Zimmer looked at Tanaka in the gloom, his features revealing neither surprise nor outrage, nothing of the emotions that flashed through him like lightning in a bottle.
“Release me,” Zimmer said evenly. “Immediately.”
Tanaka eased the hammer down. He moved his hand back from Zimmer’s, but remained tensed until the German holstered his weapon. He watched as Folkestone and Hand entered.
“Why did you stop me, Tanaka?” Zimmer asked.
“You kill too easily, too soon” Tanaka replied.
Zimmer shrugged. “They discovered where Herr Professor Poulpe conducted his work and broached the lock. They are no longer of any importance.”
“You do not know the truth of that last statement.”
“I know they are not even competent agents, not even gifted amateurs,” Zimmer replied. “One is a verdammte Engländer, the other is not even human, just a Martian animal.”
“We do not know for a fact that this is the location of Poulpe’s secret laboratory,” Tanaka insisted.
“If it is not, then they are less than useless,” Zimmer pointed out. “We did not need them alive to search the building ourselves. In fact it would have been easier with them dead.”
“We will follow them in, watch them as they search,” Tanaka said. “If they do not find anything, you will let them leave without incident. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Zimmer replied. “Very.”
“At that point, we will search ourselves,” Tanaka continued. “It is most likely they will find nothing since they are only conducting a murder investigation. That, Zimmer-san, is our advantage, these two not being trained intelligence agents.”
“And if they stumble across that for which we look, Herr Tanaka?” Zimmer murmured.
“We shall do whatever we need to do,” Tanaka replied. “But we will kill the British soldiers only as a last resort.”
“You fear the British?” Zimmer sneered.
“I know the strength of the British in Syrtis Major, the sway they hold in the Court of the Red Prince,” Tanaka said. “I know the folly of disturbing a wasp-nest.”
“You worry about trifles.”
“Come,” Tanaka instructed. “Stay to the shadows. Silence.”
They crossed from wharf to the warehouse. When they reached the door, Tanaka sprayed a fine mist of oil on the hinges from a small pump-can. The door moved noiselessly as they opened it just enough to ease through.
Closing the door, Tanaka and Zimmer moved soundlessly in shadow. They watched the two British soldiers move in the dim gaslight at the far end of the building. They heard the Martian call out, saw the human join him at a table. Zimmer almost sprang from hiding as a hidden panel slid upward, but Tanaka restrained him.
“Let them discover whether Poulpe left any traps for intruders,” Tanaka whispered.
Reluctantly, Zimmer settled back and watched. The two men shone a torch into the hidden room, then entered. Without warning, the panel slid back into place.
Tanaka and Zimmer emerged from hiding and rushed to the table where the two men had discovered the mechanism opening the secret doorway.
“I suppose you want to wait till they come out,” Zimmer said. “See what they bring us.”
“Don’t be a fool, Zimmer,” Tanaka said, not bothering to look up from his search. “Look for the door’s controlling mechanism. It has to be on this table.”
Zimmer thought back to what he had seen, the way the Martian had stood, how he had reached. He emulated the stance and the motion, then indicated the tack holding down the postcard.
“That tack,” he said confidently. “That must be the key.”
Tanaka withdrew his steam-needle thrower. Zimmer grinned and took out his own weapon, a proper gun, unlike Tanaka’s.
“Cover them when the door opens, but do not shoot,” Tanaka warned. “There is to be no repeat of the mistake made with Poulpe. Do you understand?”
As he nodded, Zimmer’s blue eyes blazed with cold fire.
“Good,” Tanaka said. “Activate the mechanism.”
As soon as the panel slid up, Tanaka and Zimmer stepped into the laboratory, weapons trained on the British soldiers.
“You will stay where you are!” Zimmer snapped.
“If you will be so kind,” added Tanaka.
* * *
The instant the panel whirred upward, Folkestone and Hand reacted, diving for cover. By the time the two strangers entered, they had their weapons out, so when words of warning were uttered, the intruders spoke to phantoms. They, too, sought cover.
“You will surrender immediately,” the blond man ordered.
