by Darrell Pitt
‘And you think Charles Ashgrove is behind this conspiracy?’ Jefferson mused. ‘You realise you’re accusing a respected businessman who has donated vast sums to charity.’
Mr Wilson explained that the Secret Service had been tracking Ashgrove and suspected his involvement in several attacks over the years.
‘Then why hasn’t he been apprehended?’
‘Though we have no evidence, we have long believed him to be a member of the SLA.’
‘Citizens are allowed to belong to the SLA,’ Jefferson pointed out. ‘And most members of the organisation are all talk and no action.’
‘Ashgrove is more than that.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’
‘An attempt will be made on the president at the Liberty Theatre,’ Mr Doyle interrupted. ‘You must cancel the event.’
‘That’s impossible. It was planned months ago. We have visitors attending from all over the globe.’
‘Then delay it, or change venues.’
‘We’re not talking about rearranging a raffle,’ Jefferson said. ‘It’s a major function. And any change would undermine confidence in the president, and by association, the country.’
‘Then what can be done?’
Secretary Jefferson turned to Mr Wilson. ‘What would you suggest?’
‘I’m in favour of following Ignatius’s advice. Barring that, we can increase security. Double it, if required.’
‘I fear that may not be enough,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘The Chameleon is a resourceful assassin, and will probably be successful with the backing of Charles Ashgrove.’
‘But there’s no evidence that Charles Ashgrove is involved,’ Mr Jefferson said. ‘I really don’t think—’
‘Mr Ashgrove threatened us,’ Jack interjected. From the moment he arrived at the White House, he had felt small, a child in a world of adults. But he could no longer hold his tongue. ‘He said he would make certain that Mr Doyle, Scarlet and I met with a painful end.’
‘I’ve never known Mr Doyle to be wrong,’ Scarlet added. ‘If he believes the president is in danger, then that is the case. We’re sure the Chameleon had one of Jack’s friends murdered. A boy named Frankie Shore.’
Mr Jefferson sighed. ‘I assure you—all of you—that we will do everything possible to keep the president safe. In fact, you are welcome to attend. I will arrange for accommodation in Washington for you. We will hope for the best and plan for the worst.’ He broke into a smile. ‘At the very least, you’ll see American democracy close at hand.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘The man is a buffoon,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I’m amazed anything is achieved at all with such people in public life.’
They got ready to attend the theatre. Mr Doyle was dressed in a black tuxedo. His bowtie was neat and straight. His pants were clean and pressed, and at his waist he wore a cummerbund decorated in a traditional design of cogs and wheels.
‘You did everything you could,’ Jack said.
Mr Doyle peered at him. ‘Let me help you with that.’
Jack was grateful for the assistance. His outfit, identical to Mr Doyle’s, felt like a straitjacket. The fabric was stiff, like the collar should have been worn by someone doing hard time in jail. Then there was his bowtie. Jigsaw puzzles are easier to solve.
Mr Doyle straightened the jacket and went to work on the tie. He gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Mr Jack Mason, you are now ready to make your mark on American Society.’
Jack examined himself in the mirror and was surprised to see that he looked quite spiffy. The door opened and Jack’s eyes grew wide. Scarlet came in wearing a flowing red dress with buttons down the front, and a green collar that matched her eyes perfectly. Her hair was tied back in a bun. She carried a blue purse.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘Wonderful, my dear,’ Mr Doyle said.
‘Smashing,’ Jack echoed.
Gabrielle Smith arrived a few minutes later. She was similarly attired in a long, slim-fitting yellow dress. A red-rose corsage was pinned to her left shoulder. A gold-and-brass hairpin decorated her hair. She reminded Jack of a Roman statue. He was speechless, his mouth hanging open as if on a hinge.
‘Catching flies?’ Scarlet asked him, and he snapped it shut.
Gabrielle held up a silky handbag. ‘I am carrying my gun, although I know security will force me to leave it at the desk.’
‘I assume I will have to do the same,’ Mr Doyle said.
