Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3 (114 page)

One of the stewards appeared with the telephone set and plugged it into the jack set into the underside of the table. "There you are, sir. The club operator will connect you."

"Thank you," Jerry said. He took another deep breath, and picked up the handset. "This is Ballard."

"Connecting you now, Dr. Ballard."

The line crackled and cleared, and Alma's voice swelled in the headset. "Jerry? It's Alma."

"Is everything all right?" Jerry was pleased that he'd managed to keep his tone light, but Alma answered quickly anyway.

"We're all fine. There have been two more plane crashes, though, and that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Ok." Jerry took another sip of his drink.

"All of the planes have gone down around the old Silver Bullet Mine," Alma said. "We did some poking around and — do you think you could find Professor Tesla?"

"Nikola Tesla?" Jerry said, startled.

"Yes. He moved to New York, and I know he must be pretty old, but Mitch is pretty sure he's still alive, we saw an article in Popular Mechanics just this year —"

"Al. He's fine. He — I met him at a party a couple of weeks ago." Jerry paused. "He wants to sell you an airplane. I sent you his card last week, but you won't have gotten it yet."

"Well, that makes things easier," Alma said. "Sort of. Dr. Tesla used to have a lab here in town, and it seems as though one of his devices has gotten turned on. We think it's related to the accidents."

"Related how?"

"We don't actually know," Alma answered. "It's not as though it's some comic book death ray —"

She stopped abruptly, and Jerry imagined her wincing. "Death ray," he repeated. Across the table, Iskinder's eyebrows rose.

"It most certainly is not." There was a pause, static singing in the wires. "Probably not, anyway. But somehow it's gotten turned on, and we need to turn it off."

"So you want me to look up Tesla and ask him for instructions," Jerry said slowly. "Al, I'm not sure that's going to work."

"It's a start," Alma said. "Look, if this thing is in fact contributing to the accidents, we have to at least see if he can tell us how to do it ourselves. But, I agree, I'm not all that optimistic. Dr. Tesla's devices were always — complicated."

"You sound like you knew him," Jerry said.

"There's not really time to go into that," Alma said. "Look, if you'll just talk to him, tell him what's going on — cancel your train ticket, I'll fly to New York and bring you back with me. He can tell me what to do, or he can come back with us and turn it off himself."

Jerry hesitated. It was a tempting offer — he'd been dreading the cross-country train trip almost as much as he'd been looking forward to seeing them all again — and if Alma was right, and there was some mysterious device that knocked airplanes out of the sky that only Nikola Tesla could control, then it made sense.

"All right," he said aloud, cutting off further persuasion.

"Oh." Jerry could almost see her startled blink, the shake of her head as she moved on to the next item on her list. "OK. Right. I can leave tomorrow, which means I'll be in New York on Wednesday…"

"And I'll talk to Tesla," Jerry said. "Just —" He stopped, shaking his head in turn. "Be careful, Al."

"You know I will," she answered. "See you soon!"

She hung up before he could answer, and he leaned back in his chair as the steward came to retrieve the telephone set, followed by the waiter with their first course. Iskinder tipped his head to one side, but didn't say anything until both were out of earshot. Jerry took a quick bite of his lobster, but there was no forestalling the question.

"Death ray?"

"Alma says it isn't." Jerry swallowed. "She says it caused three airplane crashes — and something that knocks airplanes out of the sky sounds like a death ray to me. She also says it's something Dr. Tesla built, and she wants him to tell her how to turn it off."

"You know, from Alma I entirely believe it," Iskinder said. He paused. "Did you know that Dr.Tesla tried to sell my government a patent for a death ray?"

"Apparently it works," Jerry answered.

A
lma hung up the receiver and looked at Lewis. "I'm going to New York tomorrow morning," she said.

Mitch frowned. "Now, hold on a minute here."

"Why?" Lewis said at the same moment.

"Jerry has met Dr. Tesla. He's still alive and we can find out how to turn off that thing. But we have to go ask him. There's no way Jerry can explain this and get the technical stuff down and then manage to pass it on to us. We're going to need to actually talk to him — not on the telephone — and get him to show me exactly what to do."

