He lurched forward. Sawyer grasped his arm and steadied him. "We need to get you help. Got to find Mina, or Dr. Jekyll."
Quatermain shrugged him off. "No. No time for that." He reached the gap in the tower wall and peered out through the crack. He reeled, struggled to focus his eyes. He saw the black Fantom sailing to the ground. "There's the bastard!"
Moriarty skidded to a landing and took off running across the snow-swept field toward the half-frozen Amur River, where the curve of the stolen Nautilus still poked up through the ice.
Quatermain held his rifle with trembling arms and tried to aim, but he couldn't see. Slumping, barely able to stay on his feet, he fumbled in his pocket with bloodstained fingers. When he drew out his spectacles, both lenses were broken, the frames twisted.
With a sigh, he pulled Sawyer close so that they could stand together. "It's on you now, boy." He guided the young man to help him take aim. "Look there, find him. Show the bullet where to go."
Sawyer was uncertain, wracked with grief for his mortally wounded friend, but Quatermain clenched him tightly until he submitted to the hunter's intensity. The American agent leaned in and sighted down Matilda's long barrel.
"So, take your time. Last… chance."
Sawyer squinted, aimed, and adjusted the elephant gun. He concentrated, but finally hesitated, unsure. "It's too far."
"No, you're ready," Quatermain said, urging Sawyer to aim again. "Got to be ready."
Moriarty kept running, his black cape flapping like a bats wings behind him. Every step carried him farther away, closer to the small submersible.
"Take. Your. Time." Quatermain squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the pain and the tide of weakness as his life continued to bleed away.
By now, Moriarty was so far away that he seemed barely a black dot. Exactly centered on the sight line. Sawyer accounted for breezes, the movement of the target — and took the shot.
With a loud crack the bullet whistled away from the rifle. An eternity passed.
Then… far off, Moriarty fell face first into the snow at the rivers ice-crusted edge. The leather satchel filled with vital, stolen secrets skittered along, teetered on the thinnest ice, then broke through and sank forever into the frigid water of the gurgling Amur.
The Fantom's mask spun away, it's polished silver surface spattered with blood. It came to a rest, the empty eye-holes staring up at the clear sky…
Up in the tower, Quatermain smiled with satisfaction. Then he collapsed with a dying gasp. Sawyer knelt by his side. The young man's eyes filled with tears, but there was nothing he could say, no way to help.
Quatermain clutched the front of Sawyer's shirt. "May this new century be yours, son — as the old one was mine."
"Allan," Sawyer said. "No, wait—"
And with that, Quatermain died.
FIFTY TWO
Mongolian Wastes Outside of M's Fortress
In front of the smoking, crumbling fortress, a British soldier raised his head over the snowy slope. Beside him, another head appeared, peering at the destruction. Then another, and another.
Finally, two hundred soldiers in winter uniforms marched together through the snow: a combined British and American force that trudged across the wind-swept steppes.
Several heavy icebreaker ships were moored in the far distance at a wide point of the frozen Amur River. Slabs of white ice had ground up against their armored hulls as they had battered their way up the half-frozen channel, until they encountered the Nautilus. Soldiers and officers continued to disembark, though all that remained were the mopping-up chores.
A few surviving henchmen and Mongolian guards fled into the distance across the empty hills, searching for peasant settlements to pillage or take refuge in. Black, greasy fumes curled into the sky from a collapsed chimney. With a low rumble, another minor explosion blew out a side wall.
On their way back to the submarine vessel, the Nautilus's crew had corralled hundreds of Moriarty's escaping workers and guards; other crewmen now tended to the rescued scientists who were reunited with their hostage family members.
An elegant portly gentleman disembarked from the largest icebreaker and brought up the rear of the marching soldiers. He had a neat mustache and goatee, a handsome face that had gained a fair amount of weight due to lavish living. His clothes were elegant, a fine dinner jacket, plaid waistcoat, a pocket watch on a chain. Reaching the top of the rise, he placed one ringed hand on his hip and studied the spectacle of the Fantom's fortress.
Bandaged and battered, the remaining members of the League of Extraordinary gentlemen, no longer part of the military action, waited for the soldiers to meet them. They eyed the arriving troops coldly.
