Johnny Graphic and the Etheric Bomb (19 page)

“Hausenhofer Gesellschaft,” said Scofield.

Patterson sneered at Santangelo. “And this nincompoop here fails to deal with the most dangerous opponents that we have, Melanie Graphic and that pipsqueak brother of hers. A seventeen-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old boy. Three chances to get rid of her, all flops. And their wretched newspaper articles, besides, creating unhelpful publicity about our little project. Do you have any idea of the mess you have made, Mr. Sat… Sat… Sat-in-cello? Any idea?”

Santangelo wasn’t about to correct the minister of war’s pronunciation of his name. And he hardly thought it his fault that his ghosts couldn’t get to Miss Graphic. She had a blasted cavalry troop to protect her and was a decent swordswoman, to boot. Her brother, for his part, was certainly a feisty little fellow. He had underestimated them badly.

“I take all the blame,” he gulped, nodding. Because excuses would get him nowhere with Mabel Patterson.

“The bomb could make us the most powerful nation on earth,” Patterson continued, bright red in the face. “The prime minister agrees. But why in Hades did Mr. Khan set off the device days early? Why didn’t our people warn us?”

“Where, indeed, are our people?” sighed Scofield. “They’ve all vanished.”

“No chance now to see the thingy go boom. In fact, the only people who apparently saw the explosion were the Graphic brats. And they send out the news, worldwide. Could our luck be any worse? Couldn’t the bomb have blown them up? Done something useful for us, at least?”

The war minister drummed her pink-enameled, highly manicured fingernails in a military cadence on the glossy oak. “Might it have been the business with Mrs. Rathbone? Maybe we angered the khan.”

“Perhaps,” said Scofield.

“The khan specifically asked that no one harm her.”

“Ma’am,” said Santangelo, screwing up his nerve, “that information got to me too late. I’d already given Mr. Canfield, the ghost gangster, his orders. To machine-gun the old lady in Neuport. When I tried to stop him, he had already set out to do the deed.”

Santangelo felt fortunate that the minister of war merely gave him a very dark glower.

“Why so interested in the health of an old, washed-up suffragist, our khan?” the war minister asked.

Scofield shrugged. “Not a clue.”

“So what now, Hubert?”

“You’re the one with an army and a secret service at your beck and call, Mabel. You tell me.”

“We still have agents after the Graphics,” said Patterson. “We know they’re going to Landfall Island and we will have a team there in about twelve hours. Grab them or kill them. Also, they’ll investigate the bomb. The gizmo has massive destructive power. Maybe enough to level a city. If we had only a dozen of these things, we could—”

“Rule the world?” Scofield chuckled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mabel. Finally dealing with the Old Dominion would be quite enough, don’t you think?”

“The voice of reason, as usual, Hubert.”

“And don’t forget. We have to get our scientists out—if we can find them. They know how to build the thing. The khan seems to have double-crossed us and now we have to clean up the mess.”

The minister of war nodded. “We need to cover our tracks, most important of all. If the details got out, this government of ours could fall. And our own heads might end up on the chopping block.”

“Agreed,” Scofield said. “We also need to know if the bomb actually does the Second Impossible Thing—sending spooks to heaven or nothingness or whatever you care to call it. Without that, no more etheric bombs. Why would ghosts sacrifice themselves if it wouldn’t set them free?”

“What if he’s made another device, Hubert? One we don’t know about?”

Scofield groaned. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Santangelo felt that he had become invisible, as these two powerful people plotted their baleful schemes. And “invisible” was perfectly fine, as far as he was concerned.

“On the public side,” the war minister continued, “my people will have a press conference later today. Our story: Have no idea what just happened in the Greater Ocean. Volcano or meteorite most likely. Tidal wave. Rumors of etheric bomb, ridiculous. You have the easy job, Hubert—waking up the prime minister and briefing him.” She chuckled darkly.

The minister of etheristics groaned. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Chapter 37

Thursday, October 31, 1935

Gorton Island

From his window seat on the starboard side, Johnny watched through the porthole as the flying boat cruised up the western shore of Gorton Island. The aircraft circled around, and came back down the eastern side—a few hundred feet over the shoreline. Johnny took one aerial shot of the island, just in case he might need it for Mel’s next story.

