6

Chapter 10

St. Paul, Minnesota / New Kensington, Pennsylvania
Tuesday, August 18 /Wednesday, August 19
1925

They left St. Paul by train the following morning and arrived in Chicago in time to eat lunch at Union Station's cafeteria. They bought tickets for a Pennsylvania Railroad sleeping car that would deposit them in New Kensington the following day. Neither Lefty nor Christopher found the trip anything but boring. Chance couldn't get enough of the luxuries of railroad travel in the Twenties. The Pullman cars were outfitted like miniature mansions, with plush carpets, exotic wood trim, velvet drapes. Meals were served on gold-rimmed china with flatware almost too heavy to lift.

Lefty found the right person to bribe, and following their dinner, two generous water glasses arrived, filled to the brim with Minnesota 13. Chance had never tasted better whiskey.

… … … … … …

From the New Kensington depot, with Lefty at the helm, they navigated their way via street-car to the Budd Manufacturing plant. To facilitate transporting plant employees who lived in the city to and from the job-site, New Kensington had laid street-car track almost to the plant's main gate.

They rode the out-bound car en route to collect workers going home at four P.M., then caught one of the jitneys Budd provided to carry employees between the street-car terminus and the main gate guard shack.

"Hey, Sarge," Lefty greeted the uniformed gate guard, "Long time, no see."

"Hell's bells if it ain't Lefty Caruso!" Sarge thrust a ham-sized paw out for Lefty to shake. "Where the hell you been, on the lam?"

"Something like that. Can we get a lift to Tesla's digs? He's expecting us."

"Lemme check the let-'em-in log. They've got so all-fired worked up over security a man has to get an okay to take a piss. Okay, here we go. Lionel Caruso? Son of a bitch, I always thought you were born with the moniker Lefty. And Christopher Chance, that you?"

"I am." Christopher reached for his wallet, prepared to show his PI license.

"Never mind. If you're with Lefty, you're jake. Lemme whistle up a ride for you. You wanna leave your bags here at the gate?"

It wasn't really a request, and Christopher handed over his suitcase. Lefty clutched his Gladstone.

"This goes with me. Search it if you like."

Minutes later another guard arrived riding a motorcycle with a sidecar attached.

"Run 'em out to see Tesla, will ya, Joe?"

… … … … … …

Tesla's "digs" stood a good half-mile from any other plant structure, a concrete bunker the width of a football field and perhaps three times one's length. Bars covered all the window. A barred security door, open now, could be closed to seal off the entrance. At the far end, a tower looking something like a windmill frame or oil derrick rose roughly twice the building's height. A protrusion-studded copper sphere balanced at its top, gleaming like fire in the westering sun.

Joe scarcely waited for the men to dismount before zooming off.

"What's with him?" Chance asked.

"The place makes some people nervous," Lefty said. "Like they're scared it's gonna blow up or something. Pathetic."

"Is it?" Christopher asked, watching the motorcycle disappear over a rise.

"Hasn't so far." Lefty rapped 'shave-and-a-haircut' on the building's front door.

At age 69, Nikola Tesla, going gray and rail thin, still stood as tall and erect as the electric power line poles he loved to ridicule. Extreme gauntness combined with his immaculate three piece black suit made him look more like a cadaver escaped from its coffin than a respected inventor.

"Lefty," he said beckoning them into a cramped reception foyer, "it's a pleasure to see you again. Come in. Come in."

He didn't offer to shake hands. Lefty had warned them Tesla did not like to be touched.

"Nik-o," Lefty said, and grinned when Tesla winced, "this is Christopher Chance. Christopher Chance, Nikola Tesla."

"How do you do?" Tesla said. "Please do not call me 'Nik-o' as this abominable troll persists in doing. Tesla will do."

Both Christopher and Chance were struck dumb at seeing the two men standing side by side.

'Damned if they don't look like - ' Christopher sent.

'Mutt and Jeff,' Chance finished, referring to a popular comic strip couple, one of whom was very tall, the other very short.

Lefty opened the Gladstone. He removed an object wrapped in butcher's paper and tied with string. Handing it to Tesla he said, "I meant to get this back to you before now. I was afraid it'd break if I shipped it, so…well, here you are."

Tesla's fingers explored the parcel without removing its wrapping.

"My old electromagnetic wave projector. I wondered what became of it. What were you doing with it? This one is defective. I could never make it do anything but shatter glass."

"Me either," Lefty said. "But shattering glass at a hundred yards impresses the ladies almost as much as that fireball trick of yours."

"Why don't you keep it," Tesla said. "It's old technology. I've built several since that are much more impressive."

Tesla glanced around the foyer as if searching for something. "I thought there would be three of you arriving today. What's become of your other party?"

"He'll be joining us shortly, I'm thinkin'," Christopher said.

During their train trip from St. Paul, the men had discussed how best to approach Tesla with their peculiar story, and decided to let him become comfortable chatting with Christopher before introducing Chance. Chance had suggested Christopher emphasize his brogue, the better to make their duality more apparent, at least in speech.

"Meanwhile," Lefty said, "show Christopher here your fireball trick."

"It's no trick, I assure you," Tesla said. He extended a boney, long-fingered hand to display an empty palm. "Nothing up my sleeves…."

He snapped his fingers and a ball of crimson flame appeared, balanced on Tesla's fingertips. The inventor handled it as if it were a favorite pet, placing it on his shoulder, letting it roll down his arm, then offering it to Christopher.

