The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (32 page)

Cornelius
took to some thoughtful head-scratching. Norman said, ‘Piece of cake.’

‘Piece of cake?’ asked the
large controller, pushing a gilded plate across the marble top of his big swank
desk.

‘Piece
of cake?
Piece of cake?’
Brigadier Algenon ‘Chunky’ Wilberforce
(deceased) stamped his military footwear and made fists at the rococo ceiling.
‘You murdered me, you bally bastard. Poisoned me damn port. Bloody un-British
way of butchering a fellow. Cad and bounder, so you are. And how come you’re
you
anyway?’

‘You
have a message to deliver, I believe,’ said the large controller.

‘Message?
Message?’

‘I saw
your name come up on the list of today’s arrivals, I assume that my brother
must have, er,
sent
you.’

‘Brother?
Suddenly the bastard’s got brothers everywhere. Murderers all. Told the fellow
who brought me up in the lift that. Seems your damned brother murdered him too.
Familiar looking cove the lift wallah, sure I’d seen him in a film somewhere,
couldn’t put a name to his face though.’

‘The
message.’ The large controller extended a large hand.

The
dead Brigadier yanked the crumpled envelope from his pocket and tossed it
across the desk. ‘Took the liberty of reading it. Bally bastard lied to me.
Said he was moving his schedule forward from Friday night to tomorrow night.
Says in the message he intends to go ahead
tonight at midnight
as soon
as the pylons are in place.’

‘Splendid,’
said the large controller. ‘I can arrange for that.’

‘Says
one of your brothers has gone missing too. Drowned in the bay or somesuch, but
didn’t get “born again”. Chap I picked up from the station’s not the same chap
I was chatting with the night before. Can’t make head nor bloody tail of this.’

‘Not
born again!’
The large controller rose largely from
his chair.
‘NOT BORN AGAIN?’

‘Not
pre-incarnated, but no need to get a strop on, old thing. More than enough of
you fellas to go round, I’d have thought. And bastards the lot of you.’

‘It’s
that Claude. The old loon, he must have tampered with the big sky nozzle.’

‘Still
in the dark here,’ said Chunky. ‘And still bloody furious. What kind of an
afterlife do you call this anyway? Where’re the dancing girlies?’

‘Shut
up!’

‘Damned
cheek!’

‘Let me
think. I must have every inch of the company premises searched, stop him before
he wreaks any more havoc. Punish him greatly, greatly indeed. Stay here. Don’t
leave this room. Eat cake. Help yourself to the drinks cabinet.’

‘Dancing
girlies?’ enquired the defunct Brigadier.

‘Dancing
girlies. You just stay put until I sort this out.’

‘Big-bosomed
dancing girlies.’

Crash
went the door, slamming shut on the large controller’s departure.

‘Don’t
want ones with small titties,’ sulked the Brigadier, seeking out the drinks
cabinet and flinging open its door.

‘Waaah!’
went a crazed-looking fellow, leaping from within. ‘Fuck me!’ croaked the Brig,
collapsing on the floor. ‘It’s Ben Gun!’

‘No-one
got that the first time around. Wrong type of reader. I’m Claude, I am. Claude
the real controller.’

‘Nearly
gave me a bally heart attack. Could have done for me.

‘Not
twice.
He
did for you though, didn’t he? I heard every word. Like to get
your own back on him? Fix him good and proper?’

‘I
surely would.’ The dead Brig climbed puffing to his feet.

‘Then
stick with me, sonny, and I’ll tell you what we’ll do.’

‘Stick with me,’ said
Norman. ‘I’ll get it sorted.’

They
were parked on the beach now. Quiet little cove sheltering beneath the cliffs.
The kind of place where the Famous Five would have had an adventure involving
smugglers and sandwiches.

‘You
get us the boat, Cornelius, and leave the rest to me. ‘Don’t you think that
being semi-transparent and altogether non-corporeal might present some
difficulties for you? Like not being able to touch or move things, for
example?’

‘I opened
the door of the blazing hotel room and rescued you, didn’t I?’

‘Yes
you did.’

