by Bill Blowers
“There is one more thing.” Viko opened the top desk drawer and took out five envelopes and passed them out. Each contained one hundred dollars in cash. Considering that the average weekly pay in those days was about six dollars, this was a fortune. “This is not an attempt to pay you for your help tomorrow night; it is simply my expression of gratitude for your loyalty and willingness to put yourselves in harm’s way for my family.”
When they were alone, Viko handed Henry Abbott an envelope containing five hundred dollars. He was overwhelmed at receiving several months’ pay in one lump sum. “That, my friend, is for your unwavering support and friendship. Now let’s get home. Tomorrow should be an interesting day.”
Viko waited until everyone left the building. He walked over to the production line where everything was in readiness. Fifty glass tubes lay there in their naked beauty. He took a covered beaker from a nearby cabinet. It was filled with the phosphorescent chemicals that glow with soft light when activated by electricity. Viko withdrew two small vials from his pocket, one containing a dilute hydrochloric acid solution and the other mercury, or as it was commonly called, quicksilver. He placed the half-filled hydrochloric vial next to the beaker of chemicals. He removed the cover from the phosphorescent chemicals and poured the mercury over them. Who would suspect that mercury was the secret ingredient? And who would ever suspect that mild hydrochloric acid, mixed in with the lamp chemicals, would create a mixture so hot as to melt through the bench top?
The following morning there was excitement in the air. Most of the workers arrived early, and even those not involved with actual production were hard at work when Viko and Henry arrived. Anderson was standing at the coating machines and noticed the presence of the hydrochloric acid. He asked Viko why it was there. Viko replied, “I must have left that out last night.” He took Anderson aside. “I should have known that someone with your education would have noticed. You might as well know now, that is the secret ingredient, the thing that makes the lamps work. Without it, the electric field within the glass destroys the chemicals, causing them to turn black.”
Doing his best to suppress his glee at finally learning the secret, Anderson nodded in serious agreement. Viko continued, “The acid needs several hours to permeate the mixture. I added it last night before going home.”
One by one the glass tubes were inserted into a tumbling machine that coated the inside surfaces with the pure white phosphor chemicals. The tubes were flame sealed and a huge vacuum pump began to withdraw the air. At three-thirty in the afternoon, Anderson carried the first tube to Viko waiting at the test station. Viko connected the wires protruding from its ends and then called the entire production crew to gather.
Anderson turned the large knob on the voltage control transformer. For a few seconds, nothing happened. And then, starting as a small sputter at one end, the lamp came to life, giving off a warm glow that got brighter and brighter until it stabilized in a blaze of sunlight-like illumination.
A roar of approval went up. Hearing the noise from the guard shack, Curtis came running in. Seeing the lamp, he glanced at Anderson for just a moment in silent recognition.
Viko noticed this. Anderson’s next move didn’t surprise Viko in the least. He announced that he needed to leave early. His mother was arriving in town and he needed to meet her at Grand Central Station. Anderson left the building, followed immediately by Curtis.
As six o’clock approached, the workers began to drift away as the novelty of the lamps waned. Viko and Henry locked up the offices and took some of the workers to a local pub for a congratulatory round of beer. By nine o’clock everyone had left to go home for the evening except Viko, Henry, and the five chosen workmen. No one noticed that they only had one beer each, being careful not to dull themselves or to become overly tired.
Viko and Henry went back toward the factory and slipped unnoticed into the alley that ran behind the building. They quietly went inside to wait for the other men.
Anderson had gone directly to his apartment a few blocks from the lamp factory. He called Edison’s offices in Menlo Park. Charles Batchelor answered the phone.
“I need to speak to Edison right now!”
“He isn’t here. Who is this?”
“This is Ken Anderson. I have an important message for Edison.”
Batchelor explained that Edison had an emergency at the GE plant in Schenectady. He wasn’t expected back for a week. Anderson went on to describe what had happened that day, that he had learned the secret of lamp fabrication, and that several new lamps were operating perfectly.
