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With Talking Pictures in hand, he could still implement his original goal of using propaganda to divide Germany’s enemies. Killing three birds with one stone, he would take his revenge on Isaac Bell, destroy all evidence, and escape home to Germany with the propaganda tool he needed to start anew.
He beckoned his fighters closer. “Pay strict attention to this photograph.”
Christian Semmler showed the fighters a picture of Clyde Lynds that had been snapped by an Imperial publicity photographer when the scientist visited the penthouse studio stages.
“Not one hair on the head of this scientist is to be disturbed. He is the sole purpose of this raid. So mark well where he stands when we raid the studio. We will take him and his instruments — him unharmed, his equipment intact. Is that clear?” He looked each man in the eye until he answered, “Yes, General.”
42
Isaac Bell telephoned Irina Viorets.
“I was hoping you were working late,” he said when she answered.
“I am always working late.”
“I met Mr. Brooks.”
Irina Viorets surprised him. She said, “Then you know I lied to you.”
“Why?”
“I think you should come to see me. Now.”
“All right. Tell the doormen to let me in.”
“No. Not here. I’ll meet you on the street.”
* * *
Impressed by Isaac Bell’s cold confidence that events were coming to a head, Larry Saunders had shed his tailored jacket for a still-stylish but more loosely draped garment with room for a Colt.45 in a shoulder holster and a couple of pocket pistols. And just to be on the safe side, he brought with him his top man, the formidable Tim Holian, who was the only detective in the field office who didn’t care how he looked and slouched about the city in a disreputable-looking sack coat bulging with firearms.
When they got to the Imperial Building, they found that Clyde Lynds and his Protective Services guard had descended from the laboratory to set up camp in the soundproof fourth-floor recording studio, and they joined them there.
The detectives were edgy as the evening began, but when Clyde Lynds suddenly demanded a messenger to find Isaac Bell so Lynds could report to Bell, even Saunders and Holian were swept up in the scientist’s excitement.
Detectives, Protective Service operatives, and Clyde Lynds gathered around Lynds’s machine, which was projecting a moving picture on a white wall that served as a screen. Mounted on both sides of the makeshift screen were stacks of phonograph horns.
“Listen to this!” shouted Lynds.
His face alight with glee, Lynds grabbed the handle of an electrical switch and pulled it toward him.
A woman’s voice came from the horns. She sounded hoarse and far away, but every eye in the room fixed on the image of her lips, which moved in precise synchronization with the words she was speaking.
Larry Saunders felt his own mouth drop open in amazement. It was an arresting sight. “Wait till Bell sees this. It’s like she’s alive.”
Clyde Lynds grinned with pride. “We’re getting there,” he said. “We’re on our way.”
The wall on which the woman talking was projected moved.
Clyde Lynds stared in puzzlement.
The wall was sliding to his left, revealing darkness behind it that seemed to swallow the moving picture. And suddenly the woman’s face vanished, and where it had been was the smile of the German whom the Professor had named the Akrobat.
43
Men with guns in their hands flanked the Acrobat.
Larry Saunders and Tim Holian stepped in front of Clyde Lynds, shielding him as they reached for their pistols. Saunders whipped his Colt from his shoulder holster with blinding speed.
