TW10 The Hellfire Rebellion NEW (26 page)

"That is a fascinating question, Miss Cross." he said, smiling down at her.

"In fact, I've wondered about it myself on occasion, not that it makes any real difference. You see, we are all Nikolai Drakov, sharing the same genetic template.

the same memories and personality. After a certain point, that is. Childhood experiences must, of necessity, vary, but at a key point in development, each replicate's subliminal programming is triggered and from that moment on, the memory engrains of

the original are manifested. All previous individual experiences are totally forgotten. Each of us shares the same memories from that point on, the same personality and past. Asking which of us is the original is pointless. We are all the same. You might say I am legion."

Sally's face was registering growing confusion, but Drakov proceeded as if she wasn't even there.

"Just think of it as an exponential increase in the opportunities for our paths to cross." he said, smiling. "You see, there you are. It’s happened once again. Actually, I quite look forward to our encounters, although I confess that each time I think it will be the last. Perhaps this time we will finally conclude our business. I feel rather confident on this occasion."

“You always do," she said. "But we've beaten you each time. And we'll beat you once again."

"Oh. I think not." said Drakov. "Not this time. Miss Cross. Not this time."

"We have Moffat, you know." she said.

The woman called Sally gave a little gasp and her eyes went to Drakov, but only for an instant.

"Yes. I had already surmised that," he said. He shrugged. "Unfortunate, but it is of no real consequence. He is conditioned to withstand a considerable amount of questioning, and when your friends think they have broken him, he will tell them only what he has been programmed to tell them. Moffat has served his purpose."

The stricken look on the woman's face only served to underscore what Andre had already concluded. Sally and Moffat were in love.

"Master . . ." she said in a pleading voice, but she got no further.

“Silence," Drakov said. He deigned to glance at her -Don't be concerned, Sally. You've done your part well. My promise to you still stands. I will provide another mate for you as soon as we are finished here.” Sally said nothing and the laser in her hand wavered only slightly, but the anguish on her face spoke volumes.

"It isn't going to work. Drakov," Andre said. "Your Hellfire Club is going to fail, just like they failed tonight with Macintosh."

"Merely a minor setback." Drakov said. "The mere existence of the Hellfire Club has already placed a strain on temporal inertia in this time period. My final touch will deliver the coup de grace and bring about a timestream split. The plan is elegant in its simplicity. I have pinpointed the three most important men in this temporal scenario. The first of them will die tonight, right under the very eyes of your compatriots, who have been keeping such a very careful watch on him.

And Macintosh will never reach his friends in time. My assassin is already on his way.”

He smiled. "I only regret that I will not be able to see the expressions on their faces when it happens. It would have been much more effective if his chief pawn, Ebenezer Macintosh, had died at the same time, but it will make no difference. Without Samuel Adams to lead the Sons of Liberty, the task will doubtless fall to Otis. Hancock is popular, but he has no real ability for leadership and he lacks the genius Adams has for influencing popular opinion. The others will fall to arguing among themselves, and though he has already proven himself to be erratic. Otis is the only one with fire enough to draw them all together. When his mind finally snaps, the blow to the patriotic cause will be irreparable. The Hellfire Club will serve to unify the Tories and the arrival of the British troops will put an end to the rebellious spirit in the. Massachusetts colony.

"The second man to die will be Lord William Howe," continued Drakov. "I have already established myself socially in England and Howe knows me as a friend. It will be an easy matter for me to see to his demise. Without his foolish indecisiveness and obstinacy, the British troops would have captured the entire Continental Army at the Battle of Long Island and the war would have been over before it even started. With Howe dead, Clinton or Burgoyne will be appointed in his place and either of them will easily prevail over the undisciplined colonial troops, especially without Washington to lead them."

He chuckled at the expression on Andre's face.

"Yes. George Washington will be the third to fall. The crowning touch. The father of his country will be assassinated by a bastard. A fitting irony. I think.