A dense canopy of palms and other trees hid almost everything from sight. The only landmarks Johnny could clearly make out were Dame Honoria’s tin-roofed house and outbuildings, a clutch of decrepit barns, a brief stretch of white beach, and a substantial timber dock and boathouse. He didn’t observe anything moving on the island. Not a single person or animal or wraith. Not even a bird or the ghost of a bird.

Half an hour later Johnny and Uncle Louie were wrestling two black rubber dinghys out through the passenger door onto the sea wing. Together, they dropped them onto the gently lapping emerald green water. Within minutes, Johnny, Uncle Louie, and Nina were paddling under the pounding mid-day sun, toward the dock, through a wide gap in the reef. Behind them in the second dinghy came Mel and Danny.

Even though Johnny knew that Dame Honoria had been taken from the island, he felt excited just being here—a place he had heard about all his life. Certainly they’d find some clues about her abduction and, with any luck, some idea of where to find her.

* * *

The five of them and Lieutenant Finn were standing in Dame Honoria’s library. They’d gone through every room in the house, with nary a sign of anyone living or dead. They found no one in the servants’ huts, kitchen shack, or storage sheds. Troopers of the Zenith Brigade had fanned out across the island and confirmed that it was utterly deserted.

Bookshelves covered two walls of the library. Big windows in the third wall looked out on the white sand beach. The fourth wall was covered with old photographs. Honoria as a girl with her father and mother, on her winter holidays on Gorton Island. Honoria as a young mother, with her glum-faced little lad Percy.

“What’s this here?” Johnny asked, poking at the only item on the broad rosewood desk—a heavy brown cardboard box. He took the top off and peered inside. “Umm, ‘
Beatrice Periwinkle
. A Novel by Chauncy Holyfield.’”

“Let me see,” Nina said, dashing over. She pulled out the first few pages of the manuscript, scanning through them rapidly, eyes wide as saucers. “This is the new Holyfield novel that Dame Honoria’s working on.”

Johnny knew that Sparks was a huge Holyfield fan and would give anything to be among the first to read his new book. He was about to suggest that they bring it along when a papery, ghostly voice intruded.

“Excuse me.”

Mel and Johnny turned around.

A weasel-faced wraith stood in the doorframe, peering at them with an air of superciliousness, arms crossed. He wore a khaki safari jacket, a pith helmet, jodhpurs, and riding boots. He held a riding crop in his right hand.

“Who are you?” asked Johnny.

“I believe I have the advantage of you, young sir,” the ghost hissed, “as manager of this estate. Who are
you?”

“You’re Mr. Eccleston, aren’t you?” said Mel.

Nina and Uncle Louie were old hands at observing one-sided conversations, and listened intently. Danny merely looked confused.

“What if I am?” the ghost snapped. “The question at hand is why are you trespassing here? This is a private island.”

“We’re friends of Dame Honoria,” said Johnny, “and we’ve come to try to find out what happened to her.”

“And to rescue her,” added Mel.

The ghost sighed disgustedly. “I repeat myself:
who are you people?”

Johnny strode over to him and tried to strike a friendly chord. “My name is Johnny Graphic,” he said. “This is my sister Mel. And the big fellow is my uncle, Louie Hofstedter. And that’s his ward, Nina Bain. This is our pilot, Danny Kailolu. I’ve known Dame Honoria since I was little. I was born at her estate in Gilbeyshire. Believe it or not, she’s my godmother.”

Ozzie Eccleston’s face underwent a remarkable transformation, going from utter vexation to pure obsequiousness in the matter of two or three seconds.

“Oh,
do
forgive me,” he pleaded. “Master Graphic, Miss Graphic. Of course, I know who you are. Dame Honoria has mentioned you often. But so many officials, investigators, and curiosity seekers have visited since the abduction that I’ve become quite impatient with interlopers.” He sighed dramatically.

“So Dame Honoria was okay last time you saw her?” Johnny asked.

The ghost looked at Johnny and grinned frighteningly. “She was indeed
okay
, as you
folks
like to put it.” His chuckle was patronizing.

Uncle Louie couldn’t contain himself. “Ask the palooka to just tell us what happened to Dame Honoria.”

In response, Ozzie recounted a dramatic tale of how a platoon of Steppe Warriors appeared on the island on Dame Honoria’s first morning back.

