Madman in Manhattan Read online

  To Aiden W. for confirming my hunch that third graders can be passionate about Nikola Tesla. And to Nathan Hoobler and Dave Arnold for sparking the idea for this book.

  Madman in Manhattan

  © 2018 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved.

  A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188.

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  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise marked, are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. Copyright © 2001 by CrosswayBibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of Focus on the Family.

  With the exception of known historical figures, all characters are the product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover design by Michael Heath | Magnus Creative

  ISBN: 978-1-58997-944-4

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Prologue

  1: Mr. Tesla

  2: Manhattan

  3: Martians

  4: The Elevator

  5: Mr. Meltsner

  6: Lewis Latimer

  7: The Long Island Lab

  8: Broken Glass

  9: The Photo

  10: Race to the Rooftop

  11: The Missing Forty-Nine Years

  12: The Helicopter

  13: Wardenclyffe

  14: Mr. Edison and Mr. Ford

  15: Whit’s End

  Secret Word Puzzle

  Prologue

  At Whit’s End, a lightning storm zapped the Imagination Station’s computer. Then the Imagination Station began to do strange things. It took the cousins to the wrong adventures. The machine also gave the wrong gifts.

  Whit was gone. No one knew when he would be back. He did not answer e-mails or phone calls.

  Eugene was in charge of the workshop. An older version of the Imagination Station was found. It looked like a Model T car. Whit had made it for government use.

  The car had a special feature called lockdown mode. The cousins used this machine for their adventures. But it began to break down too. Eugene couldn’t fix it without help.

  At the end of book 20, Inferno in Tokyo, Eugene was still locked in a jail cell. He was in Little Rock, Arkansas, in the year 1874. He was using a laptop to communicate with the cousins.

  He sent them on a mission to find Nikola Tesla. But the broken Imagination Station took them to 1923 Tokyo, Japan, instead. There Patrick and Beth ended up helping people at the Imperial Hotel who survived a tsunami. Afterward, they were helping in the hotel kitchen. Here’s what happened:

  Each cousin wore an apron. Each was rolling rice balls.

  “Four hundred thirty-three,” Patrick said. He placed a ball on a tray.

  “Four hundred thirty-four,” Beth said. “Only nine thousand, five-hundred sixty-six more to go.” She placed a rice ball on the tray.

  Mr. Inumaru, the hotel manager, came through the side door of the kitchen. His kind face was split by a wide smile.

  “You won’t believe this,” he said. “The US Navy sent you a gift. It was made in America. So they thought it belonged at the US embassy. But Mr. Kagawa said it belongs to you. So they put it on the garden patio. Come outside.”

  Beth and Patrick took off their aprons.

  Patrick beat Beth to the patio. He was stunned.

  Beth joined him. She took his hand and squeezed it.

  “It’s the Imagination Station!” she cried.

  The Model T Imagination Station was covered in sand and seaweed. The driver’s-side door was dented. The glass in the back was cracked in a spider-web design.

  Beth’s heart sank when she remembered it was broken.

  Mr. Inumaru took a cloth out of his pocket. He began to wipe down the old car.

  “It doesn’t have any battery power left,” Patrick said. “It’s useless.”

  “Have you tried cranking it up?” Mr. Inumaru asked.

  Beth shook her head.

  Mr. Inumaru went to the front of the car. He bent over and grabbed the crank. He turned it several times.

  Suddenly a light came on inside the machine. Then a great burst of light exploded from the headlights.

  Beth put her arm across her eyes to shield them from the brightness.

  Mr. Inumaru shouted, “What? It can’t be!”

  Beth looked at the Model T.

  Inside sat a man. He was waving the electric gizmo that Patrick and Beth had found in Babylon. It looked like a big TV remote control.

  The man had thick, dark hair and a thick moustache. He wore a nice suit with a white shirt. He had a smug expression on his face.

  “It’s Mr. Tesla!” Mr. Inumaru said.

  Mr. Tesla

  Patrick rushed toward the Model T Imagination Station. He grabbed the passenger’s-side handle and yanked the door open. A few gallons of ocean water poured onto the patio. The water splashed over his black shoes.

  Old-fashioned dance music blared from the car’s speakers.

  Tesla looked at the yellow gizmo. “We’re losing power,” he said. “Mr. Inumaru, turn the hand crank!”

  Mr. Inumaru said, “As you wish, Mr. Tesla. It’s nice to see you again. I miss the old days when we both lived in New York. Your science experiments were the talk of the town!”

  Mr. Inumaru grabbed the handle and turned the crank.

  “Beth, get inside!” Patrick said.

  Beth poked her head inside the machine. “Eww,” she said, “there’s seaweed on my seat.”

  She picked up a gray piece and tossed it into the bushes. Then she sat down.

  Patrick turned to Tesla and said, “Eugene sent us to find you. He said you were the only one who could get us all back to our home.”

