by Darrell Pitt
Olinka Slate had been listening to the exchange in silence. Jack was sure he found it hard to believe this rough-looking man in the glasses and beard was actually Britain’s greatest detective. ‘But your voice,’ the inventor frowned. ‘Your clothing…’
‘My clothing is just clothing,’ Mr Doyle laughed. ‘And I have had some practice in copying accents.’
‘Jack wears women’s clothing. Do you also…?’
‘Only when necessary,’ the detective assured him. ‘By the way, my boy, you look most fetching in that dress.’
‘Mr Doyle!’
‘Just a little joke.’ Mr Doyle popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. ‘I once dressed as a postal box while keeping a house under surveillance. I was forced to consume three letters and an airmail parcel before arresting the evildoer.’
‘But how did you find us?’ Jack asked.
‘How do I do anything?’ The detective smiled. ‘Logic and deduction—and some luck! I asked the US authorities to show me a map indicating the locations of properties owned by Charles Ashgrove. I made some educated guesses about other pieces of real estate that Ashgrove may have owned under other names. I had checked three of them before I found you.’
‘But what about your identity card?’
‘Oh that.’ The detective pulled the card from his pocket. ‘It’s my library card. I’ve always said that education saves lives. There’s your evidence!’
‘Oh!’ Jack remembered. ‘What about Gabrielle? And the city? And…’
‘Never fear, my boy. Gabrielle Smith is alive and well. She was in hospital the last time I saw her, but I’m sure she’s up and about now. She says she owes her life to you. Washington stands. Some people were killed by Ashgrove’s rebels, but the city is faring well.’
‘I hope it remains that way,’ Mr Slate murmured.
It was late in the day and the sun was low by the time they reached the outskirts of the capital. Olinka Slate continued to count under his breath, stroking his chin while he divided numbers by three.
They drove through districts filled with red-brick apartment blocks, stopping at a large park. It looked like the entire United States Airborne Navy had taken over the area. Countless airships and the sleek air brigade were in a state of readiness—their boilers were fuelled, spewing steam and smoke everywhere. They may have been tethered, but their crews were aboard and ready to depart.
‘Where are we going?’ Jack asked.
‘To see the man in charge of military operations,’ Mr Doyle replied. ‘Colonel Coolidge has been waiting for a breakthrough and you’re it. But first I have some of your clothing in a bag.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Unless you’d prefer to stay in your dress.’
‘Mr Doyle!’
Ducking into two tents, Jack and Scarlet emerged minutes later in fresh clothing. Scarlet wore a green day dress with a black leather bustier. She had brought her red hair back under control. Jack had on his blue-and-white striped shirt, dark trousers and his green coat. It was great having his coat back! He felt the pockets. The locket and the compass were safely inside.
‘You might be right about women wearing trousers,’ he said to Scarlet. ‘They might really take off one day.’
‘Am I ever wrong?’ she teased.
Colonel Coolidge welcomed them into the command tent. He was a dapper-looking man with a round face, a receding hairline and a spring in his step that belied his age. He listened intently while Jack and Scarlet explained their ordeal, producing a map for them to pinpoint Charles Ashgrove’s location. Within minutes the colonel was barking orders to his subordinates.
Jack left the tent and watched the makeshift airbase spring to life. Steam billowed across the field. The vessels took to the skies. There were so many of them that Jack almost expected them to collide, but they moved like a massive flock of silver birds, tip to tip, into the distance.
Mr Doyle arranged a meal of steak and vegetables. After this, camp beds were found in a tent. Jack climbed under a blanket and said a bleary goodnight to Scarlet, who was already asleep.
Jack slept like the dead until a chorus of sound woke him. It was now early morning, the sky powder blue. He staggered from the tent to find the fleet returning to base. Men were grabbing landing lines and tying them to the ground. Others were yelling orders. Jack could not see any damage to the vessels.
They spotted the colonel’s tent. Mr Doyle, Slate, Scarlet and a group of men were assembled around a map on the wall.
‘Jack,’ Mr Doyle greeted him. ‘You’re just in time.’
‘Did they catch Ashgrove?’