A steamcab waited to take them to the Liberty Theatre. It was a short journey, but the roads were busy. The theatre lay at the heart of the city opposite a tree-filled park. Over two hundred years old, the portico was decorated with eight marble columns. Behind it lay a circular building, six storeys in height, made from small red bricks with copper buttresses. There were no windows.
When Jack pointed this out, Gabrielle explained. ‘The theatre is an open-air venue.’
‘What if Ashgrove wants to attack using some sort of airship?’
‘The entire city is patrolled by navy airships. The president would be long gone by the time anything fought its way past.’
Hundreds of people were streaming towards the theatre. This event was one of the highlights of the year. Women were dressed in an array of colours. Many wore corsages. The men, by comparison, were a sea of black suits and tuxedos. Jack had never seen anything like it.
Marble steps led to a pair of massive brass doors. Unsmiling guards stood alert, surveying the crowd. Joining the mass of people making their way up the steps, Jack turned to see the profile of a large figure behind them. ‘Mr Doyle!’ He grabbed the detective’s sleeve. ‘It’s Ashgrove!’
They stepped into an alcove. Charles Ashgrove glanced around at the same time and saw them. His eyes widened.
‘We meet again,’ he said. ‘How pleasant.’
‘Surprised?’ Mr Doyle said.
‘You have more lives than a cat.’
‘Many more.’ Mr Doyle smiled without humour. ‘So how is it to be done? A bullet? A bomb? The Whip of Fire?’
Ashgrove chuckled. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. No weapons are allowed inside the building and security has searched the theatre from top to bottom in preparation for the event.’ He focused on Gabrielle. ‘Who is this lovely creature?’
‘Someone who does not wish to know you,’ she said, turning away. Ashgrove laughed and disappeared into the crowd.
Gabrielle drew Mr Doyle, Jack and Scarlet to one side. ‘Any thoughts on how he’ll do it?’
‘I don’t know, my dear,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But Ashgrove will not carry out the killing himself. That will be the Chameleon’s job.’
‘How will we identify him?’ Scarlet peered about. ‘He’s a master of disguise.’
‘He could be any man here,’ Jack said.
‘Or any woman.’
The Chameleon could be dressed as a woman?
Jack peered at a horse-faced woman. She glared back at him.
‘Why is Ashgrove here at all?’ Gabrielle pondered.
‘To see his handiwork,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Ashgrove is a sadist. He would not miss this for the world.’
They merged with the shuffling crowd and entered the auditorium. As Gabrielle had said, there was no roof. A cover could be unfurled across it during bad weather, but the sky was clear tonight.
The stalls provided seating for over a thousand people. Thousands more could be seated in the galleries. The stage was wedged against the far side of the circular auditorium. Gaslights were everywhere. Despite the number of ushers, many members of the audience continued to mill about in confusion. A face appeared in the crowd.
‘Edmund.’ Mr Doyle greeted the secret service man. ‘We have already seen Charles Ashgrove.’
‘Yes,’ Mr Wilson said. ‘He booked a seat several months ago.’
‘Couldn’t he be stopped from attending?’ Scarlet asked.
‘He hasn’t actually committed any crimes. Or at least, nothing we’v
e been able to charge him for.’
It all seemed crazy to Jack. They were expecting to see an attempt made on the life of the president, and the man responsible was calmly sitting in the audience.
‘I’ve been able to find good seats for you,’ Edmund Wilson said. ‘A family had to cancel at the last moment due to illness.’
The seats were excellent, only six rows from the timber podium set into the stage. Mr Doyle sat on the aisle. Security guards were stationed at intervals along the floor beneath the stage.
An orchestra pit was sunk to one side. Jack could hear the players tuning their instruments.
He hoped they wouldn’t play classical music. Scarlet had been trying to get him to appreciate the various composers, but they all sounded identical. Plus there was nothing he could sing to. If these people were so good, why were there no words to their songs?
Jack gazed around the auditorium. He could not decide whether people appeared innocent or guilty. None of them resembled the Chameleon, but that made no difference. While staring across the sea of seats, Jack caught sight of Charles Ashgrove sitting about ten rows behind them. He gave Jack a mocking grin.
