Magdeburg
As USE Air Force Colonel Jesse Wood walked down the street, a boy standing in front of a shop started shouting at him. "Colonel, please, Sir! Colonel!"
Wood turned his head. From his height, boyish features, and dress, Wood guessed that the boy was twelve to fourteen years old, most likely an apprentice.
Wood's companion moved to shoo the boy off, but Wood motioned for him to hold back. "What can I do for you, Son?"
The boy brought forward a piece of paper, and a writing instrument. "Please, Sir, may I have your autograph?"
Wood smiled. "Of course." He signed the paper, and on a whim added a curved V, like a cartoon of a bird in flight, below his name. "I suppose you want to be a pilot when you grow up?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, you're still too young, but we need more brave men to train to be pilots, and you were brave enough to approach me. And the air force also needs men with other skills, for ground crew, so pay attention to your lessons!
"But you best get back to work now, before your master punishes you!"
"Yes, Sir! Thank you!" said the boy. He rushed off.
****
Later that day, a man came to the shop and gestured to the boy, who followed him out.
"Well?"
"I got it, Sir," the boy said, holding the autograph for him to see.
The man reached for it, but the boy quickly put it behind his back. "Coin first!"
The man fought back a chuckle. "Well, you've learned a life lesson somewhere. Here you go—" He handed him the payment. "—now give me what I want!'
The boy handed the autograph over and went back to the shop. The man had already lost interest in him; his gaze was riveted on Wood's signature.
"You and I are going to do so much together," he murmured.
****
Henrik van Meegeren carefully examined his latest rendition of Jesse Wood's signature. It was, he thought, quite good. To forge a signature, he mused, it was necessary but not sufficient to identify and duplicate the particular idiosyncrasies of the target. The true master forger, however, must be able to render the signature in a free-flowing fashion, without any pauses revealing that it is not his own.
Admittedly, such naturalness was necessary only when the mark could witness the signing, which would not be the case with the con that Henrik was planning. But Henrik deemed himself an artist and would not have been satisfied with a more awkward execution.
It was time to apply it to the master drawing, which was otherwise complete. He signed Wood's name boldly, beneath the printed inscription, "Classified TOP SECRET by order of Colonel Joseph Wood, Commander, USE Air Force."
The next step would be to make the cyanotype. For obvious reasons, he couldn't take his original to a print shop in Magdeburg or Grantville that made cyanotype contact prints. He had had to learn the technique himself and acquire the necessary chemicals. At first, he begrudged the time and expense, but when he made his first test print, he had been delighted. It was totally unlike any drawing made before the Ring of Fire, and thus would give the forged blueprint the hallmark of authenticity.
****
Sometime in Early 1636
Van Meegeren breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it successfully across the Danube. Mind you, he had chosen his crossing point carefully; near Donauwörth, on the merchant route between Nürnberg and Augsburg. There had, he knew, been a Bavarian assault on Ingolstadt in January, but that was over thirty miles to the east, and the center of military operations had shifted further east and down river since then, to Regensburg. There was still a risk of encountering patrols out here, but at least it was small, and Van Meegeren had equipped himself with a (forged) letter from an Augsburg merchant ordering the goods he was openly transporting. They, too, were carefully chosen—reasonable to be ordered from Nürnberg and unlikely to be seized by soldiers.
He did intend to go up the Lech to Augsburg. But there he would sell off the goods and cart and ride east to Munich. Where he would present himself to Maximilian, King of Bavaria—or at least to Maximilian's spymaster.
****
Royal Palace, Munich
"So, this, you say, is what the confounded up-timers are building next?"
"Yes, sir. This new generation of airships will be larger, and levitated by hydrogen rather than hot air. And look—" He put his finger down on the underside of the airship. "Here is a large bomb bay, for dropping bombs." Then he pointed to the chin of the bow. "And note the cannon turret here."
As the Bavarian spymaster studied the plan, van Meegeren, looking over the spymaster's shoulder, admired his own handiwork, which was based on books and movies he had studied during his stay in Grantville.
The airship was best described as the love child of an early German zeppelin, with a hemispherical nose, a long parallel midbody, and a highly tapered tail with cruciform fins, and the multiple turret-bearing B-17G "Flying Fortress" bomber. There were no wings, of course, since the USE's airships didn't have wings.
Van Meegeren's plan, of course, was not an artistic rendition, but a supposed builder's drawing, showing the frame, the skeleton of the airship. And, of course, the location of the engines, fuel tanks, guns, and bomb bays.
"How did you obtain these plans?" asked the spymaster. "Aren't they well-guarded?"
"I am sure that you are reluctant to reveal your sources even to your king," said van Meegeren, "lest they somehow be compromised. So I hope you appreciate why I cannot say much about the matter. What I can tell you is that while the master drawing is kept in a very secure location, these blueprints, which are copies made from the master, were distributed to select government offices and to a few companies that were bidding on the construction contract. I will leave to your imagination how matters proceeded from there."
He cleared his throat. "And now that I have delivered the plans, there is matter of fair compensation. . . ."
After payment was made, the spymaster had wine brought in, and the two toasted their expectation of a long and profitable association.
