Ник Картер - Assault on England

I could not risk firing and not killing him. I shoved Wilhelmina into my belt and raced toward him. The rocket disappeared inside the cannon and I hit Jupiter and the weapon simultaneously. The mortar roared and the rocket flashed into the London sky, but I had knocked the barrel on an angle.

The rocket sizzled out over the city, missed the Ministry building completely and exploded in a small park area near it. In the moment I took to watch the rocket’s progress, Jupiter smashed a fist into my face and twisted away from me. Then he was back on his feet. “Damn you. Carter!” He had the Browning out again and aimed at me. He fired and I rolled; the slug zinged harmlessly off the concrete edge of the roof behind me.

Jupiter did not try a second shot. A helicopter fluttered in and dropped down, hovering a few feet above the roof. I thought, gratefully, that it was the police chopper — until I saw the ladder being lowered for Jupiter. He was on it now and climbing; the helicopter was already moving away.

I fired but Jupiter was already scrambling inside the cabin and I missed.

Looking out over the rooftops, I saw another ’copter moving toward me. I fired a shot and waved it down. This one did belong to the police. It hovered a moment, then dropped to the roof. I ran over, ducking under the whirling blades, the wind they stirred tugging at me.

There was the pilot and Heather inside. I jumped in and pointed to the departed chopper, heading southwest out of town. “Follow it,” I said.

We lifted off the roof and made a banking turn, heading out after Jupiter. We were flying into a setting sun and his ’copter was silhouetted against a peach-colored sky.

Our speed increased and, as we moved into open country we closed in on the other copter. The pilot had radioed back to the Yard about what was happening, but I knew it would probably all be up to us.

We were within a hundred yards of the other ’copter and I aimed the Luger, wishing I had a rifle, and fired a couple of shots. I hit the ’copter but I didn’t do any damage. I could see Jupiter and the pilot clearly.

The sun had almost set now. If night fell before we caught them, they would be able to lose us easily. I turned to the pilot.

“Open it up!” I yelled.

The distance closed a little more. We were a long way from London now, heading in the direction of Andover. A thatched-roof village passed below us and we drew a little closer; the distance between us was not much more than fifty yards. I leaned out and fired again. This time I hit the gas tank but the fuel did not ignite it. It would leak out though. I expected Jupiter to return fire, but for some reason he didn’t. Maybe he was conserving ammo.

“He’ll have to land now, sir,” my pilot said.

“Let’s hope so.”

The pilot was right. In a minute, Jupiter’s ’copter started down toward a small village below. We followed. They landed in a field on the outskirts of the village beside a commercial building that turned out to be a motorcycle garage.

“Set us down,” I told my pilot. “But don’t give him a good shot at us — he’s an expert.”

Jupiter’s ’copter was down and he was climbing out. We set down about sixty yards away. I was reloading the Luger, but my pilot cut the engine and jumped to the ground impatiently.

“Keep down!” I yelled at him.

But it was too late. Jupiter fired and hit him in the chest, twisting him violently off his feet. By the time I reached the ground, Jupiter was heading toward a half-dozen motocycles sitting outside the garage. I examined the pilot’s wound; it was bad but he would live if he got help in time. I ordered Heather to stay with him, then jumped to my feet.

I started running in a crouch toward the garage where Jupiter was mounting a cycle. I was so intent on catching up with him I forgot about his chopper pilot until a slug whistled past my ear. I spotted the man then, returned fire with Wilhelmina and hit him. He staggered backward and fell; he didn’t get up.

I kept running. Jupiter had started the cycle and was turning it toward the road fronting the place.

I stopped, rested Wilhelmina on my forearm and fired, but Jupiter was roaring off down the road. He was riding a BSA Victor Special 441, with the long narrow seat and the gas tank up between seat and handlebars. I figured it had a top speed of eighty miles an hour.

I moved quickly to a man standing, pale and shaken, just inside the garage. “Police,” I said because it was easiest “What do you have here that will beat that Victor?”

He pointed to a big old bike, long and heavy; it was a 1958 Ariel 4G Square Four.

“Take the Squariel,” he said. “It’s an old timer but it has fifty horsepower, four speeds and will hit almost a hundred.”

“Thanks,” T said. I moved to the machine and climbed on. I started it with a hard kick. As the engine roared, I shouted to the garage man: “I’ll settle later. Get a doctor for my friend in the field. The other one doesn’t need help.”

He nodded. I gunned the bike and roared away, up the narrow road after Jupiter.

There was a pair of goggles on the handlebars and I put them on, swinging around a shrub-lined curve. I didn’t bother to keep to the left but used the whole road. I had to catch Jupiter and I knew he was pushing his bike to the limit.

It was dark now, and I switched on the lights. There was no one ahead of me. Suddenly, a pair of headlights appeared in my rear-view mirror. They swiftly loomed larger, then an MG sedan drew up to me. Behind the driver’s seat was Heather. She must have commandeered the car after seeing to the wounded pilot.

I accelerated, trying to keep up with her, but her machine was too powerful for my Ariel. Then, somewhere in the distance I heard the tortured squeal of brakes and a sickening crash. A lump caught in my throat. The crash was too loud for a motorcycle. It had to have been Heather.

I passed her overturned MG up the road just past a curve. It was wrapped halfway around a tree. The wheels were still spinning eerily. I slowed, determined that no one could have survived that crash. Heather, in her less maneuverable vehicle, must have attempted to take the curve at the same speed Jupiter had. Only she hadn’t made it.

Blind hatred caused the blood to pound in my ears. Until now, Jupiter had been just another opponent. Now he was something more: Heather’s murderer.

I drove for several miles, watching the side road. Just when I was sure Jupiter had given me the slip, I rounded a curve and there he was, not two hundred yards ahead of me. He was running without lights.

He turned and saw me coming up on him. His speed increased somewhat but I was still closing in. He disappeared around a curve and I lost him for several minutes in a series of blind turns. On the next straightaway I found him again, only a hundred yards ahead. He turned and fired wildly at me twice. It was ridiculous at that speed and in the dark. I had closed to fifty yards now.

Suddenly, Jupiter turned into a dirt road to the left, kicking up a long cloud of dust in the darkness. I managed to stop the Ariel just in time, skidding its rear end around as I roared down the road after Jupiter.

A half mile and we crossed a small arched wooden bridge. Our momentum lifted the bikes into the air on the far side of the bridge and dropped us back down hard. Jupiter almost lost control when he hit, his bike weaving wildly. The Ariel was heavier and I held it better. A couple of hundred yards later, we crossed the same stream by a natural ford, splashing through the shallow water and sending it up in sheets on both sides of the bikes. There was a steep hill-climb on the far side of soft sand. My Ariel squirmed around in the soft stuff for a moment, then broke free.