'And to think that I'd come up here worried that you were losing your judgment. Rather, it turns out you're as ruthless a man as ever.'
'I have a history of winning wars, John. That's why I was given this job.'
The door closed and he was alone in the dark. Browning was right to question his wisdom. It did seem foolhardy on its face, but he had his own reasons for bringing in these new people. It was time for some fresh blood.
He no longer knew whom he could trust.
In 1908 he'd led a small team on a suicide mission. The Tunguska Event had been a mere test-firing of Tesla's Geo-Tel. If the Peace Ray was a scalpel, the Geo-Tel was a battle-ax. Only by the grace of God had they succeeded just as the blue pillar was starting to form over the East Coast and the Power itself was rising from the bowels of the Earth. The knights of New York had succeeded only by the narrowest of margins.
He'd been so enraged that if they'd had the ability, Pershing would have turned it around and fired it at Tokyo. With that being an impossibility, he'd wanted the thing destroyed, but the international Grimnoir leadership had vetoed that, in the hope that someday they might be able to utilize it themselves. He'd broken up the device and given it to the surviving members of his team to keep safe. Only the inner circle of the Society knew who had the pieces.
But now those men were dying one by one, which meant that someone had betrayed them. He alone knew where the final piece was, but did not dare tell any of his people. He needed outsiders.
The bedroom door flew open with a bang. 'It's Garrett!' Lance shouted. There was a bustle of movement and the nervous voices of at least three people as the focal circle was activated. Of course, Pershing hadn't felt the contact. His fingers had become so arthritic that his Grimnoir ring couldn't be worn anymore.
The flash of white light could be seen through his eyelids, but he didn't complain. He was as anxious for the news as everyone else.
Garrett's voice came through a moment later.
'Christiansen is dead. The device is gone.'
Chapter 10
It was nearly eleven o'clockat night-an immensely late hour for those latitudes-but the whole town was still gathered in the Gatlinburg courthouse yard, listening to the disputes of theologians. The Scopes trial had brought them in from all directions. There was a friar wearing a sandwich sign announcing that he was the Bible champion of the world. There was a Seventh Day Adventist arguing that Clarence Darrow was the beast with seven heads and ten horns described in Revelation XIII, and that the end of the world was at hand. A charlatan magician was escorted from the premises for pulling a rabbit from a hat, while nearby a fundamentalist of the Merlin-Baptists pontificated on the epistles of St. Paul while shooting lightning from his eyes and none dared interrupt that sermon. There was the eloquent Dr. T.T. Martin, of Blue Mountain, Mississippi, who had come to town with a truckload of torches (the wooden, not the human kind) and hymn books to put Darwin in his place. There was a singing brother bellowing apocalyptic hymns. There was William Jennings Bryan, followed everywhere by a gaping crowd. It was better than the circus.
– H.L. Mencken,
Editorial in the Baltimore Mercurium about the Tennessee Magic-Monkey Trial. 1926 New York City, New York Cornelius Gould Stuyvesant was enjoying the view from the top of the Empire State Building's super-dirigible dock. A mighty six-hundred-foot hybrid lifter was in the final moments of docking. Cables were coming out of the sky in great unfurling masses and his UBF employees were scurrying about securing the great beast. Two smaller dirigibles had been serviced in the last hour, and each one had been moved along with shocking efficiency.
The wind over the city was potent today, but with two full-time Weathermen dedicated to calming the skies, dirigibles would be able to dock safely on even the gustiest of days. There were two more Cracklers on staff to deal with the static electricity and lightning issues, and even a single underpaid Torch just in case there was a fire. This might not have been the largest United Blimp amp; Freight station, but it was certainly the crown jewel of innovation.
One of his retainers arrived, moving familiarly past his security man, and passed over the latest daily business summaries. There were two new orders from the British for small patrol craft and two complete air trains for Belgium, and they'd received the third installment payment for the Imperium's diplomatic flagship vessel. Construction was complete and it was being taken for its test runs at the Michigan facility. If everything shook out to spec it could be shipped to Japan in a matter of days. He looked forward to the last payment, since the Japs always paid in gold bars, and he couldn't care less if some of it had surely been melted down from Chinamen's teeth.
A further note indicated that one of the admirals he was paying under the table at the Navy Department had confirmed that the general staff were very frightened of the new Japanese Kaga-class super-dirigibles, and would be ordering their own fleet upgrades in the next fiscal year. Perfect. 'It's a good day to be me,' he said aloud, then chuckled. Every day was a good day when you were the richest man in the world.
'Yes, Mr. Stuyvesant,' his bodyguard agreed. Cornelius couldn't remember this one's name, but he was a big Brute, and had come highly recommended.
'I wasn't talking to you, idiot,' Cornelius snapped. The Brute nodded politely. It was best to keep such men in their proper place. Fighting dogs should always be kept on a leash. He made a few notes on the file and passed it back to his retainer, who then retreated from the balcony with ratlike swiftness.
Cornelius leaned on the balcony and savored his cigar. The dirigible was almost locked down. Who said that it was an economic depression? He was doing just fine.
'Hello, Mr. Stuyvesant.'
The voice had come from behind. Nobody was supposed to be out here except for him and his immediate entourage. Somebody was getting fired for this. He turned around, ready to bellow his fury, and stopped, surprised.
'Harkeness…'
The Pale Horse had returned. He was standing there, calm as death, in a pitch-black suit, a craggy shadow of a man. One bony hand was resting on his bodyguard's shoulder, and the giant Brute collapsed to the deck, grey- faced and gasping for air. Harkeness removed his hand and stepped forward.
'Good evening, sir. I have come for that favor.'
Cornelius took an involuntary step back and crashed violently into the railing. 'Don't come any closer.'
Harkeness smiled with his yellowed teeth. 'I'm a businessman, Mr. Stuyvesant. Why would I hurt you now? I'm just here to collect on our deal… You weren't thinking of backing out now, were you?' His accent seemed to accentuate every wrong word. 'That'd be rather upsetting.'
The bodyguard turned on his side and vomited blood in a great gushing mass. He convulsed violently, then was still. Cornelius screamed.
'Oh, sorry about that. I get carried away sometimes. You're going to want to have a Torch clean that up. Perhaps throw down some peroxide as well. Now as I was saying-'
Cornelius thought fast. 'He's still alive! I don't owe you anything until he's dead. That was the deal.'
'Come now. We both know General Pershing is as good as dead. I've given him three years of terrible suffering, and I stand in awe of the man's will. Anyone else would have eaten a bullet by now. I know that you know I speak the truth.'
'It hasn't accomplished what I wanted,' Cornelius shouted. 'I wanted results.'
'No. You wanted to fill the hole your son's death left in your soul. You wanted to fill it with revenge, and you wanted the once-favored heir that had forsaken you to come crawling back to your fold, his pride broken. That did not occur, but that's not my concern. You came to me for one thing, and one thing only: Death. Painful, lingering, death.' Harkeness stepped forward, crowding Cornelius, until he could smell the tobacco on his breath. 'Black Jack Pershing will be dead soon, but I need my favor now.'
Cornelius briefly contemplated throwing himself off the ledge, but he was too scared. His fear seemed to cause his own Power to flare, and he reached inside, gathered all his energy and threw it at Harkeness.
