[Johnny1A.2]

The Bingham-Jones consultant was Frederick Miles Batson. Formally a professor of history and philosophy at the University of Syracuse, he was something of an antiquarian and well-versed in various areas of archaic lore that were most definitely not a matter of public knowledge or discussion in the closing months of 1927. Batson had that much in common with Howard Lake.

Unlike Lake, who was a technical man, trained in engineering and chemistry as his professional background, Batson was a historian. Like Lake, he had seen action in the Great War, and like Lake, he was part of a very limited and quiet ‘shadow academia’ that focused on the esoteric lore and surviving remnants of the Antediluvian Age, and on matters likewise shadowy.

At first their meetings were of limited utility, for lack of trust, as they sounded each other out. Then, as they found that they had some acquaintances and correspondents in common, they began to open up, and discovered that each was possessed of a fascinating range of knowledge unknown to the other. As they compared notes, they discovered some patterns that neither would ever had discovered alone.

It was now mid-October of 1927, and events continued to proceed. By this point, working indirectly, McLaird had found a way to put pressure on the necessary authorities in New York State to take charge of the explosion site at the warehouse, and with the appropriate forged credentials, that let the Seven Aces take charge of the site as well.

Naturally, Henry McCord protested, albeit through the layers of pretense that separated him from his property. Normally, as the legal owner of the site (or rather, as the man who controlled the legal ownership of the site, through his blinds), McCord could have taken the State to court and probably forced the issue successfully, the more so because the relevant insurance companies might likely have joined the suit. In this case, though, McCord dared not press the issue because he did not wish his ownership of the site to become public knowledge. This gave Army Intelligence, and the Aces, some time and room to maneuver.

That did not mean, of course, that McCord did nothing at all. The Aces were aware that every move their people made, in their various legends and covers, was being monitored by people who worked for Henry McCord (not that that connection would have been easy to prove). Evading this watch was taking up more time and effort than Conners liked, it was clear that McCord was employing some very competent people, and equally likely that McCord knew that the Aces were not what they were claiming to be, either.

In that Conners assumed correctly. McCord was well aware that someone in the Federal Government was pulling the strings that had led New York State authorities to take charge of his property. He was not sure who it was, but it was clear to McCord that the various covers the Aces were using were just that, covers.

McCord, of course, had his own connections in Albany and Washington, some of them very highly placed, and was working them. McLaird informed Conners that they could not count on the status quo holding indefinitely, already Army Intelligence had been seeing some quiet inquiries from members of the New York State Congressional delegation, and from Albany.

So matters stood one chilly, rainy evening, as Conners and his right hand man, Charles Adams, in his warm and relatively secure hotel room on a Saturday night in October of 1927. The room had been carefully checked for microphones, the windows were tightly closed and the thick curtains drawn, the radio was on and tuned to lively music, and the room was guarded, albeit unobtrusively. Both men felt free to speak fairly freely, and did so.

“It’s too bad we can’t put any pressure on McCord himself,” Adams opined,
as he and his leader sat near the radio, sipping beers and considering their
next move. “Might make our job easier.”

“I’d like to,” Conners said in reply. “But it’s not practical.”

“If he’s guilty of half what Bingham says he’s done,” Adams said, “or a
quarter of what I’ve heard about in rumors and read in the muckrakers, we
ought to be able to threaten him with the rest of his life in a cell, at the least.
That might make him a little more cooperative.”

“Oh, he’s guilty, all right,” Conners said with a humorless laugh. “He’s
guilty as sin, at the very least, of either committing or ordering arson,
assault, bribery, fraud, blackmail, stock manipulation, theft, breaking and
entering, heck, probably murder, if we knew. But just try proving any
of it in court. People have tried, and gotten nowhere fast. The man’s rotten,
but he’s no fool.”

“I’ve heard they almost got him a couple of years ago, one of those assault
and conspiracy charges. He had some of his goons breaking legs on striking
workers, and some of their relatives too,” Adams said. “If the muckrakers
can be believed, though, he just bought the jury.”

“Or the judge,” Conners agreed. “Or both, for that matter.”

MORE LATER.