Wardenclyffe

by F. Paul Wilson

  “A man named Drexler is here to see you.”

  Tesla frowned. “I do not know this name.”

  I snapped the business card down on the desktop before him. “He says he drove all the way from the city.”

  Tesla shook his head as he stared at the card without touching it. “I know nothing about this person. Tell him I am sorry he has traveled so far for nothing, but I wish to speak to no one.”

  “I believe I can change your mind about that, Herr Tesla,” said a voice with a thick German accent.

  I turned to see the formerly silent passenger from the car, obviously Rudolph Drexler. He looked to be in his mid-forties or approaching them. Close up his shiny black hair swept back from the widow’s peak of his high forehead; bright blue eyes framed a sharp nose under dark eyebrows; thin lips and a strong chin. Despite the long trip he looked as if he’d stepped out of a dressing room with his neatly pressed checked suit and vest, complimented by a celluloid Aberdeen collar and silk tie. In one hand he carried a thick briefcase, in the other a distinctive silver headed cane wrapped in some sort of coarse black leather.

  George Scherff rose to his feet saying, “Mister Tesla is not available now.”

  “I wish to invest in your project,” Drexler said.

  Tesla seemed unimpressed. “I doubt very much you can fund our needs.”

  Depositing his briefcase on an unopened crate, Drexler stepped forward and tapped the silver head of his cane on the desk. “I will invest whatever it takes to make this project work.”

  Tesla snorted. “How much do you have to spend?”

  “Nein-nein, not me. Personally I am far from a rich man. But the organization I represent has impressive resources. You have my card there. Brand new, I might add. My organization made them up especially for my stay in your country.”

  “This AFSO?” he said, looking at the card.

  “Yes. The Ancient Fraternal Septimus Order.”

  “I have never heard of it.” He glanced at George, then me. “Either of you?”

  We both shook our heads.

  Drexler smiled. “We are a philanthropic organization whose members value their privacy. We aid worthy projects—ones that will move civilization forward. We seek neither profit nor adulation, and because of the desire for privacy, we work behind the scenes.”

  “And this ‘Actuator’?” he said, tapping the card. “That is you?”

  Drexler gave a short, very Prussian bow. “That is I.”

  “What exactly does an ‘Actuator’ do?”

  The smile broadened. “I make things happen, so to speak. And members of the Septimus Order wish very much to see this”—he waved his cane in an all-encompassing arc—“happen.”

  “Why? Why not throw money at Marconi like everybody else?”

  “Because we know that the Italian’s success is based on your innovations—your patented innovations, I might add. We know where the real brains are, and that is where we choose to invest. Besides, you have bigger dreams—not just wireless communication, but wireless energy, something we believe will completely change the world.”

  Hearing the echo of my own words gave me a chill. Almost as if Drexler had been eavesdropping. A ridiculous notion, I know. But still...

  “I thank you for your acknowledgements,” Tesla said, “and I will accept that your intentions are good. That said, I believe your organization is naïve as to the enormity of the funding required here.”

  “Not naïve at all, Herr Tesla. We know that the estimable Herr Morgan offered you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in exchange for a fifty-one percent share of the patents you produced here, is that not so?”

  I had no idea as to whether or not this was true, but both Tesla and Scherff looked like Drexler had thrown ice water in their faces, so I assumed Drexler was right on target.

  Fifty-one percent of his patents? Nikola Tesla must have been desperate for funding. Or, as Scherff said, no head for business. Or both.

  “How…how do you know that?” Scherff said.

  “The Ancient Fraternal Septimus Order is, as its name states, ancient, and during the course of its lengthy existence it has gathered members from all walks of life in every country around the globe. Not much happens in this world that escapes our notice.”

  “But the terms of a contract,” Scherff said. “How can you know—?”

  “It would be much too complicated to delve into the particulars right now. Suffice it to say that we know. As we also know that Morgan has advanced only a third of what he promised. To our mind that nullifies the contract, and so I am here to offer you the one hundred thousand upon which he has reneged.”

  “And your terms?” Scherff said, folding his arms across his chest. “Do not expect fifty-one percent.”

  Tesla’s vaguely sheepish look told me they’d had a major disagreement about this, and I’d wager all my savings Tesla had signed without consulting Scherff. I could see Scherff being adamantly opposed to a ridiculous figure like fifty-one percent.

  “We don’t expect a percentage of anything,” Drexler said.

  I knew I had no rightful place in this discussion but could not help blurting, “You’re contributing one hundred thousand dollars and expecting nothing in return?”

  “Quite the contrary, young man” Drexler said. “We are expecting Herr Tesla to change the world.”

  Silence followed as Drexler allowed that to sink in. After a few heartbeats, he said, “Perhaps I should add that the one hundred thousand is not the limit of our commitment. Should you need more, we shall provide it.”

  “Surely you will want an accounting,” Scherff said.

  “Of course, but we understand you gentlemen better than you think. We know dedication and scientific zeal when we see it. You have not constructed all this”—he waved his cane again—“as part of some elaborate get-rich-quick scheme. You wish to change the world as much as we.”