“Actually, I was about to tell you the very same thing, Fritz,” Folkestone said, flashing a grin toward Hand.
“Fritz? I do not…” Zimmer suddenly flushed with anger.
“Toss your gun over here and we’ll explain it all to you,” Hand taunted. “And your runt buddy too.”
“There is no need for violence,” Tanaka said. “Unless you fail to cooperate, you will not be harmed.”
“Is that what you told Professor Poulpe?” Folkestone asked.
“What happened to the good professor was regrettable.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Poulpe would agree with that,” Hand called from his position of concealment.
“Now as to your surrender…” Folkestone started to say.
“Verdammit!” Zimmer swore as he fired his weapon, burying a slug in a cabinet beyond Folkestone and Hand.
“Zimmer!” Tanaka snapped.
Zimmer started to aim for another shot, waiting for a mistake by one of the two men, but a glance at Tanaka discouraged him.
“Who are you two chaps?” Folkestone asked.
“Who we are and what we represent is unimportant,” Tanaka said. “What is important is that your Admiralty has thrust you into a situation that is beyond your understanding and training. This is not a military matter, to be solved with a gun.” He paused and glared at Zimmer, who refused to look at him. “We only seek to retrieve documents Professor Poulpe stole from his employer. If you give us anything you may have already found, you will be free to leave without further interference from me or my partner.”
“We’re supposed to trust you?” Hand demanded.
“You have no choice,” Tanaka pointed out. “You are in a room with only one exit, and we control the exit. I would rather not get in a gun fight in a room filled with potentially dangerous chemicals.” Again, he looked at Zimmer, who, this time, nodded. “But there is no need to. We can simply outwait you. I am a very patient man.”
“Someone will come looking for us,” Folkestone said.
Tanaka smiled. “You will be missed, but who will come? No one knows you are here. You have no choice but to…”
Abruptly the panel slid back into place and immediately a bell chimed softly, then began to sound regularly, second upon second.
"Was ist los?" Zimmer demanded harshly.
“Cheeky devil,” Folkestone murmured.
“What does this mean, Captain Folkestone?” Tanaka asked.
“I believe you are listening to a countdown,” Folkestone said.
“A countdown to what, sir?” Hand asked.
“Explosion or fire,” Folkestone replied with a noncommittal shrug. “Certainly, though, the destruction of this laboratory, one way or another.”
“A trap,” Tanaka sighed. He almost heard Poulpe’s laughter, just before Zimmer shot him.
“When we entered the laboratory and turned on the lighting, it activated a mechanism that closed the doorway,” Folkestone said, his voice betraying no alarm as he continued to count the chimes. “When you opened the door from the outside while someone was already inside, you probably activated a device that Poulpe could have switched off. Since Poulpe is no longer able to do so, another mechanism came into play, which lowered the panel, trapped his enemies, and started the countdown that will destroy us.”
“We have to get o
ut of here!” Zimmer shouted.
“By all means, you should,” Folkestone agreed. He motioned for Hand to start pulling toward them some of the other larger items of furniture. “If the conflagration doesn’t kill you, it will certainly draw the attention of our lads and the Court’s security forces, which would be as bad for you as being caught in here.”
“You must come with us!” Tanaka yelled, his icy calm starting to break.
“What, and get it in the head like Poulpe?” Hand said, grunting as he pulled the desks, tables and cabinets toward them. “Not on your tintype, boyo!”
Folkestone rolled his eyes, but, at least, he thought, Hand had not thrown some obscure scrap of Shakespeare at them.
“Come with us!” Tanaka cried.
“Actually, I think we might have better odds with whatever is going to happen here than with you two,” Folkestone called. “But don’t let us stop you. I am assuming a sixty-second countdown to allow Poulpe to react, but, then, he would have known where the cut-off switch was. You should hurry. I’ve counted thirty-seven chimes, so far.”
“Captain Folkestone, I implore…”
“Fool!” Zimmer shrieked as he broke from cover. “Die talking if you want, Tanaka!”
