Read The Titanic Plan for Free Online Page B

winter’s sun shone on Taft and Archie as they treaded past the library’s marble lionesses and into the vaulted rotunda. Seeing the stunning opulence before them, even the breath of President of the United States was taken away. The columns of the rotunda were polished lapis lazuli; the floors were Roman marble. Morgan greeted the President with proper deference, though his manner was one of a long-reigning emperor welcoming a temporal king. “Mr. President, so good to see you again,” Morgan said, clasping Taft’s hand.
    While Archie had seen Morgan before, he was never so close as to explore the formidable landscape of his face. Pictures of the young Pierpont Morgan showed a slim, handsome man with a heavy brush mustache and a serious, but hardly powerful visage. He looked like what he was – an efficient banker. Years of wealth and power transformed the features of this rather gray looking young man into an odd sculpture of magnificence. His face, repulsive in appearance, was absolutely magnetic in character. The large, massive head sat on a large, massive body. The brush mustache was still there, but now white and drooping down the sides of his mouth. His thick brown hair had turned gray and thin, and was parted and combed carefully to cover his head. The high, rounded forehead arched down to a strong brow under which sat Morgan’s famous burning eyes. And then there was the nose: a tremendous lump of red and purple flesh flaming with mountainous carbuncles that gave the appearance of a volcanic lunar landscape. The unfortunate feature was a product of rhinophyma, a skin disease that Morgan developed in his fifties. He was very self-conscious about it and, at the same time, he didn’t give a damn: he was, after all, J. P. Morgan. Stare at your own risk.
    “ Come, gentlemen, let me show you my library.” Morgan escorted the President and his small entourage into the East Room. Massive, three-tiered bookcases of bronze and polished wood encircled the entire, colossal room. The library was crowned by a high vaulted ceiling on which was painted constellations of zodiac signs and Roman gods.
    “ This is overwhelming, Pierpont,” Taft said to Morgan. “Goddam overwhelming.”
    “ Thank you, Mr. President. Every piece has a story to it, but for the life of me, I can never remember any of them.”
    The assembled men – Taft, Archie, the secret service agents – laughed on cue.
    “ My librarian knows. It’s all pretty interesting. She’ll tell you.” Morgan walked to a nearby desk and pushed a buzzer on a small mahogany box. Within moments the men heard the light clicking of a woman’s heels on the rotunda’s marble floor. Then in walked the librarian.
    Morgan always liked to see the faces of men when they first set eyes on his librarian. He knew what they expected – some pinched-faced middle-aged woman, her graying hair set tightly in bun, peering over heavy glasses.
    Her hair was in a bun, but that was about all that fulfilled the expectation. She was young, spectacularly young, still in her twenties, with dark, radiant hair and deep golden skin. She had a soft, heart-shaped face, full lips that were the color of summer cherries, and lavishly rich brows. Her eyes were hooded under heavy-lids, which gave her an aura of smoky sensuality.
    There was a soft, collective gasp from the men in the room.
    “ Mr. President,” Morgan said. “Let me introduce Belle da Costa Greene.”
    Belle held her hand out to Taft. “Miss Greene, a pleasure,” said the President, then trying to think of something appropriate to say but unable to, he fumbled to his right and muttered, “This is my Military Aide, Captain Archibald Butt.” Archie bowed and took the hand she held toward him. As he touched her pliant fingers, his body quivered with an electric charge that he had never experience in his forty-three years of life. Then she raised her eyes to his. They were jade green floating in pools of pearl white.
    “ Belle,