“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.
But this was no time for self-congratulation. Johnny Powers was getting closer and now his mother was with him.
“You look out for yaself, Johnny boy,” I heard her say.
“Don’t ya worry, Ma,” he replied. “I’m gonna find that lousy, dirty, double-crossing . . .” His words became incoherent.
Ducking down behind the columns, I ran through the gallery. I could see Johnny Powers now. He’d gotten dressed and was holding a gun. There were six men with him, fanning out to search the place. The others had run on to deal with the flames. Ma Powers hung back in her bathrobe and curlers.
Fortunately I found Tim before they did. He was standing with the Purple Peacock, gazing at it like he was in some posh department store and he was thinking of buying it. It was incredible. Didn’t he realize that we were still
