by Darrell Pitt
Chapter Twenty-Five
The afternoon passed slowly.
Whoever thought detective work could be so boring, Jack thought.
He found himself squirming in the seat despite Mr Doyle’s calm urgings that he needed to exercise patience. During the afternoon Mr Doyle made a reconnaissance to the rear of the building to make certain that Flint had no other escape, but he came back reporting the back of the property to be enclosed by a large wall.
The afternoon slid into evening. At one stage Jack asked Mr Doyle exactly what he expected to happen.
“The best case scenario is that Professor M meets Mr Flint. Possibly Flint may even go to a meeting with M, in which case we will follow him.”
Another two hours passed. Airships eased across the sky, their brass gondolas reflecting the last light of day. The streets grew quieter. The few nearby shops closed and the owners pulled their curtains across and departed for the day. A block away the distant sounds of a pub echoed down the empty street. A woman sang out of tune and the crack of broken glass tinkled in the night.
Next time I’m bringing a book, Jack thought dismally. Maybe I -.
A gun shot rang out.
“What on Earth –.” Mr Doyle began.
They warily crossed the street. The area was so deserted that either no–one else had heard the shot or if they had they did not care. Mr Doyle drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me, Jack,” he said.
They made their way up the front steps of the building. Mr Doyle tried the door handle. It opened with a slight creak. They paused in the doorway before starting down the hall. The faint glow of lamplight emanated from under the door of the room that had contained Flint.
Mr Doyle carefully pushed the door open with his gun at the ready. Jack peered inside. A lamp sat on a table, casting a shivering glow across the room. There was no other furniture in the room. The chamber was as dilapidated as it had appeared from his brief glance earlier.
The big difference now was the deceased body of Flint laying face down in the middle of the floor. Mr Doyle quickly crossed to the man and turned him over.
“Dead,” Ignatius Doyle pronounced. “He’s been shot once in the heart.”
Jack glanced nervously behind them.
“Who could have killed him?” Jack asked. “No–one entered the building all afternoon.”
“That’s the mystery,” Mr Doyle said. “Either the assailant was already in the building or –.”
The detective stopped. A pile of timber on the floor lay a small distance away from Flint’s body. Mr Doyle crossed to it. He grabbed the nearest board and pulled on it.
To Jack’s surprise, the board was attached to the others and lifted in one smooth action. The seemingly loose pile of boards were actually attached and formed a trapdoor – set into the floor! A set of stairs led down into the dark. Mr Doyle motioned to Jack.
“Please grab that lamp, Jack,” he said.
In the next instant they started down the stairs with Mr Doyle in the lead and Jack illuminating the interior. At the bottom of the stairs a tunnel led away from them into the distance. A sound echoed faintly towards them.
“They’re getting away!” Mr Doyle exclaimed. “Quickly!”
They raced down the tunnel. Ahead of them they heard the footsteps break into a run. The sound of a metal grate reverberated down the tunnel. A moment later they reached a ladder stretching up above them. Mr Doyle climbed up cautiously and pushed up a trapdoor. He looked around carefully.
“It’s another old house,” he told Jack.
Jack climbed up the ladder and joined him in a derelict room not unlike the one they had just left. A door slammed distantly. They hurried from the room and found a passageway leading to the front door. As they burst through they saw a figure racing across the street away from them.
The person turned around and pointed at them.
“Down!” Mr Doyle grabbed Jack and pushed him to the ground as a pistol cracked and a bullet thudded into the timber over their heads.
They jumped up and gave pursuit. The figure raced down a dark lane towards a better lit thoroughfare. For the first time, Jack was able to get a closer look at their mode of dress. A hat. Long coat. Scarf.
“That’s the person I chased on the train,” Jack gasped as they raced down the alley. “Do you think it’s M?”
“I’m not sure,” Mr Doyle said.
The alley opened into a street occupied by a few pubs, a street vendor selling chestnuts and couples walking out in the early evening.
“M has a habit of killing those closest to him,” Mr Doyle explained, scanning the street. “He leaves no witnesses.”
Jack sighted someone turning a corner at the end of the street. The distant figure glanced back at them.
“There!” Jack yelled.
They hurried down the street. By the time they reached the corner, the figure was moving away from them at a great pace. At the end, the road angled upwards over a bridge crossing another thoroughfare.
The figure turned again and fired. The bullet zinged off the pavement and away from them. As they started onto the bridge they saw the man point the gun at them – but nothing happened.
“He’s out of bullets,” Mr Doyle puffed. The detective was sweating and breathless in the cool night air.
They continued onto the bridge, but this time the killer did not run away. Instead, he examined the road beneath the bridge, shot another look at them and raced across to the opposite side.
No! Jack thought. That’s barmy!
“He’s going to jump!” he cried.
The man leapt onto the hand railing, balanced on it momentarily and fell, disappearing from sight. Jack and Mr Doyle raced over to the side. A steamtruck had passed beneath the bridge. A figure lay spread-eagled on the roof. The man turned and stared back at them until the vehicle turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.