  Something about the way he said that bothered me.

  And more: If he—or rather his organization—was going to fund Tesla’s dream, allow it to become real, why then did he cause this uneasiness in me? A feeling somewhat akin—though nowhere near as intense—to the feeling when the tower was powered up. A vague wrongness.

  He was saying all the right things. Why didn’t I trust him?

  “We do have one request, however.”

  Here it comes, I thought.

  “Oh?” said Scherff. His expression told me he was thinking the same thing.

  “We wish access to the designs.”

  “Access?” Tesla said.

  “Yes. The Council would like to track your progress as things are developing. We have no interest in proprietary claims—everything is yours to patent as you wish. Once the patents are filed, the Council wishes copies for the Order’s archives.”

  “What Council?” I said.

  “The Council of Seven that oversees and guides Septimus. When you succeed, when you change the world as we know it, our involvement here will become a source of great pride.”

  When you succeed…as much as I mistrusted Drexler, I could not help a positive response when he said that. Not “if” but “when.” The dream had risen from the dead.

  I recalled Scherff’s words from just a few hours ago: The maestro always finds a way. And when he cannot, a way finds him.

  Well, it had happened. Nikola Tesla had needed financial rescue and it had walked unbidden through the door.

  Tesla smoothed his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Copies for your archives…I don’t see why not. But only after the patents have been secured. I cannot allow any plans to leave here before they are protected.” He lowered his voice to a mutter. “Not that they’re ever really protected.”

  I knew what he meant: Patents hadn’t stopped Marconi.

  He looked at me. “That will be your job, Charles. You can make copies for them when the proper time comes, yes?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Copying circuit
diagrams was tedious work but I was, after all, just an apprentice.

  “And one more thing,” Drexler said. “The Septimus Order will want to staff a portion of your work force.”

  “We prefer to hire locals for unskilled and semi-skilled labor,” Scherff told him. “It’s more economical because we don’t have to house them, and it makes for good relations with the surrounding communities. Displacing them with a crowd of outsiders might cause problems.”

  “I’m suggesting nothing like that. Surely you have some attrition.”

  “Of course. Especially now that summer is here.”

  “Well, then. All vacancies can be filled by skilled members of our order. We shall provide for their lodgings, of course.”

  “To act as spies?” Scherff said.

  Drexler laughed. “Not necessary. We are already quite familiar with your operations. The same with the maestro’s sojourn in Colorado Springs. Nein-nein, my friend. We do not need spies here. But our people will assure you a steady, reliable, and dedicated work force that will not be subject to the vagaries of seasonal work. They will show up every day and do exactly as they are told.”

  It sounded good to me. Scherff had complained of the difficulty keeping the project fully staffed through the seasons. Long Island was experiencing a boom in growth. Once the weather changed for the better, good-paying construction jobs opened all over, and the local workers flocked to them. But the decision lay with Scherff. He was in charge of operations and he did the hiring and firing.

  He considered this a moment, then said, “I’d be willing to give it a trial.”

  “Ausgezeichnet! I shall set the wheels in motion as soon as I return to the city. The Council will want a formal agreement before we tender the funds, but we shall keep everything simple and above board.” He raised his cane. “Now, as this is my first visit, will someone be so kind as to give me the grand tour?”

  Tesla and Scherff simultaneously looked at me. They obviously had a number of matters to discuss in private.

  “I will be delighted to escort you, Mister Drexler,” I said with all the pleasantness I could muster.

  I still did not trust this man, but I would make the best of it. During the dismantling of the generator, Scherff had dismissed most of the workers for the day, so the main floor was deserted.

  When I showed him where the generator had stood, Drexler said. “Replacing that will be our first order of business.”

  He made appropriate appreciative noises as I showed him the glass-blowing area, the x-ray machine, the drafting room, the stocks of wires and tubes. As I was leading him toward the rear door and the tower, he pointed to the loft.

  “What is up there?”

  “Just storage and my living quarters.”

  He stopped. “You live here?”

  “I don’t have much choice.”

  He nodded. “Yes, as an unpaid apprentice, I suppose you do not. We shall have to remedy that.”

  How did he know I was unpaid?

  “You seem to know a lot about Wardenclyffe, sir.”

  A thin smile. “I have a duty to further the Septimus Order’s interests, and that requires an in-depth knowledge of where to commit its resources. Such knowledge requires research. I am quite adept at research. I know all there is to know about Nikola Tesla and George Scherff. Despite my best efforts, however, you remain something of a blank.”

  A chill ran through me. I suddenly feared this man.

  “What…” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “What could you possibly wish to know? I would think my life is an open book.”

  “The last five years or so, since you arrived in this country, most certainly. But before that…nothing. It is as if you winked into existence aboard the freighter that brought you here.”

  He was much too close to the truth. I had to derail this conversation. I forced a laugh that sounded hideous and laid on a thick layer of my native accent.

