Through the pale twilight, as darkness descended over the countryside, all that remained was an oversized barn, at least for a moment. Its walls fell apart, landing on their side as the dirigible began to inflate. As it fully inflated, the airship began to rise, pulling along with it a small Pullman car, preparing to leave the outskirts of St. Louis, Missouri for Chicago, Illinois.
Replacing all but seven sleeping compartments that would normally complement the train car, a large meeting room occupied the middle, with eight ornate chairs surrounding a large oval table. Seated at the table was a bald man with a thick white beard, wearing nearly wireless glasses, reading a newspaper. Across the table a young blond man struck up a conversation with a black haired man about the new game of baseball, and how the Chicago team fared in its exhibition against New York. The only remarkable thing about them was that both were clean-shaven.
The silence was broken by a short man with a thick red beard and mustache. Unlike the formal suits of the others, he wore a green beret and garish kilt, leaving no doubt as to his country of origin.
“Hadday Schuyler, Thomas, Henry,” the man boomed so that he could be heard throughout the train car. “Where the others?”
“You know professors and politicians,” the man with the white beard replied.
“The ladies are arriving fashionably late, Malcolm” the man with the dark hair added, almost disinterestedly.
“And you would notice that sort of thing, Thomas,” the blond man noted, emphasizing the word would.
At that moment, a stocky man entered the room, distinguished by his enormous sideburns and portly frame. “Schuyler!” he hailed the white-bearded man. “You owe me ten dollars, since our last meeting.”
Schuyler scowled, anticipating this point. He handed a folded bill to the man with muttonchop whiskers. “Should’ve known to bet against a Senator over an election. Still, Cleveland did win the popular vote.”
“But thanks to my influence, Harrison took New York, winning the Electoral College,” the politician pointed out. “That’s what matters.”
“Had he not….” The blond called Henry began, but the Senator cut him off. “But that’s why the Association of American Affluence needs me, of course. Presidents come and go, but I remain.”
At that moment, all conversation ground to a halt as a woman with curly raven-hair swept into the room, piercing eyes barely visible under a long flat hat curved up, with a flower in the middle. Amazingly, the dress was short enough to reveal her long laced-up boots. In any other setting, she would not be seen as a woman to be found with such polite company. All seemed too surprised to even stand.
“Madame Collins….”
“Chambray,” she corrected the blond. “I no longer share my late husband’s name anymore, though I still control his possessions as stipulated in our arrangement.”
“How?” Henry whispered, but the dark-haired man named Thomas cut him off discretely. “Let’s just say he ‘died with his boots on.’”
“A heart attack,” she added icily, with a hint of a French accent, “As reported by the papers.”
“Speaking of the papers,” the Scotsman said, rising slowly to greet their next entrant. A shapely blonde woman with flowing straight hair, in a form-fitting gown appeared, almost soundlessly as if she had swept in on a slight cushion of air.
“Miss Heppelwhite,” Schuyler broke the silence, offering her gloved hand a slight kiss. He was rewarded with a polite smile, though her gaze shifted to Henry.
“Are we all present?” the blonde lady inquired.
All glanced around the room, noting the empty chairs. “Just the Professor is missing,” the Senator spoke up. “And Mr. Irwin…”
“Not any more.”
Wearing glasses and sporting a thick beard, the professor was the perfect image of the stereotypical academic, down to the patches on the tweed coat, and the pipe jutting from his mouth. “I’ve just been gathering up my papers for the meeting. After all, my economic forecast is on the agenda.”
In front of each of them lay a black leather folder, with the embossed gold seal with a three capital A’s and ornate font that read Association of American Affluence. Underneath these were four symbols; the first being a bull while another was a flag resembling the original stars and stripes with the circular 13 stellar pattern. A third showed a crude version of the Mercator globe, while the last contained a symbol recognizable only to the members present, and a few select others throughout the country. Inside was a single sheet that simply stated “Dawn of a New Century.”
Each member was only referred to by an initial on the attendance list.
Mr. A was the white-bearded man, Schulyer Arend. He dominated the banking industry so thoroughly that even J. P. Morgan was forced to call on him for a loan on occasion.
Mr. B was the Scotsman, Malcolm Broden. Without him, America’s late industrial age could not take place due to his control of the nation’s ironworks.
The former Mme. C, now was Mlle C, Jocelyn Chambray. She inherited the late Arnold Collins’ control of the transportation industry, making sure not only the locomotives ran on time, but new developments were allowed to flourish.
