Chapter 103: Provocation
Early the next morning, Jörg naturally had no idea that a problem not so small had already been noticed by others before it had even entered his own field of vision.
At that moment, he had only just been dragged out of bed by Senna. After a quick wash, and with the mayor accompanying him, he climbed into a custom Cadillac and headed for another heavily watched dock.
When he pulled the window open, the salty wind rushed in at once.
Along the coastline stood rows upon rows of tin roofed shipyards. Towering cranes rose everywhere, thick as a forest of iron. The farther they went, the denser the industrial skyline became, until finally the outline of one of America's oldest and most famous shipyards came fully into view.
The Brooklyn Navy Yard.
As the car rolled to a stop, Carl walked beside Jörg and began introducing it over the sound of the sea breeze. Behind them, the plainclothes guards kept scanning every angle that might pose even the slightest threat.
"Well, Mr. Roman, what do you think?" Carl asked with a smile.
Jörg glanced around and answered bluntly, "Not much, to be honest. With all due respect, Mr. Mayor, shouldn't the Brooklyn Navy Yard be government property under military administration?"
He lifted a hand and gestured toward the giant complex ahead.
"I came to inspect civilian shipbuilding. If some enterprising reporter catches me wandering through a military shipyard, the President of France might issue an international arrest warrant for me tomorrow."
Carl burst out laughing, then smoothed down the hair the wind had blown across his forehead.
"I think you've misunderstood the situation, Mr. Roman."
He pointed ahead as they continued walking.
"A dock this large isn't purely military anymore. After the war, military orders collapsed. The gentlemen in Washington don't want to pour money into warships, and the city council couldn't just stand by and watch the Brooklyn Navy Yard rot away day by day."
"So, at the suggestion of several council members, the yard was split into two sections."
That caught Jörg's interest.
"Two sections?"
Carl nodded.
"One military, one civilian. The military section remains under direct federal control, just as before. The civilian section is now run by a group of New York shipbuilding companies with split shares. The city government only holds a small portion of the operating rights."
Jörg's eyes narrowed slightly. That was new information, and useful information.
"So the Brooklyn Navy Yard is effectively two shipyards now?"
"That's right. Look over there."
Following Carl's finger, Jörg saw the dividing line immediately.
A road ran through the center of the dock area, supposedly separating the two sides. But the so called barrier was laughably weak, just a stretch of wire fencing that looked as though a decent storm might tear it down in a single night. Through the gaps, one could practically see the entire military section.
The only real difference was the patrol pattern. Soldiers marched on one side. Workers drifted across both.
And that was the key.
Though the shipyard had been divided on paper, the personnel clearly had not been. Workers and engineers still moved back and forth between the civilian and military sections. Anyone with the right badge could pass through the fence with ease. Technical staff circulated between the research rooms of both sides as if the division scarcely existed at all.
Separated, but not truly separated.
It was obvious what had happened. Neither the Navy nor the civilian operators had enough money to maintain separate pools of skilled labor. So they had compromised and shared what they had.
Jörg silently filed that away.
One of the first yards to move into Germany would have to be this one.
"Mr. Mayor," he asked casually, "how many ships did the Brooklyn Navy Yard produce last year?"
Carl held up one finger.
"One."
His expression turned ugly as he looked toward the nearest dock.
"And even that was a disaster. The company that placed the order went bankrupt halfway through construction. The hull is still sitting in Dock One, half finished. It can't stay there forever, so the workers are dismantling it now."
He exhaled sharply and spread his hands.
"To be honest, Mr. Roman, I hope your proposal passes as soon as possible. Shipbuilding stocks have already fallen as low as they can go. Several shareholders have sold out and run, leaving the city with a mountain of bad debt."
He gave a bitter laugh.
"We even had to cover the workers' wages last December out of city funds, just to preserve the welfare obligations tied to shipyard labor under the law."
"And we can't just slash their benefits. If this keeps up, this place will bleed us dry. The only alternative is layoffs, and once that starts, those men will have to scatter and find work elsewhere."
Carl stood with both hands on his hips, the posture of a man who had been staring into a financial abyss for too long.
This was not just a New York problem. It was the condition of the entire American shipbuilding industry.
Jörg looked at him. "And the Navy hasn't helped?"
At that, Carl switched from holding up one finger to lifting a much ruder one.
"Don't even mention those misers. They already have more warships than they know what to do with. Why would they place new orders? Old ships are mothballed in port after port."
Then he snorted.
"If it weren't for treaty restrictions, I'd almost wish you could just buy a few and drag them away, purely to spare us the maintenance costs. Before you, a group of short Japanese fellows even came to inspect the place..."
He got no farther than that.
Behind them came the sharp blare of a horn.
A car with a Navy plate came barreling straight toward them at reckless speed, as if deliberately trying to force the issue. It did not slow. If anything, it accelerated.
The close protection detail reacted instantly.
Hands went for weapons.
But Senna was even faster.
Standing one step behind Jörg, she drew her pistol and fired without hesitation.
Bang!
Her shot was clean and brutal, the work of someone whose experience far exceeded what her youthful face suggested. The bullet punched through the tire, and the car lurched violently before skidding to a halt.
In the next instant, Jörg's guards surged forward and surrounded the vehicle.
The driver's door opened.
A one eyed naval officer stepped out at an infuriatingly leisurely pace, cigarette hanging from his mouth, as if he were the one being inconvenienced.
And just as quickly, armed Navy personnel appeared from the other side of the yard and formed a second ring around their superior.
Carl, who had only just recovered from the fright, recognized him at once and exploded.
"Damn it, Roy! Are you out of your mind? Do you even know who is standing beside me?"
Roy tucked his cap under one arm and smirked.
"I know exactly who he is. Some German begging his way through America, right?"
He looked Jörg up and down, open contempt in his visible eye.
"I saw your pretty face in the papers. When I was fighting naval actions on British ships, I captured more than a few Germans. Weak lot. Point a gun at them and their legs shook like they were unweaned children."
Then he smiled wider.
"My apologies, Mr. Roman. I'm not very good with words."
The apology sounded fouler than the insult.
"It was only a little joke. I trust you won't take it too seriously. I've got urgent business, so I'll be on my way."
With that, Roy settled his cap back onto his head, adjusted the brim, and walked off as though nothing at all had happened.
Carl watched him go with a face twisted by anger and embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roman. Truly. That idiot startled you for no reason."
He lowered his voice.
"He's Admiral Krag Dale's adjutant. Lost an eye in the war. Since then his temper has been as rotten as his mouth."
Carl glanced toward the retreating naval group and added grimly, "You should be careful of them. The senior officers in the Navy, especially those around Krag Dale, are furious about your agreement."
.....
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