Beneath Gray Skies (25 page)

“How much time will it take you to make a helium extraction plant for the gas wells at Amarillo?” asked the President. “We don’t have a lot of time, you know.”

“We won’t build the extraction plant at the wells, Mr. President. We would like to build a pipeline to the airship station to carry the unrefined gas.”

“Expensive,” growled Davis.

“Actually, sir, it will work out cheaper, for two reasons. Building a pipeline or any kind of transportation system for helium is really expensive. Much easier to store it on site and a lot cheaper. And also, Mr. President, we can use the flammable parts of the gas to fuel the process of extracting the helium. Kind of feeds itself, you might say.”

“So how long will it take and how much will it cost?”

“What level of purity are we talking about this time, Mr. President? I mentioned in my report that it’s quite easy to produce helium below a certain level of purity for use in airships, and we could probably have a plant operational for small quantities within two months with enough money and the right people. Three to four for full-scale production. Quite a lot more, of course, if you want the helium at a higher level of purity.”

“Don’t confuse me with details,” retorted Davis. “Of course this is for the goddamned airships that the Germans are sending over. How pure does the helium need to be for that? Helium’s helium, ain’t it?”

Orville decided that this was a question that didn’t need to be answered.

“How much will the extraction plant cost?” repeated Davis.

“We’re talking several billion of our dollars, Mr. President, if we want the fast way and we’re not too fussy about the quality.”

From the corner, Abelson whistled, his first contribution to the discussion.

“Yes, Jesse?” Davis barked, without turning round. “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t just stand there making noises like you was hunting coons.”

“Where do you want this money to come from? Transportation or Commerce? It’s a lot of money, Mr. President.”

“I know goddarn well that it’s a lot of money,” Davis replied angrily. “It’s military, of course. We have the army working with the Germans down in Cordele to get their terminal ready. This comes under the same heading. And if the Germans decide to give us some airships cheap, we’ll put them under the military budget. We’ll be using them to patrol the borders and impress the heck out of the Yankees. Maybe even drop a few bombs or something. For the helium, just juggle the figures between the different departments, Jesse. That’s what we pay you to do, ain’t it?” He laughed.

Abelson sighed, almost but not quite inaudibly. “Yes, Mr. President. Professor Orville, I’m going to need some figures which are a little more precise than ‘several billion dollars’.  Can we talk about the details soon?” They agreed a time for a meeting the next day.

Davis grunted and took another pull at his cigar. “Well done,” he conceded. “You want to start constructing the pipeline at the same time as the extraction plant, I take it?” Orville nodded in response. “Good. Talk to the War Department and get them to assign as many of the Army slaves and overseers as you need. Anything else?”

“Yes, Mr. President. We’re going to need some skilled labor as well. Welders and the like. Can we start recruiting from other places?”

Davis sighed. “Yes, I suppose if you must, you must. Only as many as you need, and for no more than four months. Are you in charge of all this business, Homer?”

The other shrugged. “I don’t want to be in charge of keeping it running all the time. That’s the Army’s job. But I do want to make sure the work gets done properly so that it’s all going to work right when we get it finished, so I want to have some say in what’s going on.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” replied Davis. He turned to Abelson. “Jesse, you and Homer are going to have to sit yourselves down with Jim,” (the War Secretary) “some time soon and get things moving mighty fast on this. We’re going to need to start work straight off, and there’s no time to lose. Get yourselves a good officer from the Army to head up this thing.” He spun his desk chair back and forth, thinking aloud in short phrases, as his secretaries took notes. “Should be a Brigadier-General at least, otherwise no-one’s going to listen to him. Make sure he’s not just a parade horse—we’re going to need a guy who’s actually proved he can do something.” He blew a smoke ring at the ceiling and stubbed out the butt of his cigar. “And he doesn’t need to be an engineer himself, but he needs to know enough to understand what Homer is talking about. And there should be someone else who’s good at keeping the security tight. That Colonel Vickers who came in to see me the other day—his record shows he’s the kind of guy who’d do a good job there, even if he is scared of the sight of blood. Money. I’ll clear all that with the Senate. If you need to spend money, you can, but I want regular reports. Get someone whose only job is letting me know what’s going on. At least twice a week. Money, progress, people, problems. Bad news as well as the good. These Germans are always telling the world how efficient they are. Now let’s show them what efficiency really means.”

“
It’s going to be one of the most difficult reports I’ve ever had to write in my entire life.”

T
he sun was shining fiercely outside, and even at 10 o’clock on a Tuesday morning following a long holiday weekend it was unpleasantly warm, but the Office of Combined Trans-Atlantic Operations in the basement of the War Department remained relatively cool.

Henry Dowling was seated at his desk in shirtsleeves, with his tie loosened. In London he would never dare work in such an informal costume, but he had to admit to himself that the Americans had the right ideas about many things, and dressing appropriately for the climate was one of them.

Absently he checked his watch—Christopher, usually punctual, was nearly an hour and a half late this morning. He wondered what had happened.

As if on cue, the door opened, and Christopher walked in, smartly dressed in a new light seersucker suit and a straw snap-brim hat. His tie was a thing of splendor, displaying a rainbow of bright colors against a snowy white shirt, and he himself was beaming from ear to ear.

Henry covered his eyes with his hands, pretending to be dazzled by the vision.

