Operation_Endgame

by Pip Ballantine

  Frowning, Brandon glanced over his shoulder to Sound and Highfield. "Oh, yes, quite." He cleared his throat and offered, "Sorry about all this, Books."

  "Tosh, think nothing of it."

  He blinked, as if thunderstruck by the sentiment. "Come again?"

  "This has to be done. I understand that, and it is for everyone’s betterment."

  Brandon looked over to Bruce, and the Australian folded his hands and leaned forward. "Are you serious? Books, you’re a Ministry agent. A damn fine one even if I’ve never said it. You have—"

  "Committed crimes against Her Majesty’s own citizens…"

  "You were not yourself," Brandon insisted. "You went a little mad. You have a certain set of skills that need monitoring. We know that now, and you’ve got it under control."

  "I am still a criminal." Wellington let out a sigh. It felt right to admit it. "A liability. Usher has a valuable asset that makes my own unique abilities pale in comparison to the monstrosities he could design. Add to that what insight I could glean on Ragnarök, provided I can break free of captivity..."

  "Dammit, man," Brandon snapped. Sound and Highfield went silent as they turned, their gaze towards them. "You are not some bargaining chip. You’re one of us."

  "That will do, Agent Hill," Doctor Sound stated evenly.

  It was a surprise, but the Canadian did not back down. "Which one of us will be next, I wonder?"

  "Brandon.” At his name he turned towards Eliza who had appeared at the door. Her expression was even sterner than their Director’s. "This is bigger than all of us. We have to let it play out."

  "Let it...? Are you saying you are all right with this?"

  Eliza crossed her arms in front of her. "Considering what is at stake, I am content."

  Of course she wasn’t. Wellington knew that. She didn’t seem at all convinced that what they were doing was right. Still, he trusted her.

  "Agent Hill," Wellington said, "I admire your kind words and sense of loyalty, but if you wish to honour me, I would ask that you do not judge the Ministry in this moment. We are all doing what must be done."

  The man’s expression hardened from crestfallen disappointment to enraged resolve when Brandon’s partner chimed in his unwanted opinion on the matter. "As we like to say in the South Pacific, she’ll be right."

  Wellington cast a glance to his own feet. He really should have polished his shoes before they cuffed his hands behind his back. "Indeed, Campbell, but I have a request for you as well."

  "Do you now?"

  He motioned with his head over to his partner. "Watch over her."

  Eliza straightened. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Why would I do that?" Bruce said, his eyes going between her and Wellington. "She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself."

  "I would never debate you on that point. Be that as it may, I would appreciate the gesture."

  Bruce let out a long sigh as he looked over to her and then shrugged. "You know she and I don’t get on."

  "That’s an understatement," Eliza muttered.

  "Just..." Wellington clenched his jaw. He knew better than anyone how stubborn Eliza could be. "I’m not asking you to be her best mate or her maid. I’m simply asking that you keep a watch, even if it is a distant one, on her."

  Bruce and Eliza both snorted.

  A metallic snapping rang through the room. All the agents looked to the two directors. Chief Highfield drew his finger back and forth across the top cover of a pair of Starlight Specs, a quaint new device from the same people that created Starlight Goggles. A faint emerald light shone against Highfield’s ebony skin as he focused on the horizon. "Contact. Inbound."

  "Are you sure it is them?" Sound asked.

  "It’s two in the morning on a remote spur of the Southwest Corridor. We also secured this particular area twenty-four hours ago. Yes, I’m sure," he said, snapping the specs shut and slipping the device into his coat pocket. "Let’s get ready."

  All of them trooped out of the station onto the platform. Highfield whistled twice and at the signal the train vented jets of steam and chuffed towards them. A giant cannon emerged from the second railcar, while from the sides of the engine itself, two massive machine guns dropped into place. Wellington judged they were at least five times the size of a standard Gatling. Then buffers on the side extended out like outstretched arms ready to give someone a god-awful hug. After a long jet of steam, they angled down ninety degrees and drove themselves into the earth. Earth and rock surrendered to the massive hydraulics that bore into the ground, securing the engine in place. These struts would deal with the recoil from such a massive cannon, otherwise the train would eject backwards in a rather embarrassing fashion.

