77 Rue Paradis by Gil Brewer Read Free Book Online

but”—he raised his eyebrows—”it doesn’t hurt me and we accomplish great things together. Eh?”
    “If you say so.”
    “That is better. You are regaining your humor. You had too much humor a while ago. But, then, humor is a precious thing. Without it a man is doomed from the Start.”
    “Yes. What is it you want me to do?” His voice was solemn and, hearing it, he felt the faint faraway toll of doom. He was startled that his mind worked this way. He knew he was beat down. He knew he must not let Gorssmann see too much of how he felt.
    “You are a good friend of Paul Chevard’s. French aeronautics. The Air Ministry. He is a big part of this. It is a plane, Baron—a jet-powered plane. I know little of this, only what is necessary for my part of the enterprise. It is enough to say that no other country has achieved what they have at the plant near Cassis. You know something of this thing called ‘thrust’?”
    Baron nodded.
    “What seems to be the most accepted high standard of pound thrust in the very best of jet-engined airplanes?”
    Baron sighed, thinking back, then covering the three empty years since he had been in the industry. “Possibly ten thousand pounds,” he said.
    “You know how necessary this is to the capacity performance of advanced jet engines?”
    Baron nodded.
    “Then imagine performance at double that. Twenty thousand pounds thrust, perhaps more—surely more, from the rumors. No country has approached it.”
    Baron watched tensely as Gorssmann leaned forward. The big man’s face went slightly red again.
    “Do you know what this will mean to whatever country has it? The country that can develop this thing? I will tell you. The air industry has to combat a single terrible enemy. During wartime, because of intensified production, this enemy is doubly bad. The enemy is time, Baron. A powerful new plane is built. Millions of dollars are spent on design and models. Yet, in a matter of months, sometimes weeks, the machine is obsolete because of ceaseless innovation.” He paused, watching, waiting.
    Baron was far ahead of him now, his mind catapulting through this story.
    “The country that has this thing is a good ten years beyond every other country. See? You can answer the rest for yourself. I do not lie about this.”
    “And Chevard?”
    “We must work by different means. All countries use various means. This time you are the means, Baron. We have known of you, waited patiently for the proper time, and—here it is.” He hesitated, coughed lightly. “When you began your foolish questioning, after the collapse of your business, one of us came up with the idea. Things were not yet ready. So we let you work yourself to the bottom, both physically and mentally. Now you are ready, and we are ready.” Gorssmann shrugged.
    It was like standing in the middle of a treacherous swamp, having tried for untold time to find solid ground. Then someone explains quietly that there is no solid ground. There is only swamp, forever and ever.
    “You know these people. You are friends of theirs. Chevard likes you, we know. They believe in you. You will approach them and explain that you are—on the road back. Yes. You wish to start life anew, build yourself up again. Eventually prove yourself innocent of the foolish charges laid against you by your own country. They will understand. What better than to take you into their confidence? You will take a job of some kind in the plant over by Cassis.”
    “It will never work.”
    “Ah, but it will. If it wouldn’t, you would not be here, or in France, and your daughter would be in Florida—or possibly even with you someplace in America. Now.” He stood, overwhelming the desk, his huge meaty face smiling in its own fashion. “I will tell you this much: The tremendous capacity of this plane is accomplished by what we know of as a ‘breather.’ It is a simple enough invention, possibly. But there is only the one, you see? Anyone can equal the