Jack Kane and the Statue of Liberty (3 page)

~ * ~

Bennington Bartholomew Bentley the XVIth was a butler through and through. His family had a long and distinguished history of butlering to the rich and powerful throughout history. That Bennington worked for Felonious was not as much an indication of failure, as a need by his society to change the order of the world.

“That foolish boy is going to muff the whole thing up,” he said.

He sat at a modest reading desk in his sparsely furnished bedroom staring into a small screen that was cleverly designed to fold into the back of the desk itself. On the screen, Felonious could be seen prancing about, dancing with a lady’s nightshift.

“I’m going to have to do something to ensure the plan is carried out.” Bennington tapped a tiny button on the side of the flat panel and the image of Felonious went blank. It was replaced with a woman. One who would be instantly recognizable to most of the world should they see it.

“Yes?” Her voice was majestic, cultured, and extremely British.

Bennington bowed his head. “I apologize for the late hour, Majesty, but I needed to speak with you.”

“Bennington?” The woman smiled. “I always have time for you. Please, tell me what troubles you.”

“As you know, Majesty, my charge is young and foolish. I fear he will do something to jeopardize the mission.”

“You are speaking of Four-F? Bennington, I would not have sent you to the Americas if I did not think you were the man for the job. I have complete faith in you.”

“Thank you, Majesty.” He straightened in his chair. “Majesty, if I may ask a boon?”

“Name it, and if it is in my power, it is yours,” Queen Victoria said.

Bennington’s stomach churned. “Do we have any, ahem, men in the field here?”

She looked away from the screen and spoke to an unseen person then turned back a second later. “We do indeed. I will have my secretary send you the contact information.” Queen Victoria frowned and waggled a finger at him. “But Bennington, these agents are very well placed for some of my future plans. Do not expose them lightly.”

His smile seemed a bit forced. “I will use them with utmost discretion, Your Majesty.”

“See that you do,” she said.

The screen went dark, and Bennington sat, thinking about whether helping Felonious succeed warranted risking his queen’s wrath.

Two

It took Jack far longer than he would have liked to get down. With his spyglass still in place he was able to keep track of the person’s progress. That was a plus. But he needed to go to the pier. The man swam
away
from the rescue ships. He had to have done something wrong, and Jack Kane was the man to catch him.

Five stories below on the street were several lorries covered over and ready to push out onto the pier to load whatever ship might be coming in that day, and just as many empty lorries waiting to unload ships. There was no way to tell what was in the covered lorries, and Jack dared not jump onto one.

Most nights he hit the street prepared for such a situation, but he’d been so excited about completing his doubled-walled invention he only grabbed his coat—holding his mask, badge, and a few other implements—but left his satchel behind. Perhaps there was something on the rooftops he could use.

Jack scanned about him. There wasn’t much on the roof of the receiving building: a broken crate, several articles of unidentifiable clothing, a housing for what might have been a pigeon coop in a previous life, a zeppelin-docking ring with a tether…

That was it! He wasted no time in getting the suspiciously thin zeppelin tether cable and tossed it over the side of the building. From within his pocket he fetched the hook and a small attachment from another pocket. The attachment for the hook had four flywheels and inside steel alloy gear strong enough to support his weight. The device, when attached to a rope or cable, would slow his descent. He built this gizmo for angled drops, not for going straight down, but he had to make do and hope for the best.

Jack did one more check on the person swimming for the pier. No ships steered toward the man, and he made no motion to signal them. A guilty act if Jack had ever seen one.

He attached the gizmo on the inside of the hook and clipped it onto the zeppelin tether. A pull to ensure the tether was secure, though he had little doubt it would be loose, and Jack lowered himself over the side of the building. He took a deep breath. Then a second. Finally a third, and he began to descend.

The ‘ping’ noise from the gizmo concerned him for only a second. It spun then locked up leaving him hanging about ten feet from the rooftop. He hefted himself up with both arms and dropped, trying to unfreeze the gears. He tried putting his feet against the side of the building and yanking. That didn’t free anything up either. He braced his feet inside the fifth floor window frame where he stopped and jumped. This drop freed the gears with a loud pop.

