by Darrell Pitt
‘My boy,’ he said. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Fine.’ Jack looked about in confusion. ‘What happened?’
‘You passed out. It’s morning.’
‘And Scarlet?’
‘Perfectly well.’ Mr Doyle smiled. ‘You have both been through a lot.’
‘Where are we now?’
‘Are you well enough to talk?’
‘Absolutely.’ Jack swung his legs out of the bed. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Bertha is still at the hotel. I left instructions for the bellboy to feed and water her twice a day. We are further upriver,’ Mr Doyle continued. ‘Making our way to a town where we will meet with an armoured division.’
‘It sounds like we’re going to war.’
‘In a way, we are. Gabrielle and Edmund have located a property owned by Ashgrove not far from here. They think he may have taken refuge there.’
‘And they’re going to attack it?’
‘They’re taking no chances after the attempt on the president.’
Mr Doyle took Jack to the Monitor’s galley. Scarlet sat at one of the tables. She had eaten, but stayed while Jack polished off a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs. Gabrielle joined them.
‘I’ve spoken to Edmund about Captain Clarke,’ she said, scowling, ‘but there isn’t much we can do. The Secret Service has little pull when it comes to the operations of the navy.’
‘That’s unfortunate,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Jack and Scarlet could have been killed.’
As the engine changed pitch, the four of them joined Mr Wilson on deck. The Monitor pulled in to a town where an armoured steamcar was waiting. They climbed into the back, which was little more than a large metal box held together with plates and rivets. At the top was a turret with a man at a machine gun. The front was circular, with glass and mesh protecting the driver.
‘What an amazing vehicle,’ Jack said.
‘We had similar in the war,’ Mr Doyle said.
Jack remembered how Mr Doyle’s son had been killed in battle. The detective still grieved for his lost boy, and Jack had learned to remain silent whenever the conflict was mentioned.
The vehicle bounced along for what seemed like hours. There were no windows, and Jack found himself growing sick. He was glad when it came to a halt and he could step out into the fresh air.
They had stopped on a hill surrounded by several companies of armoured steam tanks. Long cannons poked out from the front, a turret crested the top and a squat chimney, trailing black smoke, was at the back.
A stately house nestled in a valley. It was similar to Ashgrove’s other American home, only smaller. A barn and a few elms were dotted about the property, which was surrounded by open fields. The hills were thick with trees, except the opposite hill, which was clear. Armoured companies waited on the ridge.
Edmund Wilson strode up to them. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘You’re just in time to see the action begin.’
‘You’re not going to negotiate with him?’ Mr Doyle asked.
‘We already sent a man with a white flag to ask for his surrender.’
‘And?’
‘He laughed and sent him away.’
‘What now?’
‘We are waiting for sunset before we move in.’ Mr Wilson hurried away to speak to one of the military men.
‘He makes it sound so easy,’ Mr Doyle said.
‘You don’t think it will be?’ Gabrielle asked.
‘War never is.’
Jack and Scarlet wandered around the various military vehicles. It was fascinating examining such complex war machines up close. But they were careful not to stray too far from the top of the hill. Jack found it hard to believe that Charles Ashgrove was going to sit and wait for the army to attack.
‘What’s he doing down there?’ Jack asked.
‘He might be regretting his actions,’ Scarlet said. ‘Maybe he realises just how many years he will spend in jail for trying to assassinate the president.’
‘I hope so.’
All afternoon, army men conveyed coal and other supplies to the makeshift camp. Others stoked the boilers of the tanks; they were ready in case Ashgrove tried to escape. Jack and Scarlet asked Mr Doyle what they thought would happen.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I think Ashgrove would have already tried to sneak away if that was his intention.’
‘Maybe he’s waiting for nightfall,’ Scarlet said, ‘so he can escape under cover of darkness.’
‘Possibly, though he won’t get far. He is surrounded on all sides.’
‘The Americans are ready for battle,’ Jack said. ‘There must be fifty tanks waiting to attack.’
