Jack Kane and the Statue Of Liberty: Jack Kane, #1

Jack Kane

and the Statue of Liberty

Jack Kane, book 1

MICHELL PLESTED

J.R. MURDOCK

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

Jack Kane and the Statue of Liberty

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

2373 NE Evergreen Avenue, Albany OR 97321 U.S.A.

~ * ~

Second Edition 2020

eISBN: 978-1-77155-118-2

Copyright © 2020 Michell Plested & J.R. Murdock All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Melody Pond

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you by complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

www.champagnebooks.com

Version_1

Other Books by Authors

Jack Kane

Jack Kane and the Kaiser

Jack Kane and the Statue of Liberty

Chapter One

Felonious Fenduke Filcher the Fourth stood on the upper patio with a brass spyglass held up to his right eye. The object of his attention was a heavily laden cargo ship entering New York Harbor a good half-mile away.

A warm breeze blew across the house, ruffling his hair.

Some might have once called Felonious handsome if it weren’t for the maniacal look in his eyes. His thirty short years of driven, single-minded existence had changed that. He now had a gaunt, haunted expression the fairer sex described as cadaverous.

It didn’t matter to him. He had more important things to do than woo love.

Excuse me, sir, his butler said with a subtle clearing of throat.

What is it? I said I was not to be disturbed! Felonious allowed a hint of anger to seep into his voice. I told you to call me ‘my lord’ not ‘sir’!

I know, my lord. But you have a call on the wireless. The man shuffled his feet on the worn stone of the veranda taking the admonishment in stride. It’s the baron, my lord.

The baron. What was that windbag doing calling, especially now? Bring the wireless out here to me. At once, Felonious said.

Yes, my lord. The man snapped his fingers, and two hulking brutes wrestled the wireless into place. It was a massive thing, all brass and wood. An ornate microphone decorated a wooden top and a huge speaker faced out behind it.

Felonious tugged on a lever. Baron? How nice of you to call.

No time for idle chit-chat, Felonious, a voice with a distinct British accent crackled through the speaker. Has the item arrived?

I was watching the vessel sail into the harbor, my lord, Felonious said. It shouldn’t be long now.

As if on cue, the night sky was lit with bright light. Moments later the concussive boom of an explosion echoed across the water.

Felonious pulled out his pocket watch. Ah, right on time, my lord. The ship has been blown up according to schedule.

Excellent work, Felonious! The voice of the baron actually sounded pleased. Congratulations. I will have to speak with my colleagues in the House of Lords to get your recommendation moving through the proper channels. After the sinking has been confirmed, of course.

Felonious forced his irritation into hiding. Of course, Baron. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The butler stepped into Felonious’s field of vision and spoke quietly. Do you need anything, my lord?

Did your man call you, ‘my lord’, Felonious? You are not getting airs or presenting yourself above your station, are you? You know how the Peers of the Realm feel about that sort of thing.

Never, my lord, Felonious said with a grimace. You know how these servants can be, holding their beloved master in awe. I will chastise them again after we have completed talking with each other.

Well done, old boy. Now as to the reason for this call. I have taken the liberty of sending one of my best men to you on the Zeppelin. He should arrive this afternoon. I was certain you would be successful, but I sent along some extra help just the same. One can never be too sure.

Quite, Felonious said. Well, it was unnecessary, but thank you. As you no doubt heard, the ship has been sunk.

Oh yes, the voice crackled. It was the explosion that sounded across the world, to coin a phrase. I will be quite delighted to hear about it on the news later. But I must dash.

Before you go, my lord, answer me this. How will I know your man when he arrives?

Ah. Excellent question, the baron said. "He is quite a well-dressed fellow. Carries an interesting walking stick. Has a silver skull on it. He goes by the nom de guerre of ‘Mister Y’."

Thank you, my lord, Felonious said, his mind whirling with plans for the agent.

Well, ta ta for now.

The voice went silent, and Felonious shut off the wireless with a push on the lever. Only after the machine had gone dark and silent did he allow himself a grin, the baron’s reprimand about title already forgotten.

Bennington! Fetch me some of the 1828 Napoleon brandy. Felonious tipped the coffee dregs out of his stained and cracked cup and held it up for the butler. Fill it up. I feel the urge to celebrate.

The butler was at his arm almost immediately, an expensive crystal decanter of dark liquid in his hands. I thought you might, sir. He wrinkled his nose. Would you like me to strain the brandy through my socks before I pour it into your, ahem, mug, sir? The wryness of the tall man’s statement barely registered.

No, that won’t be necessary, Bennington. Just fill it up and keep it full. There’s a good chap. And as I said before, call me, ‘my lord’.

But the baron—

Is not here. Felonious raised an eyebrow at the man. Do I make myself clear?

Crystal, my lord, Bennington said, emphasizing the final two words.

Excellent! Then you may pour.

Bennington grimaced and tipped the pristine decanter over the grimy cup, filling it with the dark, expensive liquid.

