Vance never noticed the slightest change in smooth, efficient service. Jill in turn had hired two young women to help her. He hated to see his company’s payroll increase so dramatically but knew that it probably took three women to do the work that Madeline had done.
And the workload had grown significantly, with demands on his time from Boeing, North American, Convair, and, more frequently now, Lockheed. Since Harry had been recalled (and Tom might be, too), Vance had hired two young college graduates as trainees. The difficulty was that neither he nor Tom had time to do much training and it might be that he’d have to let them go. The two new men tried hard but seemed to spend as much time talking with the women Jill had hired as doing anything else. Normal but irritating.
Still, financially all was well, and Madeline told him that his net worth had grown to almost a quarter-million dollars, an unbelievable amount for a man who had worked through the depression trying to make enough to cover the rent each month, and not always succeeding.
He took the barest sip of cognac, just wetting his lips and the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t drink at night anymore; even one small drink would keep him up. But he loved the flavor, and a bottle of Courvoiser VSOP could last him for six months the way he sipped it. His business had done well because it was in the fastest-growing sector of the aviation industry—jet aircraft and engines. He rocked back in his chair and considered the strides that had been made since 1939, when von Ohain’s engine had powered the first jet airplane. Vance thought about Hans at length, for he had rarely met anyone who combined such brilliance with equal degrees of integrity and openness. He decided he’d take a special trip to Wright-Patterson just to talk to Hans, if business did not take him there first. He understood from their mutual friends that von Ohain was doing very well, charming everyone and carving out the prospects for a bright future in America.
The jet had improved rapidly during the war, of course, with the Germans actually getting a first-rate fighter into combat. But after the war, almost everyone assumed that jets were going to be the future—but not immediately. They were wrong. Jet engines had come in at about the same power levels as the piston engines they were going to replace but proved to have a much swifter development time. Fortunately, in the United States a huge engine industry was in place, ready to learn how to design and build jets. Other manufacturers, including General Electric and Westinghouse, applied their past experience in superchargers and turbines to enter the fray. Engine power output had gone up steadily, and Vance was pleased to have a part, however small, in the development of the plane that would use the latest one, the X-176.
Rocket power had been marvelous for experimental work. Everyone applauded when Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in a rocket plane, but Shannon didn’t believe there was an operational use for rockets, at least not in the atmosphere. When they got into space flight, then rockets were the only thing, but that was a long way into the future, decades probably, maybe more.
In Europe, Great Britain was doing very well. His quick visit to the de Havilland factory confirmed both the fears and hopes of Boeing. The airplane was beautiful, would fly soon, but it was too small for most American airlines to adopt. Vance also had his doubts about the airplane. There was something not quite right, and part of it was the speed with which de Havilland had raced to complete the Comet, as they called their new transport. He had seen Frank Whittle there, and while Frank was still hurt about the way he had been shoved aside by his government, he was tremendously proud that engines stemming from his basic design were used in the Comet.
The de Havilland engineers had briefed Vance at length, insisting that their testing process was thorough, and he could not contradict them, but in his bone he felt that they had gone too far too fast. Boeing, with its vastly greater resources, would never have pushed a project through with the speed de Havilland had done. He hoped he was wrong.
Elsewhere in Europe, France was frantically trying to catch up, using German technology as everyone else did, but building on it with indigenous talent.
It was the Soviet Union that worried Vance most. No one knew where they were developing a nuclear weapon, but they were undoubtedly working on it, and could have it in ten years or so. Soviet security was tight, but they had captured much of the same German equipment and data as had the United States and had benefited from the incredibly stupid sale of fifty-five Rolls-Royce jet engines that Sir Stafford Cripps had engineered. So far there had not been much evidence of any big advances, but Vance was certain they would come.
He turned to a blank page in the tablet, then put the pencil down. This was not the year to record any details about the family. It was just too sad, with both of his boys having marital problems. Marie had left Tom, to return to her family. Tom had expected her father to be furious with him, but Lou was instead apologetic. Apparently they had known of Marie’s problems for years and hoped that marriage would somehow bring her out of it. Tom was left bewildered and hurt. He still loved Marie but could not find a way to help her. To help himself, he had plunged into his work, but Vance knew that Tom really wanted to get back into the military. Vance did not blame him. Staying here, with Marie so near, would be difficult. He needed to get away.
Harry’s situation was not much better, but there was no talk of divorce. Anna drank too much and would not admit it. Although Harry never alluded to it, Vance knew he suspected her fidelity as well. Again, there was nothing much to be done; they would have to see how it played out.
Ironically, when he could forget the kids’ problems, it was the happiest Christmas Vance had spent for years. Madeline was herself again, helpful, cheerful, and more passionate than he could handle. Now she whirled in from the bedroom and knelt down beside him, dressed as usual in her pink cotton robe and nothing else.