Scarlet peered at the military hardware. ‘It seems a lot just to capture Charles Ashgrove and his men.’
‘One of those men is the Chameleon,’ Mr Doyle pointed out. ‘Mr Wilson and his army companions want to leave nothing to chance.’
Jack remembered Ashgrove’s audacious scheme to dig under Colchester Prison to break out the Chameleon. He mentioned it to Mr Doyle.
The detective commended him on his thinking. ‘I told Edmund. He had his men search all the fields surrounding the property. They have not been able to discover a tunnel. Besides,’ he added, ‘you can see Ashgrove from here.’
‘What?’
Ignatius Doyle gave a small smile. ‘He’s sitting in the upstairs parlour, drinking tea.’
Jack’s eyes bulged.
‘It’s true. Take a look.’
Jack and Scarlet pulled out their goggles and gazed at the mansion, where Ashgrove was indeed seated upstairs near a window. He was holding a cigar, talking to someone.
‘That’s incredible,’ Scarlet said.
‘Rather too incredible, I’m afraid,’ Mr Doyle said.
‘What do you mean, Mr Doyle?’
‘Ashgrove is not the sort of man to sit by and wait to be captured. He has a plan up his sleeve. He may have Mr Slate’s prototype weapon, but it’s hard to believe it could do much against several companies of armoured tanks.’
By the time the sun crested the horizon, many soldiers were returning to their vehicles, and signalmen were arranging themselves at strategic points across the valley, each with a number of flags to coordinate the assault.
Gabrielle was talking with Mr Wilson and another man who had been pointed out to them as General Stevens. He was a thin fellow with silver hair that fell to his shoulders. Scarlet, however, was focused on Gabrielle Smith. ‘She’s quite a woman,’ she said. ‘Someone to be admired.’
‘Admired?’ Jack thought Scarlet had lost her mind. ‘Are you joking?’
‘Not at all.’
‘But you were mean to her.’
‘I was mean to you!’
‘Me?’
‘The way you go all goo-goo over every pretty girl who comes along.’ Scarlet rolled her eyes. ‘It’s like watching a magnet being attracted to a lump of iron.’
‘What?’ Jack couldn’t believe he was being compared to a magnet. Or was he the lump of iron? ‘That’s silly.’
‘It’s not silly. Your face goes floppy and you have that funny grin. And then your eyes pop out.’
‘You make me sound like I go strange in the head!’
‘You do go strange in the head!’
‘Well, you seem to think that boys should be like Wobbly Dooalot!’
‘How on earth can anyone’s name be Wobbly? Who would ever name their child after a bowl of jelly? You know his name is Wilbur! Wilbur Dusseldorf!’
Jack stared at her, mystified. ‘Are you telling me that Buckley Boobyhatch’s boyfriend’s name is Wilbur?’
‘Buckley…?’ Scarlet stomped her feet. ‘It’s Brinkie Buckeridge! Sometimes I think you say these things to annoy me!’
She marched off in a huff, refusing to speak to him for an hour. She only returned as night fell and General Stevens readied his forces. The house in the valley now lay in darkness. What Ashgrove was doing was anyone’s guess.
/> General Stevens barked an order and the tank’s engines chugged to life. He called another command and they started down the hills, reached the flat of the valley and charged ahead at full pace.
The first stars were in the sky. The air was cool. Jack saw a bird land in a tree. It was a small brown thing. A sparrow. He wondered how it would react to the coming fight.
The door of the barn eased open as if by magic. Jack and the others pressed their goggles to their eyes. Something moved about in the gloom. Something large.
‘Can you see anything?’ Scarlet asked.
No-one answered. From the barn trundled out some kind of armoured car, about half the size of the tanks. A smooth copper-coloured dome sat at the top. Rising from it was a slender metal pole.
‘What is it?’ Jack asked.
‘Mr Slate’s weapon, I assume,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I believe we will now see it in action.’
One of the tanks fired a cannonball. It whistled across the field, slamming into the barn, which exploded in all directions. At first it seemed that Ashgrove’s car would not respond, but then Jack felt his hair stand on end.