  Tesla squinted at Patrick. “Your home?” Tesla said. “I don’t want to go to your home. I want to transport us to my home in Serbia. That’s what this contraption does, correct?”

  Beth and Patrick looked at each other. Why had Eugene thought Mr. Tesla could help us? Patrick wondered.

  Just then, the dance music on the speakers stopped. A familiar voice came over the speakers. “Patrick! Beth!”

  Patrick recognized Eugene’s voice! But he sounded a little strange.

  “I forgot to tell you something very important,” Eugene said. “Whatever you do, don’t allow Mr. Tesla to use the Imagination Station itself. Who knows what trouble he could cause if he—”

  Suddenly, Tesla banged on the control panel three times with his fist. The speakers crackled. Eugene’s voice stopped. Patrick wondered if the speaker had been broken.

  “What is that voice?” asked Tesla. “And what is an Imagination Station?”

  Beth quickly motioned to her cousin. “Come on, Patrick,” she said. �
��We can squeeze in three.”

  Patrick shook his head. “The Imagination Station might not work with more than two inside,” he whispered. “You go. Take Mr. Tesla back to New York. It’s where he belongs.”

  Suddenly the Model T Imagination Station’s headlights flickered and then blazed again.

  Patrick stuck his head inside the car. “Reach over and turn the steering wheel,” he whispered to Beth. “Get Mr. Tesla home. Maybe you’ll learn why Eugene wanted us to find him. Then come back for me.”

  Beth nodded slowly. Patrick slammed the door shut.

  Beth waved good-bye to Mr. Inumaru and Patrick. Then she grabbed the steering wheel. She spun it counterclockwise.

  Patrick and Mr. Inumaru took a step backward. The car began to glow. The windshield filled with color. It looked like a kaleidoscope. It took only a second for the Model T to vanish. Beth and Tesla vanished along with it.

  Manhattan

  Beth opened her eyes. The Imagination Station had landed on top of a large, tall building. She opened the passenger’s-side door. A bird instantly flew inside.

  The bird’s white wings flapped. Feathers flew.

  Beth waved her arms and said, “Shoo!”

  The flurry of flapping stopped. The bird settled on Tesla’s shoulder. Beth could now see it was a white pigeon with gray wings. The bird gently pecked at Tesla’s ear. It seemed to be saying hello.

  “Welcome, little beauty,” Tesla said to the pigeon.

  Beth studied the scientist now that he was in the sunlight. Tesla’s hair was dark with flecks of gray. He had many fine wrinkles on his face. He still looked fit and trim even though he was older.

  The scientist reached inside his jacket pocket. He pulled out some birdseed and held it in his open palm. The pigeon pecked and ate the small yellow seeds.

  Beth climbed out of the Model T.

  Tesla got out of the Imagination Station too. He shut the driver’s-side door. Then he opened and closed it two more times.

  Beth wondered why the scientist closed the door three times. But she thought it would be rude to ask. So she kept quiet.

  Next, Tesla tossed the rest of the birdseed on the ground. The bird flew off his shoulder to follow the seeds. A dozen more pigeons descended on the food and began pecking too. Their soft cooing was soothing.

  Beth looked around the rooftop. At one end was a tarp that covered a large object. She thought perhaps it was an old air-conditioning unit.

  Next she studied the city skyline. Many nearby buildings were taller than the one where she was. They also had spires on top.

  Beth could see a wide river flowing a few blocks away. Boats chugged along the water. White clouds billowed from their stacks.

  “The city is beautiful,” Beth said.

  “Welcome to Manhattan,” Tesla said. He swept his arm as if to show off the city.

  Beth was confused. “Mr. Inumaru said you lived in New York,” she said.

  “Manhattan Island is only one section of New York City. In 1898 the city became larger. It spread out over four other areas,” Tesla said. “That was well before you were born.”

  Beth thought, And even before my great-grandparents were born!

  She said, “Oh yeah. How could I forget that?” She extended a hand to Tesla in greeting. “I already know who you are. My name is Beth.”

  The scientist took a step backward. He pulled his hands close to his body and wrung them together.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I cannot shake your hand. I injured mine not long ago in a laboratory accident.”

  “Did you burn them?” Beth asked. She took a step toward him. “Let me take a look. Do you need a doctor?”

  Tesla stuffed both hands in his pants pockets. “Oh no,” he said. He backed farther away. “But your concern is noted.”

  Beth looked at the Imagination Station. Its cracked windows made her sad. But she noticed it hadn’t vanished as it normally did.

  She was curious how Tesla and the other in Tokyo could see it. And how he had appeared in the car in the first place. Usually the Imagination Station was invisible to everyone except Patrick and her.

  “How did you get inside the . . . Model T to begin with?” Beth asked. After Eugene’s warning, she thought it best not to call it the Imagination Station.

  “I was standing on the roof,” Tesla said. “Right where the car is now. It appeared in a transparent form. I walked toward it and touched the windshield . . .”

  “And then what?” Beth asked. “Did you recognize the machine?”