I trust my father will appreciate it. The deaths of any one of those three men should be sufficient to bring about a timestream split. The assassination of all three should cause a chain reaction that will spread throughout all history."

He pulled back his sleeve and entered a set of coordinates into his warp disc. And now, Miss Cross, the time has come for us to say farewell. It has been a fascinating game, but I'm afraid it's over now." He turned to Sally. "Kill her."

Looking stunned, Sally aimed the laser at Andre's chest.

"Sally. wait!" said Andre. "Don't listen to him! Moffat is all right! Help me! I can take you to him!"

She hesitated.

"I said, kill her!" Drakov shouted.

“No. Sally, don't!"

"Jared!"

Drakov spun around to see Moffat standing in the doorway. holding a flintlock pistol in his bloody hand. Before Drakov could speak Moffat fired. The ball struck Drakov in the chest. Sally screamed. Drakov stared at Moffat with utter disbelief, then he toppled to the floor.

For a moment, no one moved and then the laser was suddenly plucked out of Sally's hand. She cried out as Darkness materialized, holding the laser pistol.

Andre ran to Drakov and turned him over. he was still alive, but only barely. He looked up at her and coughed up blood.

"I seem to . . . have . . . miscalculated," he said, struggling to get the words out. He coughed again and brought up more blood. "No matter . . . you’re . .

. too late. I . . . still . . . win . . ." His eyes clouded over and his labored breathing stopped.

Andre glanced up at Moffat. "What did he mean, he still wins?" Moffat stood there with the empty pistol still held in his hand, staring at Drakov's corpse.

"Moffat!
What did he mean?"

Moffat's lips moved, but he made no sound. Sally ran to him sobbing and threw her arms around his neck, but he was in a daze, as if entranced.

"It's no use," said Darkness. You won't get anything out of him now. He's in a fugue state. He's suffered a breakdown.'"

"Adams . . ." Andre said. "Drakov said he was going to die tonight, right under our very eyes. But if we were watching Adams, then how could . . . Doc, we've got to get out of here, right now!"

When Johnny Small came to in the middle of Boston Common, for a moment he could not recall what had happened. He seemed to remember hearing someone speak and then . . . He rolled over on the damp grass and got up to his hands and knees. His head hurt and his jaw was sore. He felt it and his hand came away wet with blood. His mouth was cut. And then he remembered. Andre had hit him. He couldn't believe it.

She had actually hit him!
Why
? He had only been trying to help.

He got up slowly and looked around. The Common was deserted. It was dark and he could barely see a thing He remembered all the hooded men. The Hellfire Club!

They had Ebenezer Macintosh! They were going to hang him! He shivered, though it wasn't a cold night. He swallowed hard. It must be over by now, he thought. With a feeling of dread, he started to walk toward the Liberty Tree. Andre had wanted to stop them. She had told him to run for help, but he had known that it was pointless. What was the use? To whom could he have run for help? By the time he could have reached any of the Sons of Liberty, any one of them, and by the time they could have roused the others, it would have been long finished. Mr. Macintosh would have been dead before he could have run three blocks. He had tried to make her see that it was useless, that there was nothing they could do. but she simply wouldn't listen, he had tried to pull her away from the scene before they could be spotted, thinking only of her safety, but she had gone crazy, she had struck him— actually struck him and knocked him senseless! He was amazed that a girl could hit so hard. And now, as he slowly walked toward the Liberty Tree, he was afraid of what he would find hanging from its branches. But he couldn't help himself. As if in a daze, he kept on moving.

Her idea had been crazy. Firing a pistol into the air to make the hooded men think that Macintosh's friends had come running to his rescue! It might have fooled them for an instant, but he had known they would see through it. By the time she fired, and then taken the time that was needed to reload, and then fired once more, they would have realized that it wasn't a group that they were facing, but only one person. And they would have realized that there was no shouting, no sound of men approaching, no running footsteps pounding across the Common. They would have spread out and circled around her, captured her, disarmed her, and then

. . .