Dr. D was Broderick Davies, the patrician academic. His presence was not only attributable to his Ivy League connections, but his ability to use statistics to predict the future.
Mr. E was Thomas Evans, whose extensive holdings were consolidated in the gold mines, as well as companies with designs on colonies where such valuable mineral extraction was taking place.
Mr. F was Henry Farnsworth, whose family lineage over the American agricultural economy had gone back to the initial struggling farms of New England. He currently held the family seat on the futures market as well.
The Hon. G title belonged to Senator Chase Gray of Connecticut, who had served so long as chairman of the Rules Committee that not a single bill could make the schedule without his permission.
There was also the case of Miss H., or Miss Susannah Heppelwhite. Working for her father’s newspaper, she developed a talent for ferreting out the most difficult of facts. But upon inheriting the struggling syndicate, she turned around the papers’ fortunes when she discovered that more money could be made by the suppression of information than the release of it.
Mr. I was better known as Mr. Morgan Irwin, whose connections in shipping by ocean made him a virtual master of the seas.
All in the Association of American Affluence were distinguished by three characteristics. One was wealth. The second was power, or access to the levers of it. The third was the near total anonymity each operated with, behind more familiar characters in the press, as the group preferred to perpetuate their control.
“I would like to begin by thanking Madame Chambray for the use of her new airship,” Arend began.
“I can sense that it lifts due to helium, not hydrogen, but what powers it?” The irrepressible Professor Davies couldn’t resist knowing.
“Whale oil, for now, until your scientists can provide me an alternative fuel for the dying source,” she replied.
The conversation went back and forth over the future of flying machines, and fuel as well.
“Speaking of transportation, where the hell is Irwin?” Farnsworth interjected. Madame Chambray waved him off with a flick of her wrist, indicating the matter was closed.
Then it was Senator Gray’s turn. “The election of Benjamin Harrison will clearly benefit our interest, as he stands for a strong tariff, undoing the economic policies of Grover Cleveland that brought in more foreign competition for our holdings.”
“What do we know about this man,” Evans began the inquiries, folding his hands.
“A good general from the war…then senator from Indiana,” Senator Gray continued.
“How do we…influence…” Arend said haltingly, but Senator Gray smiled. “Don’t worry, Schuyler. Levi Morton, his vice-president is one of us. He’ll keep the Harrison Administration focused upon our economic priorities, unlike his predecessor or the unreliable Senator Blaine.”
“Speaking of economics, whatcha got, Professor,” Broden barked at the academic, who rose, readjusting his notes.
“The bad news is that the growing power and influence of the silver Democrats and their Republican allies has our nation heading toward an economic panic, not seen since the likes of 1837, or the slump that began in 1873.”
Several at the table groaned. “How soon, Broderick?” Arend reacted impatiently.
“That is the relatively good news…” Dr. Davies smiled. “It won’t be for 3-4 years…plenty of time for you to stop it, or prepare if you cannot.”
“Of course…Thomas?”
“Consider it done….
“Make sure our rivals wind up holding as much worthless silver stock…”
“But we will try to stop it?” Miss Heppelwhite gasped. Senator Gray smiled. “Enlighten the young lady, Schuyler.”
“We could, perhaps, but trying to do so could cost many of us our position,” the white bearded man offered.
“Besides,” Evans added. “Someone needs to be in a position to help the country with the recovery…when the time is right…”
“Speaking of helping the country…” Broden interrupted in a gruff tone as he rose to his feet, “…and the right time…”
Professor Davies closed his eyes, as Evans rolled his. “Malcolm…”
“This was not approved for an item of discussion by a majority….”
“Let him speak!” Mlle. Chambray snapped.
“Thank you, Madame,” Malcolm smiled in her direction, making her wish she hadn’t spoken up at that time. “I just wanted to hear the plan.”
“But the rules…” Senator Gray began to lecture her.
“It’s MY airglider!” Mlle. Chambray reminded him.
Broden began to pace around the room, ignoring the argument. “Gentlemen….and ladies. We have to ask ourselves: why are we here?”
“We should be content with what we have,” Miss Heppelwhite pointed out. “There’s no way we can achieve your vision.”
Now Broden paused to grip the table. “Without my plans, we’ll always be second to Britain. We’ve already completed the first part of our plan, thanks to Senator Gray.”
“Without that tariff, Britain was bleeding us dry with their cheap exports, ruining our farms and furnaces,” the Connecticut member of Congress concurred.
“Now that Cleveland is out of the way, we can recover market share,” Farnsworth offered.