Immediately Jack’s heart leapt into his throat. The gizmo, as best as he could tell, had failed, and he was falling far too rapidly toward the ground. When he slapped the toes of his boots together, small spikes popped out the bottom of the boots. He’d built his boots more for climbing over slippery trash, but now he used them to slow his descent. They helped a bit, but what helped more was a second pop from the gizmo, and Jack came to another stop that almost popped his arm out of its socket.

He had no desire to see how far he was from the ground. Turning around to try and spot the swimmer, Jack was confronted with a lorry blocking his view. Planting his feet in to the wall he tried to peer over the top of it, but it was too tall. It was best to unhook the gizmo and drop the rest of the way to the ground. He gritted his teeth and let his legs dangle as far as he could stretch. Once his feet hit the ground, he’d roll up into a ball and hopefully prevent himself from suffering any permanent damage.

With his left hand, he unlatched the gizmo from the tether. And let go.

He was going to count the number of heartbeats that passed before he hit the ground, but there weren’t any. Instead his feet touched almost instantly. This startled him and, with his legs loose and relaxed, he fell on to his rump.

“Well then. No damage done.”

Getting up and slipping around the lorries in front of him, he then sprinted up pier twenty-seven to where he’d last seen the swimming man. No ship was moored at the pier. It was possible the sinking ship would have been tied there had it not been blown to pieces. He needed to know not only what was on the ship, but why it’d been targeted. Things like that didn’t happen. The person in the water most likely didn’t work alone either. Interrogation was in order once he got the man out of the bay.

A few workers, likely those whose job it was to secure the incoming ships, milled about on the pier watching the activity beyond. Those on pier twenty-eight were busy mooring up the French ship that had been pushed into place by the tugs. Jack couldn’t make out the name of the vessel, but that wasn’t his main concern.

He stowed the spyglass attachment and now, with his vision clear, he could make out the reddish glow of the lantern on the water. Eerie. It hadn’t been so spooky from atop the building. Down here the reflections danced and swayed with each ripple on the water’s surface.

No one gave him any notice as he made his way along the dimly lit pier. Though the mask had minor blind spots, it allowed him to focus on where he wanted to go. The first version of the mask, or helmet, had no padding and beat him about the head and neck when he ran. This model, he liked to think of it as version 3.0 as it was really the third iteration of the design, had not only padding, but ventilation and a tiny, inside fan to allow his head to breathe. Version 2.0 caused him to sweat too much.

At the end of the pier, he caught sight of the man, still swimming toward the pier. There was no one else around and no ladder descended. Jack raised the sleeve of his jacket. Strapped to his wrist was another device he built to help with his job at the junkyard. Made from scrap parts, it was a winch with a cable almost as strong as that of the zeppelin tether, but thin as thread. His own special design. The spool of thread could be launched or thrown—which was what he’d do. But how was he going to pull the man in?

The hook. Jack attached the hook to the thread, removed the gizmo, and threw the hook to the swimming man. The man was tired, out of breath. That would make him easier to capture.

The hook caught the swimmer behind the right ear and bounced into his clothing then held fast. He shrieked and floundered. Jack winced. Ouch. Like a fisherman with a prize fish on the line, he yanked. The reel on its mechanism had a handgrip that would wind the thread in.

He squeezed and pulled. Squeezed and pulled. The man dragged through the water easily enough, but once he had him to the pier, Jack had to lift the man’s entire significant weight. The tide had only begun to come in, and the water was low. Jack braced himself and, inch by inch, lifted the man up and onto the pier.

Once on deck, the big fellow, around six foot two and two-hundred-twenty pounds, lay like a dead fish, barely breathing.

Jack, in stark contrast, puffed and panted and feared he might pass out. He couldn’t do that, though. He had his suspect who needed to be questioned.

~ * ~

Lenny and his pal Squiggy practically flew from Felonious’ office. The two gorillas hadn’t waited for their boss to finish his monologue before they hit the door running.

“What do ya think that was all about,” Squiggy said.