Johnny stopped and shut his eyes. The Liberty Tree was just ahead of him. He was afraid to look. And he couldn't nor look. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, then forced himself to open his eyes. The old elm tree stood starkly silhouetted against the night sky. With a feeling of horrified dread, Johnny stared up into its branches, fully expecting to see two bodies hanging there.

The branches were bare of anything but leaves.

Johnny blinked and then came closer. There was no one hanging from the tree.

Not Andre, not even Macintosh. He stared into the branches, relieved, but at the same time puzzled. How could it be? Something must have happened. Andre by herself could never have stopped those men, no matter how remarkable a girl she was. What could have occurred to prevent them from hanging Macintosh? They had already had the noose around his neck, his fate seemed sealed. His foot touched something and he looked down to see the rope lying on the ground. If someone had come to rescue them, then surely they would never have left him lying in the Common. Surely Andre would have returned for him.

Or perhaps she hadn't wanted to.

Someone must have warned the Sons of Liberty, thought Johnny. That was the only possible explanation. While he had lain unconscious, Macintosh's friends had arrived just in the nick of time and rescued him, and Andre hadn't bothered to return for him, disgusted with him, thinking that he was a coward when he had only been thinking of protecting her. That must have been what happened. And by now, she would have told them all what happened and they would all think he was a coward, ready to run away and let a fellow patriot die rather than risk going to his aid. And there was no way he would be able to explain it to them, no way that they would ever understand. They had been outnumbered. There were only two of them. How could they have hoped to stand against all those men alone? How could he have knowingly led a girl into such danger? A girl he loved. No. they would never understand, but he had to explain it to them somehow. He had to explain to Andre.

He couldn't bear having them think he was a coward. Especially Andre.

He started walking away from the Common. He felt the Liberty medallion in his pocket. They would probably take it away from him now. He wanted to cry, but he simply couldn't. There were no tears in him. He just felt empty and hollow inside. And utterly, inconsolably miserable.

He headed south down Summer Street, his shoulders hunched, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He wasn't sure where he was going. The streets were dark and silent. Before long, it would be morning and Johnny didn't want to see the sun. He didn't want anyone to see him. He simply wanted to run away somewhere and hide. But he couldn't run away. He couldn't hide. There was something that he had to do.

He took his hands out of his pockets and pressed them up against his temples as he walked. His head hurt. He couldn't think straight. He passed Bishop's Avenue and kept on walking straight, unconsciously picking up his pace. The pain in his head was getting worse. All he ever wanted to do was help and he had only made things worse. Mr. Revere had trusted him and he had let him down. Andre would never forgive him. And as for Mr. Adams, who had paid him the highest compliment by personally giving him the Liberty medallion, saying, "Your role in this is especially important, Jonathan. It is absolutely vital."

Absolutely vital. There was something he had to do that was absolutely vital. Johnny was running now, still clutching at his head. He ran past Cow Lane, still heading south on Summer Street, past South Street, toward the docks. He turned left on Purchase Street and kept on running . . . then he suddenly stopped.

He waited to catch his breath. The pain in his head was gone now. The breeze coming in off the sea felt fresh and cool on his face. He was standing in front of Samuel Adams' house. He went up to the door and tried it. It was locked.

Still staring at the door, he reached inside his coat and too out a laser pistol. He aimed it at the door . . .

"
Stop where you are!"
someone called out. "
Don't move!"

Slowly. Johnny turned around. Several men stood spread out in the street behind him, pointing weapons at him.

"Drop the gun!"

Johnny continued to hold onto the laser. He stared at the armed men with confusion.

"Johnny, put down the gun."

He squinted at the dark, shadowy forms. "Andre?"

"Yes, Johnny, it's me. Put the gun down, Johnny. Please."

His mouth felt dry. He moistened his lips. His head had started to hurt again.

"There is—there is something that I have to do . . ." he said.

Andre came toward him. "Please, Johnny. Put the gun down. You don't want to hurt me, do you?"