"Having these plans is well and good," said the spymaster. "But what I really need to know is this: how do we know that they are approaching, and how do we shoot them down? If you can answer those questions, I can pay you tenfold what I have paid you already."
Van Meegeren furrowed his brows. "I think . . . I think one of my agents reported overhearing that they had discovered a . . . vulnerability. . . ."
"A vulnerability?"
"Yes. It is a small thermal exhaust port. And hitting would—give me a moment to recall the precise wording . . . . 'A precise hit will start a chain reaction which should destroy the st—airship."
"And do you know the location of this exhaust port?"
"I do not," sighed van Meegeren. "But for the right price, I will put my entire spy network on the task of finding it out. But don't you think just knowing about this vulnerability is worth, ahem, an additional payment."
"I suppose . . . " said the spymaster. "But wait, if they already know of this vulnerability, won't they change the design before they construct the airship?"
"Ah, but that would require a complete engine redesign, I understand. Very, very expensive. And the port is very small, difficult to hit even if you know about it. So, the money men insisted they go forward with the design anyway."
****
As van Meegeren rode back to Nürnberg, his mind was hard at work plotting how to bilk the king of Bavaria out of more money. Surely there was some gizmo that could be built, with blinking light and weird sound effects, that could be described as a "targeting computer" for hitting the exhaust port? Van Meegeren would make it clear that it would only be useful against the new airship model, so the king wouldn't expect it to be of immediate value.
He wished he could just turn around and spring this new scam on the king, but the revelation would be plausible only if van Meegeren waited long enough for it to be plausible for his spies to have uncovered the new info. Anyway, if he wanted to be paid for more than disclosing the location of the vulnerability, he needed to find someone to build the gizmo.
Well, he had more blueprints back at his lodgings in Nürnberg, he could pick those up, maybe run the scam on the French or the Poles, then head back to Munich. He would have to keep an eye on the war news, however. If he waited too long, the Lion of the North might depose Maximilian and deprive van Meegeren of his business opportunity.
****
Soon thereafter, he returned to the city of Nürnberg, again by a circuitous path. The city was surrounded on all sides by forest, the Reichswald. It was not all forest, of course, there were many clearings, some used to cultivate crops, and others harboring glass ovens, charcoal kilns, or apiaries.
Suddenly, the forest came to a sudden end, and the great city was laid out before him. The green spires of the churches of Saint Sebaldus and Saint Lorenz peeked above the massive red sandstone-faced double walls. Behind and above them all loomed the Burg, the great keep.
His mood was cheerful as he crossed over the moat and through the double gates of the Frauentor. He had survived the risks of the road and returned with a very much enhanced net worth. He would pay off the rent he owed, do some drinking and whoring, and then attend to the next stage of his scam.
This pleasant state of mind did not last. When he arrived in front of his lodgings, he was arrested. And not by ordinary constables, but by a party of soldiers.
"What is the problem, Lieutenant?" he said to one who seemed to be in command.
"Just come along, and don't speak."
"But—"
One of the soldiers slapped the side of his head. "What part of 'don't speak' did you have trouble with?"
****
After being held in one of the löcher—prison cells—underneath the town hall for several hours, he was ushered into the presence of the senior kriegsherr—war captain—of Nürnberg.
"Your name is Henrik van Meegeren?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You have been lodging on the Basinmakers' Street?"
"I have."
The war captain looked at him sharply. "Do you know why you are here?"
"I have no idea, Sir. I am a respectable merchant—"
"Your landlady reports that you are several months in arrears on your rent."
"Not a problem, Sir. Your men searched me, they know I have the money to pay. Let me go, and I will pay her on the spot, with interest."
"Indeed, you do have money," said the war captain. "A great deal of money. How did you come by it?"
"Simply the shrewd trading that Nürnberg's own merchants are rightfully praised for," van Meegeren protested.
"Do you know who I am?"
"The official who deals with landlord-tenant matters?" van Meegeren guessed.
"No. I am the senior war captain, I deal with matters of military significance." He paused and silently stared at van Meegeren.
Van Meegeren endured the gaze for a time, and then said, as lightly as possible, "Then there must be some misunderstanding, as I do not trade in goods of war."
"If rent were the concern, van Meegeren, you would have been brought before the city court. But that is not the problem. . . . Not any more, at least. Your landlady decided to toss your belongings out on the street. When she did so, one of your bags spilled open, and several of these documents spilled out."
The forger fought back a shudder. The war captain was holding out one of the blueprints.
"She showed the blueprints to her nephew, who is studying English, and he told her that the document appears to be a top-secret airship design plan stolen from the USE Air Force. She and her nephew then brought the matter to our attention. While the Free City of Nürnberg is not part of the United States of Europe, we consider the USE to be a close ally. You have no credentials that would justify possession of such a document so we have no recourse but to treat you as a Catholic League spy. "
Van Meegeren had been frantically trying to come up with an explanation that would save his neck. He thought about confessing to forgery and larceny, but those too were probably subject to capital punishment in Nürnberg. And while the Nürnbergers might not mind one who swindled just the Bavarians, they would probably also scrutinize van Meegeren's other activities in Nürnberg—and he had run some scams in town, too.