‘I’m certain an attempt is going to be made on the president,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But the question is how? Everyone has been searched upon entry. The skies are patrolled…’
The buzz continued until the gaslight dimmed. People scurried for their seats and the rumble of voices diminished. A man appeared from the wings. He strode to the middle of the stage and positioned himself behind the lectern.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Please join me in singing the national anthem.’
The audience rose to its feet. The band struck up and everyone joined in to sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’. Mr Doyle seemed to know the words, but Jack and Scarlet found themselves mumbling. At the conclusion, the man spoke about the president and his contributions to the country.
Mr Doyle leaned over. ‘I must confess to feeling quite helpless,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t see how we could stop an assassination even if we knew how it was going to occur.’
‘Unless it’s a security guard,’ Jack said. ‘They’re all armed.’
Gabrielle Smith was furthest from the aisle. ‘Those men have all been part of the president’s security for years.’
‘How does the Chameleon kill his victims?’ Scarlet asked.
The detective sighed. ‘He has killed people in many ways. Shooting. Bombing. He even…’ Ignatius Doyle’s face froze. The announcer finished his speech and asked the audience to stand again for the president.
‘What is it, Mr Doyle?’ Jack asked.
‘The Chameleon once used an arrow to kill one of his victims.’
‘An arrow?’ Scarlet said. ‘But how…?’
She fell silent, staring at Jack. An arrow did not need a clear line of sight to hit its target. Jack peered at the open sky. An arrow could arc over the top of the building and strike the stage. The park outside the theatre was enormous. It contained hundreds of vehicles. Someone could be lurking in one of them. But could they really hit a target, unseen, from such a distance?
‘Absolutely,’ Mr Doyle answered him. ‘There are crossbows that are extremely accurate. One was developed in Europe recently that was able to fire an arrow almost a third of a mile.’
‘What can we do?’
‘We must stop this event. Immediately.’
The President of the United States stepped onto the stage and the crowd broke into rapturous applause. Mr Doyle moved into the aisle at the same time.
‘Ignatius!’ Gabrielle hissed. ‘What are you doing?’
The applause died away and the president started to speak. Guards along the front of the stage turned towards Mr Doyle.
‘The president’s life is in danger!’ the detective yelled. ‘Mr President! You must leave the stage!’
If the president noticed the commotion, he gave no indication. He was a tall man, clean-shaven with a receding hairline. He had a strong jaw and a tired face, as if his years in office had worn him down. Mr Doyle had already started down the aisle, waving his arms. ‘Mr President! Mr President!’
Jack turned to Scarlet. She looked as desperate as he felt. Gabrielle pushed past them as guards converged. One made a grab for Mr Doyle’s lapel, but the detective nimbly flipped him over his shoulder. Two more guards raced over. One dived for his legs as the other threw himself onto his upper body. Mr Doyle used his martial arts to fight them off, but now a new score of guards converged from all directions.
Gabrielle tried to reason with them, but they simply pushed her to the ground. More came running from the rear of the theatre. People yelled out. The president faltered as the commotion attracted his attention.
Mr Doyle twisted about on the ground. ‘Jack! Scarlet! You must…’
The detective’s anguished cry tore Jack from his stupor. He pushed Scarlet into the aisle.
‘Create a diversion!’ he whispered. ‘I’ll get to the president!’
Scarlet rushed into the aisle and flapped her hands about, uncertainly. Then she punched the air, jumping onto a seat.
‘Women’s rights!’ she yelled. ‘Give women the vote! Give women the vote! Give women…’
Jack scrambled past the struggling bodies of Mr Doyle and Gabrielle. ‘Mr President!’ he screamed. ‘Get off the stage!’
The president moved back from the podium. The guards starting up the aisle were only a few feet away from Jack, so he used his momentum to jump into a row of seats. His foot landed squarely in a gentleman’s lap. The man cried out. Jack then stepped onto the headrest of the next seat and leapt, executing a perfect handstand, and back-flipped onto the floor before the stage.
More people screamed. Security guards drew weapons and yelled orders to freeze! A burly bodyguard lunged at Jack. ‘Get back!’ Jack waved his arms. ‘Move!’
