Public Enemy Number Two (16 page)

“So ya came after me!” Powers snarled. “Ya rotten, stinking, two-timing rat.”

“You seem to have changed your mind about me,” I muttered.

“Sure I’ve changed. I thought ya was my friend. And all the time ya was working for the cops.” Powers was quivering with anger. His face was white. But the madness was burning in his eyes. “I hate cops,” he went on. “If I had my way I’d kill ya now—both of ya. And I’d do it slow.”

“Why don’t ya?” Ma Powers demanded. She was some mother.

“Because the Fence will want to see him.” Powers glanced at Nails. “You okay?” he asked.

“Sure, Johnny.” Nails sounded far from okay. His voice seemed to have gotten trapped in the lower reaches of his throat. He coughed. “I found ’em with the vase.”

“The vase?” Powers shook his head, dismissing it. “I want them tied up and locked up. The Fence will be here tomorrow. We’ll finish them then.”

Nails signaled and four men moved in on us. We didn’t even try to struggle. We were frog-marched to the far end of the gallery. It ended with a narrow corridor that led past a bank of machinery, the ventilation unit, and the electrical controls. On the other side I caught sight of an iron grille with an empty space behind it, the sort of thing you might see in an underground parking garage. We arrived at a door. Nails opened it and we were pushed into a small room.

One of the men had produced some rope. I’d always thought Nails was high-strung but that was nothing compared to what we were five minutes later. Our ankles, our knees, our wrists, our arms . . . Nails didn’t miss a muscle. We ended up sitting with our backs to the wall. And that was the way it looked like we were going to stay.

The men left and Powers came in. He looked at us with a thin smile of satisfaction. His eyes were still ugly.

“Johnny—” I began. I was going to remind him of our time together in Strangeday Hall, how we’d been good friends, how I’d saved his life. But it wouldn’t have cut any ice with him. This guy had ice for blood.

“Save ya breath, Diamond,” he cut in. “Ya’re gonna need it when the Fence gets here.”

“Who is the Fence?” I asked. It wasn’t going to do me any good now but I still wanted to know.

“Ya’ll find out soon enough.” Powers grinned unpleasantly.

“It’s quite an outfit you got here,” I said.

Powers nodded. “Right now ya’re sitting a hundred feet under the Thames. It’s right above you.”

“The Fence built this place?”

“No. Some guy called Brunel did a hundred years ago. Nobody knew about it except the Fence. There were two tunnels, ya see. This was the first one. Only it ran into problems. Something about the limestone. So he started again a bit higher up. The Fence found the old tunnel, had it adapted.” He stopped and sneered at me. “But why am I wasting my breath telling ya all this? Ya’ll hear it from the Fence tomorrow.”

He leaned down and gripped my face with an iron hand. I could feel his fingers gouging into my cheeks.

“The Fence will deal with you real good,” he whispered. Then he laughed, a high-pitched, trembling laugh. “But maybe there’ll be something left for me. I’m gonna make ya wish ya’d never heard of me, Diamond. After I’ve finished with ya, ya’ll wish ya’d never been born.”

He turned on his heels and strode out of the room. The door banged shut and I heard a key being turned and two bolts being drawn across. Then there was silence.

We were tied up, locked in, and on our own. But there was one thing nobody had noticed: my backpack had been torn off my shoulders and flung into the corner. Nobody had opened it.

And the bomb was still inside.

The last time I’d been tied up in a room, it had been with a magician’s assistant named Lauren Bacardi. We’d spent a bit of time together and she’d shown me one or two tricks of the trade. I’m not saying I was any Houdini. But I had learned something. For example, when Nails and the others were tying me up this time around, I’d remembered to keep all my muscles flexed. Now that they’d gone, I relaxed them. It didn’t do much good. But it gave me a little play.

There was also something else. I was more or less dry after my dip in the Thames, but it had left me with a sheen of oil or grease. Like I said, the water was dirty. Now I was grateful for it. My skin was still covered with a slippery coating that made it easier to slide underneath the ropes. Easier but not that easy. It was going to take time.

Tim hadn’t said anything for a while. That suited me. I still blamed him for getting us into this mess, him and his sneezing and his precious vase. But looking at him, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He looked about as happy as a turkey on Christmas Eve.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll soon be out of here.” I tugged and felt one of the cords slide over my wrist. Now all I had to do was get it over my hand without dislocating my thumb.