Quatermain's body lay nearby, wrapped in cloth. Tom Sawyer and Skinner had carried it out of the tower and into the open.
"Coming to rescue us, are you?" Mina said with undisguised irony. "It's about time."
The elegant gentleman smiled a warm greeting at her. "Sorry. Took us longer to get here than we expected. Russia was none too keen on the sight of our gunboats." He extended a hand to Mina and introduced himself. "Bond. Campion Bond. British Secret Service."
"Dollar shy, day late, I'd say," Sawyer said, his voice raw.
"Ah, you must be the American," Bond said. "How… quaint. Though I must say you've done quite a respectable job."
"Yeah. That's right." Sawyer was surprised that the elegant man knew him. He imitated the others introduction. "I'm Sawyer. Tom Sawyer."
Bond glanced at his pocket watch to make sure the whole mop-up operation continued on schedule. "Yes, I know who you are. We've had a spy among you for the whole time." He snapped the pocket watch shut. The League members looked in unison at Skinner.
"Rodney Skinner. On her Majesty's Secret Service." Skinners proud smile was only visible because of the smears of grime that covered his transparent face.
"Now I don't know what to believe." Minas' usually neat hair was disheveled from her battles; her dress was in tatters.
"Or who to trust," Jekyll added, looking cold and miserable.
Uniformed scouts and army engineers scoured the remains of the fortress. Even though the battle was already over, they were still needed for their muscle. Groups of men carted equipment, engines, and war machinery out of the smoking fortress and delivered them to the icebreakers. Campion Bond watched the work with glee, as if he could barely wait to inspect all the new toys in his possession.
Another contingent of soldiers took over tending to the former prisoners. Nemo nodded his permission to his crewmen, and the soldiers led the hapless scientists away, including Karl Draper, who refused to be separated from his daughter Eva. They looked haggard, but comforted to know that their ordeal was over at last. They had all seen the Fantom's body lying motionless on the riverbank.
Sawyer watched the scientists go. "Taking them into care? They'll need hospitalization."
"Oh, they'll be taken care of, all right." Bond beamed, looking immensely satisfied. "Just so long as they keep up the good work — for us, of course."
Racing across the snow and panting white steam in the cold air, an aide ran up from the nearest icebreaker. He clutched a flapping telegram in his hand. "Mr. Bond, sir! We just received this in the radio room."
Bond scanned the message, his smile broadening. "Gentlemen, Mrs. Harker. The Queen herself would like to congratulate you for your extraordinary actions, and she proposes to induct you as a real league. What an honor!"
Sawyer wasn't entirely overwhelmed. He looked down at the wrapped shape of the old adventurer's cold body. "I'd like to suggest a greater honor. Allan Quatermain should be buried in Africa, next to his son." His voice was now hard and determined. He raised his chin. "I aim to see that happen."
"And I would be honored to take you there," Nemo said. "My Nautilus is at your disposal."
Sawyer felt relieved, a small portion of the weight lifted from his shoulders. He turned to his fellow League members. "Who else is coming?"
Mina smiled at the young man. She took his hand as they moved toward the armored submarine vessel waiting at the edge of the Amur. After hesitating a second, Jekyll joined them.
Skinner stayed with Campion Bond, though. Sawyer looked back, frowning in disappointment. The other man shrugged his barely visible shoulders. "I am nothing if not a servant of my Queen."
"Skinner," Sawyer said sternly.
The invisible man quickly changed his mind. "Coming!"
Bond's brow furrowed with sudden concern as he read the second half of the lengthy telegram from London. He gasped. "Wait! You all may be needed anew!" He raised the sheet of paper. "Scientists have discovered hot flares on Mars, green flashes as if from launches of massive cylinders. The astronomer Ogilvy has theorized it could be the sign of a Martian invasion."
Jekyll's watery eyes widened, then he chuckled. "That's ridiculous."
Sawyer scoffed. "Martian invasions like world wars are the stuff of fantasy." Together, he and Skinner respectfully lifted the shrouded body of Allan Quatermain and carried it toward Nemo's waiting vessel.
As the snow blew harder and harder, the League turned their backs on Bond and began their trek back to the Nautilus.
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The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Page 22