Johnny Graphic and the Etheric Bomb (24 page)

“Harder, Percy!” she screamed. “Row harder!”

“So it really is him!” Johnny exclaimed, from his perch behind the colonel.

“So it’d seem,” the colonel returned. “Now we have the scoundrel.”

Suddenly, someone in the floatplane pulled the blonde woman back and began firing at Johnny and the troopers.

More quickly than Johnny thought possible, Finn and Marchiano returned fire, shooting holes in the aluminum skin of the airplane. In the midst of the gunfire Johnny managed to see the shooter just before he ducked back inside the floatplane. That rat, Ozzie!

With a brisk hand signal, the colonel directed Corporal Marchiano down to the water—right between the rowboat and the floatplane. The corporal skidded to a halt atop the gentle waves and aimed his carbine at the open door of the plane.

Even though he was trapped, Percy kept rowing.

“Stop, Mr. Rathbone, or we shoot!” the colonel bellowed from above.

But the grim-looking culprit paid him no heed.

The colonel barked an order to Finn. “Shoot holes in the boat, lieutenant.”

In rapid succession, Finn fired a dozen shots through the thin wood planking of the boat’s bottom. Almost immediately, water began to gush into it.

Percy threw down his oars and stood. He cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered to his blonde friend, who had reappeared in the airplane door. “Get away, Pamela! And keep a good eye on Mummy!”

“No, Percy, no!” the woman wailed.

But Percy didn’t respond. He just stood there, frozen in place in the sinking rowboat. He made no effort to swim away. It appeared that the mighty khan intended to go down with his ship.

Johnny knew he had work to do. It was now or never, one shot only. “Colonel, can you hover for a minute?” he shouted in the old officer’s ear. “Steady as possible?”

“Consider it done, Master Johnny,” the specter replied, lightly tugging on Buck’s reins.

Pulling his left hand from the belt around the colonel’s waist, Johnny took his camera in both hands and aimed it at the rowboat below. The little vessel was rapidly filling with water.

Just as it started to slip beneath the surface, Finn swooped down and grabbed Percy by the collar of his safari jacket, tugging him up toward the saddle.

At that precise instant Johnny pressed the shutter.

Finn hauled the dripping khan up over the saddle and barked a few intemperate words at him. Percy had the good sense to not struggle.

Thrilled beyond belief, Johnny yelled, “Got you, you bum!” right in the colonel’s ear.

With a mechanical roar, the floatplane’s two propellers had both started to turn. Johnny could see the blonde woman through the front windshield, in the pilot’s seat, a dismal look on her face. She turned the aircraft out to sea and began taxiing away.

“We’ve gotta stop that floatplane,” Johnny continued. “They’re gonna get away.”

“There aren’t enough of us, Master Johnny,” the colonel said. “We have Mr. Rathbone. That’ll have to do for now.”

Though he felt bitterly disappointed that Ozzie and the woman were getting away, Johnny understood. They would still be flying back to Mel and Dame Honoria with the biggest catch of all.

* * *

The very instant that Buck touched down on the beach back at the opposite end of the island, Johnny leapt from the saddle and rushed over to Percy—whom Finn had unceremoniously dumped in a heap on the sand. Percy’s face was sullen beneath his pith helmet.

“What happened to my parents on Okkatek Island?” Johnny shouted at him. “You were there. You know.
I know you know
.”

Percy peered peevishly at Johnny as he picked himself up, dusting sand from his clothing.

Mel rushed up next to Johnny, with the same imploring expression on her face, followed by Dame Honoria.

“Percival, do you not even possess the common decency to answer these youngsters?” grumbled the old lady.

Percy beamed a treacly, sarcastic smile at his mother. “Apparently not, Mummy.” Then he regarded the Graphics. “Sorry, darling children, can’t help you. Too, too bad about Will and Lydia.”

Johnny couldn’t even sputter a retort. It seemed pretty clear that “the khan” wasn’t about to give them anything. Johnny supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, this man had caused a whole lot of misery. And it didn’t seem like he intended to stop anytime soon.