‘We have good and bad news,’ Colonel Coolidge said. ‘The fleet attacked the base and encountered some resistance. We lost about five ships, but we think we’ve captured most of Ashgrove’s makeshift army.’
‘That’s fantastic.’
‘It’s a mixed victory. Most of them are not military people at all. They’re ordinary men and women who are disillusioned with the government. It’s amazing they didn’t blow themselves up when they attacked the rails and roads around Washington.’ The colonel paused. ‘We have not caught Charles Ashgrove or the Chameleon.’
‘Or found the Excalibur,’ Mr Slate added.
‘That is unfortunate,’ Scarlet said. ‘They must have left after we escaped.’
‘We believe they did,’ the colonel said. ‘They realised the gig was up and ran while they could, leaving most of their army behind.’
‘What will happen now?’ Jack asked.
‘We have upset Ashgrove’s plans,’ Coolidge said. ‘Forced him to rethink his plot.’
‘Unfortunately he has the Excalibur,’ Mr Slate said, ‘with the larger Whip of Fire on board.’
‘How destructive is the airship?’ Mr Doyle asked.
‘Excalibur’s not too different to any other airship, but the Whip of Fire makes it deadly. Jack and Scarlet rescued me before the device could be calibrated.’
‘So it is unfinished?’
‘It’s hard to say how effective it will be in its current state as it’s largely untested. It won’t build up a full charge, but the meteorite is a hundred times larger than the piece Jack retrieved. It could still cause untold damage.’
‘Then we must destroy the Excalibur,’ Colonel Coolidge said gravely, ‘before it destroys us.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Washington was a ghost town. A full day had passed since the fleet’s return to base. After a quick breakfast, Mr Doyle had loaded Jack, Scarlet and Olinka Slate into the car to drive through Washington. The sky was clear and bright, the air crisp and cool.
Jack had been in the heart of the city only a few days earlier, but it had completely changed. The streets were deserted. The parks and malls were empty. The roads free of traffic. Some people, however, had refused to leave—shopkeepers who were boarding up their businesses or armed residents ready to guard their homes.
‘Those guns will do little,’ Mr Slate said. ‘The Excalibur is capable of levelling a city block in seconds.’
The scientist had fallen into a black mood. He felt responsible for all that had happened. He had tried eating a steak for dinner, but instead cut it into hundreds of pieces before throwing it out. Then he had started reciting his numbers.
‘You must not blame yourself,’ Scarlet said. ‘You can’t control how your invention is used.’
‘Possibly the world is not ready for this sort of power.’
‘You can’t think of any way to stop the ship?’ Mr Doyle asked.
‘I have wracked my brain,’ Slate said. ‘I know the colonel is thinking about ramming it out of the sky with airships, but I do not believe it will work. The repulsor field generated by the Whip of Fire will deflect anything that comes near.’
‘It sounds like the perfect weapon,’ said Mr Doyle.
‘It was supposed to be the perfect power source.’
They travelled in silence to a building on the West Side of Washington. The top three floors were occupied by the
Secret Service. A meeting had been arranged between Olinka Slate and Nick Brownlow, the head of the Washington section.
‘We may see an old friend here,’ Mr Doyle said as they stepped into the elevator.
Jack started. ‘You don’t mean..?’
They exited to find themselves in an office with people clustered around a map spread out on a table.
‘Gabrielle!’
‘Jack! Scarlet!’ Her arm and shoulder were bandaged, but she still managed to race over and hug them. Nick Brownlow introduced himself. He was a tall, thin man with a friendly face. When Gabrielle explained how Jack and Scarlet had saved her from Ashgrove’s jail, the whole Secret Service team cheered.
‘Is there an update on the Excalibur?’ Mr Slate asked.
‘Not yet,’ Mr Brownlow said. ‘We have observers surrounding the city. They will contact us the minute they see anything.’
‘You have a smaller version of Ashgrove’s weapon,’ Mr Doyle said to the inventor. ‘Could that be used to bring down the Excalibur?’