“How?” Tim sighed. He had been watching me struggle. “Eben if we weren’t died up, there’s still the door. Logged add boated. And thed there’s a whole arby of grooks waiting for us on the other side. All arbed. It’s useless. It’s hobeless. It’s the end.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” I said. “Always the optimist . . .”

Even so, I had to admit that it looked as if he was right. Fifteen minutes of fighting with the ropes and the only thing that was doing any running in that room was Tim’s nose.

But I struggled on. There was nothing else to do. Tim dozed off, huddled up against the wall. Time passed. I didn’t know how much time. There was no clock, no window, just a single bulb burning through the night. Maybe it was an hour. Maybe it was more. But just as I was about to give up, my left hand came free. The skin was torn and I had more bruises than a peach in an all-night grocery store. But my fingers moved. I was on my way out.

After that things went more quickly. I freed my legs next and finally my right arm. When I stood up, I felt like I’d just come out of the spin-dryer. But I’d done it. I’d actually done it. That just left the locked and bolted door and the army of crooks.

For the first time I looked around the room. It was long and narrow, about the same size as my cell at Strangeday Hall. There was a second door at the far end, which I’d taken for a closet. But opening it now, I found it led into a small corridor running a few yards at right angles to the room itself. It must have been a storage area or something. It stopped with another solid wall. There was no way out from there. But it gave me an idea. I knew what I had to do.

I woke Tim up and began to untie him. As I worked, I told him what I had in mind.

“Are you oud ob your mide?” he asked. His cold had gotten much worse. “Forged id! Just die be up agaid. I’ll waid for the Fedze.”

“No way,” I replied. I wasn’t quite sure what he said, but I hadn’t liked the sound of it. “Whoever the Fence is, he’s one person I don’t want to meet.” I remembered what Powers had told me. He hadn’t given anything away. “Or she,” I added.

“Budnig . . .”

“Budnig?”

“Bud, Nig . . . !”

“No arguments. Once the door’s open we’ll have to move fast. And we’ve got to go back up there.” I jerked my thumb toward the ceiling.

“You’re bad,” Tim said.

“Bad? What have I done that’s bad?” I demanded.

“Not bad. Bad! Starg raving bad.”

Tim was free by now. I helped him to his feet and left him rubbing his wrists, his ankles, and his nose. Somehow he was managing to do all three at the same time. I retrieved the backpack and opened it. Tim stopped what he was doing when he saw the bomb. I don’t know what astonished him more. My idea or the fact that I’d been carrying it around with me all day.

Mickey Mouse’s hand was touching the number eleven. I eased it back a bit, then reached for the switch. That took a bit of doing, I can tell you. I couldn’t be sure the bomb wouldn’t go off the moment it was turned back on. But the only explosion was another sneeze from Tim. He really knew how to time them. I carried the bomb to the door and left it there.

“You’re bad,” Tim said again.

“It’s the only way out,” I insisted. “The blast will tear out the door. But the walls look solid enough. There shouldn’t be too much damage.”

“Whad about us?”

“We go in there.”

There was the corridor. I took one last look at the bomb, hoping I wasn’t making a terrible mistake. Johnny Powers had said we were underneath the Thames. If the ceiling collapsed, it would be interesting to see if we were crushed before we were drowned. Either was preferable to being shot or strangled when the Fence arrived. And anyway I was sure I was doing the right thing. The force of the blast would be carried outward. It would smash the door and perhaps shatter a few mirrors. Tim and I would escape in the confusion. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. Only I was careful not to think about it too much.

We went to the end of the corridor and crouched beside the wall, waiting. That was the worst part. I thought I’d given us two minutes’ grace. It felt like two hours.

“Tim . . .” I began. I wanted to tell him what a great brother he’d been, how I’d always admired him. It wasn’t true. I just thought he’d like to hear it. But he couldn’t hear anything. His fingers were jammed into his ears so tight that I figured they’d meet in the middle. His eyes were shut. “All right,” I muttered. “Have it—” The bomb went off.

