* * *
By the end of their conversation, several things had happened. One was that Jakusch Pfeifer got his name shortened to Jack. He also figured out that Hayley Fortney was actually running things, not Frau Fortney acting for her husband. Perhaps more importantly, he was smart enough to guess some of the reasons for the subterfuge and to keep the secret. Jack became the lawyer for the Sanderlin-Fortney Investment Company and Jack’s family got in on the ground floor of the Vienna ferry business.
* * *
Annemarie reported two days later, when she had her contact, that the Sanderlins were going to try to build a canal to the race track. She didn’t report that it was the women arranging it. She just assumed that they were acting on instructions from their husbands.
It took Bernhard Moser an extra couple of days to report the development. Not because of any incompetence on his part, but simply because he was working out at the shop and it had taken a couple of days for the news to come up in conversation.
Vienna, Austria
“They seem harmless enough,” Bernhard told his contact. “Even the canal they want to build seems to mostly be about giving people work.”
“And who’s going to pay for the work?” his contact asked. “That money’s got to come from somewhere and I don’t see where.”
“Neither do I,” Bernhard acknowledged. “Then again, I’m not an up-timer.”
It wasn’t a really satisfying meeting. Not because Bernhard had been unable to get the information. About the only thing he had missed was that Hayley Fortney was the one in charge. He’d even figured out that it was the women running things. Mostly that was by the process of elimination, because he couldn’t see Ron Sanderlin-or either of the other two men-running a business. But Hayley Fortney was just a teenaged girl. The idea that such a person could be able, much less trusted, to manage large sums of money and major projects was so ridiculous that it never even occurred to him. As well to think it was all being run by Brandon’s chickens.
Magdeburg, United States of Europe
Francisco Nasi brought up the next report. He’d already read it, of course, so all he needed to do was give the contents a quick scan to refresh his memory.
“This is from our correspondent in Austria.”
Mike Stearns got a crooked little smile on his face. “‘Correspondent.’ Sounds so much nicer than ‘spy.’ I assume we’re talking about Sonny Fortney, right? Or is that ‘need to know’ and I don’t?”
Nasi pursed his lips. “Interesting protocol issue, actually. Since you’re the head of government, I suppose you technically need to know everything. In any event, you’re my employer, so if you tell me you need to know I’ll take your word for it.”
Mike shook his head. “I’m not sure how that worked back up-time. At a guess, judging from the screw-ups, the CIA and the other spook outfits didn’t tell the U.S. president more than half of what they should have. In our case. .”
He pondered the problem, for a moment. “I’ll take your word for it, whether I need to know something or not. Just make sure you let me know there’s something I might or might not need to know in the first place. If the grammar of that sentence doesn’t have you writhing in agony.”
Nasi smiled. “In this case, as it happens, Sonny really is more in the way of a correspondent than a spy. He does report to me-as I’m sure the Austrians have already figured out-but I don’t have him creeping around listening at keyholes or peeping into windows.”
“For that, I assume you have other people. Call them ‘real spies.’”
“I don’t believe you need to know that, Prime Minister.”
“Spoilsport. So what’s happening in Austria?”
“To summarize. . The Austrians are adjusting to the American presence. More slowly and with greater difficulty than they should, of course, but they’re doing better than I expected.”
He set down the report. “But it’s very early days-and now we have a new emperor. Ferdinand III will be one mainly setting the tone and the pace.”
CHAPTER 11
September and October 1634
Race Track at Simmering, Austria
“Did you point a gun at Baron Julian von Meklau?” Emperor Ferdinand III asked Ron Sanderlin as he entered the garage. It had taken a while for word to reach the emperor and Ron wondered if the youngsters had talked or just someone that had seen the confrontation.
“Uncle Bob did, Your Majesty. But only because it looked like the boy was going to try and take a horsewhip to me.” Ron looked at the retinue that followed the emperor around everywhere. “Mostly it was to warn the kids off so things didn’t get out of hand.” Ron considered, then added, “Actually, I’m a little surprised that there hasn’t been more trouble. We’ve had a lot of gawkers, but no one trying to take anything. And aside from von Meklau and his friends, no one trying to throw their weight around.”
“Now that I think about it, Herr Sanderlin, I’m a little surprised myself.” Ferdinand motioned and Ron followed him out of the garage to the muddy field. The gaggle of hangers-on surrounded them both. Ferdinand III continued, “This is to be the road for the 240Z?”
“The track, yes,” Ron told him and went on to explain what he, Bob, and Sonny had worked out. There were several side trips into up-time terminology, what an automobile race track was and how it differed from a horseracing track.
About halfway through the explanation, Ferdinand interrupted. “Take me for a ride.”
“Your Majesty. .” Ron started to object, then seeing the excited expression on the emperor’s face, gave in. It was his car, after all. They got Ferdinand in the passenger seat with the seat belt fastened. Then Ron put the key in the ignition and Ferdinand stopped him.
“What’s that?”
“The key.”
“Like a key to a lock?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. You can’t start the car without it.” Ron chose not to get into the whole issue of hot wiring.
“That’s clever. But what if the key is lost?”
“We have three sets, Your Majesty. I had one and Gayleen had one before the Ring of Fire and we had a metal smith make up another one when we sold you the car.” More time was spent while Ron showed the emperor the key and that it was a perfectly ordinary piece of metal, nothing particularly high tech.
Finally Ron got to start the car, describing what he was doing as he did it. He pulled the car out of the converted barn and drove it around the muddy field. It had rained last night, sleeted actually, and then thawed this morning, soaking the ground. Ron was careful and the field was still covered in grass, so they managed a loop, with only a little sliding. It was a slow loop. Ron didn’t think they had topped fifteen miles an hour.
“I want to drive!” the emperor said. Ron tried, without much hope, to talk him out of it, then traded seats.
By this time, Sonny and Bob were watching, as well as a couple of crowds of down-timers. There were the villagers and the courtiers-not mixing-and the workers that Ron and Sonny had hired-not really mixing with either group, but closer to the villagers.
Ferdinand III did fairly well. He had the standard gas-brakes-gas issues of new drivers, but not bad. And he had good control for the first loop. He started speeding up on the second loop. When he hit the back end of the second loop, he pushed it and they were doing thirty-five into the next turn. Two previous trips over the same ground had ripped up the grass that was holding the mud together. When they started to turn, the rear wheels decided that Newton’s first law of motion should guide their actions, since friction was on a vacation. The emperor slammed down on both the gas and the brake pedal, and the 240Z did a 540 degree turn. They stopped, facing the way they’d come, rear wheels buried in mud up to their axles and the front wheels not much better off. The combination of brakes and gas had killed the engine and-Ron sincerely hoped-flooded it.