‘I have been thinking about that,’ Mr Slate admitted. ‘If the smaller weapon were fired at the Excalibur, it might cause some damage. The problem is that the correct calibration would need to be found. A person would never survive that long in a battle with the airship.’
‘That’s unfortunate.’
‘It couldn’t be set to work automatically?’ Scarlet asked.
Mr Slate smiled sadly, and shook his head.
‘Where is the president?’ Mr Doyle asked. ‘Has he been moved out of Washington?’
‘President Craig wants everything to appear business-as-usual,’ Nick Brownlow said. ‘The first lady had already arranged a fundraiser for orphans. They didn’t want to cancel it.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Georgetown. A stately residence called Tudor Place.’
Mr Doyle suggested to Jack and Scarlet that they go to the roof. Half-a-dozen airships were tethered to the building. Men stood around waiting for orders, while others slept on bunk beds under improvised shelters.
‘Many of these men have been in a state of readiness for days,’ Mr Doyle said, taking out a piece of cheese and chewing on it.
‘They look either tired or bored,’ Jack said.
‘I’m afraid war is a little like that.’
‘You seem rather quiet,’ Scarlet said to Mr Doyle.
‘There are aspects of this case that baffle me,’ the detective admitted. ‘The first is the involvement of the Chameleon.’
‘But don’t we know already?’ Scarlet said. ‘Charles Ashgrove wanted him to kill the President.’
‘And since then Ashgrove’s whole focus has shifted to attacking Washington. Why? Charles Ashgrove wants to create a new nation. Attacking its people does not make sense. Why is he so intent on destroying the city?’
‘Maybe he’s lost his mind,’ Jack suggested.
‘Well, let’s hope he finds it again—before it’s too late!’
One of the signalmen started waving his flags. Within seconds, he sent someone racing down the stairs. Jack and the others followed him to find a messenger whispering a report to Gabrielle.
She turned to them. ‘The Excalibur has been sighted,’ she said. ‘It’s about twenty miles out of town and heading this way.’ She wrote something on a sheet of paper and handed it to Olinka Slate. ‘This is a safe address. You must go there at once.’
‘I can’t run away from this,’ Slate said. ‘My invention has already caused enough damage.’
‘You’re not running away,’ Gabrielle said. ‘We must keep you out of harm’s way in case our efforts here fail.’
Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle accompanied Slate as they left the building. Slate had started dividing numbers of three again, but stopped a little way down the street. He peered into the window of a shop that sold diving gear. He seemed transfixed.
Jack was worried the inventor was having a strange episode. ‘Mr Slate?’
‘Of course,’ the man murmured. ‘That would be ideal.’
‘What is it, Mr Slate?’ Scarlet asked.
‘A diving suit.’ He pointed at a costume with a metal helmet the size of a goldfish bowl. A glass face-plate was bolted to the front. It attached to a bulky black rubber suit. ‘It would afford a certain amount of protection from the electrical blast of the Whip of Fire.’
‘Didn’t you say it would take too long to find the right frequency?’ Mr Doyle said.
‘A rubber suit might give the wearer enough time to calibrate the device.’ He stepped back from the glass. ‘We must find the owner of this shop and ask him for permission to borrow one of his suits.’
‘Or we can smash the glass and steal it,’ Mr Doyle said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a spanner and hurled it through the window.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
They hauled the diving suit out of the front window and dressed Mr Slate in it.
‘My goodness,’ Scarlet said. ‘You look like a Shar Pei.’
‘A what?’ Jack asked.
‘One of those little dogs with all the folds of skin.’
At the inventor’s insistence, Jack raced upstairs and told Gabrielle to delay the attack on the Excalibur as Mr Slate would be heading off the airship on the outskirts of the city. Gabrielle gave them directions.
Jack climbed into the steamcar with the others and they took off. Olinka Slate pushed up the face-plate to better breathe, murmuring calculations. Before he had lapsed into a funk, and now he had come back to life. With the Whip of Fire in his hand, he was ascertaining the best setting for the attack.
‘Look!’ Scarlet cried.
Passing between two buildings, she pointed at a single airship on the horizon. It could only have been the Excalibur. It was like a missile on a collision course with Washington. Above it, the sky had already begun to darken as electricity danced from cloud to cloud. Mr Doyle pushed his foot down on the accelerator and they raced around a corner.
