Public Enemy Number Two

UNDERWATER

The last time I’d been tied up in a room, it had been with a magician’s assistant named Lauren Bacardi. We’d spent a bit of time together and she’d shown me one or two tricks of the trade. I’m not saying I was any Houdini. But I had learned something. For example, when Nails and the others were tying me up this time around, I’d remembered to keep all my muscles flexed. Now that they’d gone, I relaxed them. It didn’t do much good. But it gave me a little play.

There was also something else. I was more or less dry after my dip in the Thames, but it had left me with a sheen of oil or grease. Like I said, the water was dirty. Now I was grateful for it. My skin was still covered with a slippery coating that made it easier to slide underneath the ropes. Easier but not that easy. It was going to take time.

Tim hadn’t said anything for a while. That suited me. I still blamed him for getting us into this mess, him and his sneezing and his precious vase. But looking at him, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He looked about as happy as a turkey on Christmas Eve.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll soon be out of here.” I tugged and felt one of the cords slide over my wrist. Now all I had to do was get it over my hand without dislocating my thumb.

“How?” Tim sighed. He had been watching me struggle. “Eben if we weren’t died up, there’s still the door. Logged add boated. And thed there’s a whole arby of grooks waiting for us on the other side. All arbed. It’s useless. It’s hobeless. It’s the end.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” I said. “Always the optimist . . .”

Even so, I had to admit that it looked as if he was right. Fifteen minutes of fighting with the ropes and the only thing that was doing any running in that room was Tim’s nose.

But I struggled on. There was nothing else to do. Tim dozed off, huddled up against the wall. Time passed. I didn’t know how much time. There was no clock, no window, just a single bulb burning through the night. Maybe it was an hour. Maybe it was more. But just as I was about to give up, my left hand came free. The skin was torn and I had more bruises than a peach in an all-night grocery store. But my fingers moved. I was on my way out.

After that things went more quickly. I freed my legs next and finally my right arm. When I stood up, I felt like I’d just come out of the spin-dryer. But I’d done it. I’d actually done it. That just left the locked and bolted door and the army of crooks.

For the first time I looked around the room. It was long and narrow, about the same size as my cell at Strangeday Hall. There was a second door at the far end, which I’d taken for a closet. But opening it now, I found it led into a small corridor running a few yards at right angles to the room itself. It must have been a storage area or something. It stopped with another solid wall. There was no way out from there. But it gave me an idea. I knew what I had to do.

I woke Tim up and began to untie him. As I worked, I told him what I had in mind.

“Are you oud ob your mide?” he asked. His cold had gotten much worse. “Forged id! Just die be up agaid. I’ll waid for the Fedze.”

“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 trapped underground with an awful lot of very awful people out to kill us? There are times when I think that in his own way Tim is as mad as Johnny Powers. This was one of them.

“Tim!” I whispered. “Have you quite finished?”

“Sure, Nick.” He clutched the vase to him. He was actually smiling. It meant that much to him, finding it.

“Then do you mind if we go?”

“Ya’re not going anywhere!”

Powers was standing only a few feet away. He hadn’t seen me, but he had seen Tim. And now he’d gotten both of us. The six armed men formed a semicircle around us. They were all holding guns. They looked like an execution squad. In fact, they were an execution squad.

“Ya’re finished, Diamond,” Powers snarled. His face was distorted with hatred. “I should’ve plugged ya when I had ya before. But this time I’m not making any more mistakes. I’m gonna do it now.” He giggled. “And I’m gonna enjoy it.”

He raised his weapon.

I knew it was the end. But I still didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. And it wasn’t the end that I’d expected.

First there was a gunshot. But it wasn’t Johnny’s gun. It came from the end of the corridor. The gun was torn out of Johnny’s hand, clattering on the floor. The six men wheeled around. My eyes followed them.

Chief Inspector Snape of Scotland Yard stood there. He was alive. He was armed. There were about twenty uniformed policemen with him.

“All right, Powers,” he said. “Come on out with your hands up. I’ve got this place surrounded. You haven’t got a chance.”

Then the roof collapsed.

