The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (17 page)

The old adventurer meaningfully placed his flare gun on the dashboard.
"Sawyer, remember the flare! You know when to launch it." He snapped open the
door of the racing vehicle. "I'm counting on you."

"Wha—?" the young agent said, taking his eyes from the obstacle course he was
driving.

"I cant protect you this time, boy. I'm off." Quatermain clenched his jaw and
braced himself. "This enemy's mine."

Then he was out of the car, taking the landing with a roll, while Sawyer
careened onward at full speed. Before he could feel the pain of bruises and torn
skin, Quatermain climbed to his feet and set off at a run toward the canal and
the Fantom's gunboat.

Sawyer cursed and looked ahead. In just a matter of moments, Dorian Gray,
Mina Harker, and now Allan Quatermain had all deserted him. running off to their
own adventures. He glanced at the thick-barreled flare gun. "Heck, I wasn't even
supposed to be part of this group."

Then his eyes suddenly filled with fear. Just ahead, the sequence of
collapsing buildings had started to cross the path he drove. The buildings
direcdy in front of him began to slump and sink.

Tom Sawyer let out a loud whoop, then gunned the gas and raced into the jaws
of the beast.

Ishmael stood in the rocket room of the
Nautilus
, watching as the
tracer pen plotted Sawyers position. The car wove through the streets of Venice,
heading to the center of the spreading waves of destruction.

High atop the crow's nest, Nemo lowered his binocular device, grabbed a voice
tube that was connected to the extended metal framework, and yelled down into
the rocket room, "I believe he's almost there. Be ready to launch!"

Ishmael rested a callused, oil-stained finger on the red firing button.

Just then, the damaged bridge spanning the canal above the submarine
collapsed. Support beams and chunks of stone crashed down in a landslide of
rubble onto the vessel's plated hull. The first mate stayed at his post in spite
of the electrical panels that sparked and exploded in the rocket room.

"We'll be smashed apart!" cried a crewman. Other men rushed in to shut down
live circuits and douse the fires before they could spread.

"If the Cap'n says we stay, then we stay," Ishmael said, glowering.

Running at full speed, ignoring the large-scale mayhem aiound him, Quatermain
leaped over the edge of a raised street and stormed down onto the gunboat's
dock, while the Fantom took a set of wooden stairs.

At the boat, the old adventurer attacked the villains henchmen before they
knew what was happening. With a rapid one-handed pump and click, he cocked the
borrowed Winchester and shot one of the Fantom's men who was bent over a rope
that lashed the gunboat to the side of the canal. Quatermain turned and fired
his second barrel at another henchman; the blast hurled the man over the edge of
the dock and into the canal.

When his Winchester clicked empty, the hunter didn't hesitate a moment—he
hurled the long rifle like a tomahawk at the third henchman while still racing
forward. The Fantom's man dutifully looked up at the proper moment, and the hard
wood stock of the rifle cracked him between the eyes.

Quatermain punched a fourth henchman unconscious; his knuckles smashed into
the man's face with the satisfying crunch of breaking teeth and nose.
Unstoppable, he nailed the fifth man and simultaneously bent down to retrieve
his rifle just as it clattered to the dock planks, all in a perfectly fluid
movement. No doubt, Tom Sawyer would want the gun back.

At the other end of the dock, the Fantom froze, suddenly seeing himself
unprotected. Trapped, he eyed his fallen henchmen, then the waiting gunboat, but
it was too far away for him to leap on board.

And Quatermain stood in his way.

"Stand down, sir," the Fantom said in a hard, perfectly reasonable voice.
"The die has already been cast, and you can do nothing about it. We'll both be
killed if we linger here."

All around them, the tall buildings continued to sink. The dock itself
cracked, shivering against the rusty iron anchors that held it to the side of
the canal. Huge chunks of masonry smashed down on the gunboat.

Quatermain kept an eye on the enemy as he calmly reloaded the Winchester,
"You're destroying Venice. It's fitting the city should destroy you, in turn."
He stood like an implacable guard dog, preventing the Fantom from stepping
aboard.

"But you'll die, too!" Now the villain's voice had a ragged edge of
desperation, though the metal mask obscured his expression.