Batchelor couldn’t leave. He was in charge whenever Edison was away. He sent Francis Jameson, Edison’s chief chemist, in his place. Batchelor arranged for Jameson to be taken directly to Anderson’s apartment. After seeing him off he went back to his office and put in a call to Edison—they were beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, or so they thought.
CHAPTER 27
Caught in the Act
Mark Curtis cursed as he struggled against the ropes and handcuffs. They leaned him up against a wooden crate and bound his legs to stop him from kicking out at them. “You little pissant, do you think this is going to accomplish anything? I work for Morgan, you son-of-a-bitch. Let me up!”
Viko stood in front of him, holding Curtis’s pistol. “Some guard you turned out to be, you piece of shit.”
Viko wanted to kick him in the face, but doing physical harm was not part of his plan.
Anderson for his part was in shock and had pissed his pants. He was held from behind by two of the workers. Jameson the chemist, the most innocent of all, was staring down at the floor as his arms were being bound behind him, showing remorse if not outright contrition for being a part of this theft. He was talking, and despite Curtis’s shouts to him to keep quiet, was explaining to Viko that he tried to talk them out of their plans to steal the trade secret. “Just because Morgan said we could was no excuse. Edison’s success has gone to his head. He thinks he’s God, can take whatever he wants.”
The takedown had gone much easier than Viko envisioned. The perpetrators were caught completely by surprise.
Earlier That Night:
It was silent as a tomb in the building when Viko let the men inside. Using hand signals, he sent them to conceal themselves in the shadows, placed so that all paths to the front door were blocked.
Jameson arrived at ten-forty-five at the apartment where Anderson and Curtis were waiting. Anderson assured them that the lamps were working perfectly, and more importantly, he knew the “secret.”
Jameson was relieved; finally they could tell Morgan they could make lamps and that Tesla could be shunted aside. But he was concerned about the night visit to the plant. He felt there was no need for it. But it was Curtis, operating on direct orders from Morgan, who had insisted they go into the plant and take the chemicals out that very night.
As soon as they opened the door of the plant, they could see the lamps in a corner, giving off a soft white light. They were so enamored by the prospect of finally seeing the elusive lamps in full bloom that they never considered that they were walking into a trap.
Jameson reached down and touched one of the lamps. Feeling its cool surface, he gently lifted it, looking it over as one might examine a fine carving or sculpture. Anderson and Curtis, while not as fascinated as Jameson, were curious too and were looking down at the lamp when a deafening blast from the building’s air horn shattered the silence.
Jameson jumped; the lamp fell from his hands, hit the corner of the wooden bench, and shattered in a shower of sparks. The high-voltage electricity, freed from the confines of the vacuum, arced out and gave him a nasty shock.
The report from the shattering glass was like a gunshot, loud enough to be heard above the shrieking air horn. Anderson started to run toward the door but after taking just a few steps ran headlong into Curtis, knocking him hard onto his back. Curtis’s head bounced on the concrete floor as Anderson tumbled down ont
o him. Two of Viko’s men rushed around the corner; one grabbed Anderson and forced him onto his back while the other rolled Curtis onto his stomach and pinned him to the floor with a knee against his spine.
Two more men rushed over, one carrying enough rope to tie everyone securely, and the other to ensure that the thrashing Curtis did not get up. They found a pair of handcuffs in Curtis’s back pocket and locked his wrists together before turning him over and sitting him up.
It was over.
The Tesla fluorescent lamp would not see production status for at least another twenty years. The secret to making them work was forever locked in Viko and Tesla’s brains, never to be divulged.
Viko knew this would not put a stop to Morgan, but his only desire was to exact some revenge, a small satisfaction that he, the little pissant, had thwarted them.
