The Race by Clive Cussler (red white royal blue .txt) 📗

missed one of his shots at Marco Celere. An easy shot no hunter would fluff. I discovered that the rifle he probably used had a damaged telescopic sight. Yet another reason why I want to see Celere’s remains.”

“Could Harry Frost have worn some sort of armor when he attacked?”

“Armor won’t deflect bullets. That’s why gunpowder put the knights out of business.”

“Chain mail?”

“That’s an interesting thought because with modern alloy steel perhaps you could manufacture chain mail strong enough to stop a bullet. Lord knows what it would weigh. Some years ago the Army was testing so-called bulletproof vests. But they were too hot and heavy to be practical . . . Interesting thought, my dear. I’ll have Grady Forrer sic his Research boys on it first thing in the morning.”

Marion stretched luxuriously. “Are there any other mysteries I can solve for you?”

“Several.”

“Starting with?”

“Where is Marco Celere’s body?”

“Any others?”

“Why does the Italian lady I bought my aeroplane from insist that Marco Celere stole her father’s secrets while Josephine insists that Miss Di Vecchio’s father worked for Celere and therefore had no secrets to steal?”

“What is Miss Di Vecchio like?”

“Startlingly attractive.”

“Really?”

“In fact, so attractive that it is hard to believe that Marco Celere, or any man, would turn his back on her.”

“How did you escape?”

Bell touched his glass to hers. “I’m immune.”

“Blind to beauty?” she teased.

“I am in love with Marion Morgan, and she has spoken for my heart.”

Marion returned his smile. “Maybe Marco had his eye on Josephine.”

“Josephine is cute as a button but hardly in Miss Di Vecchio’s class. She’s a pretty little thing, pert and flirtatious, but more farm girl than femme fatale.

“But ambitious? At least about flying,” Bell said, “and very skilled navigating flying machines. There are men who are drawn to accomplished women.”

“Well, love is strange, isn’t it?”

“If Marco and Josephine were lovers at all. Archie thinks she was in love with Marco’s flying machines. And as you know Archie has a pretty good eye for that sort of thing.”

Marion asked, “What does your eye tell you?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. Except she vehemently defends Marco on the question of who stole whose invention.”

“Could it be that Josephine is defending her flying machine more than she’s defending her lover?”

“That is very possible,” said Bell. “While Marco, I suspect, was in love with a girl who could afford to buy his flying machines.”

“Then everyone got what they wanted.”

“Except Harry Frost.” Bell’s eyes grew bleak, then hot with anger. “Poor Archie. Frost did such a terrible thing. How a man would load such monstrous ammunition into a weapon is beyond me.”

Marion took his hand. “I spoke with Lillian on the telephone. I’ll see her at the hospital tomorrow.”

“How did she sound?”

“Tired and hopeful. Poor thing. It’s a nightmare—both of our nightmares—only I’m older and have loved you longer, and I don’t worry in that same way. Lillian admitted to me that since Archie returned to work after their honeymoon, she was afraid every day until he came home safe. Darling, are you taking such chances learning to fly because you’re worried about Archie? Or trying to make up for what happened to him?”

“I’ve always been keen to fly.”

“But are you keen to fly for the wrong reasons? Isaac, you know I never trouble you with worrying about your safety. But this seems unusually risky. What can you possibly do up in the air if Frost shoots at her?”

“Shoot back, and finish Harry Frost once and for all.”

“Who will fly the aeroplane while you’re busy shooting?”

“I can drive it with one hand . . . Well, actually, to be perfectly honest,” he admitted with a rueful smile, “I will be able to drive with one hand soon. Today, I was hanging on tight with both.”

Marion extended her arms. “Can you demonstrate that?”

15

“WOULD YOU GIVE ME SOME ADVICE on that straightening-up-fast stunt just before you touch the ground?” Isaac Bell asked Josephine. The race was starting in three days, and he had scheduled a certification test to get an official pilot’s license from the Aero Club.

“Don’t!” Josephine grinned, “is the best advice I can give you. Practice blipping your magneto instead, and don’t try stunts your machine isn’t up to.”

“My alettoni are the same as yours.”

“No, they’re not,” she retorted, her grin fading.

“The wing bracing is the same.”

“Similar.”

“Just as strong.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” she said seriously.

The subject always turned her prickly, but Bell noticed that she no longer repeated her earlier assertion that Danielle’s father had worked for Marco Celere. It was almost as if she suspected that the opposite was true.

Gently he said, “Maybe you mean I’m not up to it.”

She smiled, as if grateful Bell had let her off the hook. “You will be. I’ve been watching you. You have the touch—that’s the important thing.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Bell. “I can’t fall too far behind you if I’m going to protect you.”

In fact, Bell had devised a defense in which he was only one element. Van Dorn riflemen would spell one another on the roof of the support car, easily climbing to their gun perch through a hatch in the roof. Two roadsters in a boxcar with a ramp would be ready to light out after her if for any reason Josephine strayed from the railroad tracks. And every day detectives would take their places in advance at the next scheduled stop.

A commotion broke out at the hangar door.

Bell glided in front of Josephine as he drew the Browning from his coat.

“Josephine! Josephine! Where is that woman?”

“Oh my God,” said Josephine. “It’s Preston Whiteway.”

“Josephine! Josephine!” Whiteway barreled in. “There you are! I bring good news! Great news!”

Bell holstered his weapon. The best news he could think of was that Van Dorns had arrested Harry Frost.

“My lawyers,” shouted Whiteway, “have persuaded the court to annul your marriage to Harry Frost on the grounds that the madman tried to kill you!”

“Annulled?”

“You are free . . . Free!”

Isaac Bell observed the meeting between Josephine and Whiteway long enough to