Ghosts of War (19 page)

So Rutherford had waited, keeping a watchful eye on both the door to the apartment building and the driver. His patience had paid off, and within ten minutes Banks had returned in the company of another man, a tall, lean, gray-haired man dressed in a blue woolen overcoat with a red scarf wrapped around his lower face. He had a military bearing, and Rutherford had assumed he must be a retired soldier, or at least that he had spent a great deal of time in the armed forces.

The newcomer had shared a number of words with the senator on the sidewalk before heading to his own, parked vehicle a little way farther along the street. Banks had returned to his driver, and presently both cars had moved off, convoy fashion, Banks's car in the lead, heading downtown.

Rutherford had eased his own vehicle out behind them, careful to establish enough of a distance between them so as not to appear suspicious.

Now, a short while later, they were nearing the docks, approaching two large, modern hangars that were nestled among a smattering of similar industrial buildings. Nearby, Rutherford could hear the bustle and frivolity of the fairground, but such things remained far from his thoughts. He was entirely focused on the task in hand: putting a stop to the schemes of Senator Isambard Banks.

He pulled over, sliding his stolen car into the shadows of a warehouse wall as the two cars ahead of him came to a stop. He watched the thin man climb out of his vehicle and approach a bus that was parked on the concourse awaiting them. The driver of the bus jumped down to greet him, and Rutherford realized for the first time since arriving that the bus was full of men. At a signal from their driver, they began to disembark, spilling out of the bus like worker ants. There must have been fifteen or twenty of them, all wearing matching gray boiler suits. They were workmen of some kind, and Rutherford wondered whether they were connected somehow to the weapon, or were perhaps there to man and maintain the airship that would transport it to London.

Rutherford regarded the two hangars. It was likely the airship itself was housed in one of them, he thought. The airship that he had to prevent from ever making it across the ocean.

He reached over and wound the passenger window down, hoping this would be enough to allow him to hear snatches of the conversations taking place outside. The workmen caroused and jostled each other, but Rutherford was intent on watching the thin man, who had now crossed to where the senator was waiting for him beside his car.

“Tell your men to prepare the vessel,” said Banks, and the other man gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment at the order. “I want you airborne as quickly as possible. No delays, Joseph.” He glanced at the buildings looming over his shoulder. “I'll take care of Abraham.”

Banks held out his hand, and the thin man took it, shaking it firmly. “Good luck,” said Banks, “it is a fine thing you're doing, for the honor of your country. It will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied the thin man, before turning to his men. He barked a couple of sharp commands and then led them off to the hangar on the right.

Banks watched them go, a wide grin spreading across his face. Then, sighing, he turned and made for the other hangar, his shoulders slumping slightly, as if he were reluctantly about to brave the lion's den.

Rutherford waited until he was out of sight and then cracked the car door open and climbed out. He was momentarily torn. He had two options—to go after the thin man, Joseph, to see if he could put a spanner in the works of the airship, or to follow Banks and attempt to ascertain the entirety of the man's plan. Both were equally as important. Both were equally as risky.

Rutherford had known all along that Banks was the key to all of this, however, and he needed to see it through. He would follow Banks first of all, to try to find out exactly what he was dealing with, what this superweapon was actually capable of. In the meantime, he hoped that would give him a chance to consider what the hell he was going to do to stop that airship from ever getting off the ground.

G
abriel looked up at the sound of a car engine purring to a stop just outside the hangar. He felt a sudden rush of fear. Was it Donovan? If so, he hoped he'd been able to acquire some assistance, otherwise the raptors would make short work of him. Either that, or Donovan and Ginny would find themselves chained up alongside Gabriel and the others, ready to be fed to the monster.

A few minutes passed, and Gabriel began to think that perhaps the vehicle had moved on again, or that the occupant had left the car and moved on to a different destination.

The mechanical man seemed not to have noticed the arrival, or if he did, he paid it no heed. He was busy now in his workshop, tinkering with some device or other, a component he had earlier removed from his upper arm. He looked up, however, at the sound of footsteps coming through the doorway behind him.

The newcomer wasn't Donovan, as Gabriel had hoped, but rather a tall, portly man in a thick woolen overcoat and porkpie hat. Gabriel recognized him almost immediately from the photographs he had seen at the apartment of the British spy. This was Senator Isambard Banks.

“Hello, Abraham,” said Banks, sauntering over to where Abraham remained hunched over his workbench. The senator seemed not to notice the dangling human corpse, just a few feet away from where he was standing. If he did, he appeared not at all disturbed by its presence. “Enjoying your little games?”

So, that was the name of his mechanical captor: Abraham. Gabriel watched Abraham's reaction to the other man, noting with interest the sudden change that seemed to come over him. Where earlier he had been energetic and arrogant, almost hyperactive, even, now he appeared meek and afraid in the shadow of the other man. He was utterly in Banks's thrall.

“Senator Banks,” Abraham replied quietly, so that Gabriel had to strain to hear. “I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow.”

Banks grinned. “Ah, well, we like to keep you on your…toes, Abraham,” he said, glancing down at the man's mechanical feet. “After all, you do hold all of our futures in your hands. And besides, need I remind you that you're being very well compensated for your haste?” He smiled again, but it was sinister, almost threatening.