Mitch's frown deepened. "I'll allow you're the best mechanic of us, Alma. But don't you think he could show me what to do?"

"I don't like the idea of you flying cross country by yourself," Lewis said. From someone else that would have rankled, but from Lewis it didn't. It just meant that he was worried. For that matter, Mitch was worried. Only Stasi said nothing.

Alma shook her head. "You can't go, either one of you, because you're in the Reserves. What do you think will happen if you do and there's another plane crash?"

Mitch looked exasperated. "The Reserves can do without me for a few days, Al. The same thing would happen as it does when they call and I'm on a flight to LA or something."

"Yes, but you know there's likely to be a crash and you know exactly where it's likely to be," Alma argued. "Besides, you need to persuade Colonel Sampson to get the Army to declare that airspace off limits temporarily. This is going to keep happening until that thing is turned off, and it can't cost any more lives. We can't keep people from flying over the Silver Bullet mine, but maybe Colonel Sampson can."

"I'm going to tell him there's a Death Ray there?"

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?"

Lewis cleared his throat. "We can tell him there's a magnetic disturbance, a navigation hazard. And if he wants to come down here and see the thing himself, he can. There's nothing occult or illegal about it. We just walked up there in a perfectly normal way, looked in the window, and there it was."

"That's true enough," Mitch said, putting his hands in his pockets.

"I know you don't want to sound like a nut to Colonel Sampson," Alma said. "But you won't." She looked at Lewis. "You and Lewis need to stay here and safeguard lives. You've got to keep that thing from killing anybody else. I'll go get Dr. Tesla. Hopefully he'll come back with me, and if not at least I can get him to tell me what to do. Besides, I'm the one who knows him. You two are perfect strangers."

Stasi smiled. "Do you know him, darling?"

"I met him a bunch of times when I was a kid," Alma said. "He had that lab here in town then and I hung around. I thought his experiments were amazing, and sometimes he'd let us kids see. He'd show us the most amazing things. I still have no idea how he did some of them."

Stasi shrugged and reached for the coffee pot to pour herself another cup. "That's because he's a vampire, darling. Edison said so."

Lewis made a strangled noise.

"There are no such things as vampires," Alma said firmly. "They're a myth."

"It's all about hidden psycho-sexual tension or something else Freudian," Stasi said with a wave of her hand. "All that wanting men to come sneaking in your window at night and mesmerize you into complete submission while they undress you very, very slowly and have their evil way with you by indulging in their twisted desires full of sublimated eroticism."

Mitch grinned. "You ought to write for Weird Tales," he said admiringly.

Stasi beamed. "You think so, darling?"

Lewis cleared his throat. "But Dr. Tesla's not a vampire."

"Of course he's not," Alma said. "He's a very nice old man. And a scientific genius who invented dozens of things we use every day, like the dynamo electric motor."

"And the repeating record player!" Stasi put in.

"Really?" Mitch said.

"Absolutely," Stasi said. "It's one of his American patents."

Lewis blinked. "Are you his fan club?"

"Some girls like Valentino. Some like Tesla," Stasi said primly.

"I live in Weird Tales," Alma said. Sometimes her life was just incredibly strange. "I'm going to take the Dude, I think. It's easier for one person to manage, and I don't need a lot of room to bring back just me, Tesla and Jerry. Also it costs less to fuel and operate, and that leaves you the Terrier for the regular business runs."

"I wish you weren't going alone," Lewis said.

"I won't be alone coming back." His eyes were filled with concern, and she couldn't be angry about that. He wouldn't try to stop her. He just wished he could go with her. "Jerry will be with me on the return trip even if Tesla can just tell me what to do."

"That's true," Lewis said, and the cloud in his eyes lifted somewhat.

T
here was no particular difficulty in taking a day off to do Alma's business — it wasn't as though Jerry had regular hours at the Met, and his weekly stipend was fixed rather than an hourly wage, but he still felt oddly guilty taking the bus south on Seventh Avenue instead of north toward the museum. There was really nothing much he could do, though, not while Rosenthal's medallion was still being photographed and he was still waiting for replies to letters he'd sent the week before, and he dragged himself off the bus at Penn Station, averting his eyes from the man selling apples on the corner.

