The Age Atomic (8 page)

 

FOURTEEN

 

They came to a large door, unlike any Rad had yet seen in the building, studded with rivets and reinforced with bolted metal plates. As they paused, Rad could hear a sound close by, what sounded like bellows, or machinery. Heat wafted off the door. There must have been a boiler or a furnace beyond it, providing the King with his own prodigious power source.

The King placed a hand on the door's handle and turned to Rad.

“We are here.”

The room beyond was large and low: another workshop, almost identical to the one on the theater stage upstairs, although crowded, messy. The walls were lined with electrical equipment in more of the tall cabinets, and there were workbenches, toolboxes, and stacks of robot parts. The difference here was that these parts looked new, freshly fabricated, their metal surfaces unblemished and shining.

The King gestured for Rad to enter first. The detective raised an eyebrow and stepped across the threshold.

There were three slab-like tables here, as on the stage upstairs, but they were occupied by long metal boxes that fitted their tops nearly perfectly, leaving just an edge two inches deep on all side. The boxes hummed and ticked: machines rather than just containers. Rad stood still, listening, as the unmistakable sound of someone breathing heavily, as though in sleep, filled the air. Rad threaded his way between the workshop benches until he was at the head of the slabs.

Two of the three machines were empty. He gave them only a cursory glance. The middle slab had his attention.

The man was young, brown hair greased and damp with sweat, big eyes closed, their lids and surrounds dull red. His chin was covered with a green encrustation that, along with the faint tang in the air, reminded Rad of the barkeep he'd met in Harlem what felt like a million years ago.

Rad swore under his breath, and took off his hat to rub his head. His scalp was crawling with beaded sweat, the adrenaline-fuelled fight-or-flight response that had kicked in somewhere in the theater upstairs now threatening to make his heart leap out of his ribcage.

The man in the machine rolled his head, and his eyes flickered open. Rad's own were wide, his jaw was loose, and he couldn't find anything to say.

“Rad? Is that you?”

Rad remembered how his tongue worked. “Kane Fortuna. All my days.”

Kane smiled and closed his eyes. “Nice to see you too, partner.”

 

FIFTEEN

 

Jennifer traced her fingers along the painted brickwork as she explored the corridors of the King's bizarre theater complex. She'd retraced her steps back to the former lobby and had then taken one of several plain doors that clearly led into what would have been the hidden workings of the theater, the areas not meant for public view. Behind the tattered but still decorative facade of the theater, the corridors were plain and the rooms she had found so far functional and mostly empty.

She was surprised to find herself alone, left to her own devices, the King apparently confident that she would be a good little woman and sit in the main workshop like she'd been told. Like the fact that she was a Special Agent operating on behalf of the City Commissioners somehow didn't matter.

Jennifer stopped in the corridor, and smiled to herself. Of course, that had been a little lie. But sometimes little lies got you places a lot quicker than otherwise. And besides, it wasn't entirely incorrect; it was just… well, just a little out of date. But the King was a crook and a crazy person who was going to help her,
had to help her
, so what did it matter.

And Rad was right – with the King otherwise occupied, it was the perfect opportunity to search the place.

Rad Bradley, private detective extraordinaire. He was a nice guy. He was going to be disappointed when he found out who she really was, but that didn't matter. Because when that time came, Jennifer hoped to have solved the little mystery at the heart of Harlem and to have found her brother, James, and that was all that mattered. And the answer lay somewhere inside the King's theater, she was sure of it.

Jennifer took a breath and ventured onwards.

She'd been working on her own for a long time, too long. She still remembered the day of chaos, the day the Empire State Building had been torn apart from the inside-out. In the aftermath there had been no one to stop her borrowing one or two things, like the experimental silver gun that swung heavily from her right hand. That, and as much of the surveillance data on the robot gangs as she could stuff into an old briefcase without anyone noticing what was missing. And the logs from the naval robot yards, the ones indicating that James had gone in but that his section hadn't begun processing before a halt was called to the operation.

The risk was worth it, as had been calling Rad. That had paid off in spades, because he had led her to the King, which would lead her to her brother, she was sure of it. And once she'd found him and got him to safety, she and the detective would be able to clear up the little problem of the robots and the wacko calling himself the King of 125th Street. And then she could go back to the Empire State Building and maybe take charge herself. After all, she would be the city's savior, and she had a very big gun.

Jennifer rounded a corner. Ahead was a large, low space, with a set of wide sliding doors forming most of the far wall. In the center of the room was the car, vast and black and silent. She'd managed to get herself back to the garage. She'd lost track of time, and she was now far enough away from the main workshop that she wouldn't be able to hear the others return. She also knew that she shouldn't be here, not really, and it occurred to her that she'd entered the domain of the King's robot driver.

