The Firebird Mystery (26 page)

Stop. Get off the truck.

The steamtruck was already moving too fast, doubling speed. The detective grew smaller and smaller as the vehicle tore down the darkened country road.

The last thing Jack saw was Mr Doyle's despairing face. A moment later they rounded the bend and he disappeared.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Jack clung to the handle on the back of the steamtruck. After a while, when he realised they could be seen from the road, he motioned Scarlet into the vehicle and they squeezed inside.

‘Poor Mr Doyle.' Jack felt terrible. ‘What will we do?'

‘There's nothing we can do,' Scarlet said. ‘I'm sorry we left him behind, but we never would have found this truck again.'

‘Mr Doyle would have found a way.'

‘Possibly. But at least now we have a chance of tracking M to his lair.'

‘This isn't a Booby Buckleby book,' Jack said.

‘Brinkie Buckeridge.'

‘It's the real world,' he snapped. ‘Taking down M won't be so easy.'

‘Then we will simply do our best.'

Jack wanted to grab Scarlet and jump off the truck. But what would that achieve? Scarlet was right. It
might
lead to M and the bomb.

The truck bumped and chuffed down the darkened country road. Jack peered through the gap in the tarp and saw the name
Mossley
emblazoned over the door of a pub. The town was so tiny that they steamed through it in a minute before driving in open countryside again.

A full moon hung low over the trees, glowing incandescent in the dark. Hurtling through this unfamiliar landscape, Jack suffered a pang of sadness. A tear trickled down his cheek. He turned away from Scarlet. Why did he feel so emotional? Was he losing his mind? He braced himself against the wall of the steamtruck.

I know what it is
, he thought.

The truth was that Mr Doyle had fast become his best friend and he had just left him sprawled in the middle of a lane. He was supposed to be the detective's assistant. What had Mr Daniels said to him only a few short days ago?

‘You will be an assistant to a man with an infirmity.'

He had abandoned his mentor and friend. Is that what assistants did for the people who fed and clothed them, and treated them like family?

What sort of person was he?

‘Don't blame yourself,' Scarlet sat next to him and laid a hand on his arm. ‘It all happened so quickly.'

‘I know,' he said.

‘I got carried away. I've been so controlled for so long I just wanted to feel...'

‘Free?'

‘Yes.'

He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes. He focused on his breathing. In. Out. He would rest his eyes for a moment before they decided their next move. Just a minute. In. Out. Then he would know what to do…

When he woke he smelt the sea. The vehicle had stopped.

‘Blimey,' he muttered under his breath.

Scarlet had also fallen asleep, her head against his shoulder. He gave her a shake. She woke with a start and he placed a finger over his mouth.

Shhh.

Jack scampered to the edge of the tarp. Pulling it to one side, he saw a rocky platform and darkened shrubbery. He heard nearby voices. Remaining where they were was as safe as singing ‘My Bonny' at the top of their lungs.

Motioning Scarlet after him, Jack climbed down from the truck, landed on soft sand and peered under the wheelbase. He saw two pairs of legs. He led Scarlet across the sand, scrambled up darkened rocks and they wedged themselves between them for cover. The legs belonged to two men standing on the beach. One of them had something in his hand. A lantern. He waved it back and forth.

He was signalling to someone at sea!

‘Who are they signalling?' Scarlet asked.

‘I don't know. I can't see anything out there.'

Jack peered at the moonlit water, expecting to see a ship carving through the waves. But there was nothing. A cool breeze drifted onto the shore. Jack wrapped his arms around himself. A pole rose out of the sea, casting a shadow across the waves.

‘What is it?' Scarlet asked.

Seconds passed as the men continued to signal with the lantern. Suddenly a vessel broke the surface.

‘Good heavens,' Scarlet gasped.

It was one of James Partington's submersibles. Once the conning tower was clear of the water, a large rectangular hatch flipped open. A rowboat was flung into the sea. Men began pouring from the hatch.

Jack watched the activity in confusion. They seemed to be unloading something, but what could be so important that it had to be done at night?

