Agent gatz, p.1
Agent Gatz, page 1
AGENT GATZ
R.M. SPENCER
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 R.M. Spencer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without
express written permission of the publisher.
Hardback ISBN: 979-8-9853076-2-7
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9853076-1-0
EPub ISBN: 979-8-9853076-3-4
Kindle ISBN: 979-8-9853076-0-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022946783
For my parents.
“There is no greater absurdity than
taking everything seriously.”
– Baltasar Gracián
CHAPTER 1
August 1, 1914
Jay stood among the first-class passengers crowding the deck of the RMS Oceanic, wearing a borrowed suit. He felt remarkably calm, considering what he was here to do. Of course, he didn’t know then that by the time the ship reached England, most of Europe would be at war.
The ship’s horn bellowed, scattering seagulls. The passengers on the deck waved, shouting farewell to family and friends on the dock below. Jay removed the handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He held it up, letting it flutter in the wind. No one had come to see him off, but he didn’t want to appear out of place.
As the ship pressed away from Chelsea Piers, Jay believed with youthful optimism that everything would go according to plan. He had no idea that by the end of the night, his confidence shattered, he would only know one thing for certain—accepting this job had been a terrible idea.
When only a handful of passengers remained on the deck, he flipped open his gold-plated pocket watch and noted the time. Then, clutching the timepiece in the palm of his hand, he started down the deck. It was time to get to work.
He paused outside the first-class smoking lounge and again consulted the watch. A man wearing oversized spectacles tipped his hat to him before disappearing into the lounge. As the door swung shut, an inviting chorus of laughter spilled out of the room. Jay reached for the door but stopped himself. There wasn’t time for that now.
It would probably take more than today to fully familiarize himself with the layout of the ship, and he wanted to cover as much ground as he could before dinner. Measuring how long it took to get to various points on the ship was a monotonous task, but a necessary one when seconds might make the difference in getting caught.
Jay was no stranger to boats, having spent five years sailing around the globe on Dan Cody’s yacht. But this was his first voyage on an ocean liner. Almost everything about the ship was foreign to him.
When he first boarded, he’d tried to strike up a conversation with one of the stewards. Having also crewed a boat, Jay imagined there existed some sort of unspoken maritime comradery between the steward and himself. But the man wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He kept bowing in his well-pressed uniform, saying, “Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?” until Jay finally gave up.
The crew members of the Oceanic, it seemed, weren’t allowed to consort with passengers. Cody would never have imposed such a restriction aboard the Tuolomee. He had treated the crew more like co-adventurers than employees.
If it were up to Jay, he’d still be working on that yacht. But fate had had others plans. And in May of 1912 his voyage aboard the Tuolomee had abruptly concluded.
Cody had died, and in an instant, Jay had lost his mentor, his job, and his home. He’d been left with nothing, not even the money Cody had left him in his will. Cody’s long-time companion, the famed journalist Ella Kaye, had seen to that.
In his penniless state of despair, the bright future Jay had envisioned for himself dimmed like an oilless lamp. And the conjured persona of Jay Gatsby, which had blossomed under Cody’s tutelage, withered until only a vague contour remained.
He didn’t know why Ella Kaye had challenged the bequest. It wasn’t as though she needed the money. The sum Cody had set aside for him was nothing in comparison to the millions she had inherited.
Jay had almost traversed the entirety of the upper deck when a bugle signaled it was time to dress for dinner. Joining the stream of passengers obeying the musical directive, he shuffled past rows of empty deck chairs in the direction of his cabin.
The suit he wore now was nicer than anything he’d ever owned. The fact he was expected to change into an even fancier getup for dinner amused him. Not that he was complaining. He appreciated the expensive wardrobe he’d been given to wear on the ship. He’d never looked better. And in his own tattered clothes, no one would have believed he was a first-class passenger.
Not that long ago, Jay had imagined he’d soon be wealthy enough to purchase a slew of elegant suits. But that was then. At present, he didn’t have the wherewithal for such lofty aspirations. Once he paid off all his debts, maybe that would change. For now, all he could think about was how much money he owed the Eastman gang.
He brushed aside the thought. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. He might as well enjoy the perks of living like a millionaire while he could.
Stepping inside his cabin on the promenade deck, Jay marveled at the lavish stateroom. Everything glistened with opulence. The carved mahogany furniture was polished to a brilliant shine. Glimmering gold etchings embellished the paneled walls. And outside the porthole on the far wall, the sun-speckled ocean shimmered.
Jay gazed out the thick glass before turning to look in the gilded mirror above the washbasin. The reflection staring back still startled him somewhat. His blond hair was dyed an inky black. Raising a hand to his lip, he touched the thin mustache adorning his ordinarily clean-shaven face. He wasn’t completely unrecognizable, but he could pass as someone else. This, of course, was the point.
“Theodore Belmont,” he said with a practiced grin. “Please, call me Teddy.”
He dressed quickly but took his time with the silk tie, reknotting it to perfection. When he was satisfied, he knelt and meticulously arranged the effects stowed in his steamer trunk. Before lowering the lid, he laid a thin piece of black string across the top layer. If, when he returned, the string was disturbed, he would know someone had searched his belongings.