The noise was deafening. It wasn’t just loud. It almost tore my ears off. A cloud of dust stampeded down the corridor, throwing me off my feet. It seemed to go on forever. The lights flickered, went out, then glowed faintly. As the echo faded out, I was aware of the clatter of falling masonry and—the last sound I wanted to hear—the splash of water. With the dust streaking my eyes and clogging up the back of my throat, I got back to my feet. I looked around for Tim. Somehow the explosion had managed to tear his shirt in half. Or maybe he’d done it himself.

“Let’s go!” I yelled, although it came out as a muffled croak.

There was no need for silence now. Already I could hear people shouting in the distance. Nearer to us, the ventilation equipment seemed to have gone into overdrive, the cogs and fan wheels screaming and grinding. The lights flickered again. We staggered back down the corridor and into the cell, or what was left of it. The bomb hadn’t just taken out the door. It had demolished the entire wall. I looked up. There was a nasty crack in the ceiling, zigzagging across. Water was seeping through, a thin sheet that splattered onto the broken concrete floor. But even as I watched, the downpour became wider, faster. A brick fell, narrowly missing Tim. Clutching him, I edged forward.

Outside the cell, everything was as chaotic as I’d hoped. It was hard to tell where the dust ended and the smoke began. But the effect was the same. Stretch out your arm and you couldn’t see your hand. Some of the machines had caught fire. Through the swirling smoke I saw a sudden eruption of brilliant sparks. The ventilation system shuddered, snapped, and fell silent. More sparks of electric white burst out, buzzing like miniature fireworks. There was a rush of crimson flame. Behind us, the water poured down faster than ever. As we stood there hesitating, it lapped our heels. Water behind, fire ahead, smoke everywhere. Mickey Mouse had gone out like a lion.

I knew where I wanted to head while I still had a head to get there: through the gate that looked like the entrance to a parking garage. It was directly ahead of us, but before I could stop him, Tim broke free and ran off to the right. The smoke swallowed him up.

“Tim!” I yelled.

“The Purple Peacock!” he shouted back. “I can’t leave it!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d gotten us out. We could still make it to the surface. All hell was breaking loose. And he was going after the wretched Ming vase! For a moment I was tempted to leave him to it. But I couldn’t. He was my brother. I was responsible for him.

But if someone else didn’t kill him first, I’d do it once we were out of this mess. I plunged into the smoke after him. At least the explosion seemed to have unblocked his nose!

The smoke was like a curtain. After a few steps it suddenly parted and I found myself back in the main gallery. Things weren’t so bad on the other side. The bomb had managed to smash perhaps a million dollars’ worth of priceless china and glass. Tentacles of water were already creeping past to claim the Persian rugs and carpets. But the place was still standing. And the lights were still on.

I just had time to see Tim disappear behind the column when someone appeared, holding a machine gun. It was Nails Nathan. He swung around and I dived to one side, crashing headlong into a harp that collapsed with a great zing. It was accompanied by a crackle of bullets that swept past just above my head. A Rembrandt self-portrait on the wall behind me looked down sadly with about eighteen extra eyes. Nails ran forward. Keeping my head down, I scrambled on, desperately searching for a weapon or for somewhere to hide—ideally both.

“Find him! Kill him! Kill both of them!”

It was Johnny Powers. He had appeared on the scene—and he wasn’t happy. His voice was hysterical, like a kid who’s lost his parents. The ventilation system wasn’t the only thing that had cracked that night. I knew complete insanity when I heard it. And I was hearing it now.

Nails Nathan was almost on top of me when I found it. It must have been stolen from some fancy antique shop. A medieval crossbow complete with bolt. It wasn’t quite the weapon I’d had in mind, but it would do. It had a sort of ratchet with a lever to arm it. I pulled it back, then loaded the bolt. Nails was moving more cautiously now. I crouched down behind a marble table, waiting to get him in my sights. Then suddenly there he was, looking up at me.

He brought the machine gun around. I squeezed the trigger. The crossbow jerked in my hands and to my dismay the bolt missed him by miles, shooting over his left shoulder. Nails smiled. The bolt hit a pillar and ricocheted upward. Nails glanced up and screamed. The bolt had severed the wire of a chandelier, a huge thing that must have come out of some palace. The chandelier plummeted down and Nails disappeared in an explosion of lightbulbs and glittering crystals.