The Thief by Clive Cussler (pocket ebook reader .txt) 📕

“Earl of Strone, retired British Army.”

“Who’s that Strone’s squaring off against?”

“Karl Schultz, a Pan-Germanist coal-mining magnate known not so affectionately by the Ruhr Valley laboring classes as the ‘Chimney Baron.’ Before they get any louder, let me imbue you with courage. I implore you, my friend, moor the fair Marion before she drifts off.”

“Midnight tonight,” said Isaac Bell. “Every detail lined up. Champagne and music for the kickoff.”

“You can’t go wrong with champagne. But where will you get an orchestra at midnight? Even the steward who bugles goes to bed after he blows ‘Sunset.’”

“I’m going to surprise her with a gramophone.”

“Won’t a gramophone horn flaring from your dinner jacket spoil the surprise?”

“The horn is made of cardboard. The whole thing folds flat in a little box no bigger than a camera case.”

Archie looked at him with genuine admiration. “You are relentlessly strategic, Isaac.”

“Lillian’s pacing outside the door. You can give her the thumbs-up. It’s in the bag.”

“Is it too early in the morning to drink to your success?”

Bell had already caught the steward’s eye. “Two McEwan’s Exports, please.”

“I’ll be darned,” said Archie, rising to his feet and waving. “That’s Hermann Wagner, the banker. He hosted a dinner for us on our honeymoon in Berlin. Herr Wagner!”

Wagner came over, smiling. Bell noticed the air of the sophisticated Berliner about him, the elegant inverse of his coarse-grained countryman Chimney Baron Karl Schultz. While exchanging passenger chitchat about the rumored rough weather and agreeing that the Mauretania was already pitching heavily for such a long vessel, they were suddenly interrupted by the Earl of Strone heard across the saloon.

“What possible need has Germany for more dreadnoughts?”

“Because now strikes the hour of Germany’s rising power,” replied Schultz, as loudly.

Conversation ceased. Every man in the smoker waited for Lord Strone’s response.

The Briton tugged a watch from his vest. He thumbed it open, peered at the face, and announced to laughter, “The hour, by my timepiece, appears to be half-eleven.”

“I refer to Germany’s achievements,” Karl Schultz replied proudly. “We have surpassed England in the production of coal and steel, and our scientists are dominant in chemicals and electricity. We produce half the world’s electrical equipment. And we have a superior culture of music, poetry, and philosophy.”

Archie’s friend Hermann Wagner interrupted in a gentle voice. “‘Superior’ is perhaps a strong word among shipmates. From strength comes humility.”

“Humility is for fools,” Schultz growled. “We are neither despots like the Russians nor weakling democrats like the French. Our achievements give Germany the right, the duty, the lofty duty, to seek more colonies.”

“Good God, man, you’ve got German East Africa and German South-West Africa. You’ve even got a sliver of Togoland, as I recall. What more do you need?”

“Leopold, king of minuscule Belgium, has the entire Congo. Germany demands her rightful share of Africa. And South America, and the Pacific, and China. England has had too much for too long.”

The earl’s lips tightened, and he started to rise to his feet.

Hermann Wagner intervened, placating him with smiles and pleasantries. Strone settled back down in his chair, harrumphing like an indignant mastiff, “The colonies are already spoken for.”

“Strone’s a darned good actor,” Isaac Bell told Archie.

“Actor? What do you mean?”

“Ten-to-one he’s British Military Intelligence.”

Archie Abbott looked more closely.

“And twenty-to-one,” Bell added, “he’s not retired.”

Archie, who himself would have become an actor if his mother had not forbidden such a leap from society’s bosom, nodded agreement. “No bet.”

The Briton said to the German, “You want war in hopes of grasping the spoils of war.”

“Those powers that try to impede German ascendancy will eventually recover from the weakening we mete out and accept their place in the new order.”

Lord Strone rounded suddenly on Isaac Bell. “You, sir, you look like an American.”

“I have that honor.”

“Will the United States accept the ‘new order’?”

Bell answered diplomatically. “Britain’s navy rules the seas, and the German Army is the largest in the world. We have every hope that you will work out your differences. In fact,” he added sternly, “we expect you to work out your differences.”

“Not likely so long as Germany keeps building dreadnoughts,” said the earl.

Schultz’s cheeks flushed crimson. “I quote Kaiser Wilhelm: ‘Our armor must be without flaw.’”

Hermann Wagner intervened again, smiling polite apologies for his countryman’s florid aggressiveness. “But if—God forbid—Great Britain and the German Empire are on a collision course, on which side will America stand?”

“On the far side of the Atlantic Ocean,” drawled Archie Abbott, sparking laughter around the room.

The Berliner laughed with them and even the Chimney Baron smiled. But Lord Strone replied gravely, “We are sailing in a four-day ship, sir. Mauretania steams to New York at twenty-six knots. The world is closer than Americans think.”

“Not so close we won’t see it coming,” said Isaac Bell.

The men laughed again, sipped their drinks, and drew on cigarettes and cigars.

Hermann Wagner broke the silence, and Isaac Bell wondered why he persisted so. “But if America had to choose, was forced to choose, to whom would you gravitate?”

“Germany,” Schultz answered. “More Germans have emigrated to the United States than from any other nation.”

“Americans and Englishmen share blood and centuries of tradition,” countered the Earl of Strone. “We are brothers.”

“But Americans fought their brothers in the Civil War.”

A grim glance flickered between Isaac Bell and Archie Abbott. It sounded as if the German Empire and the British Empire would fight sooner than later. God knows if France, Russia, Italy, and Austria would pile on. But the two detectives had no doubt that the United States of America should steer clear of Europe’s chaotic politics.

Isaac Bell stood to his full height and looked the certainly not retired military intelligence officer in the eye. The Briton, at least, ought to know that the days of romantic cavalry charges were long dead. Then he widened his commanding gaze to encompass the Germans and said to all, “Before you resort to war, I recommend you observe closely the effects of up-to-date machine guns. If you gents can’t sort out your differences, you’ll turn Europe into a slaughterhouse.”

“Are