Of course.

The bomb.

Scarlet made the same realisation. ‘Mr Doyle said the bomb was not in England yet...'

‘So this is how they're getting it into the country.'

‘What should we do?'

‘What would Binny Bummybridge do?'

‘
Brinkie Buckeridge!
She once constructed a tank from a steamtruck and an old boiler.' Scarlet paused. ‘However, it did take her a month.'

A small crane erected on the hull of the sub lifted the bomb into the boat and men climbed in with oars. They pulled away and aimed for the shore.

Jack balled his fists as the bomb drew closer and closer to the shoreline. He and Scarlet were the only people who could stop the delivery of the weapon—and there was nothing they could do about it. The rowboat nudged the shore and scraped onto the pebbly beach.

It's here
, Jack thought dismally.

If he expected some sort of fanfare to accompany the arrival of the super weapon, it didn't happen. The steamtruck backed down the beach and the men hoisted the weapon into the rear. It all looked so normal. Jack wondered how M employed such men. How did he find people to support him in his mad schemes? Did they not know the purpose of the device? Maybe they didn't care. Money spoke all languages. Maybe M's underlings were so obsessed with riches that the lives of innocents meant nothing to them.

The men from the submarine climbed back into their rowboat and made their way out.

Mission accomplished
.
Time to find some other sick and evil deeds to commit.

The tarp was resealed and the engine started.

‘We need to get back on that truck,' Scarlet said.

It was the last thing Jack wanted to do. He longed instead to contact the authorities and let them handle it from here. Unfortunately, police constables were few and far between on beaches in the dead of night.

Scarlet was right.

‘Come on,' he breathed.

As the truck jolted past them, Jack scrambled from his hiding position in the rocks and chased it up the beach. He heard Scarlet racing behind him. He hoisted himself up into the back and squeezed in, Scarlet on his heels. The vehicle jolted over the uneven ground until it joined a main road and picked up speed.

They both turned to regard their new companion, barely visible in the darkness.

‘Hello bomb,' Jack said.

It did not reply.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The steamtruck continued on its journey through the night. Jack knew he would not fall asleep this time. He felt too tense and hungry. When had he last eaten? It seemed like days. Scarlet moved closer to him.

‘We could try to disable the bomb,' she said.

‘You should do that,' he said. ‘Just give me a twenty-mile head start first.'

‘I'm serious.'

‘So am I.' He pointed at the bomb. ‘Can you imagine what will happen if we pull out the wrong wire?'

One second they would be dismantling the weapon, the next they would be strolling hand in hand through the pearly gates.

‘I see your point,' Scarlet replied.

The truck slowed. Jack peered through the gap in the tarpaulin. The vehicle had pulled off the main road and rumbled down a narrow lane bordered by trees. It drew to a halt beside a fence. One of the men climbed out and unlatched the gate.

They were now on someone's private land. Just as the engine surged, Scarlet glanced out at the darkness.

‘I believe it's time to leave.'

‘By jumping off a moving vehicle?'

‘Don't be a scaredy-cat!' Scarlet said.

‘I'd rather stay with the bomb!'

‘That would be foolish. They'll check the bomb next time they stop—and find us!'

Groaning, Jack eased himself onto the tailgate. ‘You need to jump and roll,' he advised. ‘Go with your momentum.'

He took a deep breath, and leapt.

He hit the ground harder than he'd expected. From the corner of his eye he saw Scarlet land more raggedly. She rolled too, eventually staggering to her feet, clutching her arm.

‘Are you all right?' Jack asked.

‘I hit my elbow rather badly,' she whispered. ‘And I'm sure my hair's a mess.'

‘I've seen better-looking mops,' he agreed. He told her to keep moving her arm. ‘Or it'll seize up.'

They started after the vehicle. At first Jack was worried the driver might glance back and see them, but it roared ahead. After a minute it took a bend and zoomed out of sight.

Jack hoped Scarlet's arm was all right. He doubted it was broken—she wouldn't be able to move the arm at all if it was—but it had received a severe blow. She gingerly moved it as they ran down the road.

