Michael Kurland: Professor Moriarty Omnibus

Barnett took out his notebook and a pencil and stared pensively at the retreating craft. The ironclad cigar cut through the water with nary a ripple on either side to mark her passage, he wrote. Slowly she sank beneath the waves until but one slim tube connected her with the surface, and then that, too, disappeared. Now only the slight phosphorescence of her wake marked her passage beneath the surface of the Bosporus.

"You will excuse me," Lieutenant Sefton murmured in Barnett's ear. "I have some business to transact."

"Of course," Barnett said, hardly noticing as Sefton moved away. His attention was held by the spectacle before him. There, a couple of hundred yards away, a sloop sailing confidently up the deep channel was being stalked by a craft riding under the calm surface of the Bosporus.

The Turkish officer rang a small bell to get their attention, "You are about to witness a major happening in naval warfare," he announced solemnly. "When, during the American Civil War, the Confederate States' submersible Hunley sank the Union Housatonic it used a torpedo affixed to a long lance. But the Garrett-Harris boat has solved the problem of launching mobile projectiles from under the water. It is equipped with a device to enable it to fire one of the new design sixteen-inch Whitehead torpedoes without coming to the surface. The torpedo will then unfailingly propel itself to the target. Please observe!"

Barnett took up his pencil: Now the slim vision tube returns to the surface, almost invisible in the slight swell. The Garrett-Harris moves into position to line up on its unsuspecting target. There is a pause while the target sloop sails into the perfect spot for the launching of the Whitehead torpedo, which carries a dummy warhead but in wartime would be filled with eighty pounds of high explosive. Now, with the sloop perfectly lined up — with twenty-five members of the international press and diplomatic corps watching from along the rail of the royal yacht Osmanieh, and Abd-ul Hamid II, Sultan of the Osmanli Empire, himself watching from the bridge—

A giant plume of water shot up from the hidden submersible. As the sound of a tremendous explosion reached the yacht, the little undersea boat threw itself out of the water bow first and then fell back, breaking in half as it hit. For a second the two halves floated separately, and Barnett thought he saw someone inside the forward half scrambling to get out; then a wave closed over the halves and they disappeared from view.

The underwater shockwave hit the yacht, which bobbed and tossed violently for a few seconds, knocking several people down. Water from the explosion plume fell back, soaking those on deck and adding to the general confusion. Barnett saw some activity at the rear of the yacht, where sailors were trying to heave a line to someone who had been washed overboard by the wave. Finally the man grabbed it, and they hauled him back up.

Nothing was to be seen of the Garrett-Harris submersible or its two operators.

-

A motor launch took the assembled foreigners back to the quay on the Stamboul side of the Golden Horn. They were assured by an expressionless captain of marine that a statement would be issued later by the proper authority.

Barnett and Lieutenant Sefton walked back to their hotel. "What do you suppose happened?" Barnett asked.

"It blew up," Sefton said.

"That much is clear," Barnett agreed, trying not to look annoyed, "but how?"

"It could be faulty venting of the gasses from the electrical accumulators," Sefton said, "but personally I doubt it."

"What, then?"

"A deliberate act of subversion by foreign agents."

Barnett took out his notebook. "I was hoping you'd say that. Pray, continue."

"I'm sorry, but I can't possibly be quoted on this," Lieutenant Sefton said. "You'll have to get some Turkish authority to say it. But that shouldn't be too difficult." Sefton seemed nervous and distracted. "Excuse me, old chap," he said as they reached the Hotel Ibrahim. "I must dash off now. See you at dinner, what?"

"Very good," said Barnett, himself a little distracted by the need for sending an immediate cable to the World outlining what had happened. He settled himself at one of the small desks in the writing room to compose a message. The idea was to be as brief as possible. A long cablegram would follow, night rate, detailing the story, but this would serve to put the editors on guard for it and give them time to decide how much space it deserved. They could get the engraver working on the illustration. Perhaps they could even get a two-line "newsbreak" squib on the front page of an earlier edition. Barnett poised his pencil over the paper.

Garrettharris Submersible destroyed by explosion during Trial Espionage suspected more follows

BARNETT

That was too long. He tried again:

Submersible spy exploded testing more

BARNETT

There. That was the sort of economy of expression — and of the paper's money — of which the World cable editor approved. It was even briefer than he could do with the Royce Telegraphers' Code. He got a cable blank from the front desk and wrote it up, then called for a page boy to deliver it to the cable office. Then he wandered into the hotel bar to have a small glass of sherry before dinner. He would work on the story after dinner, probably long into the night, and get it into the cable office before the rate change at eight the next morning.

-

Lieutenant Sefton returned in time to join Barnett for dinner, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Barnett was getting to know him well enough to read his expression now, and he thought that Sefton looked both worried and pleased — as a reporter would when he has an exclusive on a big story and is waiting for it to come off.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Barnett asked finally, over the pudding.

"About what?"

Barnett described his interpretation of the lieutenant's expression to him. Sefton thought it over. Then he said, "Yes, I think I do want to tell you about it. I wish to enlist your aid."

Barnett pulled in his chair and looked expectant.

"Can you be discreet?" Sefton asked.

"Half a newsman's job is not telling what he knows," Barnett said. "Otherwise his news sources will dry up."

"Will you swear to keep this a secret until I tell you otherwise and only reveal as much as I say you can?"

Barnett thought it over. "Unless I get it from another source," he said.

"Fair enough," Sefton agreed. With an elaborately casual gesture, he glanced around the room. Then he leaned back on his elbows and stared intently at Barnett. He smiled. It was the first time Barnett had ever seen him smile. "I am a spy," he said.

Barnett was conscious that Sefton was watching his reaction, so he did his best not to react. "How interesting," he said. "Why are you telling me?"

"As I said, to enlist your aid."

"I thought you people never asked outsiders to assist."

"There are no hard and fast rules. Perhaps some day there may be a rulebook for espionage, but not yet. I worship at the altar of expediency, and right now I desperately need your help. So I ask."

"I don't know the litany," Barnett said.

"What? Oh, I see. Unfortunate image, that."

"You didn't have anything to do with the submersible blowing up this afternoon?"

"No. On my honor. I would have done my best to prevent it, had I known. The Turks are our allies for the moment. We don't do things like that for practice, you know."

"What sort of help do you need — and why should you ask me?"

"A man is to deliver some information to me later tonight. I do not altogether trust him. I would like you along to, as you might say, watch my back. As to why I asked you — well, we're in the same sort of business, really. We collect information. You merely disseminate it more broadly than I do. And, in this case, there should be a good story in it for you."