I suppose it had only been a matter of time. Powers had spoken of a problem in the building of the tunnel—the tunnel that was now the Fence’s headquarters. Something to do with the limestone. Whatever it was, it had been a splinter that had just been waiting for an excuse to turn into a yawning chasm—and the explosion had been that excuse. The whole complex shook. Then about a ton of bricks and broken stone crashed down on Powers, burying him. I didn’t see what happened to the six men, because a second later the Thames followed. All of it.

If I hadn’t been standing to one side, I’d have been killed there and then. Even so I was hurled off my feet. The last thing I saw was Tim, clasping the Purple Peacock. Then I was swept away, carried in a torrent of racing, foaming water. Somebody screamed.

Another section of the ceiling smashed down. A column tottered and collapsed, plowing into a grand piano and reducing it instantly to matchwood. Televisions and video recorders surged past, spinning in the current. Everything was spinning. The water was roaring in my ears.

I’m going to drown, I thought. This is it. Prepare to meet your Maker. And don’t forget to ask Him why you got such a raw deal.

But then a hand grabbed me and pulled me up into the air. It was Snape. He had formed a human chain with the other policemen. It reached back to the metal grille, which was also the way they’d come in. After the initial impact, the flow of the water eased off. It was about six feet deep. The Titanic must have looked a bit like this with furs and jewelry floating in the icy water. Another column snapped in half, unable to stand the pressure. More stonework cascaded down.

“Tim!” I shouted.

For there he was, swimming toward me with one hand. It was incredible. He wasn’t only alive. He still had the Purple Peacock. And despite everything—the explosions, the falling masonry, the flood, it was still in one piece.

“This way, laddie,” Snape said.

I was too exhausted to do anything for myself anymore. I allowed Snape to pull me through the water. I still couldn’t believe he was alive. And how had he found me? But explanations could wait until later.

Two more policemen took hold of me and a moment later I found myself sitting on dry land. Then Tim was pulled out to join me, still holding the Purple Peacock.

We were on a sort of wooden platform. It was behind the metal grille, which Snape now closed. All twenty policemen were there, along with Tim, Snape, and myself and you could still have found room for more. There were two buttons set in a box on the wall. One was red, the other green.

“This had better work,” Snape muttered.

He pushed the green button.

There was a whir of machinery and the platform began to move, sliding upward into blackness. For thirty seconds I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel my stomach sink. And now I knew, of course. It had reminded me of an underground parking garage. Because the platform was nothing less than a huge elevator.

At last it broke into the light of the early morning. I looked around, blinking. And then I wanted to laugh. We had traveled up a shaft, up through the water. And I knew where we were. I should have known all along.

We were inside the Penelope.

“All right, Snape,” I said. “Spit it out. How come you’re alive? How did you get here? What’s been going on?”

I was sitting on a bench near the river, wrapped in a blanket and holding a tin mug of hot tea. The Purple Peacock was in a cardboard box beside me. It was eight o’clock in the morning and for once Wapping was a hive of activity. There were police cars everywhere. A mobile canteen had been set up, supplying tea and bacon sandwiches. There were also two ambulances. I was fine, but Tim was being treated for shock.

The banks of the Thames were lined with constables holding nets. They were more like fishermen than policemen. For the past hour all sorts of treasures had been floating to the surface to be caught and taken away for identification. And they weren’t the only things to fall into the police net. Ma Powers had been arrested, trying to escape through the station, and now she was being bundled into a police van.

By the time she got out of jail, she’d be Great-grandma Powers, and do you know, I almost felt sorry for her? After all, she’d only been looking after her boy. Which was more than my mother had ever done for me.

Johnny Powers and Nails Nathan were never found. Maybe they both drowned, but I have a feeling they both got away. It’s certainly true that later that day two Japanese tourists got knocked out at the Thames Barrier and woke up minus their clothes, cameras, air tickets, and credit cards. Maybe that was the two of them and maybe even now they’re out there, continuing their life of crime in Tokyo. If so—I just hope they stay there.