Abraham laughed nervously. The raptors twittered overhead, scuttling around on the iron beams. Something about the presence of the senator set them on edge, too, it seemed.

Banks reached up, retrieved his hat from his head, and placed it pointedly on the workbench over the component that Abraham was working on. Abraham frowned, and looked as if he was about to say something, and then clearly thought better of it, instead rising to his feet to face the senator.

“Is it ready?” asked Banks.

Abraham frowned again. He gave the slightest of nods. “The device is ready. I've fitted it into the loading bay of
Goliath
as agreed. But there's still no solution. The search for an appropriate donor is proving…taxing.”

Banks shrugged. “Very well,” he said.

“The raptors are still out. I'm expecting them to return with more subjects shortly. I'll keep testing them through the night.”

Banks shook his head. “No. The time for that is over, Abraham.
Goliath
leaves tonight.”

“Tonight! No! You said tomorrow!” Abraham sounded desperate, panicked by this new development. He stood wringing his strange, mechanical hands before the senator. “Senator Banks, you must listen to me.” His voice had now taken on a pleading tone. “We
need
that solution.”

Banks laughed. “Things are moving, Abraham. We've run out of time. There's a British spy running around Manhattan. He knows much of our plans. We can't risk him warning anyone in London.”

“But without the solution we can't control those things. You've no idea!” Abraham was nearly hysterical now. “They're monsters, Senator. Deadly monsters. If you give birth to an entire army of them without a means to control them, you're damning us all.”

Banks reached out as if to put a reassuring hand on Abraham's shoulder, but then thought twice, grimacing at the sight of the man's bloated, necrotic flesh. When he spoke his tone was conciliatory, condescending. “I'm sure that's entirely the point of the weapon, Abraham. We
want
to unleash those monsters on the British, don't we? If these things were easy to contain, they would be of no use to us.”

Abraham was literally pulling at his hair in frustration. “But you're missing the point!”

Gabriel took a deep breath and then let it out again, trying to remain calm. So, that was their plan. They intended to unleash an army of those things—those alien monsters—on the British. That, too, was the reason for the abductions. Abraham was searching for the right blood type to be able to control the beasts. Clearly he had intended to somehow synthesize it, or otherwise use the blood to develop a solution that could be used to immobilize the monsters once they had done their work. Without it, they wouldn't be able to stop them once they'd set them free. They would devastate the British and then, when they had exhausted the food supply of those tiny islands, they would turn their attention to the rest of the world.

Abraham was right: Banks really didn't know what he was dealing with.

Gabriel wished Donovan were there, hearing this. Clearly this was the business the commissioner was mixed up in, too. That's what had gotten them so worked up about the man known as Jerry Robertson, the British spy. In posing as a political activist he'd been able to get close to Banks and had probably been privy to things Banks would now rather he hadn't heard. They were trying to stop him getting word to London or otherwise interfering with their plans. In trying to locate the spy, Donovan wasn't working for the good of the nation, as Montague and Banks had so succinctly put it. Rather, he was unknowingly aiding and abetting them in the execution of their scheme. Gabriel knew that if Donovan were fully aware of the facts, he'd be the one handing the spy the holotube receiver.

A preemptive attack on London would be all that was needed to incite a full-blown conflict with the British Empire. With weapons such as the alien beasts at their disposal, the senator and his friends had every reason to believe they'd be victorious. It would bring an end to the cold war, certainly, but it would also bring an end to the British. It would leave America dominant, the ultimate power on the world stage.

Banks was playing a dangerous game. Gabriel knew firsthand how dangerous just one of those creatures could be. Unleashing an army of thousands of them on the world would amount to Armageddon, whether Abraham had a few vials of solution or not. Even if they
could
work out how to control them, the loss of human life would be monumental. The British Isles would be reduced to a wasteland. The empire would crumble, and millions of people would be left dead. It wasn't so much a military strike as an attempted genocide, all for the glorification of one man and his power-hungry friends. Banks and his cronies had to be stopped. Gabriel had seen enough death for ten lifetimes. He couldn't allow these men to continue with their plans.

Abraham was growing more and more agitated, and Banks was beginning to lose patience with the mechanical man. “Just one more day, Senator. One more day!” Abraham pleaded. “I understand that you're anxious for
Goliath
to be under way, but I really think it's for the best.”

“Oh, do be quiet, Abraham,” Banks snapped, clearly close to the end of his tether. “I'm growing tired of your prattling. The decision has been made.
Goliath
is already being prepared for launch.”

Abraham took a step back toward his workbench, fearful of the senator's tone. “I'll…Call it off or I'll set the raptors on you!”

Banks's shrewd smile turned at once to a taut mask of fury. “Are you threatening me now, Abraham? Well that's a very stupid thing to do. I'm most disappointed. I had thought there would be a role for you in the new world order. But perhaps not. Perhaps your usefulness has already come to an end.”

Abraham stared at the senator, wide-eyed, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. He looked up, beckoning to the five raptors still clinging to the rafters above. “Kill him!” he screamed in desperation, pointing at the senator. “Kill him!”

