Operation_Endgame Read online

  Eliza stood up from the table and walked over to the bay window that looked out over America’s grand metropolis, already a match for London. "So many people, so many immigrants, so many poor." She turned and faced the ghost. "Excellent pickings for Jekyll and scientists like him."

  Bettina nodded. "The Lower East Side of the city has become the hunting ground for all kinds of dangerous people. If an immigrant or two goes missing every week or so, the police won’t bother looking too hard. Even I don’t feel safe in certain parts..."

  Eliza wasn’t sure if the ghost was making a joke, but then she considered the paranormal was not without its hunters either. Cities like New York suited Jekyll’s pattern very well. Find a transient community, take his pick of victims, perform whatever experiment he needed to carry out, and then move on before the local constabulary caught up with him. In previous cities, she and Wellington had always arrived frustratingly too late to catch him. This time, however, their information was fresh. Derby had been asking for ingredients that could only serve one purpose: replicating the Super Soldier serum developed by Dr Henry Jekyll and Arthur Brooks, Wellington’s father. Finally, they were a step ahead—maybe two—of the mad doctor.

  "So did Derby tell you anything about his dealings with Jekyll?" Eliza asked, returning her gaze to the table map.

  "It took some doing, but he informed me of a delivery he was to make," Bettina said, rising from her chair. Goose flesh rippled along her arm as the ghost did so. She stood and did not make a sound. So bloody unsettling. "Tonight."

  Wellington already had his satchel slung over one shoulder. It contained more than enough weapons for them both, plus a few specialties from Axelrod and Blackwell. She had her trusty pounamu pistols tucked under her jacket, her plures ornemtaum on her arm, so really what more did they need? "Did you get the time?"

  "Midnight." Bettina glanced at the clock on the desk behind her and nodded. "Shouldn’t take us long to get there."

  "Then let’s get on with it," she said. "Show us the way."

  Though Eliza had to admit working with the supernatural did provide benefits, she found working in public with ghosts a real challenge. As they walked through the crowd, no one gave Bettina even a second glance, even if she was nimble enough to step out of people's way. Perhaps being walked through was not a pleasant sensation for one of her kind. Eliza had to concede that Bettina had mastered the appearance of being solid.

  Tugging on the elbow of his jacket Eliza whispered into his ear, "I still don’t think this is a good idea."

  "Still don't think what is a good idea?"

  She did love him so, but how could one so incredibly brilliant be as thick as clotted cream? "We really can do this operation without our little friend here."

  "What part of ‘No one knows New York city better...’ did you fail to grasp?"

  "Oh, come on, Welly, the Ministry have their own network of confidential informants and I certainly have my own contracts who are more..."

  "What? Qualified? Reliable?"

  "Corporeal."

  Wellington cleared his throat. "Why Miss Braun, I would never have taken you for a bigot."

  Her mouth dropped open. "Welly, what do you..." She stopped and considered her words, her recent thoughts. Wellington was completely misconstruing this. "I just..."

  He raised one eyebrow. "Yes, yes, you are, I am afraid, my love. Just because Bettina here is a person of a somewhat deceased nature..."

  "You do hear yourself, don't you?"

  "... is a person of a somewhat deceased nature," he repeated, "you are making snap judgements about her. Mrs Marsh has spoken quite highly of Miss Spinnett, and she has performed admirably according to all accounts. In fact, her unique condition has proved remarkably useful at times."

  "Her unique condition?" Eliza grumbled, considering how the ability to pass through walls and turning invisible would play to her advantage. It was a talent she herself would hopefully not develop in the immediate future. "I hardly call being dead a condition. Or a skill. It’s not like she can shoot weapons, or punch any villains."

  "No," he said and reached across to squeeze her hand. "That is what you excel at, darling."

  Eliza couldn’t help but shake her head. He had a point, but she was not going to say it out loud. Instead, she remained silent as they climbed up to the elevated railway they had grown to know on the previous evening’s foot chase. Giant bridges of iron stacked like a layer cake, the one on top the express line. The lower one—the one they wanted—was the local line. This transit was a marvel of Manhattan, and from the looks of his smile, Wellington remained distracted by it.