"I am nothing of the kind!" van Meegeren pleaded. "Perhaps some real spy, anticipating a search of his own lodgings, and knowing that I was going to be away, secreted them in my room, purposing to recover them at a later date. I would recommend you look into my landlady's other tenants." It was a weak reed of a defense, he knew, but he shied away from confessing to a crime.
The war captain raised his eyebrows. "That is a very . . . ingenious . . . explanation. It presupposes that this spy knows that he is going to be searched, knows that you will be away, can safely access your room without being seen, and expects to retrieve the documents before you return. Have you heard of the Lutheran philosophical principle, Non sunt multiplicanda entia sine necessitate?"
"I understand the Latin: Do not multiply entities without necessity," van Meegeren said warily.
"Indeed. Or, as a simple man of war like me would rather put it, 'the simplest explanation is the likeliest.' And the simplest explanation is that they are your blueprints, and you are a spy.
For which the punishment is capital . . . unless, perhaps, you are willing to give us the names and locations of your fellow agents and tell us what secrets they have stolen."
Van Meegeren bit his lip. "I am not a spy. But what I truly am is perhaps best explained to an up-timer. Are there any in Nürnberg?"
The war captain fidgeted. "Given that you are a suspected spy, I do not think I should provide you with that information. Or send you to the front lines. I can, however, put you on a train to Grantville—but you will pay for your fare, the round-trip fare for your guards, and miscellaneous expenses.
"I hope that this is not merely a ploy to take advantage of the soft hearts of the up-timers and avoid execution."
"No, no, there is an explanation of my actions, but it would be easier to make to up-timers. Please, I beg of you."
Fine," said the war captain. "At least you will be Grantville's problem then, not ours."
****
Hans Richter Field, Grantville
"Call for you, Woody. From the police station."
"Drunk airman?" he asked, taking a sip of ersatz coffee.
"Suspected spy."
Woody spluttered, sending coffee drops everywhere. "Give me the damn phone!"
He muttered into the receiver. "Yes . . . uh-huh . . . with blueprints . . . yes . . . bring him here, please, pronto."
****
Major Woodsill's office was a small one, and it was even more cramped once van Meegeren, his two Nürnberger guards, and their translator were all squeezed inside it with him. But at least Woodsill got to sit down.
"I am Major Woodsill, USE Air Force. And you are . . . ?"
"Henrik van Meegeren."
"Here are the blueprints, Major," said the senior guard. "According to our translators, they are marked 'TOP SECRET' by the USE Air Force. They were found in his lodgings, and he has no good explanation for how they got there."
Major Woodsill rolled out the plans on the table. "What . . . the fuck . . ."
"That serious, major?" asked the guard.
"Is this some kind of practical joke?" Woodsill demanded.
One guard looked at the other. Bewildered met flustered. "We don't understand . . ."
"This is supposedly a rigid airship. And according to the legend, the skin is steel, not rubberized cloth. If I recall correctly, there was only one successful metalclad airship ever built, and it had an aluminum hull. Heck of a lot lighter than steel!
"These fins are big enough to stabilize the orientation, but they aren't adequate lift surfaces to keep the ship airborne by aerodynamic lift alone. A third of the hull is devoted to bomb bays and racks, and another third to crew quarters, fuel tanks, ammo for the guns, and so on. Which leaves just a third for lift gas. And if that's not enough, you have seven, count 'em, seven gun turrets. One on the chin, two on the cheeks of the bow, one center topside, two on the flanks of the waist, and one under the tail. All of which add weight.
"As an airship, it can't get off the ground. If you want it go anywhere, you better put wheels on it."
Woody glared at the prisoner. "Can you explain what is going on, Mister van Meegeren?"
"I would be delighted to, Major. You see, I am something of a patriot. I lived in Grantville for a time. I wanted to help the United States of Europe against its foes even though I am too old, much too old, for military service. And so I thought it would be a noble deed to deceive the Bavarians into fearing a fictitious threat. One which, in view of the charges against me, I am pleased you recognize are absurd."
Woodsill picked up the plans again. "You know, I have served for several years under Colonel Wood and that is a really, really good likeness of his signature. How was it that you could duplicate it so well?"
Van Meegeren raised his eyes skyward. "The Lord gives to each man certain gifts . . . . In my case, it was the gift of excellent draftsmanship. I make my living as an artist, making copies of the works of the masters for those who admire art but are unable to obtain an original."
"And do you tell these art admirers that they are acquiring a copy?"
Van Meegeren gave him a very sincere look. "It would be unethical not to." He coughed.
"Of course, I did not let any ethical considerations hold me back in my dealings with the evil duke of Bavaria. Indeed, I . . . elaborated on the plans . . ."
"Elaborated? How?"
"I advised him that he must plan his air defenses to target the thermal exhaust port on the airship."
Woodsill started laughing. He tried several times to speak, but kept chuckling, and it took him some time to get out a coherent sentence: "I guess . . . swindling the duke . . . of Bavaria . . . is as easy . . . for you . . . as shooting . . . womp rats."
****