“Put down the pencil and come to bed, honey. It’s New Year’s Eve, and you don’t need to be working.”
“This is not work, my dear, just some thoughts on paper, and most of them
tell me that you are a remarkable woman.” He pulled her to him, lifting her up easily to sit her on his lap and running his hand down over her body.
She sat for a while, arms around him, her head inclined upon his shoulder, her feet, as always, busy stroking his legs. Then, without another word, she stood up, took him by the hand, and led him to the bedroom.
It was a good way to end the year.
• THE PASSING SCENE •
Communists take over China; North Atlantic Treaty Organization created; Marshall Plan begins; Berlin Blockade ended; Ezzard Charles beats Jersey Joe Walcott; the USSR tests first atomic bomb.
CHAPTER TEN
February 2, 1949, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Ohio
Hans von Ohain came to work early, as he invariably did. The office was small, the typical twelve-by-fifteen-foot area allocated civil servants of his rank, but it afforded him tremendous pleasure each day. He liked it because it was private; just closing the door gave him a sense of power. He could work for hours without interruption. Meetings were infrequent, which amazed him, but much of the work being done in the Applied Research Laboratory was unique to the researcher pursuing it. There was an adequate library down the hallway, and it was connected with much more elaborate systems. Von Ohain could get virtually any book, any thesis, that he wanted in a few days, just by jotting the name down on a sheet of paper and handing it to the librarian.
Yet the thing that gave von Ohain the most pleasure was that he was working for a good cause. The United States was a fantastic country, welcoming him and his colleagues with open arms, even though they had fought for Germany. From the start, in 1937, he had never reconciled himself to the idea of working on projects that would benefit the Nazi government. His time at Heinkel was a mixed blessing. He had been given the opportunity to explore entirely new areas of propulsion, but it always bothered him that ultimately his work was for an unworthy cause.
Not so at Wright-Pat, as he had learned to call it. He relished the informality of life in the United States, where colleagues soon assumed a first-name basis. It contrasted with the stiff formality of life in Germany, where your race, your education, and your position decided exactly how you were to be addressed and the perks you would receive and, for the most part, where you would end up in life. There was a blessed egalitarianism here that fostered cooperation and made research a pleasure.
The phone rang and he jumped as he always did. In Germany, a call on the phone not only often presaged bad news, but you were constantly aware that the calls were monitored and that some chance comment could bring the authorities down on you. Knowing that it was not so in America, von Ohain breathed a sigh of relief as he picked up the phone, saying, “Hello, von Ohain here.”
“Greetings, Herr Doktor von Ohain. I am an old friend. Do you recognize my voice?” The caller spoke in English, with a heavy German accent, but his tone was cheerful, expectant, as if he was certain that von Ohain would be delighted to hear from him.
Von Ohain rapidly went through the list of scientists he had known who had been brought to the United States under Operation Paperclip and then assigned elsewhere, to Huntsville, perhaps, or to Los Alamos. Nothing registered. Typically unwilling to offend, von Ohain replied, “Forgive me, perhaps the telephone is disguising your voice, but I must ask who you are.”
“Ah, let me give you a hint. Do you remember ‘Von Ohain fliegt schneller, ohne Propeller’?” Then quite unnecessarily, the caller said in singsong English, “Von Ohain flies faster, without a propeller.”
His knees buckling, von Ohain sat down at the table. It was Fritz Obermyer, the Nazi hoodlum who had used rhyming jokes to conceal his rough nature. He had blackmailed his way to becoming a close associate of an unwilling Ernst Heinkel and often wrote poems that joked about von Ohain’s work. What in the world could Obermyer want? Then the thought shot through von Ohain—was he sure the phones were not tapped? Was anyone listening?
Voice cracking, he asked, “Herr Obermyer?”
“Please call me Fritz! We are in America now; we should be like Americans, use first names and always speak English!”
Von Ohain was relieved. If his lines were tapped, he did not wish to be speaking to Obermyer in German. English was bad enough.
“Yes, Fritz, how are you? What can I do for you?”
“Ah, Hans—I would never have dared call you Hans in the old country—it’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. I have the opportunity of a lifetime for you.”
Von Ohain’s hands trembled so badly that he had to hold the phone to his ear with both hands. “And what is that, please?”
“Hans”—Obermyer seemed to roll the name over his lips, as if savoring the pleasure of being on a first-name basis with so distinguished a scientist—“Hans, you remember the Volkswagen, the People’s Car? It was such a promise to so many, and it is being built again. In a few years they are going to start shipping them to sell in America. If you are interested, I can see to it that you obtain a dealership, at no cost to you.”
