Raise the Titanic! (16 page)

At first John
Vogel treated the cornet as simply another restoration job. There was no rarity suggested by its design. There was nothing exceptional about its construction that would excite a collector. At the moment it could excite nobody. The valves were corroded and frozen closed; the brass was discolored by an odd sort of accumulated grime; and a foul, fishlike odor emanated from the mud that clogged the interior of its tubes.

Vogel decided the cornet was beneath him; he would turn it over to one of his assistants for the restoration. The exotics, those were the instruments that Vogel loved to bring back to their original newness: the ancient Chinese and Roman trumpets, with the long, straight tubes and the ear-piercing tones; the battered old horns of the early jazz greats; the instruments with a piece of history attached—these, Vogel would repair with the patience of a watchmaker, toiling with exacting craftsmanship until the piece gleamed like new and played brilliantly clear tones.

He wrapped the cornet in an old pillowcase and set it against the far wall of his office.

The Executone on his desk uttered a soft bong. “Yes, Mary, what is it?”

“Admiral James Sandecker of the National Underwater and Marine Agency is on the phone.” His secretary's voice scratched over the intercom like fingernails over a blackboard. “He says it's urgent.”

“Okay, put him on.” Vogel lifted the telephone. “John Vogel here.”

“Mr. Vogel, this is James Sandecker.”

The fact that Sandecker had dialed his own call and didn't bluster behind his title impressed Vogel.

“Yes, Admiral, what can I do for you?”

“Have you received it yet?”

“Have I received what?”

“An old bugle.”

“Ah, the cornet,” Vogel said. “I found it on my desk this morning with no explanation. I assumed it was a donation to the museum.”

“My apologies, Mr. Vogel. I should have forewarned you, but I was tied up.”

A straightforward excuse.

“How can I help you, Admiral?”

“I'd be grateful if you could study the thing and tell me what you know about it. Date of manufacture and so on.”

“I'm flattered, sir. Why me?”

“As chief curator for the Washington Museum's Hall of Music, you seemed the logical choice. Also, a mutual friend said that the world lost another Harry James when you decided to become a scholar.”

My God, Vogel thought, the President. Score another point for Sandecker. He knew the right people.

“That's debatable,” Vogel said. “When would you like my report?”

“As soon as it's convenient for you.”

Vogel smiled to himself. A polite request deserved extra effort. “The dipping process to remove the corrosion is what takes time. With luck, I should have something for you by tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vogel,” Sandecker said briskly. “I'm grateful.”

“Is there any information concerning how or where you found the cornet that might help me?”

“I'd rather not say. My people would like your opinions entirely without prompting or direction on our part.”

“You want to compare my findings with yours, is that it?”

Sandecker's voice carried sharply through the earpiece. “We want you to confirm our hopes and expectations, Mr. Vogel, nothing more.”

“I shall do my best, Admiral. Good-bye.”

“Good luck.”

Vogel sat for several minutes staring at the pillowcase in the corner, his hand resting on the telephone. Then he pressed the Executone. “Mary, hold all calls for the rest of the day, and send out for a medium pizza with Canadian bacon and a half gallon of Gallo burgundy.”

“You going to lock yourself in that musty old workshop again?” Mary's voice scratched back.

“Yes,” Vogel sighed. “It's going to be a long day.”

First, Vogel took several photos of the cornet from different angles. Then he noted the dimensions, general condition of the visible parts, and the degree of tarnish and foreign matter that coated the surfaces, recording each observation in a large notebook. He regarded the cornet with an increased level of professional interest. It was a quality instrument; the brass was of good commercial grade, and the small bores of the bell and the valves told him that it was manufactured before 1930. He discovered that what he had thought to be corrosion was only a hard crust of mud that flaked away under light pressure from a rubber spoon.

Next, he soaked the instrument in diluted Calgon water softener, gently agitating the liquid and changing the tank every so often to drain away the dirt. By midnight, he had the cornet completely disassembled. Then he started the tedious job of swabbing the metal surfaces with a mild solution of chromic acid to bring out the shine of the brass. Slowly, after several rinsings, an intricate scroll pattern and several ornately scripted letters began to appear on the bell.

“By God!” Vogel blurted aloud. “A presentation model.”

He picked up a magnifying glass and studied the writing. When he set the glass down and reached for a telephone, his hands were trembling.

At precisely eight
o'clock, John Vogel was ushered into Sandecker's office on the top floor of the ten-story solar-glassed building that housed the national headquarters of NUMA. His eyes were bloodshot and he made no effort to conceal a yawn.

Sandecker came out from behind his desk and shook Vogel's hand. The short, banty admiral had to lean backward and look up to meet the eyes of his visitor. Vogel was six foot five, a kindly faced man with puffs of unbrushed white hair edging a bald head. He gazed through brown Santa Claus eyes, and flashed a warm smile. His coat was neatly pressed, but his pants were rumpled and stained with a myriad of blotches below the knees. He smelled like a wino.

“Well,” Sandecker greeted him. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Admiral.” Vogel set a black trumpet case on the carpet. “I'm sorry I appear so slovenly.”