  “ISN’T THIS AMAZING?!” came one of the last voices Wellington would expect.

  “You are standing next to me, Professor Axelrod. I can hear you quite adequately,” Wellington said.

  “Oh, yes! You must admit though. Quite the feat!”

  “You want one?”

  Axelrod’s wide eyes were visible even with the dim light and long shadows. “Do you think the Director would commission one?”

  “Afraid not, Professor,” Henrietta Falcon spoke from behind them, taking a drag from her cigarillo. “First, this battle train is a prototype. One of a kind from the Ada Institute. Second, your Director mentioned you might ask me about this very matter. He is not interested.”

  “Damn,” Axelrod cursed, scuffing his feet in the dirt.

  Once the deafening cacophony subsided, a low, soft drone of remaining steam lingering around them, Chief Highfield stepped up to where the Ministry agents stood. "We’ve left nothing to chance."

  “Of course you haven’t, Chief Highfield,” Henrietta said. “The Ada Institute does appreciate your willingness to have us here.”

  “I was unaware that the Institute worked with the Ministry on such a regular basis.”

  “Well,” Axelrod began, “if you must know, this is really our fir—”

  Henrietta struck him hard in the shoulder, silencing him as she offered, “This is our first operation with the Ministry in the United States. Utilising æthergate technology made this field test possible, so again, on behalf of the Institute, thank you.”

  Highfield squinted at the light still approaching them at a fast pace. He cast a quick glance to Wellington and Henrietta before he looked down to Axelrod. “Professor, are you ready?”

  “Yes, rather.”

  “Come with me,” he said.

  Henrietta drew from her smoke, a slight smile crossing her face. “A rather impressive man, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “With all the challenges his own government and society throw at him, Hightower is an amazing gentleman. I regret not having future opportunities to work with him.”

  “I see.” She looked at him from head to toe and smiled. “You’re looking quite smart.”

  “I found an amazing tailor,” he returned with a crooked grin.

  “So I’ve heard.” Her smile faded as she looked over to Eliza pacing by the edge of the bridge. "How is she taking all this?"

  Wellington wished she wasn’t so far away, but all the same he committed her to memory. "About as well as you would expect."

  "Can you blame her?" she chortled, taking a drag from her cigarillo. "She loves you."

  "I know." A shrill cry of a train whistle echoed in the darkness; the sound of fate perhaps. "I am concerned that I have asked too much of her at this rather critical time."

  “Eliza is an amazing woman.” Henrietta placed a hand on his shoulder. The scent from her smoke was sweet and strangely comforting. “She is stronger than you may think.”

  "I have quite the vivid imagination, Professor Falcon, or do you forget?" On the approaching train sounding its whistle once more, Wellington rolled his shoulders as much as the handcuffs allowed. "As everyone has reminded themselves tonight, we have a duty to fulfil. Let’s not keep Usher waiting."

  "The train’s slowing down," A
xelrod called out, peering across the canyon with what looked like highly-modified Starlights. “I’m not detecting any high voltage power sources, so no death rays. I do see on the spectrum heat sources characteristics with hyper-velocity weapons.”

  Highfield called over his shoulder, "Ready all weapons. Campbell, is your signal at the ready?"

  Bruce drew a modified pistol, the barrel far larger in its bore than a usual Smith & Wesson pistol. He flipped a small switch behind the cylinder and a red light blinked on. "Flare is hot. If anything is wrong with the asset, we’ll send word back here."

  "Good. Get ready to escort Books."

  "You alright?" Bruce asked.

  "Just do your part, mate," Eliza stated as Brandon nodded to Bruce and crossed over to where she stood. "We’ll do ours."

  "Eliza?" Wellington said quickly. "Are you—"

  "Are you really expecting me to present you to Usher like a gift on Christmas morning?"

  "I was hoping—"

  "If we’re saying ‘goodbye’ it’s here, and it’s now," she returned tersely.

  "Then say your goodbyes," Sound insisted.