"I've faced death before. Perhaps it's my time."

Now the whole dock started to fall away into the canal. The gunboat broke
free of its last remaining mooring rope. Quatermain stumbled, trying to keep his
balance as the dock boards separated.

The Fantom gave up on his gunboat escape and turned to race back up the
stairs. He ran for his life in the opposite direction, back into the crumbling
streets of Venice.

Quatermain tucked the loaded Winchester under his arm and set off in hot
pursuit.

The Calle del Luna was falling apart all around him.

Tom Sawyer remembered how Mississippi River floods had washed away
shantytowns and fishing piers along the banks by St. Petersburg. The narrow,
sluggish canals of Venice bore little resemblance to the mighty Mississippi, of
course. But these buildings were much larger and older… and they were tumbling
down toward him.

Pushing Nemo's car to its limits, Sawyer drove desperately, trying to outrace
a wave of sinking buildings that collapsed only a hairbreadth behind him.
Villas, museums, cathedrals all went down like piles of toy blocks. Graceful,
centuries-old bridges across the canals tumbled away, crashing with huge
splashes into the water.

Carnival merrymakers in garish costumes ran about in the streets, dodging out
of the way. With buildings toppling all around them, the people had no safe
place to go. When Sawyer finally approached the Calle del Luna, masonry chunks
smashed either side of the car as he gunned for the final bridge. Then the
roadway dropped away ahead of him, as if a powerful prankster had pulled down a
trapdoor. Wide, jagged cracks raced to overtake the car's back tires.

So he accelerated.

Beyond the bridge was a decrepit-looking, abandoned old theater. It appeared
to have been falling apart for a long time now, even without the assistance of
the Fantom's bombs.

Steering with his left hand, Sawyer snatched the flare gun from where
Quatermain had set it, wrapping his right hand around the pistol grip. When the
car hit the suddenly uneven slope of the dropping road, all six tires left the
ground.

Sawyer had taken an exciting balloon ride once, with Becky Thatcher. This was
much faster. In that eternal moment, the American agent pointed the pistol out
the window and fired the flare.

Nemo's car landed on the other side of the collapsing bridge with a jolt that
slammed Sawyer into the vehicle's controls. Still moving at full speed, the car
punched through the crumbling columns and rotten doors of a dilapidated old
theater, where it was swallowed up into the lobby of the building.

The blazing flare streaked up into the air and soared high above the city,
like a meteor.

In the secret conference room, the representatives of powerful countries
tried to stay safe and dry on the heavy table. Unfortunately, the weight of such
disparate political views was too much for even the sturdy structure. With a
loud crack and splinter, the joints gave way and one of the wooden legs
buckled.

Shouting at each other, the ambassadors and leaders slid into the water that
flooded the room of the sinking building. Already the street-level window had
vanished beneath the inrushing flow from the canals. The cold water was only
waist high, but rising quickly.

The Russian stood stoically, ruminating on what he should do, while the
Frenchman attempted to swim. The German and the Englishman tried to scramble
onto the floating remains of the table, though both were already soaked.

The body of one of the guards drifted by, facedown; the Italian host tried to
rouse him, but the guard did not respond. The water kept rising.

From the crow's nest, Nemo shaded his eyes and finally spotted the streaking
flash of the flare climbing into the sky. He grabbed the voice tube and shouted,
"Launch! They are in position."

"Aye, Cap'n." Below, Ishmael pressed the firing button.

A hatch cover in the top deck slid aside with a sharp clang. The rocket
hissed and spat as it rode the launch tube upward and soared away like a much
larger version of the sputtering flare.

Homing in on the tracer.

Quatermain chased the Fantom through the collapsing streets, sprinting toward
a concentration of frantic crowds. The costumed revelers had congregated in an
open piazza, pushing together in a breathless mob. Nobles and common folk all in
disguise. Food vendors abandoned their trays, balloons drifted loose, banners
were trampled underfoot.

The Fantom plunged into the shirting mass of frightened Venetians, elbowing
women aside, tripping a young, black-haired man who was too drunk even to notice
the city falling apart all around him.

