Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (10 page)

ELSTREE, ENGLAND

“So we’re blowing the whole ship with that?” asked Eliza.

Lucas indicated the ship around them. “This ship is filled with hydrogen. Once we start it off, those gas cells will do the rest.”

“And the best place to do that?” asked Morgan.

“The boys in Washington say we want the lower corridor, room twelve. It’s far aft, directly below the petrol tanks. From there the hydrogen lights up like a match.”

Morgan checked the time. “We’ve got a little over an hour before this beast flies.”

Lucas gathered up the box and checked the corridor. “We better get on it then.”

The three headed aft, each carrying a load of cargo as before. They found the third ladder gangway and carefully made their way down to the lower corridor.
 

Looking about to gain their bearings, Lucas thought back to the blueprints they’d memorized. He pointed. “This way, about two hundred feet.” They nodded agreement and followed him.
 

There were more workers and crew on this level, and they frequently had to turn sideways to pass them in the narrow corridor.
 

Lucas passed an open bulkhead, then stopped and went back to look again. He felt Morgan and Eliza join him, looking over his shoulder. The room inside was large, with black steel racks suspended above a hinged double door in the floor.

“That’s the bomb bay,” Lucas whispered. They nodded silently, each feeling the determination mount.

Lucas’s hands grew slick with sweat, and he swore the box felt warm to the touch. He wiped his hands on his pants and continued down the corridor with a tighter grip on the box of dynamite.

***

Outside at the base gate, Lieutenant Dowers caught a glimpse of something down the road. A shimmering, mirage-like blur. He realized it was a dust cloud, kicked up by a large number of vehicles coming towards him. His eyes narrowed and he barked at the nearest marine. “Get me dispatch on the line. Right bloody now!”

The marine ran into the guardhouse and spun the crank powering the telephone handset. “Dispatch?” he called. “This is Elstree Aerodrome, main gate. Stand by for Lieutenant Dowers, please.”
 

He held out the handset as the lieutenant snatched it from his hand. “Dispatch? I have a large convoy approaching my position, and—” The lieutenant’s face went white. “Why the hell wasn’t I notified? No, I—never mind. Arghh!” he yelled, slamming down the handset. He burst from the guardhouse, pointing with both hands.

“Jameson! Open the gate this instant! Peterson, form the men up! Now, now, now!” he yelled.

They scrambled to obey the hasty orders as the convoy approached rapidly. The long row of motorcars was flanked by twin lines of marines on horseback, galloping in formation. They each bore Imperial colors.

“God in heaven, someone is going to pay for this!” the lieutenant cursed. He turned to his marines. “It’s the king! Present…arms!”

The marines snapped to rigid attention, rendering a crisp salute, just as the convoy arrived. The marines carrying submachine guns held them out in front, underside to the honored dignitary. Not slowing, the procession blew through the gate, a blur of horse, dust, and motorcar. And then they were gone.

The lieutenant broke his salute. “Order… arms!” he bellowed, and the marines returned to attention.

“Someone is going to pay,” he muttered.

***

Lucas led the team down the corridor toward the aft of the airship. As they approached a sealed bulkhead, the floor beneath them shifted.
 

“That was a guide wire being loosed,” he told them. “We don’t have much time before this ship is in the air.”

They crowded together against the bulkhead. “This is our room,” he said. “Be ready.”
 

He turned the lever and pushed the heavy steel door inward. Stepping inside, the three hoped for another empty compartment. Instead, they found four men in dark blue uniforms with gold piping. They were examining an open crate of whiskey bottles and didn’t appreciate the interruption.

“What is this, then?” one of them asked, standing and blocking their sight of the theft in progress. “No workers allowed in this compartment, you know that. Out with you!” The man strode forward, arms out, to push the three back into the corridor.

Lucas set down the box and raised his hands in apology. He smiled a warm, apologetic grin and noting which wrist the man wore his watch on, decided he would be right-handed.
 

“Beg pardon, we had no—” Lucas grasped the man’s outstretched wrist, and stepped sideways, then around the man, twisting his right arm viciously behind the startled man’s back.

“What—” the crew member began.

Lucas wrapped his other hand over the man’s mouth, then wrenched the arm up hard between the man’s shoulder blades. The shoulder dislocated with a hollow
pop
. He screamed in pain, but Lucas had effectively gagged him already.

The other crew members leaped to their feet, still unsure at what they were seeing. Two of them had their mouths open, shocked at the scene. The third, a large brute, cracked his knuckles and stood slowly, ready for combat.

Lucas still held the first man and kicked his toe into the back of the man’s knee, bringing him to his knees easily as the support went out from under him. Lucas reared back and drove a punch into the man’s neck. The crewman went down like a felled ox.

One of the smaller crew found his wits and darted to the side, reaching for an alarm switch on the wall. Eliza ran at him, her knives already in her fists, points held down. Like a great cat, she leaped upon him, landing against his chest, and wrapping her legs around his waist. In the same movement, she drove the twin blades down into the startled man’s collarbone. He went stiff, mouth working furiously to scream, but finding no air to carry the pain he felt wash over him. He staggered, then crashed to the floor, Eliza still wrapped around him in a murderous embrace. She knew he was finished and rolled off him, easing back up to her feet, both blades wet and red.

“Dear God!” cried the remaining little one, frozen still, hands raised.
 

The big man only smiled and crouched, circling. Then he came at them, swinging a thick ham-fist through the air, to connect with Lucas’s jaw.
 

Time slowed for Lucas as it always did in these moments. He watched the fist roaring toward his face. Seeing the ragged scar that ran down the length of the man’s thumb, Lucas wondered what made the injury. Probably a wood saw, he guessed. But the thick fist was closer now, and it was time to act.
 