  As they waited for it to arrive, Bettina kept her distance, making sure to stay well away from the rest of the passengers. It would not do to phase through an unsuspecting citizen of New York.

  The rattle of the train didn’t sound sane, with an odd syncopated rhythm and roar that only two engines could provide. To make matters worse, the tall buildings echoed it back again and again.

  She exchanged a glance with Wellington and saw he was—as she would have expected—very excited. Even though they’d ridden on its roof, he hadn’t gotten a good look inside. Leaning across, he whispered, "Wondrous way to shift a lot of people, and powered by electricity too."

  She nodded in response, knowing a ramble on the marvels of electricity would be the offering with the slightest provocation. The train arrived, and this time they got into it, rather than clamber on the top.

  Bettina took a seat at the front, perfectly aligned with the window and out of the way of any other passengers. Seeing her like that, Eliza realised how lonely her existence must be. Here was this girl, barred from an unknown fate beyond this world, working to protect those she could never touch again. So very near to all, and yet so completely far away. Did Bettina long for contact? Eliza knew exactly how terrible it would be not to touch Wellington ever again. The mere thought sent a stab of chill through her gut.

  A thumb traced the side her finger. Eliza did not know when she had taken Wellington’s hand, but she now held it with quite the firm gasp. She pressed her lips together hard. This whole situation was very strange, but she should have been used to peculiar. There was a time when such thoughts rarely distracted her. Even with Harry in Paris, she had been tempted; but thought better of it. True, a part of her regretted taking a more sensible path. Now, looking into Wellington’s eyes, there was a deep-seated regret roiling inside her. Why could she had not met him sooner? There had been so much time lost between them...

  "Darling, are you alright?" Wellington whispered.

  Before she could formulate an answer, the train clattered to a stop. Bettina gave a slight jerk of her head, and Eliza and Wellington followed her off. Overhead, the shadow of New York’s mechanical transit system blanketed the road below, which swarmed with so many people that for a moment Eliza thought she was a salmon battling upstream.

  "Welcome to the Bowery district," Bettina said to them, trying to keep the three of them clear of impatient pedestrians. This part of the city reminded Eliza somewhat of the East End of London, though far more crowded. The smells of so many people packed together were the same the world over. The tenements were taller than in London, most at least four floors, with laundry flapping from their small balconies, and women leaning out of windows to shout or gossip at their neighbours. Below the street was littered with people hawking their wares from carts, and children running about splashing in dirty puddles. The accents around her mingled together, but she could pick out Polish, Irish, and German.

  So similar was it to the slums of London, it wouldn't have surprised Eliza if the Americans had their own versions of the Ripper or Spring-Heeled Jack kicking about.

  "It's a bit of a crush, so stay close,” Bettina whispered.

  It was early evening, so many people were leaving work, while others headed to their night shift. Not even the ghost was nimble or quick enough to keep entirely out of the commuters’ way, and several ti
mes she was definitely walked through. It stunned Eliza how no one took any notice of her, but then she noted how New Yorkers barely looked up or made eye contact with even the living.

  "Now I see why Jekyll might have chosen this city," Eliza hissed into Wellington’s ear. "They all really have places to be."

  "I love it," Wellington replied, straightening his waistcoat, and almost getting knocked sideways by a burly pedestrian. "Rather invigorating."

  Sometimes, it was impossible to anticipate what would come out of her lover’s mouth, and Eliza liked that.

  Bettina’s pale form led them off the main thoroughfare to a decidedly less salubrious part of the city. The buildings might be taller than those in London town, but the same poverty was all around. A babe’s wail, shouts of quarrels, and laughter between mates over a bottle were all around them. As it was closing in on midnight, Eliza knew there would be other sounds in the air. Many of those cries would go unanswered, unnoticed.

  "Stay here," Bettina whispered. "This is Eastman territory, so I will scope out ahead."