“Damnation,” Mr Doyle shook his head, then gripped his leg, wincing. “If I were twenty years younger I may have caught him.”
“I don’t think anyone could have caught up with him,” Jack said. “That jump was one in a million.”
“True,” Mr Doyle agreed. “Regardless, we’ve lost our best lead at the moment and we’re no closer to finding the bomb.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jack rose the next morning, washed and dressed and found Mr Doyle eating jam and toast with Gloria Scott.
“Good morning, Jack,” Mr Doyle said.
“Hello Jack,” Gloria smiled. “I trust you’re rested after your adventures last night?”
“Rested?” Jack asked. “I slept like the dead, if that’s what you mean.”
“A note arrived early,” Mr Doyle said. “We must attend the Prime Ministers residence this morning.”
“The Prime Minister…,” Jack’s voice trailed off. “The Prime Minister of what?”
“England, Jack” Mr Doyle frowned. “There’s only one.” He scoffed down a piece of toast. “It seems they have received Professor M’s demands.”
They quickly finished their meal and hailed a steam cab to take them to the centre of London. The day had turned cold again. Fog shifted among the vehicles on the road as their carriage shunted through the streets till it reached Downing Street.
They climbed from the cab. A number of constables strategically guarded the street. Jack imagined even some of the curious onlookers who waited to catch a glimpse of the Prime Minister were probably security guards in disguise.
Mr Doyle introduced himself at the front door. He and Jack stepped inside and were quickly frisked by two security agents. Finally a butler led them down a corridor. A moment later they were ushered into a room. Jack recognised the three inhabitants of the room – General Churchill, Thomas Griffin from MI5 and the Prime Minister, Horatio Kitchener.
“Hello, Jack,” Mr Griffin said amiably. “Hello Ignatius.”
“May I introduce you to the Prime Minister,” General Churchill announced.
Jack felt slightly nervous shaking the hand of the man in charge of England, but Mr Doyle appeared at ease.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” the Prime Minister said. “You can appreciate the level of this crisis.”
“We can indeed,” Mr Doyle said. “I understand you have received a communication from M?”
Mr Kitchener opened a folder and placed a letter and large envelope on the desk. Mr Doyle donned a pair of gloves and examined the pieces of paper.
After a moment, he laid down the note and nodded. “Indeed, this is the same letter writer as the original note. How was this delivered to you?”
“A boy was given five shillings to deliver it,” General Churchill said. “Apparently he was approached on the street by a stranger.”
“And a description of the man?”
“Medium height. Slim build. He wore a hat, coat and scarf.”
Mr Doyle and Jack looked at each other. “It’s the same man,” Jack said.
“Apparently,” Mr Doyle commented. “Now we should refer to the actual contents of the note.” His eyes narrowed as he read the page, then anger blazed in them. “This is outrageous.”
“What is it?” Jack asked.
Mr Doyle shot him a look, but did not reply. He turned to General Churchill. “We cannot allow this to happen.”
“I don’t believe we have any choice,” General Churchill said carefully.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, now a little frightened.
Mr Doyle wordlessly nodded to the letter. Jack moved closer to the desk and examined the letter. It said:
Mr Prime Minister
By now your scientists have evaluated the power of the atomic weapon found at the French metrotower. I’m sure it pains you to realise that I have an identical device and I am prepared to use it unless you follow my instructions to the letter.
You will arrange the payment of the diamonds. They will be delivered to me at the statue next to the bridge overlooking Kings Cross station at midday today. After I receive the diamonds, I will release Lucy Harker and the bomb into your care.
If you do not deliver the diamonds to me, I will destroy London at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.
If you attempt to capture me or not pay the ransom, I will destroy London.
If you do not follow my instructions to the letter, I will destroy London.
But it was the next words that made Jack’s mouth fall open.
You will send Jack Mason with the diamonds.
Once again, if my demands are not followed to the letter, I will reduce London to a landscape of burning cinders.
.M.
Jack re-read the message twice before he looked up at the three pairs of eyes staring down at him.
“It looks like I’m to be a delivery boy,” he said.
Mr Doyle shook his head. “This is too dangerous…too dangerous…” His voice trailed off.
“There’s no other way around it,” Mr Griffin said. “And we will watch Jack’s every move. There is no moment when he will be out of our sight.”
“Still…” Mr Doyle looked concerned.
“I understand your concern,” General Churchill said. “Believe me, I would never use a child to deal with a monster like M if I had a choice –.”
“But we do not have a choice,” Horatio Kitchener interrupted. “The lives of many thousands of people are at stake.”
“I will be fine,” Jack said firmly.
“Of course you will,” Mr Griffin said.
“Your safety is our number one priority,” General Churchill said.
“I don’t suppose,” Ignatius Doyle said, “it has occurred to anyone that there is more to this request than meets the eye?”
The men did not respond.
“Professor M has chosen a highly visible place for this exchange to occur,” Mr Doyle said. “He has no intention of being caught, so why has he chosen this location? And there is no guarantee he will actually release the bomb to us – if the bomb is even in England.”
“Do you think it is still on the continent?” Thomas Griffin asked.