‘We’re in luck,’ Slate said. ‘It hasn’t begun its attack.’
Mr Doyle pulled up at the outskirts of the city. Jack thought that, dressed in his diving gear, the inventor looked like a Martian. It was a good thing the street was deserted.
‘I need a tall building,’ Mr Slate said. ‘That one will suffice.’
He pointed to a six-storey red-brick structure nestled among similar blocks. They followed Slate into the lobby and found an elevator. The inventor shook hands with Jack and the others as they ascended. ‘I must really thank you all for everything,’ he said to Mr Doyle. ‘I would have died in the clutches of that horrible man if Jack and Scarlet had not saved me. They are a credit to you and your training.’
‘I’m fortunate to have them at my side,’ Mr Doyle said.
It all sounded terribly final to Jack. ‘You’ll be all right, Mr Slate. Just remember, tough times don’t last…’
‘…only tough people.’ Mr Slate smiled at him. ‘I’ll remember that.’
The elevator leaked steam as it reached the top floor. They made their way to the roof. Jack immediately noticed the change in atmosphere—it was the same electrical charge they had felt on the battlefield. Scarlet’s hair began to frizz, making her look like a fluffy red cat.
A small section of the sky over Washington turned black as the airship grew closer. Lightning raced along the underside of clouds like mischievous imps. The wind picked up and a blast of air almost pushed them over. A storm was coming. A big one.
‘You must go now!’ Slate yelled. ‘I will fire from here.’
‘Are you sure?’ Mr Doyle asked.
‘It has to be this way.’
The airship was now only a few hundred feet away. Beneath it hung an antenna. Slate crossed to the middle of the roof, stumbling a little because of the bulk. He looked very alone, a small man in a strange oversized suit. Jack felt a shiver of fear as he watched him adjust the control of the Whip of Fire.
Then the Excalibur abruptly changed course. They’ve sp
otted him, Jack thought. The vessel gained speed and veered towards the roof. A burst of electricity danced around the antenna. Bright red, it coiled like a snake, then lashed out from the craft and arced across the sky. There was no time to act. No time to move. The bolt struck the roof with an enormous explosion.
Ka-boom!
Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle were thrown down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom.
‘Dear God!’ Mr Doyle cried, rubbing the back of his head.
Jack scrambled to his feet. ‘Mr Slate needs our help!’
‘No! Jack, don’t…’
But Jack had already bounded up the stairs. He pushed open what remained of the door and stared out on a sight of total devastation. The roof had been ripped in half; he could see straight into bedrooms below. Somehow Olinka Slate had survived. He lay on the ground, dazed, his rubber suit ripped in a dozen places.
‘The Whip of Fire!’ he yelled. ‘It was thrown from my hand!’
Another charge of power flew from the Excalibur. Slate scrambled away in the clumsy outfit as the blast raced at him.
Boom!
The Whip of Fire carved a path down the side of the building and dug a hole in the street. On the roof of the neighbouring building, the Whip of Fire lay near the edge. A gap of six feet separated the roofs. Mr Doyle and Scarlet appeared at Jack’s side. The detective grasped his arm.
‘We must go, my boy. There’s nothing we can do here.’
But something could be done and Jack was the only one who could do it. He shook Mr Doyle loose and started across the roof. Picked up speed. Set his arms swinging like pendulums. He gave an enormous leap as another blast of bright-red energy collided with the building behind him.
Ka-boom!
Jack landed on the next roof, rolling as bricks and mortar fell around him. A piece of stone zinged off the side of his head. Wincing at the pain, Jack struggled to his feet. Mr Slate, Scarlet and Mr Doyle had survived. Now the antenna shifted towards Jack, aiming right at him. Mr Slate ran to the edge of the roof. Jack grabbed the Whip of Fire and threw it across. While Mr Slate manipulated the control, the Excalibur built up another charge. Slate aimed his weapon and activated it as a burst of deadly power sprang forth from the airship. The Whip of Fire from the Excalibur flew towards Jack—and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