  Wellington pushed down the resentment growing in his chest, but he wouldn’t let it destroy this moment.

  Even in the darkness of the early morning, her ice-chip blue eyes gleamed with tears and anger. Even so, they were his light. "I’m just grateful that you are here."

  "And I hope you don’t mind my saying, you do look quite dapper," Eliza said, pressing down his lapels, "If you are to meet the enemy at the gates, at least you should be fashionable, yes?'" Her face was a pale mask, but she could no longer meet his eye. "I can’t feel your arms around me. This is not right, not normal..."

  "Since when has anything at the Ministry been normal, especially for us?" he said with a little laugh. "I love you, darling. This is what we agreed upon, remember?"

  "I’m trusting your judgement on that."

  "And I, you." He glanced to either side of him. "As I cannot take you into my arms, by all means grab a kiss from me."

  Eliza rarely did as told, but Wellington was most thankful that, in this instance, she did just that and with great passion. He tasted her lips, her soft tongue, her mouth, and he tried so very hard to commit this kiss to memory. He knew what waited for him on the other side of this was nothing but uncertainty. This kiss, though—there was eternal certainty within it.

  "Ready, are we?" Sound came up from behind them.

  Their lips parted, and Wellington tried to drink in the last look with Eliza.

  "Yes, Director," he said. Bruce and Brandon took him by the arms and led him over. "Thank you, sir."

  "I’m sorry about the restraints," Sound said, with only a little bluster.

  "It is best for everyone, I suppose. Everyone here and on the other side knows exactly what I am capable of." Wellington took in a deep breath. In the distance the lights of the trains illuminated the bridge ahead. It looked ever so long. His mouth was dry, but he managed to get out, "After you, gentlemen?"

  Bruce fixed his grip on the Lee-Metford-Tesla rifle. "Brandon, Eliza, keep a bloody good eye our backs. Follow me, everyone."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Where the Light and the Dark Meet above the Abyss

  With Bruce ahead and two agency directors on each side, Wellington walked towards the oncoming light at the other side of this bridge. It would have been a foolhardy crossing during the day, but in darkness walking across a railroad bridge at night was for someone harbouring a death wish.

  In actuality there was not much chance of slipping to their end since the sleepers underfoot were closer together than usual for the United States or his own beloved England. No, the only option to plummet into the canyon underneath them would be to jump off the edge. How far would that be? he absently wondered.

  "You all right there, Books?"

  Wellington’s eyes darted over to Doctor Sound. "Come again, sir?"

  "You’re creeping awfully close to the edge."

  Wellington looked down to his feet and realised he was awfully close to the edge. Would he have tripped? Possibly. Would he have fallen into the dark? No. That was one thing his escort could protect him from.

  "Can’t have you doing anything foolish, now can we?" Sound stated.

  Wellington's tolerance was crumbling away. "With all due respect sir, do you really think I would take the coward’s way out?"

  "Wouldn’t be so cowardly, denying these Houseboys their prize, now would it?" Brandon added.

  "We must remain men of our word—otherwise we are no better than the cads we do business with this morning." The train’s lamplight brushed their faces. The Usher transport was drawing to a stop. "Come along, gentlemen.”

  With the light ahead no longer moving, wisps of smoke danced around it, revealing the silhouette of the train. Shouted commands drifted to them as soldiers disembarked. No, not soldiers, Wellington thought, operatives for the House of Usher. They were setting up their own arsenal, much like OSM had done in fortifying the position behind them.

  Wellington squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust and focus on the movement in the darkness. Four figures walked towards them. One of them was a man of average height, or at least, he would have been if he wasn’t hunched over. Two others walked to the left of him; one slightly shorter, and the fourth towering over them all.

  Bruce spun up the rifle’s generator. "Alright then, this is it." He motioned to a small flag placed in between sleepers just ahead. "Halfway marker. Now, we wait."

  Sound stepped closer to Wellington. "Books, before Usher arrives, I just wanted to thank you." He gave the others a withering look before taking his voice down to a whisper. "I know we should not be asking this of you. If there was any other way... If I could have tried..."