He waited until dinner was well underway before leaving his cabin. When he reached the floor below, the narrow corridor of cabin doors was empty. At the door marked Nineteen, Jay paused, leaning in to listen. A man and woman spoke in muffled voices. He hurried down the hallway and stepped onto the deck.
Outside, the air was cooler now. He leaned on the rail and gazed out at the dark water. Only a sliver of sun remained. If the Feltons didn’t leave their room soon, he would have to do this another time. He couldn’t arrive at the table in the middle of dinner. That would make a bad impression.
Earlier that day, Jay—or rather, Teddy—had petitioned the chief steward to seat him at the same table as his dear friend Millie Felton. In truth, Jay didn’t know Millie at all. He had never laid eyes on her—it was her father he wanted to be near. He was the reason Jay was on this ship.
Stanley Felton was the owner of the American Cartridge Company, a munitions manufacturer based outside Boston that had recently developed an illuminated “tracer” bullet. When fired, the bullet produced a small pyrotechnic flare that created an observable trajectory. This allowed the shooter to visibly trace the accuracy of each shot.
For the past few years, manufacturers around the globe had attempted to create tracer bullets without success. The unique chemical composition of ACC’s tracers was a well-guarded secret, but that was about to change. The tracers and their design drawings were somewhere on this ship. And Jay planned to steal them.
The sky was almost completely dark now. He sighed. He couldn’t wait any longer. He’d have to try again tomorrow night. But just as he turned to leave, two heads passed one of the glass portholes of the corridor. He quietly stepped into the hallway as the Feltons disappeared down the staircase.
Back at the door marked Nineteen, Jay retrieved a slim metal rod from his pocket and knelt before the keyhole. After a few swift twists of his wrist, the lock released. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him. The cabin was almost identical to his own, except, being a two-bedroom suite, it connected to a shared sitting room and bath.
Jay thought it unlikely Felton kept the tracers, or anything else of value, here. Most likely, they were stowed in the purser’s safe, but it was worth checking. Breaking into a cabin was much simpler than breaking into a well-guarded safe.
Jay sifted through a stack of papers on the desk, scanning the text for any reference to the chemical composition of the tracer’s pyrotechnic charge. Finding nothing of interest, he turned his attention to the armoire. Something in the bottom left-hand corner wedged behind the row of hanging clothes caught his attention. Reaching down, he extracted a small but heavy wooden chest.
He attempted to lift the lid, but it was locked. He reached into his pocket for the pick but froze at the sound of voices outside the cabin door. It was the Feltons. One of them was inserting a key into the lock. He shoved the chest back into the armoire and dashed into the adjacent sitting room.
He closed the door and crept tow ard the other bedroom. Finding it locked, he slid into the bathroom and stepped behind the open door, not daring to breathe. Jay pressed the bathroom door shut as the door to the sitting room swung open with a loud creak.
If they discovered him here now, it was all over. He’d spend the rest of the voyage locked in the hold. And then what? His heart beat faster and faster like the chug of an accelerating train.
“Did you leave them in the bath?” Millie Felton was right on the other side of the door.
He clapped a hand over his mouth and watched in horror as the door opened a crack.
“Found them,” Stanley Felton’s deep voice called from the other room.
The door clicked shut. Jay pressed his ear against it, absorbing the muted thud of retreating footsteps. When they were gone, he doubled over, gasping for air. As soon as his breathing normalized, he slipped out of the room. He’d look in the chest tomorrow.
He charged down the empty corridor. If he hurried, maybe he wouldn’t be the last passenger to arrive at dinner. He exited the narrow hallway and hastened down the deck.
By the time he reached the wide oak staircase leading to the first-class dining room, the lobby was empty. Dinner was in full swing. The notes of a violin concerto drifted up the stairs along with the clamor of conversation and clinking of cutlery.
All of a sudden, he was seized with panic. What had he been thinking? Why had he asked to be seated with the Feltons? How was he supposed to have a polite conversation with the people who, minutes ago, almost caught him hiding in their bathroom?
He took a deep breath and pushed back his shoulders. He was Teddy Belmont. He was a respectable young man. No one in this dining room, including the Feltons, had any reason to suspect he was up to anything. He descended the stairs.
Adopting what he hoped was a look of seasoned indifference, he took in the magnificence of the crowded room. With its crystal chandeliers, carved oak panels, and marble statues, it looked more like a palace ballroom than the dining room of a ship. In the center of the high ceiling was a large dome comprised of milky glass panels. Illuminated by a string of bulbs encircling its base, it glowed like a giant pearl. Below, the entire room twinkled as light bounced from metal to glass.
There must have been ten stewards per passenger, each bowing courteously while enunciating “sir” in their refined British accents. Jay was led to a circular table set for six. The steward gestured to the first of the two empty chairs, pulling it out for him.
Once seated, Jay turned to the woman on his left—Millie, he assumed. “Teddy Belmont,” he said, extending a hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise. I’m Millie Felton.” She had kind eyes and a smile to match. After shaking Jay’s hand, she dutifully introduced him to the rest of the table.