Jennifer waited in the doorway a moment, but the garage was quiet except for the slow ticking of the car's engine as it cooled.

“Hello?” She raised the gun and stepped forward, eyes wide, alert. There was no other exit aside from the big sliding doors, and no real place for the robot to hide. Jennifer jogged forward and ducked down to peer into the car's interior, but it was empty. She tried the door, which opened with a click and swung backwards smoothly.

She leaned in to take a better look at the remarkable vehicle. She'd never seen anything like it, although the controls seemed just like any other car. The car was powerful, she knew that, and fast too. It would make the perfect getaway vehicle if she and Rad had to make a speedy escape. Even better, the car had a large button in the center of the dash that said START. Jennifer just hoped it was that easy.

She stood and moved to the garage doors. There were four windows set high; on tip-toes Jennifer could just make out an empty, narrow street, more like an alleyway. She tried to remember the route they'd taken to get to the theater just a short while before. She could remember the way, she was sure of it–

An arm enveloped her chest, a gloved hand pressed hard against her mouth. Jennifer cried out but she couldn't breathe, and the sound died in her throat. She struggled, half-turned, and got a face full of thick black fur.

She pushed against the robot as it dragged her backwards towards the car. Jennifer's arms were held against her body but she could bend the gun arm at the elbow. She raised the weapon, trying to angle it in her hand to point it at her attacker, but the gun was knocked away with a clack almost as soon as she moved. It flew through the open door of the car and was lost somewhere in the vehicle's cavernous interior.

The robot stopped moving. Jennifer tried to pull away, and found some slack in the robot's iron grip. She twisted, thinking this was it, she'd found her moment, only for the robot to yank her back hard against his body. Her mouth and nose had been released as the pair wrestled, but she drew breath for a scream before the robot's leather-covered hand clamped over her face again.

Eyes wide, nostrils flaring in panic, Jennifer tried to pull back as the robot brought its black metal face close to hers. Jennifer could see her own terrified face looming large in the two black glass eyes.

“Jennifer Jones,” said the Corsair, and then it laughed. Jennifer's heart hammered, fear and panic joined by shock and surprise. She felt ill, and behind the robot's hand the taste of bile was hot and bitter in her mouth. She jerked again, trying to get free, but the robot's grip only got stronger.

“Hey, don't make this difficult, Jen. It's for your own good.”

Jen. He called me Jen. My brother called me Jen and he called me Jen and I've found him I've found him I've found him oh god I've found him and it's too late too late too late
 

Jennifer slumped a little, her eyes flickering, and the hands holding her relaxed their grip.

Her deception successful, Jennifer drew a deep breath and screamed Rad's name.

 

SIXTEEN

 

After showing Rad into the workshop, the King had excused himself and, in his shock, Rad hadn't stopped him. Instead, Rad sat next to Kane's machine for a while, having dragged a tall stool out from one of the workbenches. But after their greeting, Kane had drifted into unconsciousness. Rad hadn't wanted to disturb him – the machine looked too much like an iron lung for his liking – but his mind was made up, at least. Rad's priority was now getting Kane out of the place and to the medical attention he clearly needed. But first he had to talk to the King, find out what the machine was actually for. He desperately hoped it wasn't keeping Kane alive. He also wanted to see what Jennifer had found, if anything.

Rad stood, and quickly made his way back upstairs.

 

Rad found the Corsair first, standing stock still in the lobby of the former theater. Rad let the door close quietly behind him, unwilling to disturb the mausoleum-like silence.

He checked his watch. It was now four in the morning. Maybe the King had gone to bed.

Rad looked the Corsair up and down and then cleared his throat. “Ah, you know where the King is?”

The machine didn't move.

“OK,” said Rad, regarding the twin doors on either side of the lobby that led into the theater itself. “Guess I'll have to find out for myself.”

He started to turn, but then jerked back in surprise. The robot had turned its head and seemed to be looking at Rad with its round glass eyes.

“Huh,” said the detective, looking over the faceplate of the robot. There was something about the shape of the eyes he thought he'd seen somewhere before. “You know, you remind me of someone.”

The robot said nothing.

“Oh, yeah, the strong silent type, I remember. Well, so long.” Rad waved over his shoulder as he left, but as he walked towards the doors he was suddenly afraid to turn around or even look behind him. One thing was for sure: the Corsair was as creepy as hell.