When Morgan arrived at his office on Fifth Avenue that Friday morning, he was surprised to find Viko waiting for him. Viko had two packages, each with a bright ribbon. One of the boxes was quite large and heavy. With Viko were two barrel-chested men who carried the large box into the vestibule of his office. Viko kept the small box tucked under his arm.
Something about Viko caused Morgan to be wary. Perhaps it was in the way Viko’s eyes never left him, watching with an intensity that made Morgan take pause. Where was Curtis this morning? He expected him to be at the office early, and right now his presence would have been comforting.
“How are we this morning, JP? Did you get a good night’s rest? I have some gifts for you.”
Viko’s men opened the large box—sitting there in the soft packing material were two pristine fluorescent lamps.
“I thought you would like these for souvenirs, the first two operational lamps made by the plant.”
Viko placed them on Morgan’s desk. His men walked out the door, closed it, and locked it from the outside. They prevented anyone from entering. Morgan’s internal alarms went off. “What is going on here? What are those men doing?”
The look on Viko’s face turned to one of contempt. “I want to be alone with you while I give you this second present.”
He opened the small box and lifted out Mark Curtis’ pistol. Morgan staggered backwards, bumped against his chair, and fell into it as his breath became a series of short gasps.
“Wha-what are you doing, why do you have that gun?”
Viko held the pistol in his hand and held it out for Morgan to see.
“Recognize this?”
Morgan’s eyes darted from the gun to Viko’s face and back again. Beads of sweat formed and started to run down his face. A scuffle could be heard in Morgan’s outer office. Morgan wanted to shout out for help, but the steady gaze from Viko’s eyes and the gun in his hand made him think better of it.
“I asked you a question, JP, do you recognize this gun?”
Morgan looked closely at the gun and shook his head. Viko tossed the gun into Morgan’s lap. “Take a look at the initials on the grips.”
Morgan grabbed the gun from his lap, aimed it at Viko, and pulled the trigger, hearing nothing but the hollow sound of the firing pin echoing into empty chambers.
Viko laughed. “You are so damned predictable. Did you think I would come here and shoot you? Now do as I ask and look at the initials on the grip!”
Morgan looked down and saw “MC” carved neatly in each side of the grip. He was holding Curtis’s gun. He looked up. Viko tossed a small set of keys onto Morgan’s desk.
“Your bulldog is locked up inside the plant along with your spy Anderson and Edison’s man Jameson. They were caught breaking and entering last night. They’re probably quite sore and numb from being tied up all night. You might want to get over there and let them loose. You miserable excuse for a human being. I know all about the plans to take the lamps, about Anderson the spy, Curtis’s weekly reports to you, the disclosure of the patents to Edison.”
Viko would have continued venting except for the ruckus that was getting louder by the minute outside Morgan’s door. He didn’t want the police called.
Morgan’s heart rate returned to normal only after taking a weekend of doctor-ordered bed rest. The sedatives left him in a weakened state. Despite his wealth, Morgan suffered from ill health all his life, and his confrontation with Viko left him a nervous wreck.
Several days later, Morgan, Curtis, and a few of Curtis’s most trusted men along with three of Edison’s people arrived at the locked and chained doors of the former Tesla Electric Lamp Company. Anderson was going to explain the finishing process to the rest of Edison’s men. It was very unlike Morgan to be so far from his comfortable office, but the situation with the lamps had deteriorated into such a mess that he demanded to see with his own eyes exactly how this was done. He trusted no one. He was seriously considering shutting the entire thing down despite the fact that he would be writing off nearly two hundred fifty thousand dollars in investments in buildings and equipment both here and in Schenectady. He questioned why he needed or wanted the aggravation that pestered him whenever he became involved in anything related to the name Tesla.
The prototype lamps burned brightly. They were truly amazing, unquestionably the future of lighting. They marked the end of the domination of electrical lighting by the Edison carbon filament lamp. Tesla’s superior intellect, his ability to think well beyond the constraints of even the most brilliant of human minds, was on exhibit before them. Morgan slowly shook his head in wonder, expressing silently his admiration for the mind that created this light.