But the raptors did not respond, other than to flutter their wings nervously and hop from foot to foot, mewling like frustrated kittens. The senator laughed. “Don't you remember, Abraham? The raptors were keyed to obey me, too. That was one of my stipulations when I built you this place.”

Abraham stared at the senator with barely concealed panic as Banks waved both of his arms above his head and shooed the raptors away. They started like a flock of birds at the sight of a predator, buzzing into the air with the groan of rotors and the flapping of wings. Within seconds they had chattered off through the hole in the roof, every single one of them disappearing into the night.

Banks was still laughing, evidently pleased with himself.

“Senator,” Abraham warned, his tone now resigned, serious, “you're going to destroy us all.”

“Don't be so damned melodramatic, Abraham. I'll do no such thing. Those creatures will be no match for the might of the American military machine. Unlike the British we'll be prepared for them, we'll know what we're facing. The British will be caught by surprise, and once the creatures have consumed their capital our armed forces will move in. The creatures will be dealt with swiftly and efficiently, and we shall lay claim to the territory of our former masters.” Banks sounded as if he were giving a speech to the Senate. He clearly believed in this madness, in the inherent superiority of his people.

“The creatures are impervious to anything the armed forces could throw at them!” Abraham stressed. “They simply cannot be harmed, not without the poison, without the solution. It weakens them, Senator, makes them susceptible to our weapons.”

Banks was having none of it, however, and Gabriel could see from the look in Abraham's eyes that he knew what was coming next.

The senator reached forward and grasped the squirming Abraham by the throat. All of Abraham's posturing, all of his confidence had gone along with the raptors, and now he gasped and begged for his life. The senator, however, showed him no mercy. Lifting Abraham from the floor, ignoring the ferocious scrabbling of his artificial limbs, Banks carried him toward the pit by his throat.

The diminutive scientist was struggling for breath, trying to call out, to appeal to the senator to set him down, to show him mercy, but Banks had made up his mind, and a moment later he pitched the part-mechanical man over the side of the pit toward the waiting monster below.

Abraham managed to catch hold of the lip of the pit with one arm, scrabbling frantically at the concrete, but within seconds the creature had buried a proboscis in his back and he was dragged down, screaming, toward the hungry mouths.

Gabriel heard the creature shriek in pleasure at the unexpected treat and tried to block out the sounds of its multiple, dripping jaws as they found purchase in Abraham's remaining flesh, rending it from the brass and bones that now comprised his skeleton, lapping at the warm blood beneath.

Abraham emitted one final, shrill cry before whatever served as his heart gave out and he sputtered and choked on his own spilled bodily fluids. The mechanical parts of his body continued to pop and jerk at the bottom of the pit as the monster drained the remains of his torso of blood.

Banks stood back, dusting his hands, a grim expression on his face. He did not even look over at the three remaining captives chained to the wall, but promptly turned, strolled back toward Abraham's workbench, retrieved his hat, and left.

Gabriel didn't even wait for the sound of the senator's car engine firing up before he began trying to extricate himself from the iron cuffs. They were roughly hewn, and the rusting edges bit painfully into his flesh as he tugged and wrenched, bashing them against the wall to attempt to shatter the latch.

With Abraham and the raptors gone, the only thing he had to worry about—for the time being, at least—was the creature in the pit, and he'd hoped its two recent meals had been enough to sate it for a short while. But no matter how hard he fought against his bonds, he couldn't figure out how to break himself free.

He tried getting the woman to reach over and snap the catch free, straining against the chain to get himself as close to her as possible, but Abraham had not been an unintelligent man and had evidently considered that possibility, spacing the chains just far enough apart so that the prisoners couldn't help each other to escape.

Just as he was about to resign himself to the fact that he wasn't going anywhere, he heard the scuff of a booted foot by the doorway and looked up, panting with exertion. His first thought was that the senator had returned, his second that Donovan had finally arrived. But neither of these two eventualities was true.

The man who stood in the doorway was perhaps the last person Gabriel had expected to see. He was lean and wiry, evident even beneath the wintry overcoat he was wearing. His hair was blond and well groomed, and he was handsome, around forty years of age. He was standing beneath the harsh electric light and staring in horror at the grisly scene before him, at the swinging corpse on the rope and the heaps of discarded bones: a rib cage, a femur, a handful of skulls.

“My God…” he said, and his British accent confirmed what Gabriel had already suspected. He looked a little older than he had in the photographs Donovan had shown him, but he was, without doubt, the missing British spy.

“You're Jerry Robertson,” Gabriel called out to him, and the man looked up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. When he saw the three of them straining against the iron cuffs—Gabriel, the woman, and the boy—he started over toward them. He stopped short when he caught sight of the tendrils creeping slyly around the lip of the inspection pit.

“That's their weapon,” Gabriel said. “The weapon they're planning to unleash on London.”

The spy stepped closer, staring down into the hole in the ground. His eyes widened at the sight of the writhing beast, and it lashed out at him, three of its proboscises snapping out, their slavering jaws gnashing at the air.