“I dunno, Squiggy,” Lenny replied. “I just know that when the boss starts talking like that, it’s time to leave.” Lenny’s damaged ear was beginning to bleed again as it flapped in the breeze from their running. “Geez, this ear is a pain.” He pulled a pink polka-dotted kerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and tied it around his head like a bandanna. “That’s better. Now maybe I can think about what we need to do.”

“What was the boss jabbering about?” Squiggy asked, his words coming out in short gasps.

Lenny abruptly stopped and waited for his colleague to do the same. “Yeah, what was he saying?” He tapped the side of his head as he thought, wincing when he hit his injured ear. “Something about an explosive, I think.”

“You’re right, Lenny,” Squiggy said, his expression brightening. “He did say those words.” The expression didn’t last long. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

Lenny wrapped a beefy arm around Squiggy’s shoulders. “You know, Squiggy. That’s what I like about you. You don’t let little things slow you down too much.”

“Thanks, Lenny,” Squiggy said. “Uh, Lenny? What do you mean by that exactly?”

“Oh nothing,” Lenny said. “Now about that explosive the boss mentioned. I think he was talking about us taking another shot at blowing up that Frenchy ship. Maybe we can get back on his good side?”

“Gee. Do you think that would work?”

“I sure hope so, ’cause I hate being on the boss’ bad side,” Lenny said. “He’s crazy. There’s no knowing what he might do to us if we really made him mad.”

“You got that right, Lenny.” Squiggy frowned. “Where do you suppose we would find some explosives at this time of night?”

Lenny tapped his head. “Leave it to me, Squiggy. I do believe the boss mentioned something about his workroom in all that babbling. Surely we’ll find something in there.”

“That’s some good thinking.” Squiggy held the front door of the manor open for his friend.

“Thanks, buddy. Let’s hurry before the boss changes his mind and has us put on ice.” The big man led his companion out into the darkness that was the front yard of the junkyard. Off to the left a hound bayed. “Aw geez. The dogs are out. We’d better make a run for it if we don’t want them jumping all over us and slobbering on our clothes.”

The two men broke into a trot and crossed the dark courtyard into the junkyard proper. They zigzagged their way through mounds of metal and rusted machines. The tiny bit of moon lit their way just enough they avoided any accidents. The baying of the hounds grew closer with every passing second.

“We ain’t gonna make it, Lenny,” a panting Squiggy said. “Them dogs must be just about nipping on our heels.”

“Don’t worry, Squiggy. We’ll make it,” Lenny said, indicating a light a few yards away. “There’s the boss’ workshop now.”

The barking of the dogs sounded only inches away, spurring both men to a final burst of speed. They rushed through the door and slammed it closed behind them looking at each other with relief. The door shuddered as several bodies smashed against it. The sound of scratching and whining traveled through the thick wood.

“See, Squiggy. I told ya we’d make it,” Lenny said. “Now, spread out and get looking for the explosives.”

“You got it, Lenny.” Squiggy ran around the room picking up and throwing items over his shoulder in wild abandon.

“Squiggy!” Lenny waited for the man to stop his rampage. When he didn’t Lenny called out again. “Squiggy, what are you doing?”

Squiggy stopped and turned to face Lenny. “I’m looking for explosives like you told me too.”

Lenny walked up to the man and put a meaty hand on his shoulder. “Do you even know what you’re looking for?”

Squiggy scratched his head. “Stuff that goes boom?”

“Squiggy, you saw the explosives we put out in the water, didn’t you?” Lenny corrected himself quickly. “Before we put them in the water?”

“Oh yeah,” Squiggy said with a look of comprehension.

“That’s what we’re looking for. And for the record, I don’t think the boss wants us to trash his workroom, okay?”

Squiggy’s expression fell. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t think of that.”

“Good. Now you know. So just look for a crate or box with the word ‘explosives’ on it.”

“Will do.” Squiggy rummaged more carefully through the workroom. After five minutes he turned back. “Um, Lenny?”

“Yes, Squiggy?”

“How do you spell explosives?”

“Oh for crying out loud. It starts with an ‘e’.”

“Oh.” He went silent for another minute. “Lenny?”

“Yes, Squiggy.”

“What does an ‘e’ look like?”