Chapter 48

Saturday, November 2, 1935

Airborne between Old Number One and Gorton Island

To Dame Honoria the flying boat seemed like a little bit of heaven, as it winged its way back to Gorton Island early the next morning. For as soon as the big engines started up, deliciously cool air began seeping out of the ventilation ducts into her private compartment in the back of the aircraft. She sighed with pleasure, feeling the moisture on her skin begin to evaporate.

Never in her life had she endured such a horrific experience as in the last several days. The physical demands of her harsh captivity had been very nearly more than she could stand—as a woman pushing on toward the age of sixty and not in the fittest condition.

But more daunting was the emotional strain, which had sent her to the very brink of insanity. And the cause of it all was sitting right opposite her in this little cabin. He was bound hand and foot, but ungagged—in the hope that he might decide to say something useful.

The khan, Percival Roderick Gorton Rathbone, smelling all musty and earthy, glowered nonstop at “the old mater,” as he used to call her. Though his voice had not changed one iota, his ever-glum face was even glummer than Dame Honoria could have imagined.

Truth be told, he had always had a grim sort of demeanor about him, even as a youngster. His late father once observed, only half in jest, that Percy seemed to have been born fifty years old, as a hanging judge. What Dame Honoria couldn’t explain, however, was Percy’s fine new head of hair and his new physique—much like that of a weight lifter. He had to have been engaged in some kind of intense keep-fit program. Perhaps he had taken up rugby.

At least she knew who Percy’s female companion was. When Johnny reported that Percy had called her “Pamela,” a bell went off in Dame Honoria’s head. Pamela Worthington-Smythe had once worked as an assistant for Dame Honoria’s secretary. The pretty blonde had been fired six years ago, when it became apparent that she had set her sights on Percival and his potential inheritance.

“Now Percival,” said Dame Honoria, “why should you have told Miss Worthington-Smythe to keep an eye on me?”

“Because we’re both so very, very fond of you,” her son answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sighing, Dame Honoria recalled a time when Percy had seemed a good young man struggling for a good cause—as a tireless campaigner for the rights of ghosts. He’d even published a book on the subject, though it sold only a few dozen copies and left him quite embittered.

Now, Dame Honoria could hardly believe that this creature—her only, beloved child—had hatched one of the most dastardly plots in human history. No one had ever devised such a powerful explosive as the etheric bomb. Was Percy’s only goal the dispatching of ghosts to their final rewards?

Or might he have had some darker purpose in mind?

Nothing forced home the terrible reality of Percy’s misdeeds more powerfully than the funeral of that poor young scientist. His name had been Franklin Fforbes and they had buried his corpse just off the beach, in a spot garlanded with tropical blooms. Dame Honoria had recited her favorite prayer. Fforbes’ ghost, though a bit tongue-tied at first, had given his own eulogy—a few touching, bittersweet words about having left the world far too soon.

And how uncouth of Percy, to not answer Melanie and Johnny’s repeated questions about their parents. He had been there on Okkatek Island that dreadful night five years earlier. He had vanished with Will and Lydia. How could he not know
something?
How could he be so cruel, to not share the facts?

As the aeroboat cruised along, Dame Honoria tried to engage her son by telling him items of interest that had happened back in Gilbeyshire since his disappearance. Retainers who had died or retired. Marriages, births, deaths. Local scandals and gossip. A childhood friend of his who had stood for parliament. The ongoing and rather costly restoration of Wickenham’s decrepit west wing. And so on.

Percy’s responses were mostly on the order of “Eh” and “Um” and “Oh.” Clearly not interested in reminiscences from home. And emphatically
not
the affectionate reunion his mum had hoped for.

There had been only one real moment of connection. For some unaccountable reason, Dame Honoria started to recite a tiny piece of verse that she hadn’t thought of in years. Something that Percy had composed for her as a small child. Memory being a funny old thing, it popped right back into her head. She spoke the first lines.

“Mummy loves her little man,

And always likes to feed him…”

She stared at him hopefully, beseechingly, and for a change he obliged her, finishing the final couplet:

“Cakes and tarts and apple flan

Because he is her sweetum.”

Dame Honoria was staring at him silently after that when someone rapped sharply on the cabin door. She tottered to her feet and cracked the door open. It was young Miss Bain.

“Nina, my dear,” she said. “Please come in. What can I do for you?”

