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“Human life, Mr. Gly?”
He showed a spark of defiance. “What gives you the right to question my tactics? You wanted results and I made it happen.”
“Then where is the byzanium now?” she demanded haughtily and quelled Gly’s moment of bravado.
Bell said, “Ma’am, I oversaw all ten crates being stowed in the hold of the Titanic not two hours ago. The last surviving miner that dug it out of that Russian hellhole, Joshua Hayes Brewster, is sailing back to New York with them. He’ll be met by representatives of the War Department at Pier 59 next Wednesday when they dock.”
“Ten crates you said?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nearly a thousand pounds of rocks. They stripped the mountain clean.”
She was quiet for a moment, then finally said, “I would have loved the opportunity to refine the byzanium like I did when I discovered radium, but I suppose it is not meant to be.”
“I assure you, Madame Curie, my government understands the importance of this find and will treat the samples accordingly.”
She took his arm and led him to the Bohemia’s starboard rail with a view of the shipping channel and the warehouses and piers on the opposite shore. “Perhaps it is for the best, Mr. Bell. I fear war is coming to Europe again. Soon. All these tangled alliances mean one tiny spark will ignite the Continent and all the generals are eager to use their shiny new weapons and prosecute a war on an industrial level.”
Up close, there was a melancholy to her that went beyond her being widowed. She had knowledge—deep knowledge—and it scared her.
She turned back to him and said, “We know from Albert’s work that a distillate of uranium can produce an explosion that could flatten a city.” Bell assumed she meant Albert Einstein, although he’d never heard mention of such a doomsday weapon. She continued. “As terrifying as that is, we have no idea what earth-shattering effects may be derived from this new elemental specimen. If the byzanium remains in Europe, some fool will exploit it in such a way that might destroy us all.”
“We’ll keep it safe,” Bell assured her. “What about Foster Gly?”
“Based on everything you told me yesterday, I arranged for him to be returned to France, where he will stand trial for his crimes.”
Bell looked back across the deck. Gly stood a full head taller than the others. The two men locked eyes, and Bell knew at that moment they were fated to meet again. And next time they met, he promised himself, he would put a bullet in the mercenary’s skull.
42
Four days after seeing Brewster off on the Titanic and the confrontation with Foster Gly, the chill hadn’t yet thawed. Bell rattled the morning paper while closing it properly and peered across the breakfast table at his wife. If there was a look colder than glacial, she was still giving it to him. And it didn’t appear he’d be forgiven anytime soon. Other guests in the Savoy Hotel’s dining room could certainly feel the icy hoarfrost and kept their distance.
“Marion?”
“Don’t you ‘Marion’ me, Isaac Bell.”
“Please, be reasonable.”
“When in the history of couples arguing,” Marion snapped, “has a man saying ‘be reasonable’ ever, ever worked?”
“Well . . .”
“Well, indeed.” Her voice softened, though her posture remained erect and distant. “How could you? We’d planned this for months. I picked out the perfect cabin, rescheduled not one but two movie productions. I bought new dresses for the passage, and some special frilly things for your benefit, and for what? So you can give it to some smelly old miner.”
“Marion, I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t important.”
“Important?” Her eyebrows arched impossibly. “As in ‘Gosh, I think it’s important to keep promises to my wife so she doesn’t divorce me or maybe just murder me.’ Important like that?”
He changed tack. “The ship will be back in ten days. We have the same cabin reserved. All we’ve lost is a little time.”
“Oh! You are such a man.”
“I should hope so.”
“Don’t you get it? A maiden voyage means beds that have never been slept in, glasses that haven’t been sipped from, plates that have never been used. We had use of a tub big enough for two, and now some sow from Fifth Avenue has already befouled it with her wrinkled carcass.”
Despite himself, he had to chuckle at her phrasing. Even Marion had to give that one a bit of a laugh, and her eyes did finally soften. “It’s the newness of it all that we lost. That’s why I’m mad. And I know you wouldn’t have switched places with him if it weren’t crucial. But sometimes I wish you’d—”
She stopped in midsentence when someone walked into a serving cart and upended the entire thing. It crashed to the floor in a clatter of metal dishes and a splatter of eggs Benedict and coffee. The patron remained on the floor, obviously in terrible distress. Isaac and Marion both got to their feet to see if they could render aid when they heard a disturbance starting out in the lobby. Like a wave, word spread through the hotel. It came in whispers, then sobs, then long moments of utter silence.