As the others from Menlo Park gathered around and prepared to take notes, Anderson got down a sensitive scale to verify the weights of the chemicals. Anderson repeatedly told them that the mixture was critical, that improper amounts, even in a small error, could have negative effects on brightness and longevity. As Morgan watched Anderson he judged correctly that he was simply showing off, using his unique position to its fullest advantage.
“And now, gentlemen, this is the secret ingredient.” Anderson held out the stoppered bottle labeled “30% HCL,” dilute hydrochloric acid.
Seeing this, Jameson the chemist spoke up. “Are you certain of this? It seems implausible that Tesla would have added acid to this mix of chemicals. There are compounds in that mixture that will liberate oxygen and heat. It could be dangerous.”
Anderson turned to him, quite annoyed that his moment of glory was being dimmed. “Listen, dammit, you have struggled for months and gotten nowhere. I have seen this exact process and am repeating precisely what I have seen. Would it be asking too much for you to remain there as a silent observer?”
Anderson was not being truthful. He had never seen anyone add acid to the mix—he should have listened to Jameson.
“Anderson is right,” Morgan said. “You have been completely inept at this. Let the young man continue.”
Chagrined, but knowing full well that the acid was a dangerous ingredient, Jameson stepped back; in fact, he stepped quite a ways back, about twenty feet. His colleague from Edison’s electrical department joined him.
Anderson held the small bottle of acid for all to see and then let the acid drip slowly into the mixture of chemicals. The acid soaked into the tinder dry powder. Small bubbles of pure oxygen appeared at the liquid surface, followed immediately by a blazing bright white light accompanied by a loud hissing caused by the escaping gasses. The heat generated by the releasing oxygen (just as the chemist predicted) ignited the magnesium powder. It burned at a temperature in excess of three thousand degrees, immediately melting the glass container. As the chemicals melted and burned their way into the wooden bench top, trapped moisture in the wood turned into superheated steam causing an explosion that threw the bench backwards and spread the burning chemicals and glass onto the shocked onlookers and over the surrounding area. The entire reaction took place in less than two seconds.
Morgan lifted his hand to shield his face and turned to the side to look away. This move saved his eyes from the hot powders that ignited the woo
l overcoat he was wearing. The intense heat felled him like an oak, down to the floor and flat on his back. Jameson, who had been standing behind Morgan, rushed to his aid, got him onto his feet, and helped him toward the door. He spun Morgan around and ripped the burning coat off, throwing it to the side over Morgan’s objection to having his expensive coat treated in such a manner. When they were outside Morgan learned that the quick action saved him from serious burns.
Curtis caught the full blast of burning powder in the face. Fortunately his glasses kept him from losing his eyes. Tiny, painful burns covered his forehead, nose, and cheeks. The burns would heal eventually but leave permanent acnelike scars.
Anderson was not so lucky.
The exploding mixture peppered Anderson’s face with burning specks of volatile chemicals. His eyes were wide with surprise as the chemical reaction followed its violent course. He was blinded, blown back against a crate, and knocked unconscious. His clothes were on fire as Curtis dragged him out of the building to safety. Anderson lost all vision in his right eye and his left eye was severely damaged. He was unable to see anything clearly for the rest of his life. His burning clothes left first- and second-degree burns over his chest and abdomen.
Everyone escaped, but the building was a total loss. The initial explosion spread burning chemicals over a wide area, igniting wooden crates. The tinderdry excelsior packing material in the boxes exploded into flames, and the expansion of the air caused by the fire’s heat threw the burning excelsior out like the flames from a Roman candle. Explosions occurred as containers of chemicals burned, spreading more flames and noxious gasses throughout the building. The heat caused the concrete floor to crack, and huge vertical iron beams softened and sagged.
The fire department arrived twenty minutes after the fire began but could do little more than stand back and watch the building collapse into itself.