Arend seemed unimpressed. “But what you call for is war. The last time that happened, Washington was burned to the ground, our economy was wrecked by the embargo, and we were nearly retaken!”
“It wasn’t a total failure,” Evans admitted. “There were victories on the high seas, as well as in Canada and New Orleans.”
Broden shook his head. “What I call for is not a formal declaration of war.”
That caused a few seated around the table to either gasp or begin murmuring. This was unexpected, given how rash the Scotsman could be. “Then what IS it that you want?” Arend demanded.
“This!” Broden dramatically unrolled a map as though he was revealing some ancient scroll. It was an image of the world, with countries and continents in a variety of colors.
There was a collected pause, as the league scanned the document, trying to make sense of it.
“Oh fer….it’s a map that shows my grand plan.” He pointed to large X’s in the southern part of Africa, one closer to Egypt, one in South Asia, and a pair in Central Asia.
“Each of these are places my company has been surreptitiously supplying anti-British groups with rifles over the past few years.”
Evans stood up as well, leaning in to scan the map for himself. “The Zulus at Isandlwana, The Mahdi at Khartoum…the Second Anglo-Afghan War…the Third Anglo-Burmese War?” He found himself whistling in amazement.
“All involved massacres of British forces,” Farnsworth added. He too was clearly impressed.
“But…wouldn’t the British find out what happened?” Miss Heppelwhite could hardly restrain herself. “Won’t they be suspicious when they find American weapons on their foes.”
The small Scotsman beamed. “All were British weapons. They’ll simply conclude that such weapons were taken from battlefields.”
“Then how did you…” Senator Gray’s voice trailed off, unable to see the grand plan.
“Unscrupulous munitions traders,” Broden smiled. “The British Empire’s full of them. They’d sell you the guns to destroy their own kind, if they thought they’d make a profit off of it.”
Arend remained skeptical. “Surely you don’t think this is enough. I mean, a few setbacks in Africa and Asia, perhaps. But they recovered from their losses in the Americas without much trouble.”
“No, but it has recently sapped the country’s enthusiasm for war. And there’s more in store for the rebellious Chinese…and the Dutch farmers in South Africa known as the Boers…” Broden grinned.
“But that’s hardly enough to bring down more than a prime minister or two!”
“This is only just the beginning,” Broden replied in a huff, tiring of his colleague’s distaste for the plan. “My ancestors learned that the only way to beat the Brits was to pin them down with fighting in the Highlands, Wales, Ireland, and provide trouble in France…that’s how Robert the Bruce got the best of Edward II.”
Only then did they notice the large circle with small points extending from it, coming from Europe.
“A few colonial setbacks are just setting the stage for the real plan…which I call ‘the globo-war,’” Broden continued, as opposition to the plan seemed to dwindle. We stir up a conflict between Britain and…”
“France?” Mlle Chambray cocked her head, as if considering the prospect.
“Russia?” Farnsworth wondered aloud, then shook his head.
“I doubt you have in mind trouble with the old monarchies of Spain and Austro-Hungary,” Dr. Davies pointed his finger at both. “Italy is too young.”
Evans rubbed his chin. “My bet would be with Germany.”
“But they’re practically British cousins!” Arend protested.
“Never underestimate the power of this new nationalism sweeping the European continent,” Dr. Davies lectured his colleagues.
“But how…”
“We’re voting on the plan, not how it is to be implemented,” Broden insisted.
“I say we table a decision until Mr. Irwin is present,” Miss Heppelwhite rose to the occasion.
There was an awkward pause. “Alas, Mr. Irwin is not who we thought he was,” Mlle. Chambray’s tone was pure ice.
“Alas, he won’t be voting on anything anymore,” she added, as if describing an ordinary shopping trip to Paris.
“Wha-” Senator Gray gasped. “Who…”
“He said something about Scotland Yard before he perished under harsh interrogation methods,” Mlle. Chambray said in an off-handed tone. “But I suspect his real employers are our counterparts in the United Kingdom. His body will be disposed over Lake Michigan before we arrive at the outskirts of Chicago. A note will appear in the Tribune about an unfortunate boating accident.”
“Any chance they know about our little operation?” Now it was Broden’s turn to worry.
“I was initially skeptical,” Arend admitted, “Revelations about the true nature of Mr. Irwin leave me no choice but to call for a vote, and start developing those plans for your idea, Mr. Broden. The ‘Great Game’ has begun again, but this time, it will shift to Europe.”