 

The King was busy on the stage-workshop, sitting on a stool so tall his feet didn't touch the ground. There was a jeweler's eyepiece lodged firmly between his cheekbone and eyebrow, and a thin trail of smoke drifted towards the branches of the magical tree above as he soldered something minuscule on the bench in front of him. Jazz, something soft and melodic, filled the room.

Rad paused, then strode down the center aisle between the stacks of parts, making his footfalls heavy enough that anyone should have been able to hear his approach over the music. He hated surprising people.

“Mr Bradley, welcome back.” The King didn't look up; his mouth was a grimace of concentration. Rad took off his hat and waved it, then felt stupid and replaced it on his head. Apparently finished with his work, the King replaced the soldering iron in its cradle and looked up at the detective, jeweler's eyepiece in situ.

“Ah, hi there,” said Rad. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and felt the hard shape of his gun. His fingers curled around it. “Where's Agent Jones? I think we all have a little talking to do, don't you?”

The King shuffled on his stool. “I'm sorry?”

“Talking,” said Rad. “You, me, Agent Jones, just a little pow-wow about what the hell is going on here. You've got a building full of weird and my old friend is lying in some kind of machine downstairs. I think we need to clear some stuff up.”

The King slid off the stool and walked to the edge of the stage. He looked down at Rad, his mouth still in the same expression of concentration as when he'd been soldering.

“Mr Bradley,” he said, “to whom are you referring?”

Rad paused. “What? Kane?”

The King shook his head. “No, the other… Jones, was it?”

Rad's jaw went up and down, and then he let out a breath, slowly. “Where is Jennifer Jones, your majesty?” He pointed at the King with his hat.

The King shook his head and smiled. “I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr Bradley. I don't know who this Jennifer Jones is.”

Rad blinked. He was feeling more ill at ease with every passing moment. He raised his hat again, stabbing it forward as he spoke.

“You tell me where Special Agent Jennifer Jones is right now, or I swear I'll turn over every piece of junk in this place to find her.” He thought then that maybe he should have been pointing with the gun, and not his hat. The man in the blue suit in front of him seemed not even a little bit disturbed. He looked down at the detective with something like wry amusement.

Rad huffed and dropped his hand. He needed to get help, get the police up here. He still had some pull down at the Empire State Building, and once they'd discovered one of their own had vanished into the far north of the city, he'd be able to come back with a whole posse, more than enough to deal with the robots outside and the King and the Corsair, and they could get Kane out and search the whole building.

Or… maybe the King had killed Jennifer? No, that didn't make any sense – why kill her and not him? And there had been plenty of opportunities to bump them both off since they'd arrived. Maybe Jennifer hadn't found anything and had gotten tired of waiting and had left. Maybe that was the sensible option. She seemed to like doing her own thing.

“OK, fine, whatever, your majesty,” said Rad, throwing his hands up. “I'm gonna go get some help and we're going to turn your little operation upside down.”

Rad turned on his heel, thinking his plan over, wondering whether he was making the right decision to leave Kane behind, helpless in the downstairs workshop. Lost in thought, his eyes fixed to the floor, he almost walked straight into the Corsair. Rad sucked a breath through clenched teeth and swept his hat off in surprise.

“What the hell?” he said. “Excuse me, I'm going to the police.”

Rad went to move forward, but the Corsair grabbed his arm holding the hat with lightning speed. Rad swore and pulled against the grip, but it was held firm.

“Hey!”

“It is not safe outside, Mr Bradley,” said the King. Rad looked up at him, the small man with the pointed beard now very tall and imposing on the stage. “The robots will have returned, and I'm afraid you would not make it very far.”

“Then turn your fancy green light on, your majesty.”

The King shook his head and tutted, almost with regret. “The lantern is still recharging. It will be nearly a full twenty-four hours before it can be lit again.”

Rad pulled again at the Corsair. The robot didn't even rock on its feet, and Rad's arm remained locked in place. A cold fear began to creep into Rad's bones.

“I ain't joking, your majesty,” he said, gritting his teeth and pulling, pulling, pulling at the robot. “Where are you keeping Jennifer? She locked up downstairs too?” Rad had an uneasy feeling. “You gave her the same story too, huh? Too dangerous to leave?”

The King shook his head. “It is for your own good, Mr Bradley. The robots will kill you for sure. You must remain here.”

The Corsair pulled Rad closer and shoved a handful of cotton wool in his face. Rad gasped as the unmistakable sickly sweet stench of chloroform assaulted his senses. He held his breath, but he knew that was no defense.

“Lock him up with Kane,” said the King, his voice a hundred thousand million miles away. Rad's lungs were on fire. He released his breath, inhaled deeply, and the last thing he saw was the Corsair's oddly familiar black metal face spinning in his vision.