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Bell pressed against the window for a sharply angled view of the lobby.
“What is it?” Rockefeller demanded.
“Two ladies who will not be fooled by Special Envoy Stone.”
—
John D. Rockefeller was enraged, but he had held off saying anything until they were back at their own hotel where Bill Matters could be called on the carpet.
“That newspaperwoman is here,” he railed. “Your daughter. What is she doing in Baku?”
Bill Matters was genuinely apologetic. He looked completely baffled. “I had no idea either of my daughters was coming to Baku.”
“She is the author of The History of the Under- and Heavy-handed Oil Monopoly.”
“Yes, I know, sir, but—”
Rockefeller whirled on Isaac Bell. “Mr. Bell, did you know that she was coming here?”
“The first I knew,” Bell lied, “was when we saw her at the Astoria.”
“Find out what she knows. No one must learn I’m here.”
“Let me do that,” said Matters. “Please. She’s my daughter. She’ll confide in me.”
Rockefeller looked at Bell, demanding his opinion.
Bell said, “E. M. Hock has no reason to confide in me. I will call on her, of course, as we’ve become friends. And her sister. But no, I’m not the one to question her. Better for Mr. Matters to do it.”
—
Half the vast, dimly lit, high-ceilinged vault that housed the Hotel de l’Europe’s stables remained a house barn and carriage house. Half had been converted into a modern auto and limousine garage with gasoline pumps
and mechanics bays.
Bell went there with Alexey Irineivoich Virovets in the event he needed a translator. He found the shot-up Peerless, with its windshield not yet repaired. They had parked it out of the way, at the back. Hidden behind it were two large wooden shipping crates covered in canvas. Bell lifted the cloth and looked under it. In the crates were two identical red Peerless autos, just as Rockefeller had told the Persians.
Virovets translated the writing on various shipping stickers pasted to the crates. The autos had been originally sent to Moscow, then south on freight trains to Baku. It was strange, Bell thought, when he discussed the details of the trip with Bill Matters, the Pipe Line Committee director had never mentioned the autos. Had Matters thought them unrelated to a bodyguard’s concerns for Rockefeller’s safety? Or did he not know about them? It seemed, Bell thought, odd for Rockefeller to keep the autos secret from a colleague. But for whatever reason they were hidden, it was clear again that Rockefeller had planned this trip far ahead.
—
“Well, Father, here we are all three having tea as if we’re off to the theater in New York.”
“I’m very surprised to see you.”
“How could you be?” asked Nellie. “Edna writes about the oil business.”
Edna was quietly watching their father and letting Nellie do the talking.
Their father said, “I didn’t think that the Oil City Derrick had the means to send a reporter to Baku.”
Nellie said, “Cleveland would be more their limit. Edna is writing for . . . May I tell him, Edna?”
“It’s hardly a secret.”
“The New York Sun! What do you think of that, Father? Your daughter is writing for one of the finest newspapers in the country.”
“The Sun is no friend of Standard Oil.”