  Eliza curled her lip. "We have a few gangs of our own back in London, they don’t..."

  Bettina raised one pale hand. "I am sure you do, but the Eastman are best avoided. Give me a minute to go see if this lair is even occupied."

  She strode off into the darkness, with not even a glimmer of æther trailing in her wake. Bettina could sometimes look like a regular human being... but that illusion shattered as Eliza watched her slip into a nearby building through a wall.

  "All right," Wellington said in an undertone, "I will admit, that is a bit unsettling."

  Eliza did not like to hide in the shadows, but this was not her city. She would trust her ghostly colleague for the moment, bide her time for a bit. While she checked her satchel, she shot a look at Wellington. "So what are the chances he’s actually here?"

  He smoothed his moustache and tilted his head. "The chemicals being sent to this location are ones we found in other abandoned laboratories. Considering how important they are to Jekyll, I think the possibilities are quite high."

  Eliza checked her pistols one more time. She wanted to be certain both were loaded to capacity. "I hope so—I am heartily sick of chasing our tails on this."

  “Doesn’t help that Jekyll’s using electroporter technology.”

  “Not a jot, my love. Not a jot.”

  Just at that moment, Bettina poked her head out of the wall through which she disappeared. Her sudden appearance startled a cat resting on some crumbling boxes to her right; it ran off with a hiss. "Books, Braun," she whispered, waving them over.

  Keeping an eye on the windows above them, they approached.

  "Go to the back of the alley," Bettina said, poking her hand through the bricks to point to their left. "I’ve picked the lock for you, but on the other side of the door, there is a guard you’ll have to take care of."

  "So," Eliza said, hoisting her pounamu pistols, "more than just an abandoned laboratory, then?"

  "Much more," Bettina assured them. "They seem to be readying a shipment of some kind. Best you hurry." With that, she disappeared back through the wall again.

  As they trotted around the rear of the building as directed, Wellington muttered, "A properly modulated ætherfrequency might do it, I suppose..."

  She knew what he was thinking. "No one will try it, my love. Besides, who on earth would take the risk of getting buried alive in brick in case something goes horribly wrong?"

  Wellington’s eyes gleamed in the dark as he reached into Eliza’s satchel and pulled out a three-piece apparatus and its stock. "I am sure Professor Axelrod might be persuaded."

  She kissed him on the cheek. "Don’t be vindictive, Welly. Forget about the turtle incident, and focus on that pesky Jekyll fellow, if you please."

  He shrugged, snapping the stock into the main body of the Lee-Metford-Tesla X3, and replied over its soft hum, "For now, Eliza. For now."

  Through the small receiving room that Bettina had checked, there was no sign of any movement. The second door to the ground floor was ajar. Wellington took up a position on one side and then gave a nod to Eliza. She could feel that want, that need, to kick in the door which given her frustration over their pursuits of Jekyll might have been understandable. Rather, Eliza holstered one of her pounamu pistols, eased the door open with her free hand, and crept in. They slipped silently into a short hallway, a wooden stool at the far end of it on which rested a book. Behind it, another door that remained closed. A guard had sat here. Maybe nature had called, or he was summoned away to help with loading? Whatever the case, muffled voices came from the end of the corridor, and feet interrupted the light visible between the bottom of the door and the floor.

  Eliza shook her head a little. So often security breaches could be prevented with just a little more staffing.

  Reaching the door at the end of the hallway, she listened, but with the muffled, muted voices, it was impossible to narrow down how many were on the other side. Could be five blokes. Could be five blokes, hanging about with ten quiet ones. Hard to say.

  When Bettina stuck her head through the wall next to her, Eliza nearly punched the girl... which would have been unfortunate for her fist.

  The ghostly secret agent raised her hand to show three fingers and then gestured beyond the door. A glance back to Wellington. He gave Eliza a nod. Apparently they were ready to make a bit of noise.

  Eliza smiled. One of her favourite parts of the job.