“Sorry I’m late, Henry,” called out Christopher cheerfully. “The train was a little late getting in.”

“Where have you been that needs the train?” asked Henry. “And…?” he gestured towards the suit and hat.

Christopher grinned. “I’ve been up to the Hamptons for the weekend to stay with Virginia and her folks. The Hamptons are in Long Island, New York, about an hour from New York by rail. The Wassersteins have a house in Westhampton and Virginia’s father invited me there.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “Virginia’s father? Not Virginia?”

“Well,” Christopher admitted, “I’m not saying that Virginia had nothing to do with it. But it was her father who sent the invitation.”

“And the suit? It certainly looks good on you, I have to say.”

“We were talking at breakfast on Saturday, and I was mentioning the heat here in Washington.” Henry noticed with amusement that Christopher pronounced the name of the city in the local way; ‘Wash-none’. “So Papa Wasserstein made a telephone call and got his tailor to come round after breakfast, and he made me a suit before the evening. The tie’s Virginia’s choice, and so’s the hat.”

“Er … Who paid for all this, Christopher?”

“Mr. Wasserstein. Of course, I wanted to pay him, but he said that I was nearly family now, so he wasn’t going to let me pay.”

“Nearly family?”

“That’s why I’m so happy today, Henry. Virginia and I are engaged to be married in a month’s time. You will be my best man, I hope?”

Henry gasped and his eyes bulged. He frantically reached for the water decanter on his desk and poured himself a glass. He gulped down the contents, which went down the wrong way, and he started coughing, turning bright red in the face. When he had started to breathe normally again, he glared at Christopher. “I thought I told you not to start any of that kind of thing. What did she say when you asked her?”

“Well, sorry, Henry, but it wasn’t like that at all. We—that’s to say the whole family and I—were eating dinner on Friday night when she asked me when we were going to be married.”

“The girl’s not meant to do the asking. That’s your job,” Henry objected.

“That’s what I said to her, and her father laughed. He said that Virginia had written all about me in all her letters to them, and she’d been complaining that I was too slow, so she was going to push things along a bit.”

“Have you been encouraging her?”

“No, sir, I have not.” In his indignation, Christopher had gone back to calling Henry ‘sir’. “I’m sure she’s noticed that I like her—”

“And you’re not to blame for that. Who couldn’t help liking her?” Henry offered, somewhat mollified by Christopher’s obvious indignation. “Remember, Christopher, I’m ‘Henry’, not ‘sir’, ” he said, gently.

“Henry, believe me, I had no idea that I liked her that much until she asked the question. And I said ‘next month’ before I could think straight.”

“And what did her parents say?”

“Her father came over and shook my hand and said he was glad to have me as a son-in-law. And her mother came over and kissed me.”

“How? Why?” asked Henry helplessly. “No, sorry, that sounds completely wrong. To be perfectly frank, Christopher, I am sure you’ll be a wonderful husband for Virginia, and I wish you both every happiness. Any father should be delighted to have you as a son-in-law. But people like the Wassersteins don’t usually welcome people of your race into their families. The fact that they’ve done so is a great credit to you, and I’m more proud of you than you can possibly imagine.”

“I talked with Papa Wasserstein later that evening, and he said to me that before he met me, he would never have considered a Negro son-in-law. But since we talked, he realized that Jews were not the only people in the world who had experienced suffering, and that he had to look outside his own people a bit more.”

“Well, well. I can’t think of anything more to say to you, except to call you a lucky dog, and hope you’re both really happy together, and yes, of course I’ll be your best man.” Henry rose to his feet with a somewhat dazed look on his face, and shook Christopher’s hand energetically.

“What are you going to do with yourself when you’re married? I mean, you can probably continue working with me, but I am sure you’re going to want to stay in the USA, aren’t you?”

“Well, a number of things came to my mind,” replied Christopher. “I was kind of hoping that I might be able to take over Virginia’s job. Seems like the Americans don’t like married ladies working, and I know what’s going on here. Also,” he added, “it would allow me to continue working with you.”

“Well, thank you, Christopher. I’m touched by that.”

“Or,” Christopher went on, “Papa Wasserstein has told me that I can have a job with him any time. And it wouldn’t be just a job for one of the family, he told me. It would be a real job.”

“He’s being very frank with you, Christopher. That sounds like a good omen for the future. Now, do you think you can concentrate on work this morning?”

“Oh, I think I can manage,” smiled Christopher.

“I had some very interesting news which came in over the weekend. Guess where the Confederate airship terminal’s going to be, if the location of that Airship Support Regiment is anything to go by?”

“Could be anywhere, I suppose.” Despite his earlier protestations, Christopher’s concentration seemed to be lacking.

“No, it couldn’t, Christopher. You know it couldn’t. Put your mind to it, if you can. No, I’ll put you out of your misery. It’s going to be in a little place called Cordele in Georgia.” Henry grinned.

It was Christopher’s turn to appear shocked. “My Lord!” was all he could say.

“Christopher, I’ve just had an idea,” said Henry. He proceeded to elaborate.

“Could you? Would you?” asked Christopher.

“I am certainly willing to give it a try. But there could be a lot of obstacles in the way.”

Christopher sighed.

“Try not to build up your hopes too much, Christopher. Tell me more about the wedding. When, where, what. I know we’re never going to get any work done until you do.” He sighed good-naturedly.