What on earth?
Electricity filled the air. A smell of ozone, like chlorine, choked Jack’s nostrils. The taste of bleach clogged his throat. His eyeballs went dry as the hairs on his arms now rose, as did stray strands of Scarlet’s hair, lifting like gossamer web.
A spine-cracking sound, like the scraping of fingernails across a blackboard, reverberated around the valley. A dull thud, like the first signs of a headache, pulsed at the back of Jack’s skull.
Scarlet grabbed his arm and pointed. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘The sky.’
It was a baffling sight. A haze appeared high above them. The stars dimmed as the mist thickened. In the distance, the sky was clear, but the valley grew cloudy as if a storm was on its way.
General Stevens barked more orders. Tanks attacked, cannonballs striking the mansion and demolishing it in seconds while others made a direct hit on the domed car—except they did no damage. It gave a brief blue glow as the cannonballs bounced off, protected by some sort of invisible shield.
‘Good Lord,’ Mr Doyle said.
Lightning flashed, dancing underneath the clouds like a skater moving across a frozen pond. A low rumble shook the valley, but it did not die out. It subsided to a hum, like a nerve-jangling chord played on a church organ.
The tanks were close now. They were firing without pause, but every cannonball was deflected. Lightning crackled across the sky, but it was unlike any lightning Jack had seen. Tinged with purple, the centre of each bolt was pure alabaster white. It was painful to look at. Instead of dissipating, the lightning gathered in a mighty coiling action and was dragged downwards. Towards Ashgrove’s car!
It struck the antenna, turning it lava red, curling about in a broad, rotating spiral like a lasso.
How was such a thing possible?
‘Bazookas,’ Jack said.
‘The Whip of Fire!’ Scarlet said.
‘I believe you are correct,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I only pray—’
Whatever Mr Doyle was about to say was lost in the almighty crack of thunder that split the valley. A shockwave threw them to the ground. Jack cowered, his hands pushed against his ears. He wanted to run, but it was impossible to draw his eyes from Ashgrove’s tank. The Whip of Fire spun around in the air, moving like a snake, glowing red in the darkness.
Then it attacked again, lashing towards a row of the oncoming tanks. But it struck the ground before them, carving a deep channel in the earth and throwing up dirt like some sort of enormous digging machine.
When it rose again, it struck the first tank.
Ka–boom!
The shattered machine flew into the air and landed in a stand of trees. The Whip of Fire fractured into a crimson spider web of electricity, destroying everything it touched. Holes were gouged in the ground, tanks thrown about like toys, trees reduced to smouldering stumps.
Scarlet cried out. Jack covered his eyes. Even Mr Doyle fell back in horror. The tanks had men inside them. Now both had been ripped apart by the terrible weapon. General Stevens desperately shouted orders to retreat. A few tanks started to turn.
The Whip of Fire reformed into a single strand of wavering electricity, swinging about again. It rose higher and began to race up the hill. Towards them!
‘Run!’
Jack sprinted. There was no time to coordinate a plan. The mighty electrical whip careered up the hill. A nearby patch of ground exploded, sending Jack catapulting into the air.
His head struck the ground, but he remained conscious. As if he was outside his body, watching the devastation without comprehension, he felt no fear. No anger. No emotion at all.
I must be in shock, he thought. And I have dirt in my mouth.
He had been with some other people, but he couldn’t remember their names. There was a girl. A pretty girl. An older man. And a circus. He and his parents were acrobats. It was all muddled. Someone had a terrible weapon. Then there was a boy dying on a floor. A strange apartment filled with furniture and experiments and odd collections…
Jack slapped his face. Still not able to tell up from down, he felt himself falling. He watched the darkened sky dance with electricity.
Rain fell. Like a bubble rising from the bottom of a lake, Jack reached the surface and began to make sense of the carnage around him. The Whip of Fire was still carving its way across the valley. A terrible fear erupted within Jack’s chest. He got to his feet. He had to get away. He ran. Fell again. Scrambled to his feet. Stumbled about like a blind person. Minutes or hours passed; he couldn’t tell. He saw a boulder and crouched behind it.