  “That would be a jolly good trick, wouldn’t it? But you know how things are in Blighty, don’t you? Bloody halls of records burnin’ down all the time, what with their bein’ filled with nothin’ but paper.” I refrained from adding “guvna.”

  He looked amused. “That must be the explanation then. Whatever the case, I see you as an asset to this project and I wish you to stay on. To that end, I shall arrange a stipend for you and living quarters away from here.”

  That sounded wonderful but I did not want to be beholden to him.

  “I’m grateful for the offer, sir, but I am fine right here.”

  He gave me a long look. “You are quite devoted to this project, are you not.”

  He made it a statement rather than a question. “Very much so.”

  “Very well, if you wish to live in these primitive conditions, so be it. I cannot and would not force you to change. But I can see to it that you receive a pay envelope every two weeks whether you like it or not.”

  I said nothing. I wasn’t comfortable with it, but I certainly could use it.

  “Will you at least tell me your age?”

  Seeing no harm in that, I said, “Twenty-five, sir.”

  “That would make your birth year 1878. You are twice the age of my boy Ernst.”

  His tone glowed with pride in his son. I wished my father could have taken that amount of pride in me, but such was never in the cards, even if he had lived past my twelfth birthday.

  “Would you like to visit the tower now?”

  “Most certainly.”

  I held the rear door for Drexler and he, like most first timers, took two steps outside and stopped to stare up in wonder.

  “I feel…” he said softly. “I feel as if I am gazing into the future. Not too long ago a countryman of yours wrote a novel about a machine that allowed one to travel forward in time. He described many wonders, but he never foresaw anything like this.”

  I’d heard of The Time Machine but hadn’t had a chance to read it.

  “We can climb the tower if you wish. The view is spectacular.”

  “I’d much prefer to plumb the depths, as it were.”

  I threw the switch that illuminated the shaft—at least we still had municipal power running. He left his cane leaning against one of the struts and followed me down the winding staircase.

  “I am wondering,” Drexler said as we descended, “why Herr Tesla did not build something like this at his lab in Colorado Springs.”

  “He wanted a location on the edge of the continent to begin transatlantic communications.”

  “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

  I had no idea whether that was true or not—Tesla had never confided in me—but it sounded logical.

  At the bottom, Drexler examined the shaft, the tubing, and the tunnels, but devoted most of his attention to the recently installed Tesla coil that took up much of the space. We’d arranged the primary coil around the central shaft and buried it. The secondary coil and the doughnut-shaped toroid also encircled the shaft but were left exposed.

  “This shakes the Earth?” he said.

  “Not quite.” Where had he got that idea? “This is a smaller version of the coil in the cupola. The whole purpose is to synchronize the natural telluric currents and create standing waves throughout the planet, thus magnifying them and allowing their capture to power lights and machinery anywhere on Earth.”

  “In other words, turning the Earth itself into a dynamo.”

  An oversimplification, but I decided not to get into the finer points.

  “In a sense, yes.”

  “Then why the tower?”

  “To broadcast energy through the air as well, allowing ships at sea and Zeppelins and other airships to power their propellers.”

  He smiled. “Changing the world.”

  “Yes, sir. That is our intent.”

  “Mine as well.”

  We made the one hundred and twenty-foot climb back to daylight. When we reached the surface, Drexler leaned against one of the tower struts, pa
nting.

  “That is quite the climb. I am unused to such exertions.”

  I gave him a moment to catch his breath, then gestured toward the plant. “Shall we?”

  “A moment before we go back inside. Would you hand me my cane?”

  I retrieved his walking stick and noticed the design atop its silver head.

  “Does this have significance?” I said.

  “It’s the sigil of the Septimus Order.”

  Sept…seven point. Of course. I ran my fingers along the rough black material that encased the shaft.

  “That’s rhinoceros hide,” he said. “My father shot the beast on safari and had the cane made to order.”

  “Your father belonged to this Septimus Order as well?”

  “Yes. A family tradition. My boy Ernst, back in Germany with his mother, will follow in my footsteps.” He retrieved the cane and waved it around. “You are aware of the recent odd occurrences in the area.”

  Another statement that should have been a question. I feigned ignorance.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Come, come, Charles. You spent the morning investigating two of them.” Unable to hide my shock, my expression must have looked comical, because he laughed. “I would love to play poker with you. Your face hides nothing.”

  If only he knew. He’d be surprised—no, shocked—to learn how much my face hid.

  “I apologize for lacking skills in the art of deception,” I said. “But…do you have spies here?”

  “As I said before, the membership of the Septimus Order is widespread and varied. Now tell me: To what conclusions did your investigations lead you?”

  I debated answering him. I didn’t want this discussion to jeopardize his funding of the project.

  As if reading my mind, he added: “I am committed to recommending that Septimus fund Herr Tesla’s dream of world wireless. Nothing you say will change that. But I want your considered opinion. You have a degree in electrical engineering from a respected institution, which would suggest a logical and analytical mind, grounded in reality. So tell me: Do you detect a link between the tower and the phenomena?”

  I paused to choose my words carefully.