‘Then I
can organize getting the explosives together. You acquire the boat, the bigger
the better, and meet me back here at exactly nine o’clock tonight. OK?’

Cornelius
gave another of his thoughtful nods.

‘I
think you’re supposed to say “piece of cake”,’ Tuppe told him.

‘Piece
of cake it is.’

‘Rock
‘n’ roll then, chaps,’ said Norman and wandered off along the beach.

‘Do you
think we could do something about eating now?’ Tuppe asked Cornelius. ‘I’m
feeling faint, I am.’

‘Me
too, what time is it?’

‘About
two in the afternoon.’

‘All
right, let’s drive along the beach, away from
Skelington Bay,
and see
what we can find.’

‘A fine
idea.’

And
Cornelius drove. The beach was flat and sandy and deserted. The sun beamed down
in a pleasing manner, waves lapped, seagulls dipped and weaved and Tuppe said,
‘Look at that.’

‘Look
at what?’

‘Out
there in the sea, about thirty yards out, running along parallel with us,
that’s a shark’s fin, isn’t it?’

‘Surely
not here. Perhaps it’s a porpoise, they used to call them pilot fish because
they swam along in front of sailing ships. Or was that dolphin?’

‘They
don’t have fins, do they? Go faster, see if it keeps up.’ Cornelius drove
faster.

‘It’s
keeping up,’ said Tuppe. ‘Perhaps it prefers Jeeps to sailing ships. Do you
think we could entice it in and eat it?’

‘Or
perhaps swim out and let it eat us.’

‘No
thanks, keep the tyres out of the tide. Go a bit faster.’ Cornelius went a bit
faster.

‘It’s
keeping up. And it’s coming nearer too.’

‘It’s
never a shark,’ said Cornelius. ‘It’s too angular, looks more like it’s made of
metal.’

‘And
glass. Glints in the sun, doesn’t it? Strange, eh?’

‘It
couldn’t be a submarine or something, could it? I mean …
Oh no!’

‘Oh
no!’
Tuppe agreed.

It rose
from the waves, and it did look like metal and glass. The trim and the
windscreen and the mirrors. The bonnet was all covered in seaweed, but the
metallic-blue finish was still visible and the big chrome bumpers, though battered,
were mostly intact.

‘It’s
the Cadillac,’ Cornelius gave the accelerator pedal full wellie.

‘It’s
coming at us, Cornelius. Faster, faster.’

‘I’m
going faster. But how can it do that? Cars can’t run under water. They just
can’t.’

‘It
doesn’t seem to know that. And I don’t think it gives a damn.
Faster!’

The
Cadillac swung in from the tide, drawing closer and closer. Big engine the
Cadillac Eldorado. Bigger than a Jeep’s.

‘We’ll
never outrun it on the straight,’ Cornelius swerved up the beach. ‘Might out-manoeuvre
it though.’ Another swerve and another.

Sand
swept up in blurry cascades.

The
Cadillac left the sea, surf skimming from the door seals and the radiator
grille. Engine growling. Tyres churning the sand.

‘You’d
have thought it would have run out of petrol by now. Ouch!’ Tuppe toppled to
the floor as the Cadillac shunted the Jeep in the rear end, bursting the big
spare water tank and making the clip-on trenching tool (which is really hard to
get unless you know someone in the war-surplus circles) fall off and break.

‘Faster,’
shrieked Tuppe from the floor.

‘It’s
too powerful,’ called Cornelius. ‘And too big. If it hits us a couple more
times we’ll be finished. Ooooooh!’

The
Cadillac sideswiped them, tearing off a running-board and a goodly portion of
side. Tuppe’s side.

‘Oh my
goodness,’ Tuppe scrambled up in his seat. ‘It’s had half my door off. Do
something, do something.’

Cornelius
swerved about in a nifty, sandy sort of U-turn. ‘You do something. Anything.’

‘Shoo!’
called Tuppe. ‘Go away. Leave us alone.’

Growl!
went the Cadillac, coming about and gaining on them once more. Such a long flat
beach and with the cliffs running right along, such a difficult one to escape
from.