“Isn’t it true that from the moment this crisis began, every airship port and shipping terminal across England was closed?” Mr Doyle asked. “You have effectively made England a fortress. Nothing in. Nothing out.”
General Churchill shook his head. “All it would take is one ship to deliver the weapon.”
“Agreed,” Mr Doyle said. “But if no ships are being allowed in –.”
“It would only take one to slip through,” Mr Griffin said firmly. “Do you really want to weigh up the life of one boy against half a million people?”
Mr Doyle said nothing, swallowing.
“I’ll be fine,” Jack said. “We’ve faced far worse danger than this.”
Mr Doyle looked into his face. “It’s just that I won’t be with you –.”
“I know,” Jack said. “I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jack was dropped off at a street near to Kings Cross station in a steam car occupied by Mr Doyle and General Churchill.
“Be careful my boy,” Mr Doyle said. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“I won’t,” Jack said.
“Good luck, Jack,” General Churchill said. “We’ll be watching your every move.”
With that, their car moved off and another vehicle chugged down the street towards Jack. He peered into the interior. Mr Griffin and another man – a square jawed ape of a man – sat inside. The ape man produced a small pouch and handed it to Jack.
“Place this around your neck,” he said. “And then stuff the bag down the front of your shirt.”
Jack did as instructed.
“Keep your wits about you,” Mr Griffin said.
“I will,” Jack promised.
Their steam car took off down the street, leaving Jack alone on the busy road. He started down the footpath. A few people walked past him – an elderly man, a lady with a dainty umbrella, two children. Jack supposed there were MI5 agents all over the place, but he doubted he would recognise them.
Likewise, he supposed, M probably had accomplices hiding in the wings. Jack shivered. Mr Griffin had given him further instructions. He had to receive explicit instructions as to the location of the bomb. If it appeared the location of the bomb was not to be revealed, then he was not to hand over the diamonds.
If it appeared Jack’s life was in danger, Mr Griffin assured him, MI5 agents would swoop in and save him.
Jack had the statue in sight now. It stood a few feet away to the right of the bottom of the stairs. It suddenly occurred to Jack how ludicrous this whole episode was – men and women going about their daily lives and he was about to meet with a madman to deliver ten million pounds in diamonds in exchange for a doomsday bomb.
His heart began to race a little faster. Only fifty feet to the statue now. Dozens of agents were probably watching his every move. His mouth grew dry as he glanced past the statue and across the street. No sign of the figure dressed in the hat, scarf and coat. He looked up to a clock tower on the other side of the street. Five minutes to twelve.
Jack walked the final few feet to the bottom of the statue.
A bird sailed overhead. A steam car chuffed down the road. An elderly couple slowly crossed the street in the direction of the station. They ascended the steps and disappeared out of sight. A steam truck moved down the road towards Jack. The driver glanced at him. Jack stared back into his face.
The vehicle continued past.
Jack’s heart pounded in his chest.
He felt the compass sitting in his pocket. It was still there. Good.
I don’t know how I’d feel if I lost it, he thought.
The clock on the tower chimed. A line of sweat ran down Jack’s face and gathered at the point of his chin. Two boys ran down the road, chasing each other. The clock continued to chime. The boys slowed down as they approached Jack. One of them yelled something rude at him and
they sprinted away.
Jack ignored them.
The clock finished chiming. Another trickle of sweat found an avenue down Jack’s face. He let out a long breath. A train pulled into the station behind him. He glanced back and saw a rush of passengers. A whistle tooted and the train started off with a chuff.
He looked long and hard up and down the street. The few people within sight seemed to be ignoring him. Where was M?
“So,” a voice said from behind him. “We meet again.”
Jack turned around. The voice had a raspy quality to it, as if the speaker had smoked too many cigars or enjoyed too many late nights. Behind him the statue stood on a round marble pedestal about three feet high. Beyond it lay a high wrought iron fence. Frowning, Jack rounded the monument. No–one stood behind it or beyond the fence.
“At your feet,” the voice continued, “you will see a small bronze box with an antenna sticking out the top.”
Jack looked down. The box, as described, lay at his feet. A small grill covered the bottom section. A red button jutted out from the top left side.
“Now pick it up,” the voice ordered.
Jack’s mouth fell open. The voice was coming from the box!
He picked the device up with amazement. He had never seen anything like it before.
“To reply to my instructions,” the voice continued, “you must press the button on the left hand side of this device and then release it to listen. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Jack said automatically, then realised the speaker could not hear him. He pressed the button and repeated the word.
“Good. You hold in your hands a radio transmitter. We will be using it to communicate with each other.”
“Who are you?” Jack asked. “To whom am I speaking?”
“You know who I am,” the voice said.
“You are Professor M,” Jack said. “When will the bomb be handed over?”
“When you follow my instructions,” the voice said. “Now, climb the stairs to the train station, buy a ticket for Hackney station, go down to the platform and wait for the twelve–o–five train.”
Jack walked up the steps on shaking legs. He purchased the ticket and waited on the platform for the train to arrive. There were few people on the platform. A train pulled in and the doors slid open. Jack climbed on.