The Monster Within

by Darrell Pitt

  Lady Death

  ‘But that’s three hours away,’ Greystoke looked shattered. ‘And ten stations…’

  ‘And we have no idea which stations they intend bombing,’ Kemp said. ‘It’ll be carnage. Utter carnage.’

  ‘They must be evacuated immediately,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘All of them. Every railway station in London.’

  ‘We’d never do it in time,’ Greystoke said. ‘London has hundreds of stations. We’d need every police officer in England.’

  ‘But it must be done,’ Kemp said. ‘Doyle, return to Scotland Yard. See if you can get us ahead of the Valkyrie Circle.’

  Mr Doyle and the others headed back to their steamcar. Workmen were already stabilising the huge hole in the road.

  Jack peered gloomily out the window as they travelled back through the city. It’s all getting worse by the minute. They had been following leads for days and achieved nothing. Now the whole city was being held to ransom. Where would it end?

  ‘What will we do once we get back to Scotland Yard?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘Review what we know,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Hopefully several heads are better than one.’

  The police vehicle was inching through the traffic. The driver spoke over his shoulder.

  ‘Looks like it’s going to be a while,’ he said. ‘The whole city’s in gridlock.’

  ‘Closing every station in London will only make things worse,’ Scarlet said.

  Mr Doyle nodded. ‘You’re quite right, of course,’ he said. ‘Undoubtedly that’s part of the Valkyrie Circle’s plan—to keep the police busy.’

  ‘Every pickpocket in London will be free to steal at will,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Mr Doyle frowned in thought. Leaning forward, he asked the driver to stop the car, and he gestured to Jack and Scarlet to climb out with him.

  ‘Are we going to walk back to Scotland Yard?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We’re returning to Pudding Lane.’

  Without further explanation, Mr Doyle led them back the few blocks they had travelled. The construction crew was still shoring up the sides of the hole in the ground. Skirting the disaster, Mr Doyle arrowed towards a dilapidated ten-storey brick building.

  ‘Ballantyne,’ he said, reading the sign over the front.

  They entered the foyer, a voluminous chamber with whitewashed timber walls and a cracking ceiling. Mr Doyle scanned the Occupants Directory.

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual about this building?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s old,’ Jack said. ‘Run down.’

  ‘Looks like it’s just about ready for demolition,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘Yet none of its windows were broken in the explosion,’ Mr Doyle said.

  Jack frowned. Mr Doyle was right. Most buildings in the street had been badly affected by the blast, yet this one—directly in front of the explosion—had been left entirely unscathed.

  ‘Are the windows unbreakable?’ he asked.

  ‘I imagine so,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘But why would there be unbreakable windows on an old building like this?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘Why indeed?’ The detective led them over to the nearest elevator and punched a button. No sound came from the shaft. ‘They seem to be out of order, except…’ He produced a candle from his pocket, lit it and waved it before the small window set into the elevator door. ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Hmm…what?’ Jack said.

  ‘Take a look.’

  Jack and Scarlet leant in, looking for elevator ropes and machinery. Instead, they saw complete blackness.

  ‘What is it?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I can tell you what it’s not,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It’s not an elevator. It’s as phony as everything else.’ He examined the other elevator shaft. ‘This one’s the same.’

  He led them over to the Occupants Directory. ‘Three of these companies—Rydor Cement, Jaguar Cogs and Eclipse Printing—went out of business decades ago. A building in this part of central London should be fully tenanted. Or at least show some signs of life.’

  ‘Are you saying those businesses are frauds?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘I’m saying this building is a fraud.’

  Mr Doyle led them up the fire stairs to a cast iron door with a complicated locking mechanism. Producing his lock pick, he went to work on it.

  ‘This is quite complex, but with a little luck…’ A click came from the mechanism. ‘We’re in.’

  Pushing the door open, they came into a dark room. Mr Doyle’s hand raked the wall for a switch and a row of gas lamps sprang to life.

  ‘My goodness,’ Scarlet cried.

  It was a laboratory. Benches covered in Petri dishes and racks of test tubes lined the walls. The place smelt of disinfectant.

  ‘What is this?’ Jack asked.

  ‘A research facility belonging to the Darwinist League, I imagine,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Most of the building is probably like—’

  He stopped as a rumble came from below.

  ‘Is that another explosion?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘It sounds like it,’ Mr Doyle replied.

  They made their way back down the stairs. Just as they reached ground level, two police officers appeared.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ the first asked. His name badge read Constable Hope. ‘This building’s off limits.’