I could use one of Mr Doyle's hot chocolates right now
, he thought. Maybe even a second. But Bee Street seemed a million miles away. He reached into his pocket and produced two wrapped lumps of cheese and a small, marble statue of Queen Victoria.

Where did they come from?

He pocketed the statue, gave one of the cheeses to Scarlet and they slowed to eat.

‘I must confess this is all rather more than I was expecting,' Scarlet said.

‘You think this is a typical day for me?'

‘Jack, exactly how long
have
you been working for Mr Doyle?'

‘Um. About a week.'

‘I thought so.' Scarlet sighed. ‘The Brinkie Bucke-ridge books are always so neat. The hero is tall and incredibly handsome...'

‘Like me?'

‘...and
she
overcomes every situation with barely a scratch.' Scarlet pushed back her long hair with her good arm. ‘Still, duty has called and we have answered.'

‘Are you sorry you're here?'

‘Not at all. Well, I wouldn't mind one of those tall and handsome heroes right now.'

‘How about short and dependable?'

She smiled. ‘He'll do.'

The countryside was quiet and still. The road curved around a series of small rolling hills, empty of trees or cover. Jack heard the vehicle up ahead, but it sounded distant. It was like the rest of the world had vanished and he and Scarlet were the only living things in creation.

The rumble of the steamtruck faded into silence as they continued along the deserted road. A sound came from the night. Voices. Clanking machinery reverberated across the landscape. Scarlet and Jack came around a rise and saw a light emanating from a cave in the side of a hill. He couldn't see anyone, but heard voices. There were people inside.

Doing what?

They had taken delivery of a bomb and driven it to the heart of the countryside to hide it. Why? It made no sense. They were miles from London. Did M not intend to use the weapon? Was it being hidden here for some future date?

‘What's happening?' Scarlet asked.

‘I don't know. Maybe they're waiting for M.'

Crack! Crack!

The bang of two gunshots rang out from the cave. Jack jumped in astonishment. Scarlet dragged him into the shadows of a nearby hill. Jack pulled his goggles from his pocket and adjusted them. The entrance to the grotto zoomed into a close-up.

A figure appeared in the light.

M.

The man wore his trademark hat and coat. His porcelain face reflected the moon's radiance. He looked like a ghost.

‘He killed those men,' Scarlet said. ‘He shot them.'

What had Mr Doyle said?

He leaves no witnesses.

Maybe he liked killing people. Maybe his criminal enterprises were simply a cover for what he really enjoyed: the act of murder.

The master criminal stared about the landscape. He was clearly a cautious man, because he had no reason to expect anyone else to be out here in the middle of nowhere. The gunfire had sounded like cannons in the night, but Jack doubted the noise carried beyond the nearby hills.

Still, M lingered in the dim light. A full minute passed before he marched over to the vehicle and drew back the tarp. Then he returned to the cave, emerging a moment later with a man dragged behind him. M laboured under the weight of the dead man as he pushed him into the back of the truck. He retrieved the other victim and shoved him in too.

M produced a can of liquid and doused the vehicle. The smell of kerosene filled the air. He then threw a lit match and the steamtruck burst into flames. The light from the fire danced across M's lithe form.

‘That monster,' Scarlet hissed.

Jack felt sick. The men in M's employ had not been angels, but they did not deserve to be burnt up like old rubbish. They might have wives, children, parents. What would their families wonder when the men did not return home?

Once the truck was ablaze, M went back inside the cavern. Jack and Scarlet waited in their hiding place and at last heard a rumbling sound. An engine—and a large engine at that.

‘What's going on in there?' Jack said.

‘He can't be leaving in another truck,' Scarlet said. ‘The cave isn't big enough to hold one.'

‘Then what's he doing?'

‘I know!' Scarlet clenched her fists. ‘It's not a cave at all—it's a tunnel! He has some sort of steam train in there.'

Of course. He intended to transport the bomb via an underground tunnel to the heart of London.

‘Let's go,' Scarlet said.