Quatermain pounded after the villain, panting hard.

Like a cheetah running down its prey, he kept his eye on the fleeing
enemy—but the Fantom was only one more silver mask amid a sea of masks.

The whistling flare soared overhead, then began its graceful descent. Some of
the people cheered, as if it betokened an impending rescue. Seeing it,
Quatermain knew that Tom Sawyer had succeeded. He paused for just a moment.
"Bravo, lad, bravo."

The Fantom, though, looked up in dismay when he saw Nemo's rocket in flight,
much larger than the small signal fireball. The rocket hurtled straight down
toward the city.

Sawyer, dazed, sat in the car, glancing at the gaping hole he had smashed
through the theater entrance. The car had come to a rest inside, hissing and
groaning. A ceiling timber fell in a shower of plaster dust.

He shook his head, rubbing a hand across his forehead, ignoring the spot of
blood he found from a small cut there. The windshield had shattered. He began to
pick his way out of the battered vehicle. His ears were ringing.

But at least he had launched the flare.

Sawyer saw the last building on the avenue sinking. Then, next in line, the
whole facade of the dilapidated theater started to come down, showering rubble
across the opening the car had blasted through it.

Suddenly, screeching with its accelerated descent, Nemo's explosives-packed
rocket followed the tracer to its target. Its nose plunged into the old theaters
high roof.

With a yelp, Sawyer leaped from the car and scrambled for the nearest window.
He dove headfirst into the street as the rocket struck, and the theater exploded
all around him.

.

From the crow's nest of the
Nautilus
, Nemo observed the explosion in
the distance and crossed his arms over his blue uniform with satisfaction.

Now, if only his companions had survived.

In the wake of the rockets explosion, the costumed crowd in the piazza saw a
bright fire. A loud shock wave reverberated through the surrounding area,
bringing down an old theater at the edge of the collapsing buildings.

The explosion removed the key domino from the cascading collapse. The
marching destruction lost its power, like a forest fire blocked by a firebreak.
With a grinding rumble, the avalanche of buildings faltered against the empty
spot and came to an end.

In the moment Quatermain took to stare, worried that Tom Sawyer might have
been hurt in the rocket's explosion, the Fantom fled through the crowd.

Cursing, the old hunter surged across the piazza, elbowing cheering survivors
out of the way. He caught a glimpse of the Fantom's dark form and swirling cape
as he ducked down another street, into the shadows.

Quatermain left the giddy celebration behind and tried to follow his nemesis,
who flowed like oil into the darkness. He paused at the scrolled cast-iron gate
that marked the entrance to an overgrown, walled cemetery.

Inside, was a shadowy maze of trees and mausoleum structures, crypts, vaults,
tombstones, statues. The iron gate stood ajar, the tall weeds trampled.

The Fantom had gone inside to hide.

Quatermain listened, using his hunter senses. Behind him, the shaking of the
great, wounded city subsided. Venice groaned and moaned as its bones resettled.
Silence descended, save for distant shouts.

The Fantom could be anywhere inside. Quatermain entered the cemetery, the
cast-iron gate making a dismayingly loud screech as he pushed it open. He
stepped forward, crouching, stalking. He noted a broken branch, sniffed it, and
found that it was still moist. He tried to peer into the quietly rustling
shadows, searching for any sign of the scarred man in black.

After a moment, he'd had enough of stealth. The enemy knew he had entered the
cemetery. So he raised his voice loud enough to startle a pair of doves into
flight, counting on the villain's pride to make him reveal himself. "You've
failed, Fantom! Venice stands."

Lurking within the cemetery, the Fantom backed deeper into the shrouding
darkness, out of sight. "I applaud your persistence, Mr. Quatermain." The evil
voice reverberated from every direction.

The Fantom moved through the darkness, avoiding the old hunter.

"Oh, you'll be clapping all right, when I get my hands on you." Peering
around, Quatermain pressed on through the shadows, continuing the hunt.

But the hidden Fantom easily avoided the adventurer. His goading voice came
disembodied from among the leaning tombstones and monuments. "But like a dog
smelling blood, you can't see the true picture."