The Hotel Governor Clinton was new and imposing, thirty-two stories high, stepped brick towers rising above a granite base. Jerry made his way into the grand gold lobby, sunk seven steps below street level, and found a house phone. "Dr. Tesla's room, please," he said, to the hotel operator. "My name's Ballard. I believe he's expecting the call."

"One moment, please," the operator answered, and there were the usual clicks and static as the line was held. "Putting you through now, Dr. Ballard."

"Hello?" The voice was firm but faint, and Jerry braced himself.

"Dr. Tesla? It's Dr. Ballard. I take it you got my note?"

"Yes, Dr. Ballard, though I admit I'm still a little confused."

And well you might be, Jerry thought. He'd spent a solid hour drafting the brief letter, not wanting to come right out and say we need you to tell us how to turn off your death ray — he had no particular desire to sound like any more of a lunatic than he already did — and in the end he'd erred on the side of discretion rather than clarity. "Yes, well, it's bit of a complicated matter. And probably best handled confidentially."

"I see." There was a brief pause, static singing in the earpiece, and then Tesla sighed. "Perhaps we should have coffee — or perhaps an early lunch? I'll come down. The coffee shop is quite pleasant."

Jerry made a face: it was probably expensive, too. "Thank you, Dr. Tesla. That would be excellent."

He set the handset back on the gilt-touched telephone and moved toward the middle of the lobby, where he could keep an eye on the bank of elevators, watching the arrows swinging from side to side above the doors. Soon enough, the middle set opened to release a pair of women in neat suits and fur stoles, followed by a tall, gaunt man in an equally well-tailored suit. Jerry took a step forward, and saw Tesla recognize him.

"Dr. Ballard. A pleasure to see you." He did not offer his hand.

Jerry nodded briskly. "I appreciate your taking the time to see me."

"Your note certainly made it seem important," Tesla answered. He waved vaguely toward the steps that led to the coffee shop. "I'd very much like to hear the details."

"I'll be glad to tell you what I know," Jerry answered.

The coffee shop was mercifully uncrowded, not yet busy with the lunch rush. The manager led them happily to a table tucked into a corner banquette and brought menus, while a pert uniformed waitress fetched water and coffee and crackers. Jerry managed not to wince at the prices, and Tesla smiled.

"Let's order first, and then we can talk in comfort."

Jerry nodded, still scanning the menu for things within his price range. "The ham mousse on toast, please," he said, and Tesla gave a grave smile.

"The creamed cod," he said. "With extra bread and butter."

The waitress scurried off, and Jerry busied himself preparing his coffee, trying to decide the best place to start.

"I gather that the device I left in the Silver Bullet mine is causing some sort of problem?" Tesla said.

"That's right," Jerry said, abandoning his coffee. "From what I understand from Mrs. Segura, it's creating some sort of navigation hazard for aircraft. There have been three crashes in the last month, all of them around the Silver Bullet."

"But that's hardly proof that the mine has anything to do with it," Tesla objected.

"Certainly not," Jerry said. "But Alma and the rest of the crew have been up to the mine, and seen — whatever your device is — working. It's too much to dismiss it as a coincidence."

Tesla frowned. "But it shouldn't do anything like that — I can't see how it would have any effect on aircraft. Unless…" He stopped, and reached into his jacket pocket for a notebook and pencil. He jotted a few numbers on the page, and a string of symbols, still frowning, then closed the notebook again. "Well, I suppose it's barely possible. I'd need to see the machine to be sure. I only hope the recording elements are still intact."

"You didn't just leave this thing running," Jerry said, involuntarily, and leaned back as the waitress appeared with their plates.

"There you are, sir. And extra bread and butter for you, Dr. Tesla, and also that Vermont honey you like."

"Thank you, my dear," Tesla said. "That's very kind."

Jerry looked at his own plate, the pink mousse piled high on triangles of toast, topped with a tiny tomato, a pastry shell filled with creamed vegetables to one side. At least it was a generous amount for forty-five cents, and he took a cautious bite.

"I didn't leave it running," Tesla said. He looked faintly uncomfortable, and Jerry frowned in turn.