  Tesla nodded. “I think I’ve worked on something like it, but it was years ago,” he said. “I got inside and opened the glove box. The yellow meter was there. There was also a panel for putting in coordinates for longitude and latitude. I quickly decided it must be some sort of transporter. So I put in the coordinates for Serbia and turned the steering wheel. I don’t remember anything else until I saw you in Japan.”

  Beth wondered about the roof in Manhattan. Maybe it was a portal for the Imagination Station.

  “My friend Eugene Meltsner said you can help us. He must think you can fix this . . . umm . . . this transporter machine,” Beth said. She didn’t think Tesla should know it could move through time. “You must be somebody special.”

  Tesla frowned. “I used to be,” he said. “But in New York you have to be smart and rich to be somebody. Another inventor, Mr. Edison, squeezed me out of my fortune.”

  “Thomas Edison?” Beth said. “The man who invented the lightbulb?”

  “Yes,” Tesla said, “but my alternating-current system powers the lights! I invented it. Nearly every light in the city runs because of my electric generators.”

  Beth scratched her head. “Then you should be rich,” she said.

  Tesla raised a hand to his temple as if in despair. He said, “I had to give my patent to Mr. Westinghouse, my investor. Thomas Edison nearly bankrupted him, too. Edison is a good businessman. I am not.”

  Just then the Imagination Station’s headlights flashed and went out. Next the car’s speakers let out a blast of static. Then they went silent.

  “The transporter machine isn’t working correctly,” Beth said. “I’d like your help repairing it so I can get back to Eugene. Or else he’ll spend the rest of his life in an Arkansas jail.”

  “You say this Eugene is a criminal?” Tesla asked.

  Beth sighed. “He’s in jail,” she said. “But it’s all a mistake. He works for Mr. Whittaker.”

  “Ah! There’s a name I haven’t heard in years,” Tesla said and smiled.

  Beth was surprised that Tesla had heard of Mr. Whittaker. How would someone in 1923 know him?

  Then Tesla’s moustache twitched. He looked like a contented cat that had just caught a mouse.

  “I remember now. Of course you need my help repairing the transporter machine,” he said. “I’m the one who invented it.”

  Beth gasped. “That can’t be true!” she said. “I know for a fact Mr. Whittaker built it. I found it in his workshop.”

  Tesla said, “John Avery Whittaker is another scoundrel. He must have stolen my patents for the cosmic induction generator. That’s what powers this transporter machine.”

  “I can’t believe that,” Beth said. “Mr. Whittaker would never steal.”

  “Well, then explain this,” Tesla said. He walked over to the Imagination Station and opened the hood.

  Beth looked at the engine. It was made with electrical coils and rectangular metal grids.

  On top of the largest coil was a small metal plate. The words on the plate said Tesla Electric Light & Manufacturing. Then the scientist took the yellow electronic gizmo out of his pocket. The meter lit up. A red light flashed.

  “Is that a voltage meter?” Beth asked.

  Tesla shook his head. “It measures radiation. This engine is powered by cosmic radiation converted to electric current.”

  Beth remembered her adventure in Babylon. “The meter lit up when I was near a lightnin
g strike,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Tesla said. “I’m trying to harness energy from the atmosphere. I mean I have harnessed it and turned it into electricity.”

  Beth didn’t understand what the inventor was talking about. But she did know Whit hadn’t stolen anything.

  “I have the patents,” Tesla said. “I filed one of them more than twenty years ago.”

  “So you can help us fix it?” Beth said. Hope welled up inside her.

  “Of course I can,” Tesla said. He slammed the car hood shut with a loud bang. “But only after I prove to you that I invented it!”

  Martians

  Mr. Inumaru turned to Patrick and said, “I hope your cousin is safe.” Then the hotel manager walked from the garden patio to the kitchen.

  The man’s words made Patrick feel nervous. He followed Mr. Inumaru inside. “What do you mean?” Patrick asked.

  “Mr. Tesla is a genius,” Mr. Inumaru said. “But he’s got some weird ideas.”

  “How weird?” Patrick asked. He felt his throat tighten with worry.

  “Well, he’s been trying to communicate with other planets,” Mr. Inumaru said. “He built a 187-foot tower with a wireless transmitter on top. The total height of the tower was 225 feet! He also said he was sending signals to Mars. I feared the Martians would invade the city.”

  Patrick sighed and grinned. Only Martians. He felt better. Aliens wouldn’t harm Beth.

  Patrick stood at the kitchen table and began to roll rice balls again. Number 435.

  The hotel manager turned to leave. Then he paused inside the kitchen doorway. “Mr. Tesla’s lab is the real danger,” Mr. Inumaru said.

  “Real danger?” Patrick asked. He looked up from his work.

  Mr. Inumaru added, “Something always sparks and burns when Mr. Tesla sets to work. His first lab burned down in 1895. He shocked himself once and passed out. He woke up and said he saw the past, present, and future. He said he could travel through time.”