The Race by Clive Cussler (red white royal blue .txt) 📗
- Author: Clive Cussler
Book online «The Race by Clive Cussler (red white royal blue .txt) 📗». Author Clive Cussler
“Mr. Bell,” said Andy, “it’s going to take them two hours at least.”
“Looks that way.”
“Could I ask you a favor?”
“Of course,” said Bell, hand deep in his pocket, thinking Andy needed a loan. “What do you need?”
“Take me up.”
“Flying?” Bell said, puzzled, because Andy was terrified of heights and never wanted to fly. “Are you sure, Andy?”
“Don’t you realize where we are?”
“Ten miles short of Albany.”
“Twenty miles west of Danielle. I was wondering could we fly over that Ryder Asylum, and you waggle the wings and maybe Danielle will see us?”
“It’s the least we can do. Spin her over and hop on. We’ll buzz by real close.”
Bell was not surprised that Andy had a map. The lovesick mechanician had even marked the asylum with a red heart. They found a rail line they could follow into the closest town and took off, Andy squeezed in behind him, reading the map. At sixty miles per hour and boosted by a west wind, Bell was in sight of the gloomy red brick building in less than twenty minutes. He circled it repeatedly. A face appeared at every barred window. One of them had to be Danielle’s. A flying machine was a startling sight for the vast majority of people outside a big city who had never seen one. The halls were probably alive with inmates, nurses, and guards, gawking, exclaiming. The Gnome’s distinctive exhaust sound would surely alert Danielle that it was her father’s machine even if she could not see it.
Poor Andy’s face expressed a jumble of joy and sadness, excitement and frustration.
“I’m sure she hears us!” Bell shouted.
Andy nodded, understanding Bell was only trying to help. Bell descended deeper into the valley and circled close over the turret where he had interviewed Danielle in Ryder’s private rooms. He checked the railroad watch he had hung from the king post. Plenty of time and fuel, he thought. Why not kill two birds with one stone: give poor Andy a break, and ask Danielle about the death of her father.
The lawn was broad inside the wall. He put the Eagle down easily. Guards came running, urged on by Dr. Ryder, who glued a smile to his face at the unwelcome sight of Isaac Bell.
“Quite an entrance, Mr. Bell.”
“We’ve come to visit Miss Di Vecchio.”
“Of course, Mr. Bell. She’ll need a moment to get ready.”
“Bring her out here. I imagine she will enjoy a breath of fresh air.”
“As you wish. I’ll bring her shortly.”
Andy was staring at the bleak structure, with its small barred windows. “That man doesn’t like you,” he observed.
“No, he doesn’t.”
“But he obeys you.”
“He has no choice. He knows that I know his banker. And he knows that if he ever harms a hair on Danielle’s head, I will paste him in the snoot.”
The first thing Bell noticed about Danielle was that her white patient’s dress was brand-new. The second was that she regarded Andy Moser more like a kid brother than a boyfriend. He backed away to let them have a moment together. Andy was tongue-tied. Bell called, “Andy, why don’t you show Danielle what you’ve done to her father’s machine?”
Andy fell to the task eagerly, and Danielle walked around it with him, oohing and ahhing, and stroking the canvas with her fingertips. “Many improvements,” she announced at last. “Is she still temperamental, Mr. Bell?”
“Andy’s turned her into a lamb,” said Bell. “She’s rescued me more than once.”
“I never realized you already knew how to fly.”
“He’s still learning,” Andy said grimly.
“Your father built a real sweetheart,” said Bell. “She’s amazingly strong. The other day, a stay was damaged, and the others held together for it.”
“Elastico!” said Danielle.
“Was your father elastico?” Bell asked gently.
Her big eyes lighted in happy memory. “Like biglia. India-rubber ball. Rimbalzare! He bounced.”
“Were you shocked how he died?”
“That he killed himself? No. If you stretch banda too much, too many times, it breaks. A man breaks when too much goes bad. But before, he was rimbalzare. Is Josephine piloting Celere’s monoplano in the race?”
“Yes.”
“How does she fare?”
“Behind by a full day.”
“Brava!” Danielle smiled.
“I was surprised to learn that Marco had another machine in the race. A big biplane with two motors.”
Danielle sneered, “Who do you think he stole that from?”
“Your father?”
“No. Marco copied the biplane from a brilliant student he befriended in Paris. At the École Supérieure des Techniques Aéronautiques et de Construction Automobile.”
“What was his name?”
“Sikorsky.”
“Russian?”
“And part Polish.”
“You knew him?”
“My father lectured at the École. We knew everyone.”
“Do you know Dmitri Platov?”
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“I never heard the name.”
Bell weighed another question. What more could he learn about her father’s suicide from her that might be worth the pain it might cause? Or should he rely on James Dashwood to ferret it out in San Francisco? Andy surprised him, stepping closer and muttering through tight lips, “Enough. Give her a break.”
“Danielle?” Bell asked.
“Yes, Mr. Bell?”
“Marco Celere convinced Josephine that he is the sole inventor of her aeroplane.”
Her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed. “Thief!”
“I wonder whether you could give me some . . . ammunition to convince her otherwise?”
“What does she care?”
“I sense disquiet. Doubt.”
“What does it matter to her?”
“At her core is something honest.”
“She is very ambitious, you know.”
“I wouldn’t believe everything I read in the papers. Preston Whiteway’s competitors have only just begun to support his race.”
Danielle gestured angrily at the wall. “I see no papers here. They say newspapers will confuse us.”
“Then how do you know Josephine is ambitious?”
“Marco told me.”
“When?”
“He was boasting when I stabbed. He said she was ambitious, but he was even more ambitious.”
“More ambitious? She wants to fly. What did
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