  ‘We’re checking on some experiments we’ve been running,’ Mr Doyle said, heading towards the basement. ‘Shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘You can’t go down there,’ said the second officer, a man named Jefferson. ‘There are gas leaks in the area.’

  ‘Then there’ll be a disaster if we don’t turn off our equipment.’

  The policemen glanced at each other, undecided. Giving them a cheery smile, Mr Doyle marched past. Jack shot Scarlet a panicked look. Where are we going? But he said nothing as the police followed them.

  ‘You can only stay a minute,’ Constable Hope said. ‘The whole area’s being evacuated.’

  ‘I thought I heard another explosion,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘Not at all,’ Jefferson said. ‘It was just the building settling.’

  Downstairs, they headed down a long corridor. Jack’s heart was dancing a tango. What will the police do if they discover Mr Doyle doesn’t work here? Would they be arrested again?

  ‘You officers must be excited about the policeman’s ball,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It’s next month, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ Jefferson confirmed. ‘Always a good party.’

  ‘Fancy dress again?’

  ‘Absolutely. Everyone likes getting dressed up.’

  Mr Doyle stopped in front of a door, reached into his pocket and started searching for a key. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I’ve really got to do something about this coat.’ He dragged out an alarm clock, a box of mints, a bo
ok about butterflies, a ruler, a skating shoe, a human brain made of rubber, two eggs, a pack of cards and a miniature chess set. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, handing them out to everyone. ‘I’m sure they’re here somewhere.’

  By now, everyone’s hands were full. Reaching deep into one pocket, Mr Doyle produced a bronze statue of the Eiffel Tower and a pair of handcuffs. The bronze statue he handed to Constable Hope, slipping one of the cuffs over his wrist. The other cuff he secured over Jefferson’s wrist, linking the men together.

  Hope reached for his gun, but Mr Doyle landed two rapid punches to his jaw, then Jefferson’s, and both men fell senseless to the floor.

  ‘Mr Doyle!’ Jack cried. ‘What are you doing? They’re the police!’

  ‘If they’re the police,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘then I’m the man in the moon.’

  He took out his lock pick, quickly opened the nearest door and turned on the gaslights. Dragging the two unconscious men into the room, he pointed to their shoes.

  ‘Notice anything unusual?’ he asked Jack and Scarlet.

  They peered down. The men were wearing boots that were very scuffed.

  ‘Police officers never wear boots,’ Scarlet said. ‘And certainly not in that condition.’

  ‘And the policeman’s ball?’ Jack said.

  ‘Six months ago,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘And it’s never fancy dress.’

  They left the men handcuffed and locked the door behind them. At the end of the corridor was another set of stairs. Construction sounds came from below.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Jack whispered.

  ‘A robbery,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘but of what, I’m not sure.’

  Downstairs, another corridor lay ahead, but this time there were half-a-dozen people in lab coats sprawled motionless on the floor.

  ‘Dead,’ Mr Doyle pronounced as he hurried over. ‘All shot.’

  Scarlet pointed at another bloody figure down the corridor. ‘He’s still alive,’ she said. ‘Quickly!’

  It was an elderly man with blood flowing from his stomach. Mr Doyle staunched the wound. ‘Can you tell us who you are?’ he asked.

  ‘Clayton,’ he groaned. ‘John Clayton.’

  ‘What’s happening here?’

  ‘They’re after…X-29.’

  Jack shot Scarlet a look. X-29. That was what John Fleming had been asking them about.

  ‘We’ll get help,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘No time,’ Clayton said. ‘You must stop them… there is only one vial of potion…and it must not fall….’

  His eyes froze and he fell still. ‘We need to proceed with extreme caution,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I don’t know what X-29 is, but these men will kill for it.’

  Just as he spoke, a police officer rounded the corner. Spotting them, he went for his weapon, but Mr Doyle already had Clarabelle in his hand.

  A bullet whizzed over their heads. When Mr Doyle fired back, the officer turned and fled.

  ‘Quickly!’ Mr Doyle said. ‘And keep your heads down!’

  They raced to the corner. More men were at the far end. A huge metal door, like a safe, was open: papers and laboratory equipment had been scattered about the floor. A ladder led to a manhole in the roof. Two men were climbing it, while a third, at the bottom, turned and fired.

  Mr Doyle fired back, wounding the gunman in the leg. But somehow he managed to drag himself up the ladder.

  Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle found themselves at the bottom of the massive hole in Pudding Lane. Another ladder took them up to the street, where they glimpsed the imposters disappearing around the side of a building. One turned and fired.

