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Chapters (49)
  1. Title Page
  2. DIRK PITT® ADVENTURES BY CLIVE CUSSLER
  3. Copyright Page
  4. BOOK ONE - “come, josephine in my flying machine”
  5. The Adirondack Mountains, Upper New York State
  6. 2 - “Hoopla!”
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. BOOK TWO - “balance yourself like a bird on a beam”
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. BOOK THREE - “up, up, a little bit higher”
  23. Chapter 17
  24. Chapter 18
  25. Chapter 19
  26. Chapter 20
  27. Chapter 21
  28. Chapter 22
  29. Chapter 23
  30. Chapter 24
  31. Chapter 25
  32. Chapter 26
  33. Chapter 27
  34. Chapter 28
  35. Chapter 29
  36. Chapter 30
  37. Chapter 31
  38. Chapter 32
  39. Chapter 33
  40. BOOK FOUR - “in the air she goes! there she goes!”
  41. Chapter 34
  42. Chapter 35
  43. Chapter 36
  44. Chapter 37
  45. Chapter 38
  46. Chapter 39
  47. Chapter 40
  48. Chapter 41
  49. EPILOGUE

Isaac Bell didn’t answer. He was already beckoning his detectives and addressing them urgently. “Young Eddie’s turned up a heck of a clue. Station riflemen on boats on the East River and the Upper Bay and up the Hudson all the way to Yonkers. We’ve got Harry Frost where we want him.”

BOOK THREE - “up, up, a little bit higher”

BOOK THREE

013

“up, up, a little bit higher”

014

Chapter 17

17

ISAAC BELL DROVE HIS American Eagle monoplane a thousand feet above Belmont Park to watch for trouble when the race began. The winds were tricky this afternoon—the firing of the start cannon was twice delayed by strong gusts—and novice though he was, the tall detective took to heart the expert birdmen’s love of high flying. Josephine Josephs, Joe Mudd, Lt. Chet Bass, race-car driver Billy Thomas, cotton farmer Steve Stevens, and “Frenchie” Renee Chevalier all favored altitude for reasons put succinctly by Baronet Eddison-Sydney-Martin: “Falling from high, you can try to stop in time. Falling from low, you encounter the ground too soon.”

The altitude gave Bell a spectacular view of the Belmont Park Race Track. The bright green infield was speckled with aeroplanes of every color. Gangs of mechanicians, distinguished by their vests and white shirtsleeves, milled about them, adjusting wire stays, tuning motors, topping off gasoline tanks and radiators. Fifty thousand spectators waving white handkerchiefs packed the grandstand.

Good thing he had planned for traffic jams. Clouds of coal smoke were billowing over the rail yard. Support trains were backed up already, trying to depart Belmont Park for the Empire City Race Track in Yonkers. The tracks heading out were one long line of crawling trains, locomotive to caboose, slow and ponderous as a procession of circus elephants. Locomotives jockeyed for position at the switches, engineers yanked shrieking whistles, brakemen scurried, dispatchers shouted, and conductors tore their hair in a noisy, smoky ballet that would be danced every morning the aviators took off for the next field. Bell’s American Eagle hangar-car special was already in Yonkers, sent ahead at midnight with two Thomas Flyer touring autos.

The roofs of each and every boxcar and Pullman were painted with the racers’ colors and names. A racer could tell at a glance whether a locomotive and cars below him was his support train, a competitor’s, or merely an ordinary freight going about its business.