Hide, he thought. Stay safe.
He felt like a small child as he peered over the top of the boulder at the enormous arc of electricity. Now he knew. Now he understood. He had seen the Whip of Fire in all its lethal terror.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
At last the attack ended.
The Whip of Fire evaporated, growing smaller until the only colour from the tank was the fiery-red antenna. Then this faded to nothing. Rain poured onto the broken field. Pieces of machinery, injured and dying men, ploughed dirt, uprooted trees and smouldering timber lay all around. Someone laughed distantly, crazily, but it ended in sobbing. A piece of artillery equipment exploded. A tree ignited before being doused by the downpour.
Jack peered at his hands. They were covered in dirt and muck. A deep scratch ran along one arm. His senses returned and, with them, a feeling of shame. He had acted like a frightened deer. Certainly Mr Doyle never would have behaved in such a manner.
Mr Doyle and Scarlet and Gabrielle!
Were they alive?
He had to find them. They could be injured. Or dying. Or… They may have been killed in the attack. Anyone could have been annihilated by the roaming Whip of Fire, even someone with Mr Doyle’s skills and intelligence.
Jack stumbled across the devastated ground. Rain trickled into his eyes. A rumble of thunder shook the air. The lightning had stopped; the only glow came from the burning debris. He was in a valley, but he may as well have been walking on the moon. He had no idea where he was.
Something exploded and he instinctively ducked. Jack roamed for hours, trying to find his way, but the rain was already putting the fires out. The air smelt of iron and burnt flesh. Total darkness began to drown the valley.
He tripped over something and fell. Reaching backwards, he felt what seemed to be someone’s body. His hand came away sticky.
‘Jack!’
The whisper came from his left.
‘Scarlet?’
From behind a rocky outcrop, she ran and fell into his arms. ‘Thank God you’re all right.’ She drew away. ‘Have you seen Mr Doyle? Or Gabrielle?’
‘We got separated. Are you injured?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Was that…electricity?’
‘I think so. Obviously Mr Slate has worked out some way t
o harness its power.’
A shape moved in the darkness. ‘Jack? Scarlet?’
‘Gabrielle?’
The Secret Service agent lurched out of the gloom towards them. Gabrielle had a bloody graze on her forehead. She thought the general and his commanders may have been killed. She had not seen Mr Doyle.
The sound of an engine came from somewhere. They scrambled for cover behind some rocks, but a light broke through the gloom from above, catching them in its glare. An airship flew over.
‘Run!’ Jack yelled.
But it was too late. Shots rang out. They dived to the ground. An enormous square box was lowered to the earth from the airship. Men poured from it. A rumbling came from behind them—Ashgrove’s armoured car. The top flipped open and Ashgrove appeared.
‘Seize them!’ He pointed towards Jack and the girls. ‘Don’t let them get away!’
Jack, Gabrielle and Scarlet tried to run, but they only managed a few feet before they were apprehended. They were dragged towards the box, where their hands were secured with rope. Gabrielle put up a struggle, knocking one of the men unconscious. Another clubbed her across the head and she went limp. They were then taken inside.
The tank drove into the box. The door slammed shut. The interior was braced with iron joists. There were no windows inside, and it was dimly lit by gaslight. Ashgrove’s thugs crammed the room. They were a ramshackle bunch, but well armed.
A man said something into a speaking tube, and an instant later Jack felt the box sway as it lifted into the air. Charles Ashgrove climbed from the tank, a jubilant expression on his face.
He laughed when he saw Jack and the others. ‘I thought it was you out there! Mr Doyle’s friends! What a night it has been!’
‘You’re a murderer!’ Jack said. ‘You will go to jail for what you’ve done!’
‘Really, boy?’ Ashgrove’s face darkened. ‘You obviously don’t know who is in charge.’
He stepped forward and slammed a fist into Jack’s stomach. Scarlet cried out, and Ashgrove grabbed her collar and pulled her face close to his.