Lucas brought his left hand up to intercept the punch. With unnatural speed he placed his palm over his attacker’s fist, and with the slightest of pressure, guided its trajectory away from his face. He pushed down gently, sending the attack toward the floor, but at the same time, Lucas raised his right arm, bending it tightly to bring his elbow forward. He guided the brute’s fist directly into his elbow, the sharpest bone in the human body. Letting the two connect, Lucas felt pain, but nothing like what he had delivered to the brute.

The man’s fist smashed against the sharp bone, and the power behind the punch was channeled into the bones of his own hand. The bones in the fingers are not so durable, and the brutal force meant for Lucas quickly overwhelmed them. Lucas heard four distinct cracks as they shattered.

The man howled in agony as he ruined his own hand. He gulped air, in shock from the sensations flooding his brain. His vision swam and then cleared. Enraged and flushed with adrenaline, he launched an attack with his remaining good fist.

Morgan stepped forward into the man’s path, bringing with him a hammer blow of a punch into the man’s temple. The giant’s head rocked back, and he staggered, mouth agape. His eyes raced around the room, then blinked, then went dim. He collapsed at Morgan’s feet, unconscious.

“Couldn’t let you two have all the fun,” said Morgan.

Lucas smiled in agreement.

The final crewman gasped in astonishment, his eyes darting between his friends on the floor and those who defeated them so easily.
 

“Who are you people? What are you?” he cried. He made no movements, freezing like a rabbit before three wolves.

Eliza sided up close against him, and he struggled not to run away.

“We are Americans, dear,” she told him.

A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP

Under a bright, full moon, Tesla carefully made his way down Post Street. The evening with the colonel had run late, and there had been perhaps too many whiskeys. He deliberately placed each footstep, careful not to trip on the uneven cobblestone.
 

Overhead, the city’s new electric streetlights glowed warmly. Demand for electricity and its comforts had proved considerable, and city planning hadn’t yet caught up. A rat’s nest of dozens of power lines ran overhead, sagging on wooden poles. Every few weeks someone stepped on a downed line and got himself electrocuted. Tesla kept a wary eye out for such dangers as he crossed the street. The papers would inevitably chortle with ironic headlines, should the inventor meet his maker by stepping on a live wire.

Stepping up onto the sidewalk, the world tipped to one side with a disorienting lurch. He reached out for the nearby building, jamming his palm against the wall. The steady, unmoving brick was comforting and reminded his equilibrium which way was truly vertical.

When the moment of dizziness had passed, he pressed on, eager for his pillow and the delicious surrender of sleep. The streets were quiet, with only the occasional couple returning home like himself, and a ratcatcher, carrying his wire cage and poking through trash piles in search of his quarry.

He finally came to his current home, the house of Mrs. Harrison, where he rented his room.

Not wanting to wake anyone, he entered quietly and slipped into his room. He stripped off his overcoat and draped it over the back of a chair, then sat heavily to remove his shoes. He’d just slipped them off when a powerful banging knocked at his door.

He groaned and called out, “Mrs. Harrison, please. I will pay you tomorrow. Right now, I must sleep.”

There was a pause, then the knocking resumed. Tesla brought a hand to his forehead, realizing he had a headache.

“Fine, fine!” He stood and opened the door. “Mrs. Harrison, I—”
 

The hard face of Clay Bracken greeted him, and he knew the evening was turning for the worse. The throbbing in his head increased, and he winced.

Clay flashed a jackal grin. “Owe money to someone else too, huh? I’m not surprised.”

“Not tonight, please. I can find you tomorr—”

Clay shook his head and pushed his way into the room, knocking Tesla back. “Nah, don’t think so. Think we need to settle things tonight. Right now, even.”

Tesla stumbled back, falling over the chair and knocking his coat to the floor.
 

Clay stood over him, shaking his head. He looked around the room. “Genius inventor, hmm? Not much to show for it. Maybe you should invent yourself a better life, eh?” Clay laughed.
 

Tesla closed his eyes, willing the room to stop spinning, then opened them and clambered to his feet. Standing only in his socks, he was still as tall as Clay, but he didn’t feel it.

“There’s no money for you here, Clay. But there will be soon, I promise.”

Clay finished his survey of the room. A bed, a table, books, and a lot of mechanical junk. “Yeah… I believe you. About the first, anyway. Which is a shame. Man who collects gambling debts like you ought to be more careful. Otherwise, people get hurt.”

“There’s no need for that, Clay. If you just give me a few more days, all will be—”

Casually, Clay brought his thick fist up and swung it into Tesla’s face.

Tesla’s world exploded into stars. The room swam again as he fell back, landing hard on his back. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling panels.
 

Then Clay’s face slipped into view. “Few days won’t be good enough, buddy-o.” He grabbed Tesla by the collar and pulled him up, standing the inventor on his feet again.
 

Tesla blinked hard at the vertigo of the sudden movement. Clay’s face was inches away, and he smelled the man’s breath. The close physical contact was distressing, and Tesla struggled to step back, but Clay’s grip was strong and held him in place.

“Going to give you something to remember me by. And then I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m not paid then, things get bloody. Are you hearing this?”

Tesla felt his pulse racing, and he admitted to himself he was afraid of this man. He thought of Mrs. Harrison upstairs, unaware of the intruder.
 

And of her sleeping children…

“Just get out,” he said. “Get out of here!”

Clay grinned. “You got it, Professor.”
 

He hauled his fist back, and Tesla flinched. The blow slammed against Tesla’s jaw, and a blossom of pain raced through his brain. Then the room grew dim.
 

Clay’s voice went distant, with an odd echo. “See you tomorrow, chum.”