Zimmer beat on the panel, and tried all possible buttons around it. Then Tanaka was at his side. One of them must have hit a hidden switch, for the panel slid silently upward. They whirled around in case Folkestone and Hand tried to break for safety, but the two men remained hunkered behind and beneath their makeshift barricade. The men from MEDUSA also paused in case they had somehow stopped the countdown, but the tiny bells continued to inexorably chime toward inevitable disaster.
Tanaka and Zimmer fled the laboratory, fled the warehouse and sought the safety of the night.
“They’ve gone, sir,” Hand said, popping his head up. “Now’s our chance.”
“Too late,” Folkestone snapped, pulling his Martian friend back to the cover of their shelter. “Double up, Hand. Fingers in your ears, mouth open and eyes shut.”
And Folkestone counted down the last three chimes.
The explosion was quite impressive, shaking all the buildings in Dust Town, knocking down a few of them, even distracting the most ardent sinners from their transgressions. The flames rising upward were visible beyond the shadowy borders of Dust Town, bringing the quick attention of both British and Martian authorities. Debris rained down.
The fire brigades steamed through the flame-lit streets to the center of the explosion. Because the burning warehouse was so near the Dust Town Canal they snaked pipes off the ends of the piers, siphoning up the water rather than using the reserves in their tanks. They sprayed the surrounding warehouses and other structures to keep the fire from spreading.
The warehouse did not burn long. When measured by Highland standards, the Lowlands of Mars were lush with oxygen, but when contrasted with Earth they were comparable to the thinnest reaches of the higher mountain ranges. What would have been a disaster in a wood-rich city on Earth, such as Chicago or Liverpool, was a minor annoyance on Mars.
Once surrounding buildings were protected by sheens of water, the fire brigades turned their nozzles upon the burning warehouse, quickly bringing the flames under control, then extinguishing them completely.
Though the place was a total loss—the owner would have to pull down the walls and rebuild from the foundation up—most of the damage had not been caused by fire, but by an explosion at the end of the warehouse away from the canal.
Investigators moved in quickly. Both the officially curious and those whose curiosity was fuelled by idleness neared the shattered walls, gawking at broken glassware, battered furniture, and twisted metal. The local Martian police attempted to keep back those people drawn by disasters, looking a chance to loot.
But there was no keeping anyone back when a heap of scorched and gashed furniture at one end of the former room began to move as if its own volition. Cries of alarm at the possibility of another explosion were replaced by shouts of amazement and exultations of joy when two British soldiers, one human, the other Martian, burst from the midst of the stacked debris.
They stood upright, surrounded by destruction, supporting each other. Blood seeped from myriad cuts and their uniforms seemed to smoke as much as the blackened walls.
Then the two men collapsed.
The call for “Medic!” was answered by an Army corpsman and two corporals from St John. They tended the immediate needs of the two soldiers, surprised they were still alive, astounded their wounds were little more than cuts and contusions, then carried them to the ambulance. They proceeded at full steam to hospital, bells and sirens clearing the streets before them.
Lost among the crowds were two humans, a tall blond man and a shorter oriental. The two men looked in dismay at the ruins of the warehouse, from which nothing was salvageable, then with fury at the departing St John’s ambulance, then with disgust at each other. They hastily departed, heading for the aetherport.
“Let me out of here!” shouted Sergeant Hand, straining against the straps that held him to the gurney.
“Hold on, mate,” cautioned the St John Corporal. “You been through a bad one, you have. Take it easy like.”
“I’ll put you through a bad one if you don’t let me up!” Hand promised, renewing his struggles with verve.
“All right, mate, all right, don’t bust a gut,” the Corporal said with annoyance, fearing the muscular little Martian might actually break the stout leather straps. He unhooked them and moved back.
Hand threw the straps off him, sat up, and made for the still form of Folkestone. He groaned loudly and fell back.
“I told you to take it easy, mate,” the ambulance attendant said, keeping his distance from the feisty Martian. “Don’t worry none about your Captain there. Knocked out, but breathing right good.”
