he slipped and hit the damp wall. 'It'll be okay, baby. We're gonna make it,' he whispered.
They kept going. Behind him someone tripped and cursed. They needed to stop and tend to the wounded. Keeping Delilah moving was a death sentence, just as surely as stopping and waiting for the Peace Ray to end them. They had to be a couple hundred feet under the ocean cliffs by now, and he didn't know if that would be enough. 'How much further?'
The rich kid, Francis, was a few feet away. 'Almost there,' he gasped.
Not good enough. If this ray had a fraction of the energy as the one they'd hit Berlin with, there wouldn't be near enough dirt overhead to save them. They hadn't called it the Peace Ray then. The Brits had christened it Tesla's Sickle, but his boys weren't poetic. They had simply called it the Death Ray. Kinetic energy had shattered everything around the impact zone and turned the Reichstag into a blackened pit, but it was the wave of carnage that had radiated out from it that had done the real killing. Sullivan had seen the bodies like broken charcoal statues frozen wherever they'd been when the destroying angel had come. One snap of light and a whole city had died.
The heat alone would be enough to steam them like lobsters in this tunnel. 'Move faster!' Sullivan bellowed to nobody in particular.
There was a noise ahead, water crashing against stone, and behind, the hate-filled screams of the dead, and under his arm, a rasping breath as Delilah's life slipped further away, and over everything came the crackling hum as the Peace Ray hit, light filled the universe, and for the first time in many years, Sullivan prayed for a miracle.
The Peace Ray discharged at fifteen minutes after two o'clock in the morning. It was not an impressive sight from Lick Hill, even if any of the crew had been alive to appreciate it. In fact, with the warning klaxons disabled by the Shadow Guard, the only sign of the impending destruction was a single match flicker of white as particles were hurled up a thousand-foot copper spiral to a terrible velocity and flung to the west.
The simple fused dynamite explosion at the base of the tower a moment later possessed not even the tiniest glimmer of the Peace Ray's power, but it would leave a few steel girders twisted, delicate Cog-designed electronics shattered, and the costly weapon disabled.
But by the time that was done the Peace Ray had already struck the small coastal town of Mar Pacifica. Only the undead were walking at the impact point, their skeletons briefly visible through their flesh like a perfect X-ray frozen in time before being swept away in cleansing fire.
Even at only seven-percent power the flash was seen as far away as Sacramento.
Chapter 17
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
– William M. Jardine,
United States Secretary of Agriculture, after the Magical Weather Alteration Board backfired and resulted in record droughts across the Midwest, 1927 New York City, New York Cornelius Gould Stuyvesant awoke to grim news. One of his servants had roused him before dawn, jabbering on so excitedly that he'd been forced to pick up a lamp from his bedside and hurl it at the man to get him to slow down. The crash had startled his mistress awake.
'Mar Pacifica?' he'd asked. 'Destroyed?'
'Completely gone,' his retainer had said, holding his handkerchief against the swelling lump on his forehead.
'Has there been any word from my family estate?' Technically, it wasn't his anymore. His son had left it to his grandson in his will, and the willful, disobedient young man, who reminded Cornelius so much of himself at that age, would have nothing to do with him.
'No. The whole area was burned instantly. They say there are hundreds dead.'
It took him a moment to organize his thoughts around that. He could not possibly care less about hundreds dead when there was only one person that mattered in Mar Pacifica. He threw off the sheets. 'Egads, man! Awake my staff. Awake my guards!' He'd lumbered out of his bedroom suite, screaming orders at his subordinates, temporarily forgetting his self-imposed quarantine. 'Get my Healer! Call the President!'
His staff had quadrupled in number since his encounter with Harkeness, and he'd made all of them wear surgical masks. A sea of white masks watched him as he strode down the hall, ranting, still in his silk nightclothes. He'd risked his health, his good name, and his very life to curse the man that had brought division into his family. So soon after Pershing's death, could it be possible that it had all been for nothing? Could his once favorite heir be dead? This was not what he'd intended, not what he'd intended at all.
He had to make haste for California. He had to see with his own eyes. It was a good thing that he had the world's fastest airship at his disposal. 'Fetch the Tempest!' San Francisco, California The Pale Horse stood on the flat hotel roof, along with about two dozen others, watching the smoke rise from the south. It was a tall enough building that it afforded him a good view of the blackened horizon. The sunrise was hazy and the sky to the east was the color of dark wine.
'Unbelievable,' Isaiah muttered from his side.
'Believe it,' Harkeness answered with a heavy heart. 'Let this strengthen your resolve, old friend.'
He had met his associate the previous day at the air station. Isaiah had a valid reason for being in the area, and with Pershing dead, Harkeness could not resist a visit himself. He had family in the area to call upon. The two had discussed their best options over a glass of wine late into the night. There was one final obstacle to overcome, but it was a decidedly difficult one, and one glass of wine had turned into several, and he'd retired, exhausted, far too late. Only a few hours later, a brilliant beam of light had pierced the curtains of his room. It had been so bright that at first he'd thought someone had discharged a pan of flash powder next to closed eyes. It had awakened the entire city.
And the dawn had brought this. A fog of ash hung over the land. Fires still burned in the distance. He could taste the smoke, and it filled his heart with a bitter regret. He had not intended it to be this way.
'What could it have been?' a fellow traveler asked another.
'Perhaps a comet fell to earth,' a stately older woman replied. 'I've read of such things.'
'Balderdash,' said a man with thick whiskers. 'It's an act of war!'
'But who?' someone else sputtered.
'The Kaiser has come for his revenge, I tell you!' the man shouted.
There was very little panic. He'd come to marvel at how pragmatic Americans were. Harkeness did not join in the conversations of the other hotel guests. He recognized the work of a Peace Ray, and knew that there was only one within range. The sheer audacity of the operation impressed him. The fact that it had happened to destroy one of only twenty Grimnoir safe houses in the country narrowed down the list of culprits even further. He did not need to share his thoughts with Isaiah since he could tell that the man was Reading them anyway. He made no effort to disguise them. It was quicker that way.
What now? Isaiah sent. We'll have to find another way to track down Southunder.
He was right. Timing was essential. For as impressive as the scorched hills were in the distance, the Peace Ray paled in comparison to the awesome destructive might of the Geo-Tel. Once the Chairman had it in his grasp, there would be no hesitation. It would be used and that would change everything.
Harkeness pulled something out of his coat pocket and held it up for Isaiah to see. The gold and black ring appeared dull in the red light. There is one way.
Southunder is too suspicious. That's why Pershing picked him.
The Pale Horse nodded. Southunder was a sly one, but he was also loyal to a fault. He'd had a falling out with the Society, but he had a problem with their leadership, not their mission. He would always be faithful to that. He will answer the call.
It's too risky. Isaiah shook his head. Spook him and we'll never find it.
If that is the worst that happens then we just have to wait for the Chairman's Cogs to reverse-engineer the final piece.
Isaiah gave a sardonic laugh. A few other guests scowled at him, and someone muttered something about