  Her boot connected with the door, shoving it open. She slipped over the threshold, ducked low, and stepped right, her pistols coming up and firing at the first sign of movement. Her target had been enjoying a smoke while a modified Winchester rested across his forearm and stomach. Her bullet punched through his shoulder, and the rifle clattered to the floor as he lurched off-balance.

  Wellington stepped to the other side, training his rifle on the other two gents that Bettina had hinted about, but his foes had both distance and warning. His two adversaries ducked behind large barrels as they opened fire. The blast from his Lee-Medford-Tesla unleashed a sphere of energy from its bell-shaped barrel that, most assuredly, flash-blinded them. It was intended to stun, but the light did himself and Eliza better by giving them a moment to scramble behind a stack of boxes.

  She hated being pinned down even more than being frustrated. The room was spacious, brick and lacking any way for either of them to get around their attackers. They could hold them off, but sooner or later these Eastman rotters would have reinforcements.

  That was when one of the men behind the barrels let out a scream like a child who had seen something terrifying.

  Wellington looked to Eliza. "Bettina?"

  "Only way to find out," she said, emerging from her cover with her pistols drawn.

  One barrel was knocked over, revealing a man on his knees, begging Bettina in a language that sounded... Italian? The other fired his own gun in spite of the supernatural apparition floating above them both. Eliza’s own aim was superior as her shot found its mark, knocking him back.

  The poor ghost looked bemused. "I don’t understand what he’s saying.”

  Eliza shrugged. "He says you are his sister back from the dead. He is asking your forgiveness for... throwing you down a well."

  Bettina looked embarrassed. "All I did was appear out of the wall and he... I thought... well, it’s one of my Halloween tricks you see."

  "Arresto!" Wellington snapped, bracing the rifle against his shoulder.

  The man turned his panicked gaze to the Ministry agent, but got kicked back by the shot coming from the rear.

  "Behind you!" Bettina cried, swooping over them to the guard Eliza had wounded.

  Eliza shoved Wellington behind the cover of the crates just as another shot rang out.

  "Told you having a ghost on our side would be useful," Eliza said as she rolled up to one knee. "Wonder if the Old Man would consider recruiting some. Must be quite a few kicking around the Tower of London."
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  "Eliza D. Braun, you are quite a piece of work, you are," he chuckled, glancing at the Mark X's transformer.

  "Still charging?"

  "Not a word about the experimentals, Eliza," he huffed. "Not one!"

  A clatter rose from the far end of the warehouse, and a blast of sound and light erupted. Bettina flew over them and disappeared into a tower of crates.

  "Street gangs," Wellington began, his eyes wide, "armed with anti-spectral weaponry?"

  "Not what you would expect," she said, daring a peek from their cover.

  Before she could get a count, the two spheres flew high overhead. This is going to sting, she swore inwardly on recognising them at a glance.

  Stunners. Ministry issue.

  Both exploded with a high, deafening scream and an explosion even brighter than the blast from Wellington's Model X. Over the echo of the stunners and the whine in her ears, Eliza heard the door they had come through swing open and strike the brick wall again. There was gunfire mixed with low-frequency thrums. The commotion raged hard and furious, but only for a few seconds.

  Wellington blinked as he pressed his fingertips to his ears. "Bloody hell, those stunners are nasty."

  "They’re meant to be," Eliza said, shaking her head. "You may have to lead me around a bit. I’m just seeing a lot of grey and black blotches at the moment."

  "Now I think," the voice said, his accent filling her with dread, "all those nasty rumours about you two are true."

  "Just. Lovely." Eliza groaned. "My headache has an Australian accent."

  Bruce Campbell propped a steaming hand cannon against one of his massive shoulder while casting a glance over the other. Brandon had a knee buried in the wounded guard’s back while he secured the man’s wrist. Stepping free of their cover, Eliza could also see a small pile of Usher agents by the warehouse’s open bay. Bruce was a cracking shot, so she was certain some of them were dead. Others were unconscious, no doubt, from the stunners.

  Usher agents. Dammit.

  "Now what did I tell you about rather awkward social discrepancies, Lizzie?" Bruce chided her. "We’re supposed to be working together."