But the worst of it was that it had all been for nothing. We hadn’t gotten the Fence. He hadn’t been in the underground complex at the time and it was unlikely now that he would show up. The whole area had been cordoned off. Crowds of journalists and television cameras were being held back behind the barriers. The river police were patrolling the Thames and helicopters buzzed overhead. The whole of London knew what had happened, was being told about it on the morning news. By now, the Fence was probably miles away.

“Where do I start?” Snape asked.

“How about with the way you framed me?” I growled. He might have saved my life a few minutes ago. But that didn’t even the score. If it hadn’t been for him I’d have still been happily at school—or at least, as happy as you can be when you’re in a dump like mine.

Snape wasn’t even a little bit apologetic. “I had to frame you,” he said. “You wouldn’t play along otherwise.”

“But that’s criminal!”

“No. That’s police work. But don’t worry, my old son. All the charges against you will be dropped now. And I did my best to look out for you. I was never far behind.”

“Yeah. How come you showed up like that?” I sipped the tea; it was warm and sweet. I wouldn’t have used either word to describe Snape.

“You were bugged,” Snape explained. “I had you on radar every minute of the day.”

“Bugged? How?”

“In your shoes.” Snape pointed. “Your prison shoes. There’s a powerful tracking device in each of the heels.”

“So . . .” Suddenly it came to me. “That night on the railway tracks in Clapham. It was you who cut me free!”

Snape nodded. “That’s right. I saw you snatched by Big Ed’s gang. We followed you there. Once they’d left you on the tracks, I came looking for you. I helped you get out.”

“Well, thanks for that . . .”

“It was the same thing tonight,” Snape went on. “We homed in on you under the river and I guessed you’d found the Fence. After that we came in to get you.”

“You took your time.”

“We were waiting for the Fence.”

“Yeah—well, it looks like the one who got away.”

“Don’t worry about him, laddie. We’ve smashed his operation. And one of the gang will talk. You’ll see. We’ll catch up with him eventually.”

“Just so long as you don’t need any more help from me.” I finished the tea. It was the first hot drink I’d had in thirty-six hours. “So how come you weren’t killed?” I asked. “I saw you . . . in the car.”

“I was lucky. I was in the backseat. The door was ripped off and I was thrown clear just before the car blew. The driver managed to get out, too. Then we went back and got Boyle.”

“He’s dead?”

“No. He’s in the hospital. Third-degree burns.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Snape,” I said. “I’ll send him some flowers.”

“That’s good of you, lad.”

“Sure. Dandelions.”

Perhaps I was being a bit hard. But think about it. I’d been framed, tried and sent to jail, menaced, chased, shot at, kidnapped, knocked out, tied to a railway track, almost blown up, menaced some more, tied up again, half drowned, exhausted—and all for two policemen who hadn’t even caught their man anyway. It wasn’t as if I’d been given any choice. And what was I going to get out of it all, except for extra homework once I got back to school?

“You won’t do so badly,” Snape assured me. “There’ll be a reward from the insurance companies for some of the stuff that gets recovered. That should be worth a bit.”

We sat in silence, watching the activity all around us. I yawned. I was dog-tired. All I wanted was a bed. I’d even settle for a kennel.

Then Tim strolled over to us. He’d been fixed up by the doctors. Someone had lent him a sweater. And he was looking in a lot better shape than me. In fact, he was quite his old self. Which is to say that as usual he was totally impossible.

“Hi, Nick!” he said, smiling.

“Are you okay, Tim?” I asked.

He grinned. “This has been my greatest case. It’ll make me famous. The man who got Johnny Powers!”

“What about me?” I demanded.

“You helped, kid. Maybe I’ll even share some of the reward with you. In fact, I’ll forget that fiver you owe me.” He tapped me gently on the shoulder. I felt like knocking him out. “The British Museum will pay me plenty for the return of the Purple Peacock,” he went on. “By the way, where is it?”

He sat down as he spoke. But he was so wrapped up in himself that he wasn’t looking what he was doing. I saw his backside come down fair and square on the cardboard box. The cardboard crumpled. There was a dull splintering from inside. The color drained out of Tim’s face.

The Purple Peacock had been stolen in Camden. It had found its way to Wapping. It had survived an explosion and a flood. But it hadn’t survived Tim.

He’d just sat on it.