Felonious tipped the cup back and took a big swig. With a belch, he held the mug out for Bennington to refill. Top ’er up, old top.

As you wish, my lord. Bennington did as directed and refilled it.

That will be all, Bennington, Felonious said with a wave of his hand.

He picked up the spyglass and lifted it to his eye, sloshing some of the brandy on his tunic. It took him a few seconds before he had the spyglass sighted in. When he finally got the image, he sighed happily. Boats surrounded a burning patch of harbor. Fire department patrol boats sprayed torrents of water on the fire, which spread from the destroyed cargo hauler.

Heads bobbed in the water. It didn’t bother him in the least to see the floundering sailors. They were either French or American. It wasn’t terribly likely any Englishmen were out there, and if they were… He shrugged. If they were, they were traitors to good Queen Victoria and the empire and deserved what they got.

He watched for a few moments more, chuckling to himself and guzzling the brandy. Things were going extremely well. At this rate, his tarnished family name would regain its previous luster, and he would be back in the ranks of gentlemen.

Felonious adjusted his gaze to the street in front of his estate and grimaced. The first thing he would do is get a house in a better part of town. No more living near the stockyards and the slaughterhouses.

He laughed under his breath. It would also mean his estate would not consist of the rotting remains of machines and old coaches. It would also likely mean a new title for himself. No longer King of Junk but something more suitable for a gentleman patriot of the empire. Then perhaps that fop of a baron would serve him as his family served Felonious’s in the not-so-distant past.

The junkyard served him well. It provided a good income and an even better place to hide his life’s work—the overthrow of the American government. And it gave him all the resources he could ever need to experiment and build his machines.

Deep within the confines of the yard lay his workshop, his lab. There his ideas and inventions were created. There the planning and execution of the agenda took place.

He swirled the remnants of the brandy in the mug before gulping it down. He was about to call Bennington for something stronger when he saw the truck chugging and wheezing its way up the street. It would not be long before Felonious could get a firsthand account of the glorious explosion and sinking of the ship bringing that monstrous symbol of American and French defiance.

There will be no Statue of Liberty, Felonious muttered. Not now that I’ve destroyed it.

He peered down at the struggling steam truck. Might as well make myself comfortable. Those clowns will be a while before they get here to report.

~ * ~

Felonious was sitting behind his massive desk when his minions trudged in. The men, both modeled after the great apes with massively muscled frames and sloping foreheads, were a mess. Their clothes were soaked and torn, and the minion on the right lacked part of an ear.

Felonious pulled the cigar out of his mouth and stared at them. What in heaven’s name happened to you two?

Minion number one, who had his entire ear, stared at the floor and shuffled his feet. Well, Boss. It’s like this…

Yes?

Well…the thing is… The big man couldn’t seem to get the words out. He looked at his companion. You tell him Lenny. Youse is better wit words than me.

Minion two, Lenny, who was missing part of his ear, seemed stunned to be put on the hot seat. Well, Boss. Um… He stumbled over the words, dragging them on.

Felonious banged his fist on the desk making both gorillas jump. Will you two stop dancing around and tell me what’s going on? I saw you blow up the ship. So why are you looking so guilty? Hmm? Tell me what’s going on right now.

Well, Boss, the thing is, we did blow up a boat like you said. We put the floating bombs into the harbor like you ordered. Thing is… Well, the wrong boat hit the bomb. Lenny cringed as he spoke the final words as if he expected to be struck.

Felonious glared from one minion to the other, his cigar dangling in his hand. So, the wrong ship hit it. You managed to sink the cursed French vessel that carried the statue, didn’t you?

"The Isere?" Minion one mumbled.

What?

"The French ship carrying the statue is the Isere," Lenny supplied helpfully.

I don’t give a damn what the ship is called. Did you or did you not sink the blasted French ship?

That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you, sir, Lenny said.

Felonious rubbed his fingertips against his throbbing temples, momentarily closing his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and tried another tactic when he opened them. His voice was calm when he spoke again. Yes, gentlemen. That is what I hope you will tell me. Did you blow up the French ship?

"The Isere?" Lenny asked, staring everywhere but at Felonious.

He ground his teeth together. If one of you don’t tell me in the next minute what I want to know, I shall have you both killed. Is that understood?

Yes, sir, both henchmen said in unison.

Felonious looked at them. They looked back.

So?

Not as such, sir, Minion one said, his voice barely audible.

I’m sorry, Felonious said. I didn’t quite catch that.

Lenny sighed. The breeze almost knocked Felonious over. No, sir. We didn’t sink it because the other ship hit the explosives and blew up. There was nothing left to blow up the French ship with. I tried to move the bomb, but all I managed was to get caught up in the blast myself.

Felonious turned his back to the men and stared out the window. You mean to tell me I give you two one thing to do—blow up the dirty French dogs and their abomination of a statue—and you can’t even get that right?