  "Director, please, you don't need to justify what is necessary for the greater good. I understand that I am a small part of a much grander machine." He bit his bottom lip. He wanted so badly to tell Sound exactly what he thought. He knew Eliza would take the chance—then again, she wasn’t here. "We all have a part to play, don’t we?"

  "Yes, quite." Sound patted him on the shoulder. "Good man."

  "Very well, everyone," Highfield’s gravelly voice carried over them all. "By the numbers. No heroics. We do this and we all go home."

  Not all of us, Wellington thought to himself.

  Chief Highfield turned to Doctor Sound and motioned for him to follow. The contrast of Highfield’s stature, his frame and size perhaps only matched by a freight train, against Sound’s rotund carriage would have been comical under any other circumstance. Wellington wanted to enjoy some humour at that moment, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to smile at anything.

  He wanted Eliza there. He needed her there.

  If he dared a look over his shoulder, would he see her at this distance?

  Their Usher counterparts emerged from the darkness, and Wellington recognised the hunched figure as Thomas Alva Edison, the famed inventor, scientist, and utter plonker. He looked frayed at the edges, but Wellington had no sympathy for this narcissist. Behind the inventor, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck to jerk him to an upright position was an Usher henchwoman, either matching or topping Beatrice Muldoon in height. Unlike the resourceful Miss Muldoon, though, this woman did not carry herself with any sense of grace. She was a tank disguised as a lady. He would prefer not to be on the receiving ends of her fist-a-cuffs.

  The two shorter men to one side of Edison were strangers. The taller of the two Wellington could picture at his own gentleman’s club, enjoying brandy and cigars and talking politics with other men. Whoever he was, he must have been high up in the ranks of Usher to be present for the exchange. It was the other man, smiling wider at Wellington the closer he drew, that made his fists tighten. Every instinct urged him to either break free and kill this well-dressed man, or to break ranks and run back to the safety of the OSM train. Against his deathly pale skin, the man’s brows and exceptionally f
ull, manicured moustache granted his face distinction and character. The stranger’s smile, though, was the smile of a predator, savouring the hunt and anticipating a glorious kill.

  "Wellington Thornhill Books," the terrifying gentlemen spoke, his breath a quick puff of mist against the desert’s chill. "The pleasure is all mine."

  "I can assure you, yes, it is."

  "I was present at your hanging," Hightower said, advancing on them.

  The imposing lackey produced two pistols large enough for her huge hands. The hammers clicked back, and Chief Hightower froze in mid-step.

  "Is this the part where I quote Twain to show you all how clever I am? My just standing here in front of you would be a confirmation of that." He turned his attention back to Wellington. "I’m Henry Howard Holmes, Chairman of the House of Usher."

  "Good Lord," Wellington whispered.

  Holmes chuckled. "Oh, tosh, Henry will do just fine."

  "Mr Edison," Highfield said. The inventor twitched, casting a nervous glance over to the Amazon looming over him. "I am Chief Luther Highfield, Office of the Supernatural and Metaphysical. Are you well?"

  "What do you think?" Edison barked. "For nearly three years I have been subject to all manners of madmen, and you are wondering if I am well? No, you moron, I am not well! I am a prisoner!"

  Highfield nodded. "Well, that’s Edison—no doubt."

  The inventor leaned in, tilting his head to one side. "Hold on. I’m being traded for... him?"

  Wellington did not want to deal with this man, especially right now. "Mr Edison, if you don’t mind, your rather caustic disposition is merely delaying the inevitable."

  Highfield motioned to Edison. "Sir, if you please, walk slowly towards us."

  Sound patted Wellington on the shoulder. "Off you go—"

  "Hold on a minute," Bruce called out. Rifles were shouldered, and the sounds of hammers locking into firing positions made the Australian pause in mid-step. He raised his hands and shrugged, then stood in front of Books. "You asked me to keep an eye on Eliza." He slapped his hand hard against Books’ chest, pressing into him as he said, "I promise ya, mate. We’ll all watch out for her. She’s good value."