The president stepped to one side, more from instinct than anything else, as an arrow tore past him and slammed into the podium.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The crowd were now on their feet, shrieking in panic. A shot rang out. A guard racing across the stage pulled his weapon and discharged it by accident. Other security guards dragged the president off the stage. A man crashed into Jack and sent him flying. He rolled and crawled under the first row of chairs. The man clawed at his legs, but Jack kicked out again.
Struggling to his feet, Jack saw a woman trip onto a guard. Someone fell on her. People pushed and shoved and screamed. Another gunshot rang out. Jack tried to spot Mr Doyle, but it was impossible. Everyone was rushing for the exits. It was mayhem.
Jack caught a glimpse of Charles Ashgrove. The man glared at the stage as he was carried away by the flow of people. Climbing across chairs, Jack made his way to the back of the theatre. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of Scarlet’s red hair. She had not been arrested, thank goodness, but she was still jammed in the crowd.
Closer to the foyer, the situation was worse. A man fell on the stairs and was swiftly trampled. Someone yelled out ‘Fire!’ Level-headed individuals called for calm, but their cries went unheeded in the melee. Another person vomited. A man started punching randomly at people. The elderly lady next to Jack stumbled and half fell, while a man behind them shoved her to one side, his eyes wild like those of a horse trying to flee a burning barn.
‘Stop!’ Jack yelled. ‘Stop!’
The man ignored him, so Jack drew his fist back and hit him as hard as he could in the nose. It had no effect; the stranger kept shoving. Jack turned his efforts to the dazed woman, supporting her under one arm as the mob continued to surge. Billowing smoke now choked the air. Shoes and umbrellas and purses and hats lay everywhere on the ground. Jack half stumbled, but somehow stayed upright. The elite of Washington society in their tuxedos and gowns were being crushed in the stampede.
The doors grew closer with every second. Jack held the woman tight. ‘We’re almost out,’ he told her. ‘Hold on.’
Then, w
ith a final excruciating squeeze, they were outside. A blast of fresh air hit Jack. Around him people cried with relief. Others urged people to continue on into the park. Some clear-thinking individuals began dragging the injured clear. Sirens cut the night. Ambulances arrived. More and more people yelled that the building was on fire. There was smoke everywhere.
Jack hoped that Mr Doyle and the others were unhurt. He held the woman in his arms until a man appeared. ‘Mother! Mother! Are you all right?’
She stirred. ‘Daniel? Is that you?’ Her shaking hand pointed at Jack. ‘This young man helped me…saved me…’
‘Thank you so much.’ Tears filled Daniel’s eyes. ‘We became separated in the crowd.’
As Jack eased the lady into her son’s arms, he scanned the crowd. A figure was moving away at great speed. There was no mistaking the physique. Charles Ashgrove. Jack wished Daniel and his mother well and hurried across the lawn.
Someone grasped his arm.
‘Jack!’
‘Scarlet!’
She was dishevelled, her face a lather of sweat and hair a ragged mess, but she was otherwise unhurt. ‘Have you seen Mr Doyle?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘I don’t think he was caught in the crush, but he may be under arrest.’
Jack pointed out Ashgrove to her. ‘He’s probably meeting with the Chameleon!’
Ashgrove ran towards a waiting steamcar. Jack and Scarlet had almost reached it when it started to move.
‘We should wait,’ Scarlet said, putting a hand on his arm.
‘For what?’ Jack said. ‘It might be hours before they release Mr Doyle, and then Ashgrove will be long gone.’
Scarlet pursed her lips, undecided. ‘All right,’ she finally said. ‘But how will we keep up?’
Men, women and children were spread out all over the street, impeding the steamcar, but within a few minutes it would be out of sight. Scarlet pointed at a wall and a pair of bicycles leaning against it.
‘Can you ride?’ Jack asked.
‘Are you joking? I’m a modern woman.’
They raced over to the bikes, jumped on and began pedalling. Scarlet almost crashed into a wall on account of her dress, but then got going again. Jack ripped off his tie and collar. There, he thought. At least now I can breathe!
