the Spy (2010) by Cussler Clive (early readers .txt) 📕

Mr. Eddison? she drawled. He's a good old man. Never a bit of trouble like certain of his shipmates I could name.

Is he in?

Mr. Eddison sleeps late, being as how he works at night.

Would you mind if I waited? Bell asked with a smile that flashed his even teeth and lighted his blue eyes.

The landlady brushed a wisp of gray hair from her cheek and smiled back. I'll bring you a cup of coffee.

Don't trouble yourself.

No trouble, Mr. Bell. You're in the South now. My mother would spin in her grave if she heard I let a gentleman sit in my parlor without a cup of coffee.

Fifteen minutes later, Bell was able to say without stretching the truth too far, This is the finest coffee I have had since my mother took me to a pastry shop in Vienna, Austria, when I was only knee-high to a grasshopper.

Well, you know what I've a mind to do? I'll put on a fresh pot and ask Mr. Eddison if he'd like to have a cup with you.

John Eddison would have been even taller than Bell, the detective saw, had age not bent his back. He had big hands and long arms that must have been powerful in his day, a shock of white hair, pale runny eyes, the enormous nose that old men often grew, and a firm mouth set in sagging jowls.

Bell extended his hand. I'm Isaac Bell, Van Dorn investigator.

You don't say, Eddison grinned, and Bell saw that the slow movement of age masked a sprightly manner. Well, I didn't do it. Though I might have when I was younger. How can I help you, sonny?

I was speaking with Lance Corporal Black and Private Little of the Marine guard, and--

You know what we said about the Marines in the Navy? Eddison interrupted.

No, sir.

A sailor had to accidentally bang his head four times on a low beam to demonstrate that he was qualified to join the Marines.

Bell laughed. They told me that you reported you had surprised a prowler in the navy yard.

Aye. But he got away. They didn't believe me.

A Chinese?

Not a Chinaman.

No? I wonder where Black and Little got the idea the prowler was Chinese?

I warned you about the Marines, Eddison chuckled. You laughed.

What sort of man did the prowler look like?

Like a Jap.

Japanese?

I told those fools' sergeant. Sounds like their sergeant had Chinamen on the brain. But like I said, I don't think the sergeant believed I saw anyone at all-Chinaman, Jap-he didn't believe me, period. Thought I was a stupid old man having visions. The sergeant asked me if I was drinking. Hell, I haven't had a drink in forty years.

Bell couched his next question carefully. He had met very few Americans who could distinguish Japanese from Chinese. Did you get a close look at him?

Aye.

I was under the impression it was dark.

The moon shone square in his face.

How near were you to him?

Eddison held up his large, wrinkled hand. Any closer, I'd have wrapped these fingers around his throat.

What was there about him that seemed Japanese?

His eyes, his mouth, his nose, his lips, his hair, the old man fired back.

Again, Bell framed his skepticism cautiously. Some people say they have trouble telling the two races apart.

Some people ain't been to Japan.

And you have?

Eddison straightened up in his chair. I sailed into Uraga Harbor with Commodore Matthew Perry when he opened Japan to American trade.

That's sixty years ago! If this wasn't an ancient mariner's tall tale, Eddison was even older than he looked.

'Fifty-seven. I was a main topman on Perry's steam frigate Susquehanna . And I pulled an oar in the commodore's launch. Rowed the Old Man into Yokosuka. We had Japs coming out of our ears.

Bell smiled. It does sound as if you are qualified to distinguish Japanese from Chinese.

As I said.

Could you tell me where you caught the prowler?

Almost caught him.

Do you recall how far that was from the Gun Factory?

Eddison shrugged. Thousand yards.

Half a mile, Bell mused.

Half a sea mile, Eddison corrected.

Even farther.

Sonny, I'll bet you're speculating if the Jap had something to do with the explosion in Mr. Langner's design loft.

Do you think he did?

No way of knowing. Like I say, the Jap I saw was a full thousand yards from the Gun Factory.

How big is the navy yard? Bell asked.

The old sailor stroked his chin and looked into the middle distance. I'd imagine that between the walls and river, the yard must take up a hundred acres.

One hundred acres. Nearly as big as a northeastern dairy farm.

Chockful of mills, foundries, parade grounds. Plus, he added with a meaningful look, mansions and gardens-where I intercepted him prowling.

What do think he was doing there?'

John Eddison smiled. I don't think. I know.

What do you know he was doing there?

He was right close by the officers' mansions. The commandant's daughters are comely young ladies. And your Japs, they like the l adies.

Chapter 5

THERE WERE DAYS WHEN EVEN A BOY GENIUS LIKE GROVER Lakewood was glad for time off from the laboratory to clear his head of the intricacies of aiming a gun at a moving target from a moving ship. The fire-control expert spent most days and many nights inventing myriad calculations to counter the effects of roll, pitch, yaw, and trajectory curves. It was absolutely fascinating work, made all the more intense by the fact that Lakewood had to devise ways for ordinary minds to apply his calculations in the midst of battle when guns were thundering, seas breaking, and steel splinters howling through the smoke.

In his spare time he toyed with futuristic formulas to tackle the challenges of cross-rolling-where he imagined his ships firing ahead instead of broadside-and tried to take into account the ever-increasing ranges of big guns and the ever-flattening trajectories of high-velocity shells. Sometimes he had to turn himself upside down like a saltshaker