He paced. I thought I had the right men for the job when I hired you two. Now I find out I was wrong. Felonious spun about the room, speaking to himself—the only person he trusted. I was so certain you two were the right men. But if I was wrong, what am I going to do? I can’t have you two going around telling the world I was wrong. What would people think?

Boss, youse wasn’t wrong, Minion one said. We are the right guys for the job. It wasn’t our fault the wrong ship hit the bomb. The current grabbed it and carried it into the other ship’s path.

Felonious continued talking, ignoring that the goon had spoken at all. What should I do with these two? Perhaps I should simply kill them. Isn’t that what happens to people who fail?

Boss, give us another chance, Lenny pleaded. We can do it, I promise. We need the chance to go and try again. No one will ever know about the screw up.

Felonious stopped pacing and stared out the window. Perhaps I should be lenient. These men aren’t bad people. He laughed, happy at his own joke. Well, they are bad people, but they are not bad at what they do. Perhaps if they were to leave right now and try again and get it right, mind you, maybe, just maybe, I can let them live. I believe there is another explosive device in my workroom. It is clearly marked as ‘Explosive’. All any clever minion who wanted to get on his employer’s good side would need to do is put the explosives in a nondescript case, take said case and plant it on or near the French ship so it can be blown up. If they are as smart as their employer wants them to be, they will have the case in place by 10:00 a.m. so the explosion will happen during the big celebration. Maybe I should give them another chance, after all.

He clapped his hands together and spoke as he turned to face the henchmen. That is exactly what I’ll do… He feigned surprise. Well, what do you know? They’re gone. Perhaps they left to try again? He grinned. Felonious, you clever scoundrel you. You certainly know how to motivate your staff, don’t you?

~ * ~

The early morning hours suited Jack Kane fine. There were far fewer people out for one thing, but those who were awake at this hour were always doing something productive to get ready to start the day: packing or unpacking crates or loading or unloading lorries to be pushed back along the rails to the piers. These men would work until the sun rose and another shift would take over. Just like Jack, New York City never truly slept.

The aroma of a distant bakery caught his nose. If we’re lucky, Franklin, we’ll get ourselves a treat before heading home. How’s that sound, boy?

Franklin gave an approving whimper as Jack scratched him behind the ears.

You get one for being such a good boy. For me, I think I’ll treat myself to a pastry for getting the double wall done on my project. So many failures, and all it took was to build a double thick wall to resolve the pressure containment issue. Not only does it solve my problem, but this will also make my work go far more efficiently at the yard once it’s up and running.

The yard was in fact a junkyard that lay a few blocks back on the corner of Hudson and Jay Streets. Franklin had been found scavenging in a pile of trash on Franklin Street during Jack’s early morning walk the previous morning, and he took pity on the poor creature. He’d told himself, Jack, you can’t leave this poor fellow here to root through the trash.

Normally Jack would get to Beach Street and take a right at the New York Central and Hudson River Railroad Freight Depot and make his way over to Broadway before heading back to the yard, but something made him hesitate.

It wasn’t something he could easily explain, but the feeling caused him a moment’s pause. Perhaps it was a shift of the breeze or a change in pitch of the harbor bells, but Jack Kane stopped on the corner of Hudson and Beach and turned toward the piers.

There were no screams, not at first anyway, but only a bright flash of light that turned the early morning darkness into daytime for an instant. A concussive blast quickly followed the flash and knocked Jack end over teakettle. Poor Franklin rolled along with him.

Thankful for the early morning hour being free of heavier traffic, Jack shot to his feet. As he started to run along Beach to get to the pier, Franklin gave a whimper and refused to follow. Jack nearly fell thinking his partner would follow him anywhere.

What is it, boy? Come on. We’ve got to get to the pier and see if anyone needs assistance. It’s all right. Come along now.

Franklin refused to budge no matter how hard Jack tugged on the leash. He had to get to the piers to see what happened. Nothing ever exploded in this area on accident, and he knew of nothing that was planned to explode at such an early hour. It didn’t matter that few residents actually lived in this part of the city. Things didn’t go boom before the sun came up. They just didn’t.

All right. You win. You’ll have to wait for that snack until I get back. You be a good boy. I won’t be long.

Jack tied Franklin to the fireplug on the street corner then paused. If something had exploded on or near the pier that was a bad thing indeed, and deserved more caution than he was about to give it. He needed to move higher to get a good appraisal of the situation before hurrying in. Unfortunately, people weren’t happy about a person scampering across the rooftops unannounced. It was for occasions like this Jack Kane had created his very own alter ego.

From within his long coat he pulled the two halves of a metal mask he’d fashioned from bits of scrap metal and various parts. Most of the mask’s composition was of blackened steel with rivets keeping it all together. Two large, but different-sized, gears made the eyes. A brass skeleton key created a fine nose. The mouth was a simple rectangular slit covered with a mesh screen to hide the voice modulator.

It was more than a mask, but closer to a