“I was going to say,” Sandecker answered, “it seems you've had a difficult night.”

“When one loves one's work, time and inconvenience have little meaning.”

“True.” Sandecker turned and nodded to a little gnomelike man who was standing in one corner of the office. “Mr. John Vogel, may I present Commander Rudi Gunn.”

“Of course, Commander Gunn,” Vogel said, smiling. “I was one of the many millions who followed your Lorelei Current Expedition every day in the newspapers. You're to be congratulated, Commander. It was a great achievement.”

“Thank you,” Gunn said.

Sandecker gestured to another man sitting on the couch. “And my Special Projects Director, Dirk Pitt.”

Vogel nodded at the swarthy face that crinkled into a smile. “Mr. Pitt.”

Pitt rose and nodded back. “Mr. Vogel.”

Vogel sat down and pulled out a battered old pipe. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all.” Sandecker lifted one of his Churchill cigars out of a humidor and held it up. “I'll join you.”

Vogel puffed the bowl into life and then sat back and said, “Tell me, Admiral, was the cornet discovered on the bottom of the North Atlantic?”

“Yes, just south of the Grand Banks off Newfoundland.” He stared at Vogel speculatively. “How did you guess that?”

“Elementary deduction.”

“What can you tell us about it?”

“A considerable amount, actually. To begin with, it is a high-quality instrument, crafted for a professional musician.”

“Then it's not likely it was owned by an amateur player?” Gunn said, remembering Giordino's words on the
Sappho I
.

“No,” Vogel said flatly. “Not likely.”

“Could you determine the time and place of manufacture?” Pitt asked.

“The approximate month was either October or November. The exact year was 1911. And it was manufactured by a very reputable and very fine old British firm by the name of Boosey-Hawkes.”

There was respect written in Sandecker's eyes. “You've done a remarkable job, Mr. Vogel. Quite frankly, we doubted whether we would ever know the country of origin, much less the actual manufacturer.”

“No investigative brilliance on my part, I assure you,” Vogel said. “You see, the cornet was a presentation model.”

“A presentation model?”

“Yes. Any metal product that takes a high degree of craftsmanship to construct, and is highly prized as a possession, is often engraved to commemorate an unusual event or outstanding service.”

“A common practice among gunmakers,” Pitt commented.

“And also creators of fine musical instruments. In this instance, it was presented to an employee by his company in recognition of his service. The presentation date, the manufacturer, the employee, and his company are all beautifully engraved on the cornet's bell.”

“You can actually tell who owned it?” Gunn asked. “The engraving is readable?”

“Oh my, yes.” Vogel bent down and opened the case. “Here, you can read it for yourself.”

He set the cornet on Sandecker's desk. The three men stared at it silently for a long time—a gleaming instrument whose golden surface reflected the morning sun that was streaming in the window. The cornet looked brand-new. Every inch was buffed to a high shine and the intricate engraving of sea waves that curled around the tube and bell were as clear as the day they were etched. Sandecker gazed over the cornet at Vogel, his brows lifted in doubt.

“Mr. Vogel, I think you fail to see the seriousness of the situation. I don't care for jokes.”

“I admit,” Vogel snapped back, “that I fail to see the seriousness of the situation. What I do see is a moment of tremendous excitement. And believe me, Admiral, this is no joke. I have spent the best part of the last twenty-four hours restoring your discovery.” He threw a bulky folder on the desk. “Here is my report, complete with photographs and my step-by-step observations during the restoration procedure. There are also envelopes containing the different types of residue and mud that I removed, and also the parts that I replaced. I overlooked nothing.”

“I apologize,” Sandecker said. “Yet it seems inconceivable that the instrument we sent you yesterday, and the instrument on the desk are one and the same.” Sandecker paused and exchanged glances with Pitt. “You see, we…”

“…thought the cornet had rested on the sea bottom for a long time,” Vogel finished the sentence. “I'm fully aware of what you're driving at, Admiral. And I confess I'm at a loss as to the instrument's remarkable condition, too. I've worked on any number of musical instruments which have been immersed in salt water for only three to five years that were in far worse shape than this one. I'm not an oceanographer so the solution to the puzzle eludes me. However, I can tell you to the day how long that cornet has been beneath the sea and how it came to be there.”

Vogel reached over and picked up the horn. Then he slipped on a pair of rimless glasses and began reading aloud. “‘Presented to Graham Farley in sincere appreciation for distinguished performance in the entertainment of our passengers by the grateful management of the White Star Line.'” Vogel removed his glasses and smiled benignly at Sandecker. “When I discovered the words White Star Line, I got a friend out of bed early this morning to do a bit of research at the Naval Archives. He called only a half hour before I left for your office.” Vogel paused to remove a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “It seems Graham Farley was a very popular fellow throughout the White Star Line. He was solo cornetist for three years on one of their vessels…I believe it was called the
Oceanic
. When the company's newest luxury liner was about to set sail on her maiden voyage, the management selected the outstanding musicians from their other passenger ships and formed what was considered at the time the finest orchestra on the seas. Graham, of course, was one of the first musicians chosen. Yes, gentlemen, this cornet has rested under the Atlantic Ocean for a very long time…because Graham Farley was playing it on the morning of April 15, 1912, when the waves closed over him and the
Titanic
.”