“She came downstairs, confronted them. Quite bravely, I thought. But they took her prisoner nonetheless. Alas, I had no weapon but this.” He held up his riding crop and waggled it around. “And I would have gone after the blighters.
Indeed I would have!
But Dame Honoria shouted, ‘It’s hopeless, Ozzie. Save yourself.’”

“But what happened to Dame Honoria?” Johnny demanded, after reprising the story for Nina and Uncle Louie. “Where did they take her?”

“Until just yesterday,” said the ghost, “I had no idea. But I had my suspicions. So I went looking. And I found her.”

“Where?” Mel asked with a note of excitement.

“They have our lady in a cave on Old Number One.”

“Her father’s tapioca plantation?” asked Mel.

“Cassava plantation, actually,” Ozzie corrected her. “The cassava is made into a meal and tapioca beads manufactured therefrom.”

Mel and Johnny turned around and told the others what Ozzie had said.

“Then we have to get her out of there,” Uncle Louie proclaimed

“My feelings exactly,” said the ghost. “And I should be delighted to guide you.”

Since it was already late in the day, everyone agreed that they should stay that night on Gorton Island and get an early start first thing in the morning. There was plenty of canned food in Dame Honoria’s larder. And her beds looked far more comfortable than anything they’d slept in since the Orchid Isles. Certainly more comfortable than sleeping on the Eagle.

At about nine o’clock that evening Johnny was sliding off into dreamland in the grass-roofed guesthouse when he heard a terrible yelp of distress outside. He grabbed the flashlight on his bedstand and rushed out through the screen door.

There, sitting on the ground next to the rainwater shower, rubbing his left ankle, was Uncle Louie. He was in his bathrobe. The big man grimaced and blinked up into the bright light of the flashlight.

“Thought a shower sounded awful nice, John,” Uncle Louie groaned. “Stepped in a hole just on the edge of the path there. Hurts like the deuce. You think Dame Honoria’s got any ice around this place?”

“No electricity on the island, Uncle Louie,” said Johnny, shaking his head. “So no freezer. We’ll ask Ozzie if there’s an icehouse. Here, let me see if I can help you.”

Johnny managed to get his uncle upright, and they went very slowly back to the guesthouse—the big man barely able to put any weight on the ankle.

“You know what’s funny, John?” said Uncle Louie. “I fly an aeroboat almost halfway across the world, save it from certain doom in an out-of-control dive, and then I go wreck my ankle because of a six-inch hole in the ground.”

* * *

Mel and Nina tramped out the back door of the house shortly after dawn, following Ozzie Eccleston. Uncle Louie limped out next, his arm over Danny’s shoulder. His ankle was badly swollen and the big man winced at every hobbling step.

Johnny and Lieutenant Finn came out last and started to follow the others down to the dock. But Johnny noticed a strange-looking object obscured by the undergrowth next to the kitchen shack.

“I think I see something weird over there, Lieutenant Finn,” Johnny said.

He tiptoed up the shell path toward the rickety structure. Finn came after him.

Johnny gasped in horror when he saw what had caught his attention.

A pretty native face peered up from the ground, amid some flowered stems, wearing a look of utter desperation. The girl ghost had no body. Her lips were moving. But Johnny could only hear a whisper of a voice. He squatted down to get closer.

“My name is Tala,” the ghost said urgently. “Mr. Eccleston betrayed Dame Honoria. He and those terrible ghost soldiers took her away. He’s a villain! Don’t trust him! Don’t trust him!”

His stomach almost churning, Johnny nodded, stood, and turned to Lieutenant Finn with a scowl. “Sounds like our chum Ozzie may be leading us into a trap.”

Chapter 38

Friday, November 1, 1935

Old Number One

Uncle Louie had rarely looked so frustrated. Never one to back away from a good fight for a good cause, the big man was now confined to his co-pilot’s seat—sidelined by his badly sprained ankle. He reluctantly agreed that he couldn’t go on the hunt for Dame Honoria on Old Number One. He’d be practically useless. He had to stay on the Como Eagle.

Danny couldn’t leave the aeroboat, either. An important gauge on the control panel had stopped working and he—with some help from Louie—had to fix the thing. A quick escape from the island might depend on it.

The kids and the ghosts would have to search Old Number One on their own.