‘This
will make you laugh,’ called Cornelius. ‘According to the gauge, we’re out of
petrol.’

‘Oh
dear. Ouch!’ Crash up the back end again. There goes the spare wheel. Tuppe
whacked forward into the military equivalent of the glove compartment. ‘Oh!’
went he, then, ‘Ah!’

‘Ah?’
Cornelius enquired.

‘Yes,
look, look.’ Tuppe displayed his find.

Screech
went brakes, Cornelius spun the Jeep to the right, the Cadillac flew by then
swerved to continue pursuit.

‘Hand-grenade,’
said Tuppe.

‘Tasty,’
said Cornelius. ‘You’d better let me throw it.’

‘Get
away, I found it.’

‘Tuppe,
please. It will end with one of those hand-grenade gags, throwing the pin and
keeping hold of the grenade, dropping the grenade on the floor — let me do it.’

‘Shan’t,’
said Tuppe. ‘You’re driving, I’m throwing. Let the Cadillac get up along side
of me then I’ll simply toss the grenade in and you can swerve away.

‘Having
pulled the pin first.’

‘What
pin?’

‘What
pin!’

‘Only
joking. Oooooow!’ Mash went the Cadillac into the back. ‘I won’t do any
counting, just pull the pin and lob it in, how much time do you get anyway?’

‘About
ten seconds, I think.’

‘You’d
better do some nifty driving then. OK let’s go for it.’

Cornelius
swerved to the right, the Cadillac drew up along side and began to grind
against what was left of Tuppe’s door.

‘I hate
to do this,’ said Tuppe, ‘as you were once such a magical car. But I’m sorry.’
He pulled the pin and flung the grenade into the Cadillac. ‘So long.’

‘Careful!’
A head bobbed up in the Cadillac’s front seat, inches away from Tuppe. It was a
sheep’s head. It was Boris the bogus sheep’s head. ‘You nearly hit me with
that,’ he called gaily. ‘What a laugh this car, eh? How are you doing, fellas?’

‘Boris,
it’s you!’

‘What?’
went Cornelius.

‘It’s
Boris in the Cadillac.’

‘Then
don’t throw the grenade.’

‘I have
thrown the grenade.’

‘You
didn’t tell me you’d thrown it.’

‘Boris
popped up and surprised me.’

‘How
many seconds ago did you—’

‘Boris!’
screamed Tuppe. ‘Jump out of the car. That’s a bomb
I’ve thrown into it.’

‘It’s a
bomb. Jump! Jump!’

‘Can’t
wait!’ Cornelius swerved away and rammed on the brakes. The Cadillac shot past,
leapt a small dune and then erupted in a violent gout of flame. Very forcefully
and with a great deal of noise.

Cornelius
threw himself across Tuppe, as shards of flaming metal rained down on the Jeep.

Boris
hadn’t leapt to safety.

Boris
was sadly no more.

35

‘Did he …’ Tuppe
asked.

‘No, he
didn’t.’

‘Then
he’s …’

‘Yes,
I’m afraid he is.’

‘Then
I…’

‘It
wasn’t your fault, you didn’t see him until it was too late.’

‘That
doesn’t help. I killed him, Cornelius. I blew him up.’

‘Very
quick end,’ said the tall boy. ‘If it’s any consolation, he wouldn’t have felt
anything.’

‘It’s
no consolation at all. We’ll have to give him a decent burial at least.’

‘Do you
think so?’ Cornelius wasn’t too keen to go looking for parts.

‘I
killed him, so I must bury him.’

‘OK.’

They
climbed from what was left of the Jeep and plodded sadly to the crest of the
little dune and stared down at the horrid mess that lay beyond. The Cadillac
was reduced to its blackened chassis. Little burning bits smoked here and
there.

‘Do you
see any of him?’ Tuppe asked. Cornelius nodded. ‘Over there.’

‘Ah,’
said Tuppe.

‘And
over there,’ said Cornelius. ‘And over there.’

‘Oh
dear, oh dear. I’m so sorry.’