Nina tiptoed in and warily eyed the scowling Percy, only a few feet away. It gave Dame Honoria a chill to see the look of revulsion that came across the girl’s face. Whether it was due to Percy’s alarming appearance or because of his campaign to murder those who were essentially Nina’s family, she could not say. The fact remained that at the moment, no one felt very fond of Percival Rathbone. Not even his mum.

“This is yours,” said the girl, looking at Dame Honoria. She handed over a small leather case. “Found it in your cave. You wouldn’t want to leave it behind, I bet.”

Dame Honoria opened the case and smiled for the first time since she laid eyes on her son. “Oh my goodness gracious, my diamond. The Star of Gilbeyshire. Thank you, Nina. I had quite forgotten about it.”

She gave the girl a quick hug and tucked the case into the pocket of Danny Kailolu’s rain jacket—which he had loaned her to wear over her filthy and odoriferous silk robe.

The famous suffragist watched the bright-eyed young lady—so very smart and earnest—step out of the cabin. Then she once again scrutinized the unfathomable brown eyes of her son.

Something in one of the cobwebby closets at the back of her mind stirred and stretched and threw open a door of memory. And she shuddered, finally understanding what it was.

Her Percival had always had blue eyes
.

Chapter 49

Saturday, November 2, 1935

Gorton Island

His mutton-chop whiskers all aquiver, Sir Chauncey Holyfield greeted Johnny and the others at the dock on Gorton Island. Johnny thought the novelist was a funny-looking old fellow—much like one of his eccentric fictional characters who provided comic relief. Nina, a big fan, was particularly excited to shake the ghost author’s invisible hand.

“My dear old girl,” Sir Chauncey said sheepishly, as he helped pluck Dame Honoria up out of the black rubber dinghy, “profuse apologies for abandoning you. I am deeply mortified. Heroism not my cup of tea.” He gave her a quick hug and peck on the cheek.

“You left me out to hang, Chauncey,” she grumbled, scowling at him. “And if you want to make up for it, I’ll expect you to work harder than you ever have before.”

“Of course, Honoria, of course,” said the ghost. Then he took a closer look at the peculiar figure frowning up at him from the dinghy. On either side of this creature sat two blue-coated ghost troopers. “Good grief, who—or should I say
what
—is that?”

“Sir Chauncey, I would like you to meet my son, the khan. Percival Roderick Gorton Rathbone.”

“Hello, Percival, so good to finally meet you. Your mother has had so many wonderful things to—” Sir Chauncey came to a dead stop and pivoted to look at Dame Honoria. “Did you say
khan?”

She nodded tiredly.

The best-selling author blinked in amazement at the dour person being helped up out of the dinghy by the ghost troopers. “You mean,” he peeped, “that your Sweetums is the psychopath behind the Hausenhofer Geselschaft murders?”

Dame Honoria shut her eyes and nodded.

* * *

The mistress of Gorton Island had asked Johnny and Mel to come out onto the white sand beach after dinner. The sun was setting over the Rotonesian mainland, a glorious seascape with multi-hued clouds dotting the sky. A lovely, mild breeze came off the water.

Johnny, his pant legs rolled up to his knees, loved the sensation of the sand between his toes. It felt to him, after they arrived on Gorton Island, as though they were on vacation. But he was positively drooping in his tracks. He needed a long night of shut-eye. His sister, in the boldly-colored silk summer dress that she had bought in the Orchid Isles, didn’t look much livelier.

“I don’t know what you needed to talk about, Dame Honoria,” Mel said. “But can you tell us, has Percy said anything about Mom and Dad?
Anything?
Even the least little bit?”

“Yeah,” Johnny put in, “Percy might be our best chance of finding them, if they’re still alive. And he’s being a real creep about it!”

“I know he is, Johnny,” Dame Honoria answered with resignation. “We can only hope that he has a change of heart very soon.”

“So, Dame Honoria,” Mel said, “what did you want to talk about?”

“You’ve seen Percy in the past,” the old lady replied, glancing from one youngster to the other. “But you never knew him as I did. Until this morning I’d not put two and two together. I had encountered Percy only once on Old Number One, before the colonel took him into custody. I recognized his voice immediately, of course. Yet one of the first things I said to him was, ‘You have changed.’ He had been physically weak before his disappearance on Okkatek. Now he looks fit and strong.”