Folkestone groaned and stirred. “Hand, what…” He struggled against the restraints. “Get these straps off me immediately!”
“Not you too,” the Corporal moaned.
“Get them off, that’s a good lad,” Hand said, too sore and tired to properly fume at the man. His head was still ringing like a mess-gong at suppertime, but the dizziness was beginning to subside.
Folkestone sat on the edge of the gurney. “We survived.”
“Yes, surprised the hell out of me too, sir,” Hand agreed.
“What happened to you two?” the ambulance man asked.
“We need to get to the Admiralty,” Folkestone insisted.
“This is an ambulance, not a blooming steam-hansom,” the Corporal snapped, tired of the two problem patients. “You are going to hospital whether you like it or not. Lie down, sit up, or dance a bloody jig—I don’t care, but to hospital you’re going. Once there, you can do what you want. But until you get out of this official vehicle of the St John Ambulance Service, Mars Priori, you will do what the bloody hell I tell you.”
Hand and Folkestone looked from the Corporal to each other, laughed uproariously, then lay back on the gurneys.
“Bloody hell,” the Corporal muttered.
At Royal Lowland Hospital, Folkestone and Hand were passed for duty, though the doctor suggested a few days rest. Cracked ribs, bruises, and some superficial cuts and burns, but otherwise unhurt. When they reached the Admiralty, they passed the salvaged papers to the intelligence section, then alerted Baphor-Ta’s office to watch for Tanaka and Zimmer, though they doubted the two would be found. While the two battered men rested, the aether between Earth and Mars burned with messages, intelligence analysts picking apart the papers saved from the hidden laboratory.
“It seems Professor Poulpe was researching some kind of energy having nothing to do with steam, aether, electricity or any other known kind,” Lord Admiral Barrington-Welles said to Folkestone and Hand when they met him at dawn.
“We saw wireless electrical transmission at that laboratory of his,” Folkestone said.
The old man nodded. “So I read
in your report. It’s a shame the laboratory was destroyed.”
“Yes, sir,” Folkestone agreed. “We were not too keen about that either.”
“I imagine so,” the Admiral said. “Lucky to survive.”
“Any word on those two blighters?” Hand asked. “The ones who called themselves Zimmer and Tanaka.”
Barrington-Welles passed a parchment bearing the seal of the Red Prince to Folkestone, who glanced at it, then passed it to Hand.
“According to your friend, Baphor-Ta,” the Admiral said, “he shut down all flights out of the aetherport as soon as he got your message, put men at all terminals, and started boarding all outbound airships and canal traffic. He’s drawn the net tight. They may have got out of Syrtis Major by air, rail, or water, but no aetherships left before he shut the port down, and all outgoing flights are being searched before being released. Good man, Baphor-Ta.”
“I’ll put my money on those two still being somewhere in town,” Hand asserted.
“Perhaps,” Folkestone allowed. “But the bigger question is, who are they?”
“Yes, that is the question,” the Admiral agreed.
“Well, no matter what they look like, they can’t be from either the German or Japanese settlements,” Hand said. “Those two are like oil and water these days, what with the situation in Cho-Sen.”
“Besides, the Japanese presence on Mars is negligible at best,” Folkestone added. “They have a consulate up in Hellas, but they are mostly invested in the Venusian marshlands.”
“Zimmer and Tanaka mentioned Poulpe had stolen something from his employer, which would mean their employer too,” Hand recalled. “That does not sound like they are working for any of the Great Powers. Some private corporation maybe?”
“We may have a clue to that,” Barrington-Welles said. “As it turns out, while you two were investigating Poulpe’s death here, Section 6 co-opted the services of a Scotland Yard Chief Inspector and sent him to Paris.”
“Don’t those spooks ever do any of their own…”
“Who was the Chief Inspector, sir?” Folkestone asked.
The Admiral picked up a communiqué from his cluttered desk. “A chap by the name of Slaughter.” He pursed his lips. “Now, why does that name seem so…”
Amidst Dark Satanic Mills (Folkestone & Hand Interplanetary Steampunk Adventures Book 2) Page 12