were flashing.
“Thermo engine ready.”
Stevens glared at his chief mechanician. “Is it, Judd?”
Judd muttered, “Ready as it ever will be, Mr. Stevens.”
“About time. Ah’ve had just about enough sittin’ and waitin’. .
Judd had picked up a baseball bat and started walking along the rail. “I gotta whack the stop switch as she’s nearing the end to shut the motor off.”
“Is that how you’re goin’ to stop the motor on my flyin’ machine? Are you-all fixin’ to stand in front of me with a
“No worry!” cried Platov. “Automatic switch in machine. This only test. See?” He pointed at the thermo engine, resting on the rail. “Big switch. Just touch with bat as engine go by.”
“All right, get on with it, for God’s sake. The rest of the race’ll be across the Mississippi before Ah take to the sky.”
Judd ran two hundred feet down the rail and positioned himself. Bell thought he looked as unhappy as a long-ball hitter ordered to bunt.
“Is action!” cried Platov.
The thermo engine ignited with a low whine that soared to an earsplitting shriek. Bell covered his ears to protect his acute hearing and watched the motor begin to shake with awesome power. No wonder the mechanicians all respected Platov. That steel box he had invented was smaller than a steamer trunk, but it seemed to contain the amazing energy of a modern locomotive.
Platov jerked the release lever, and the latches holding it back opened.
The thermo engine shot down the rail.
Bell could scarcely believe his eyes. In one instant, it was throbbing next to him. In the next, it reached the man with the bat. It really worked, and the speed was phenomenal. Then all hell broke loose. Just as Judd was about to bunt the bat against the stop switch, the thermo engine jumped the rail.
It smashed through the chief mechanician as if he were a paper target, knocked what little remained of his body to the ground, and flew a hundred yards, crashing through Sir Eddison-Sydney-Martin’s brand-new New Haven Curtiss parked on the grass and tearing the tail off a Bleriot, before it came to rest inside a truck owned by the Vanderbilt syndicate, where it burst into flames.
Isaac Bell ran to the fallen Judd and saw immediately that there was nothing to be done for the man. Then while others ran to the destroyed New Haven and the burning truck, Bell inspected the rail where the engine had escaped.
Dmitri Platov was wringing his hands. “Was so good, ’til then. So good. Oh, that poor man. Look at that poor man.”
Steve Stevens waddled up. “If this don’t beat all! My head mechanician’s been killed, and Ah got no jet engine for my machine. How in hell am Ah supposed to run a race?”
Platov wept. He tore at his thick black hair and beat his hands on his chest. “What terrible thing I have done. Did he have wife?”
“Who the hell would marry Judd?”
“Is terrible, is terrible.”
Isaac Bell stood up from where he was crouching beneath the rail, brushed Stevens out of his way, and placed a firm hand on Platov’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame myself, if I were you, Mr. Platov.”
“Is me. Is captain of ship. Is my machine. Is my error. I have killed a man.”
“But you didn’t intend to. Nor did your amazing machine. It had some help.”
“What the devil are you talkin’ about?” said Stevens.
“The rail broke. That’s what made the machine jump it.”
“That’s Platov’s rail,” shouted Stevens. “That’s his responsibility. He’s the one who put it there. He’s the one responsible for it breakin’. Ah’m callin’ my lawyers. We’re goin’ to sue.”
“Look at this joint,” said Bell. He led Platov to the point where two lengths of rail had parted. Platov crouched beside him, lips pursed tighter and tighter. “Is bolts loosen-ed,” he said angrily.
“Loose?” howled Stevens. “’Cause you-all didn’t make it tight. . What are you doin’, sir?” he said, recoiling, as Bell shoved his fingers under his nose.
“Smell that and shut up.”
“I smell oil. So what?”
“Penetrating oil, to make it easier to unscrew the bolts.”
“No squeak,” Platov said miserably. “No noise.”
“The rail was sabotaged,” said Isaac Bell. “The fishtail bolts were loosened just enough to let the rail slip under pressure.”
“No!” said Platov. “I check rail every test. I check this morning.”
“Ah,” said Bell, “that’s what those are.” He knelt down and picked up some oil-soaked matchsticks. “That’s how he did it,” he mused. “Jammed these into the crack to damp the motion when you tested it. But they would have fallen out when the rail started vibrating as the thermo engine approached. Diabolical.”
“Rail move,” said Platov. “Thermo engine fly away. . But why!”
“Do you have enemies, Mr. Platov?”
“Platov likes. Platov like-ed.”
“Perhaps back in Russia?” asked Bell, aware that Russian immigrants of every political stripe from radical to reactionary had fled their restive land.
“No. I leave friends, family. I send money home.”
“Then who’d do such a thing?” demanded Steve Stevens.
Isaac Bell said, “Could it be that someone didn’t want you to win the race with Mr. Platov’s amazing motor?”
“Ah’ll show ’em! Platov, make me a new motor!”
“Not possible. Take time. I am being sorry. You need to find ordinary gasoline motor. In fact, you need two motors, mounted on lower wings.”
“Two! What for?”
Platov spread his arms wide as if measuring Stevens’s girth. “For lifting heaviness. Powering equal to thermo engine. Two motors, mounted on lower wing.”
“Well, how the hell am Ah goin’ to find two motors, and who the hell is goin’ to install ’em, with Judd dead?”
“Judd’s assistants.”
“Farm boys, tractor hands. Fine doin’ what Judd told them to do, but they’re not real mechanicians.” Stevens jammed plump fists on his broad hips and glared around the infield. “If this don’t beat all. Here, Ah got my machine. Ah got money to buy new motors, but no hands to install ’em. Say, how ’bout you, Platov? Want a job?”
“No thank you. I am having new thermo engine to manufacture.”
“But Ah seen you runnin’ around takin’ jobs for money. Ah’ll pay top dollar.”
“My thermo engine come first.”
“Tell you what. When you’re not workin’ on my flyin’ machine, you can work on your thermo engine.”
“Could your train tow my shop car?”
“Sure thing. Glad to have your tools along.”
“And can I still being freelance machinist to make money for new thermo engine?”
“Just as long as my machine comes first.” Stevens beckoned his servants. “Tom! You, there, Tom. Fetch Mr. Platov some breakfast. Can’t expect a top hand to work hard on an empty stomach.”
Platov looked at Isaac Bell as if to ask what he should do.
Bell said, “It looks like you’re back in the race.”
He saw Josephine returning and hurried toward the open stretch where she would come down. His brow was furrowed. He was thinking hard about coincidences. The Englishman’s accident occurring simultaneously with Frost’s attack was no coincidence. It had been deliberate sabotage to create a distraction to support the