As distressed as he was, von Ohain could not restrain himself from a nervous laugh—it was a preposterous idea. “But Fritz, the Americans will not want the Volkswagen.” Von Ohain thought of the used Chrysler sedan he had just purchased, a powerful car, comfortable. You could almost fit a Volkswagen in its trunk. “They would never drive such a small car; it is too slow, too uncomfortable. I don’t want to insult you, but I think you are too optimistic.”
Obermyer laughed jovially in response. “I know it sounds crazy—I am driving a Mercury myself, a fine car, big V-8 engine—but believe me, the Volkswagen is coming to the United States and it will be a great success. There is a lot of money behind this idea. And, even though it is small, the Volkswagen is a very good car.”
“That may be so, but why would you give me such an opportunity?”
“When the time comes, there will be huge advertising campaigns. Your name is not so well-known to the public, but it is to the engineering world. You would give the Volkswagen credibility at the highest levels. And in return, I could see that you obtained the rights to the first Volkswagen dealership in Dayton.”
“Well, thank you for your thoughtfulness, Herr Obermyer—”
“Fritz.”
“Yes, well, thank you, Fritz, but I am completely absorbed in my work here. I would have no idea about a dealership, or selling cars.”
“You forget Max Hahn!”
Max had been the mechanic who had done so much to turn von Ohain’s ideas into hardware in creating the prototype engine.
“No, I don’t forget him, but what about him?”
“He could run your dealership for you; you would both become wealthy.”
“No, thank you so much; it is just impossible. I have commitments here, and I’m not a businessman. I think you know that.”
“Well, Hans, think about it. Nothing is going to happen for two years or more, and then we will start small. But if you need to get in touch with me, I’m with Hoffman Importing in New York City. And now that we are in contact, I’ll be sure to stay in touch with you. Auf Weidersehen! Ach, I meant, good-bye!”
“Good-bye.”
Von Ohain hung up the phone, physically ill. He wanted nothing to do with Obermyer or with any of the Nazi past. Von Ohain hated everything about it then, and he certainly would not deal with any of them now. He wondered if he should report the call, then reluctantly decided against it. There was nothing to report. If Obermyer was in this country, he must have been cleared at some point. And just being a Nazi was not a crime, not anymore. If he knew Obermyer at all, he was no longer a Nazi, anyway—there was no longer a profit in it. But to think that there would be profits in the Volkswagen. What an idea. Obermyer must have had something else in mind. Everyone at the Heinkel plant knew that he was corrupt, but no one knew exactly how.
Nervous, von Ohain spoke to himself aloud: “What can he want? What do I have that he would need?” The answer was obvious. Obermyer presumed v
on Ohain was working on highly classified projects, and he wanted information.
Von Ohain’s office suddenly seemed less secure, less private. With a shudder, he finally sat down to resume his work, his eyes continually returning to the—he hoped—untapped phone.
March 15, 1949, San Diego, California
Tom Shannon had faced the ultimate embarrassment of an annulment with Marie’s help. She had testified quite willingly, almost with pride, that their marriage had not been consummated and that she was still a virgin. The whole matter had been arranged discreetly, with the complete cooperation of the Capestro family. Lou Capestro, famous for his fiery temper and his fierce protectiveness, had been apologetic to Tom.
“Son, do not feel that there is any blame on your part. We are really at fault. In our love for her, we helped conceal the fact that Marie was not the person she seemed to be, because we hoped that marriage would help her. I am glad that we can use the annulment process and avoid a divorce.”
“Lou, I still love her. It hurts me that she is not well. I’m not a doctor, but I believe that she is torn between her fear of making love to me and her shame at disappointing me by being cold.”
His language was obviously too candid for Lou. “Let’s not talk about that. You are doing the right thing here, and we’ll get her medical attention. You have a life to live, I know. We will keep you informed on how she is doing.”
Tom looked at him, knowing that Lou was lying, that he would never do anything that might revive the marriage. He seemed content that his baby was back at home, where he could take care of her. It was clear that he did not dislike Tom, but it was equally clear that Tom had served his purpose. He had been allowed to try to help Marie; he had failed; the experiment was over; he was no longer necessary. In Lou’s view Tom was now an impediment to Marie’s well-being.
Talking with Lou about the annulment had been easier than talking to his dad or to Harry. It was humiliating to admit to them or to anyone that he lived for almost two years with Marie without possessing her, nor could he mitigate things by saying at times she would accommodate him with her hands. He absolutely could not tell them that he had, for the last year, maintained a torrid affair with another woman, one they both knew, for she worked with Jill Abernathy in the family business. Jill had hired two girls to assist her, with one, Nancy Strother, mostly doing public relations. He and Nancy had hit it off almost immediately and soon became lovers. Tom believed they had deceived everyone but Madeline, who looked on with equanimity, neither approving nor disapproving, just accepting.
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