Christopher gingerly cradled the fireball in his palms. It wasn't hot. It wasn't cold. It felt a little like Jell-o.

"Begorrah!"

'Incredible' Chance sent.

'Mind-boggling,' Christopher agreed.

They passed the fireball to Lefty, who scooped it up and plopped it into a cigar box on the desk behind him. He closed the lid. When he reopened it a moment later, the flame was gone.

"That's remarkable," Christopher said.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," Lefty said. "C'mon, Nik-o, let's show him what you got behind that door."

If only I had a cell phone, Chance thought as Tesla led them into his laboratory, or even just an old-fashioned camera.

The laboratory somehow seemed even more vast from the inside than it did from without. At the far end, a gargantuan Tesla coil, Tesla's own creation for producing energy, soared from floor to ceiling twenty feet above. A continuous throb pulsed from the coil. It produced a low humming, like a giant bee hive, and spat sporadic lightning-like bolts of energy from its glowing blue heart.

Mysterious and somehow eerie machinery lined the bunker's walls. Chance could sense Christopher's wonder and awe. What caught Chance's interest were the glowing glass tubes resting in wooden wall racks spaced between the machinery. They looked like fluorescent light tubes, but possessed neither sockets nor wiring nor solar receptors to power them. From time to time a lab-coated technician grabbed one and carried it off to illuminate some dark cranny needing more light.

"As you can see," Tesla said with an all-encompassing wave of his hand, "It is perfectly practical to transmit energy without the use of cumbersome wiring."

Eying the Tesla coil, which chose that moment to emit several ten-foot-long- energy discharges, Chance wasn't so sure. Christopher was ready to run for his life.

Lefty followed Tesla into his office at the rear of the building, skirting the Tesla coil with total nonchalance. Christopher edged as far away from it as he could get.

'Sissy,' Chance sent.

'Better a live coward than chicken fricassee. Did ya see the size of those lightning bolts?'

'I saw Tesla walk right into one and let it tickle him.'

Tesla's office reminded Chance of the Pinkerton lab, on a far grander scale. Gadgets, devices, or components of every imaginable and unimaginable description filled shelves lining the walls and overflowed onto worktables. Piles of hand-written notes and sketches covered any left-over space. Behind Tesla's desk, the only uncluttered surface in the room, a coffee pot burbled on a hot-plate powered by absolutely nothing Chance could discern. Free energy. What this man could have accomplished in the computer age was beyond comprehension.

"Coffee, gentlemen?" Tesla asked, then frowned. "Do you suppose your missing companion has gotten lost? Perhaps I should telephone the guard-"

"That won't be necessary," Chance said. "I'm right here."

… … … … … …

"We hoped you might know some way to separate us," Chance said when they finished telling Tesla their story, "and maybe send me home."

"The way they explained it to me," Lefty said when Tesla uttered not a single word in reply, "it's like Siamese twins - only their minds got hooked together instead of their bodies."

"A big over-simplification," Chance said, "but that's about it."

"If you sincerely believe that," Tesla said, "then perhaps you would find it more beneficial to consult a practitioner of psychiatric medicine than a humble inventor like myself. If I am not mistaken, Adolph Meyer is still making consultations - "

"Okay, skip the part about my persona - the Chance persona - being thrown back in time. Isn't it true that brainwaves are a form of energy?"

"Yes."

"And if it's true that electrical energy can be transmitted and brainwaves are essentially energy, couldn't a…collection of brainwaves - let's not call it a mind - be transmitted intact from one point to another?"

"It wouldn't be impossible, I suppose, but - "

"Hold on. Isn't it true those energy waves can be detected and measured?"

"That is true. It's being done. Hans Berger, a German scientist, has recently developed a machine which does exactly that. He calls it an electroencephalographic recorder."

"Call it an EEG for short. Now let's say for the sake of argument that brainwaves are like fingerprints. No two individuals produce exactly the same pattern. If you hooked Christopher up to an EEG and got two differing patterns, would you at least accept we are two distinct individuals?"

"Hmmm." Tesla rubbed his chin. "I suppose that would be a reasonable assumption under the circumstances. The difficulty is, the only…EEG recorder I know of is in Jena, Germany."

Chance felt his hopes sink. He should have realized they couldn't waltz into the nearest hospital and borrow their EEG machine. Tesla had sounded interested. Intrigued, even. But without the EEG, he knew of nothing that would convince Tesla he and Christopher were nothing more than a split personality with delusional complications thrown in.

"Of course, I could build one."

Stunned silence followed Tesla's comment. Finally, Christopher spoke.

"Could ya, now? And how long might that be takin', do ya suppose?"

'Can the sarcasm,' Chance sent, wishing he could elbow Christopher in the ribs. "What he means is, should we come back in a month, or…?"

Tesla smiled. "If Lefty put you up to this, if you are performing an act, you belong on stage. You're really quite good. Give me until tomorrow to think this through. Perhaps I can adapt an existing device. If not, I shall create one."

"You can build a device you've never seen, never thought about, overnight?" Chance asked.

"Oh, I've thought about it - energy is energy, after all. I simply haven't considered experimenting with this type of energy. I said I am a humble inventor. I am also a very swift inventor when I set my mind to it. It will be ready tomorrow afternoon."