  Jack and the others gave chase. As they started across the road, Mr Doyle grabbed Jack and Scarlet and pushed them behind a steamcar.

  ‘Dynamite!’ he yelled, pointing at a smoking stick in the middle of the road.

  Ka-boom!

  The blast sent brick, glass and mortar in all directions. Jack’s ears pulsed. In an instant, the busy London street had been transformed into a war zone. People, moaning and weeping, lay all over the footpath. A cart was on fire. Two steamcars vented steam.

  ‘Look!’ Scarlet said, pointing to the sky.

  An airship took off from the building, then swung around and out of sight.

  ‘They’ve escaped,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘And they’ve taken X-29 with them.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Ignatius Doyle! You are the last person I expected to see.’

  But Jack and Scarlet were equally surprised to see Thomas Griffin. After ambulances had taken the wounded to hospital, they’d traipsed back to Pudding Lane to find the MI5 agent on the street with a group of other men. Jack and Scarlet had met Griffin during their first adventure with Mr Doyle. He had helped them track down an organisation known as the Phoenix Society, and saved London from certain doom.

  ‘It’s a small world,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But not that small.’

  ‘So it’s no coincidence you’re here?’

  ‘Nor you, I imagine.’

  ‘Then you may have some information for us.’

  ‘Information is a two-way street.’

  Griffin gave them the address of a nearby pub and said he would join them once he had organised his people at the blast site. Mr Doyle took a seat and ordered tea. It wasn’t long before Griffin appeared.

  ‘It’s been a while,’ he said, shaking Mr Doyle’s hand warmly.

  ‘You remember Jack and Scarlet?’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘Of course.’

  Mr Doyle formed a steeple with his hands. ‘You would have received notification from me regarding John Fleming,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Griffin said. ‘Thanks for that. It came as quite a shock to us that Fleming had defected to SCAR.’

  ‘SCAR?’

  ‘Secret Commercial Armament Resources—SCAR—is a mercenary organisation that auctions new technology to the highest bidder,’ he explained. Turning to Jack and Scarlet, he said, ‘SCAR and Domina are rival organisations that deal in stolen weaponry.’

  ‘So what exactly is being auctioned?’ Mr Doyle asked.

  Griffin hesitated. ‘What I’m about to tell you is top secret,’ he said. ‘It’s information known to only a small number of people. At the conclusion of the war, the Ministry realised that things could have gone quite differently for England. Certainly, with the help of the Americans, we were able to defeat Germany and restore peace to Europe.’ He paused. ‘But the Ministry wanted an edge. Something that would put us ahead of the game.’

  ‘War isn’t a game,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘I know your feelings, Ignatius,’ Griffin said. ‘But sometimes it’s them or us, and I’d prefer us any time.’

  ‘So what sort of weapon did the government want?’ Jack asked.

  ‘The Department of Defence wanted to develop a weapon that would be the ultimate fighting tool. Over the years, they have created new and devastating ways of killing. Better guns. Better artillery. Better bombs. But the one thing that has always remained the same is the s
oldier. In two thousand years of warfare, the individual at the heart of a war has remained unchanged.’

  ‘But how can you improve the soldier?’ Scarlet asked. ‘A person is only a person.’

  ‘Unless they are turned into something more. And that’s what X-29 was all about: a potion that would turn a man into the ultimate warrior. Of course, the Department of Defence gave that task to—’

  ‘—the Darwinist League,’ Mr Doyle finished.

  ‘Indeed. A special section was set up. Its mission was to develop a potion that would increase human strength, speed, senses and endurance.’

  ‘And was it successful?’

  ‘Not entirely,’ Griffin said, frowning. ‘The early experiments, conducted on laboratory animals, produced positive results. When it was tested on a human, unfortunately, the results were less successful.’

  ‘Who was the guinea pig?’ Scarlet asked. ‘Whoever would volunteer for such a dangerous test?’

  ‘What they required was someone who would not be noticed if the experiment was a failure.’

  ‘You mean,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘if they died.’

  The MI5 agent nodded. ‘They intended to use a convict destined to die on the gallows,’ he said. ‘But the scientist in charge of the project would not agree to using a person in such a way.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘The scientist took the potion himself.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The potion worked: he grew larger, stronger and faster. His hearing, sight and other senses increased tenfold.’

  ‘So X-29 was a success.’

  Griffin pursed his lips. ‘No, it was not,’ he said. ‘The man was better in every way, but he was also terribly deformed by the mixture. Realising what he had become, he went berserk, tearing the laboratory to pieces. Eventually, he disappeared. We tried to track him down, but how do you catch someone who has become superhuman?’