The reactions to Vogel's sudden revelation were mixed. Sandecker's face turned half-somber, half-speculative; Gunn's went rigid; while Pitt's expression was one of casual interest. The silence in the room became intense as Vogel stuffed his glasses back in a breast pocket.

“‘
Titanic
.'” Sandecker repeated the word slowly, like a man savoring a beautiful woman's name. He gazed penetratingly at Vogel, wonder mingled with doubt still mirrored in his eyes. “It's incredible.”

“A fact nonetheless,” Vogel said casually. “I take it, Commander Gunn, that the cornet was discovered by the
Sappho I
?”

“Yes, near the end of the voyage.”

“It would appear that your undersea expedition stumbled on a bonus. A pity you didn't run onto the ship herself.”

“Yes, a pity,” Gunn said, avoiding Vogel's eyes.

“I'm still at a loss as to the instrument's condition,” Sandecker said. “I hardly expected a relic sunk in the sea for seventy-five years to come up looking little the worse for wear.”

“The lack of corrosion does pose an interesting question,” Vogel replied. “The brass most certainly would weather well, but, strangely, the parts containing ferrous metals survived in a remarkable virgin state. The original mouthpiece, as you can see, is near-perfect.”

Gunn was staring at the cornet as if it was the holy grail. “Will it still play?”

“Yes,” Vogel answered. “Quite beautifully, I should think.”

“You haven't tried it?”

“No…I have not.” Vogel ran his fingers reverently over the cornet's valves. “Up to now, I have always tested every brass instrument my assistants and I have restored for its brilliance of tone. This time I cannot.”

“I don't understand,” Sandecker said.

“This instrument is a reminder of a small, but courageous act performed during the worst sea tragedy in man's history,” Vogel replied. “It takes very little imagination to envision Graham Farley and his fellow musicians while they soothed the frightened ship's passengers with music, sacrificing all thought of their own safety, as the
Titanic
settled into the cold sea. The cornet's last melody came from the lips of a very brave man. I feel it would border on the sacrilegious for anyone else ever to play it again.”

Sandecker stared at Vogel, examining every feature of the old man's face as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“‘Autumn,'” Vogel was murmuring, almost rambling to himself. “‘Autumn,' an old hymn. That was the last melody Graham Farley played on his cornet.”

“Not ‘Nearer My God to Thee'?” Gunn spoke slowly.

“A myth,” said Pitt. “‘Autumn' was the final tune that was heard from the
Titanic
's band just before the end.”

“You seem to have made a study of the
Titanic
,” Vogel said.

“The ship and her tragic fate is like a contagious disease,” Pitt replied. “Once you become interested, the fever is tough to break.”

“The ship itself holds little attraction for me. But as a historian of musicians and their instruments, the saga of the
Titanic
's band has always gripped my imagination.” Vogel set the cornet in the case, closed the lid, and passed it across the desk to Sandecker. “Unless you have more questions, Admiral, I'd like to grab a fattening breakfast and fall into bed. It was a difficult night.”

Sandecker stood. “We're in your debt, Mr. Vogel.”

“I was hoping you might say that.” The Santa Claus eyes twinkled slyly. “There is a way you can repay me.”

“Which is?”

“Donate the cornet to the Washington Museum. It would be the prize exhibit of our Hall of Music.”

“As soon as our lab people have studied the instrument and your report, I'll send it over to you.”

“On behalf of the museum's directors, I thank you.”

“Not as a gift donation, however.”

Vogel stared uncertainly at the Admiral.

“I don't follow.”

Sandecker smiled. “Let's call it a permanent loan. That will save hassle in case we ever have to borrow it back temporarily.”

“Agreed.”

“One more thing,” Sandecker said. “Nothing has been mentioned to the press about the discovery. I'd appreciate it if you went along with us for the time being.”

“I don't understand your motives, but of course I'll comply.”

The towering curator bid his farewells and departed.

“Damn!” Gunn blurted out a second after the door closed. “We must have passed within spitting distance of the
Titanic
's hulk.”

“You were certainly in the ballpark,” Pitt agreed. “The
Sappho
's sonar probed a radius of two hundred yards. The
Titanic
must have rested just outside the fringe of your range.”

“If only we'd had more time. If only we'd known what in hell we were looking for.”

“You forget,” Sandecker said, “that testing the
Sappho I
and conducting experiments on the Lorelei Current were your primary objectives, and on that you and your crew did one hell of a job. Oceanographers will be sifting the data you brought back on deepwater currents for the next two years. My only regret is that we couldn't let you in on what we were up to, but Gene Seagram and his security people insist that we keep a tight lid on any information regarding the
Titanic
until we're far along on the salvage operation.”

“We won't be able to keep it quiet for long,” Pitt said. “All the news media in the world will soon smell a story on the greatest historical find since the opening of King Tut's tomb.”