The deep lines on Stanley Felton’s thin face were etched into a permanent grimace. He grunted in greeting. To his right sat Lillian Brightman, an older woman with a long neck and large wide-set eyes that caused her to somewhat resemble an ostrich. Her husband, Captain Cecil Brightman, was dressed in the dark blue officer’s uniform of the Royal Navy.
“Do you live in New York, Mr. Belmont?” Mrs. Brightman asked.
“Please, call me Teddy,” he said, remembering to smile. “I’m from California—San Francisco to be exact. Were you and Captain Brightman vacationing in America?”
“We lived in Washington for the past two years. Cecil was stationed there as Britain’s naval attaché.”
“How fascinating.” Jay, of course, already knew this information. Captain Brightman was the reason Felton was on this ship. Finishing up what had otherwise been an uneventful posting, he was intent on procuring ACC’s tracer technology for the British Navy.
“Yes, indeed. But we’re both looking forward to Cecil’s retirement.”
“Quite true,” Captain Brightman said, brandishing his fork with enthusiasm. “Let us hope the Kaiser remains satisfied beating his war drum in Serbia, and England isn’t drawn into the fight.” Noticing Mrs. Brightman’s disapproving stare, he lowered the utensil.
“That isn’t likely?” Millie asked. “Is it?”
“One never knows,” Brightman said, stroking his chin. “Germany’s naval expansion certainly suggests they’re preparing for war.”
Jay considered this. If war were to break out in Europe, that would make the tracers even more valuable. Did Martin Winter think war probable? Was that why he’d hired Jay to steal the tracers?
When Jay had asked Cody’s friend Martin Winter for a job, he’d had no idea this was the sort of thing he’d be asked to do. For as long as Jay had known Winter, he’d worked in the mining industry—first, at a nickel mine in French New Caledonia. After that, Winter had moved to America to manage Cody’s copper operation for a time.
When Jay told Winter he was willing to work underground, he’d meant in a mine. But Winter had taken his words to mean something else entirely. Jay still didn’t know who Winter was working for now. This was intentional. It was one of the reasons the job paid so well. If Jay got caught, he was on his own.
“What brings you to England, Teddy?” Mrs. Brightman asked.
Jay smiled. He was prepared for the question. “Why, I plan to visit all the capitals of Europe—Paris, Venice, Rome. I, well . . .” He paused, letting his smile fade. “My parents and I were going to make the trip for my eighteenth birthday. It was all planned, you see.” He looked down at the table. “But then they died.”
Millie brought a hand up to her chest, regarding Jay with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Teddy.”
“I think it’s lovely you’re making the trip,” Mrs. Brightman said. “You know, Cecil was stationed in Rome. I’d be delighted to write introductions for you.”
“Gosh, Mrs. Brightman, that’s much too kind.”
From that point on, the conversation flowed easily. A team of waiters delivered the first of what was to be a ten-course meal, placing the plates before them in practiced unison. As dinner progressed, Jay found he was actually enjoying himself.
He was so engrossed in conversation he didn’t notice the arrival of their final dining companion until Captain Brightman rose to formally greet her. Millie grasped the woman’s hand. Apparently, they were old friends. The woman’s back was to Jay. But she was striking—her slender, angular frame set off by dark waves of hair pinned up haphazardly.
When she turned, and Millie introduced her friend to Jay, he stared at her, eyes wide. “Pleased to meet you,” he managed to stammer before looking down, fixing his gaze on his plate.
That couldn’t be right. He must have misheard. Only—she looked like her. No. He was being absurd. He had been thinking of Cody earlier. And now his mind was playing tricks on him. It couldn’t be her. Could it?
With mustered composure, Jay forced himself to look up. He flashed his most charismatic smile and met the gaze of their new dining companion. Seated directly across from him was Ella Kaye.
CHAPTER 2
Ella studied the carved panel on the dining room wall—a gold leaf cornucopia overflowing with grapes, wheat, and fat gourds. Why was the décor on ocean liners always so gaudy? There was such a thing as too much gilt. Not everything was improved by painting it gold.
A waiter deftly placed a plate in front of her. She picked up her fork and contemplated taking a bite. But the ship swayed, and a wave of nausea rolled over her.
Ella always suffered seasickness the first day of a voyage. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one. The man sitting across from her, Teddy Belmont, was as white as the tablecloth. He looked as though he might faint.
Who was Teddy Belmont? She couldn’t recall Millie ever mentioning him. Was he a family friend? Millie came from the sort of patrician family that considered all wealthy individuals of a certain background family friends. Not that Millie was an elitist herself. Ella wouldn’t be friends with her if she were.
Retiring her fork, Ella took a sip of champagne. She had read somewhere that champagne helped an upset stomach—something about the effect of carbonic acid. Cody had sworn whiskey and soda crackers did the trick. Ella didn’t care for whiskey but found the crackers helpful. She had some with her now in her handbag, but it would be impolite to take one out and eat it at the table.
