That's too big a deal to keep secret. You're obviously a wealthy man, but no individual is rich enough to launch his own dreadnought. Where do you get your funds for Hull 44? Surely someone high up must know.
Captain Falconer answered obliquely. Eleven years ago I had the privilege of advising an Assistant Secretary of the Navy.
Bully! Bell smiled his understanding. That explained Lowell Falconer's independence. Today, that Assistant Secretary of the Navy was none other than the nation's fiercest champion of a strong Navy-President Theodore Roosevelt.
The President believes that our Navy should be footloose. Let the Army defend ports and harbors-we'll even build them the guns. But the Navy must fight at sea.
From what I've seen of the Navy, said Bell, first you will have to fight the Navy. And to win that fight you would have to be as clever as Machiavelli.
Oh, but I am, Falconer smiled. Though I prefer the word devious' to clever.
Are you still a serving officer?
I am, officially, Special Inspector of Target Practice.
A wonderfully vague title, Bell remarked.
I know how to outfox bureaucrats, Falconer shot back. I know my way around Congress, he continued with a cynical smile and raised his maimed hand for Bell to see. What politician dares deny a war hero?
Then he explained in detail how he had planted a cadre of l ike-minded younger officers in the key bureaus of Ordnance and Construction. Together, they were angling to overhaul the entire dreadnought-building system.
Are we as far behind as Alasdair MacDonald claimed?
Yes. We launch Michigan next month, but she's no prize. Delaware, North Dakota, Utah, Florida, Arkansas, and Wyoming, first-class dreadnoughts, are stuck on the drawing boards. But that's not entirely a bad thing. Advancements in naval warfare pile up so quickly that the later we launch our battleships, the more modern they will be. We've already learned the shortcomings of the Great White Fleet, long before it reaches San Francisco. First thing we'll fix when they sail home is to paint them gray so enemy gunners can't spot them so easily.
Paint will be the easy part. Before we can turn our new knowledge into fighting ships, we have to convince the Navy Board of Construction and Congress. The Navy Board of Construction hates change, and Congress hates expense.
Falconer nodded at the Reuterdahl. My friend Henry's got his tail in a crack. The Navy invited him along to paint pictures of the Great White Fleet. They did not expect him to also fire off articles to McClure's Magazine informing the world of its shortcomings. Henry will be lucky to find his way home on a tramp steamer. But Henry's right, and I'm right: It's O.K. to learn by experience. O.K. to learn by failure, even. But it is not O.K. not to improve. That is why I build in secret.
You've told me why. You've not told me what.
Don't be impatient, Mr. Bell.
A man was murdered, Isaac Bell replied grimly. I am not patient when men are murdered.
You just said men. Captain Falconer stopped bantering and demanded, Are suggesting that Langner was murdered, too?
I rate his murder increasingly likely.
What about Grover Lakewood?
Van Dorn operatives in Westchester are looking into his death.
And in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, we are investigating the accident that killed Chad Gordon. Now, are you going to tell me about Hull 44?
Let's get topside. You'll see what I mean.
Dyname had continued to increase her speed. There was still no trembling from the engines, despite a powerful drone of rushing sea and wind. The steward and a sailor appeared with seaboots and oil-skins. You'll want these on, sir. She's no yacht, once she gets moving. More like a torpedo boat.
Torpedo boat, hell, muttered the sailor. She's a submarine.
Falconer handed Bell a pair of goggles with smoked glass so dark it seemed opaque and looped another pair over his own head.
What's this for?
You'll be glad you have them when you need them, the captain answered enigmatically. All set? Let's get up to the bridge while we can. The seaman and steward wrestled the door open, and they stepped on deck.
The slipstream hit like a punch in the face.
Bell pushed forward on the narrow side deck less than five feet above the rushing water. She must be doing thirty knots.
Still loafing along, Falconer yelled over the roar. We'll get moving once we pass Sandy Hook.
Bell glanced back. Fire was flickering from the smoke funnel, and the wake was so frothed that it glowed in the dark. They climbed onto the open bridge, where thick slabs of glass screened the helmsman, who was clinging to a small spoked wheel. Captain Falconer shouldered him aside.
Ahead in the dark, an intermittent white light blinked every fifteen seconds.
Sandy Hook Lightship, said Captain Falconer. Last year we'll see it. They're moving the light to mark the new Ambrose Channel.
Dyname bore down on the fifteen-second blinker. In its back glow, Bell glimpsed the white-lettered Sandy Hook and No. 51 on the side of the black vessel as it fell rapidly behind them.
Hang on! said Captain Falconer.
He laid the hand with the missing fingers on a tall lever. Bowden cable connection direct to the turbines. Same as flexible-cable brakes for bicycles. I can increase steam from the helm without ringing the engine room. Like the throttle on your auto.
Alasdair's idea? asked Bell.
No, this is mine. You're about to feel Alasdair's.
Chapter 14
BELL GRIPPED A HANDHOLD AS DYNAME'S BOW LIFTED from the water. The drone of sea and wind grew explosive. Spray battered the glass screen. Captain Falconer switched on a searchlight mounted in front, and the reason for her knife-shaped narrowness was immediately apparent. The light revealed eight-foot
