Rip snatched the wrench off the floor and backed up, warily.

The man stood, effortlessly, as if he not just been knocked down by an enhanced projectile.

Thick smoke billowed between them, making it harder for Rip to breathe, but the tall man seemed to have no trouble with the fumes.

“Do you even know who I am?”

“Not sure I care.”

The pale eyes never wavered. They stared at Rip, grim and unyielding.

“You should. I am Dar Caul. I am your doom.”

Rip’s lips quirked up.

“Big words,” he taunted. “But you’re out of bullets.”

“So are you.”

The man moved quickly, Rip gave him that. He rushed forward, fists flying.

Rip ducked and came back with a left uppercut to Caul’s jaw, hitting with a solid thwack.

It barely fazed the taller man.

That was like hitting a brick wall, Rip thought, wincing from the pain in his knuckles.

Caul swung twice more but Rip dodged both times, making him swish air. His black leather overcoat creaked with the motion.

Smoke curled all around them.

Rip stepped back, closer to the hall and the room he had blown up.

He gripped the enhanced wrench in his right fist and leaned in, inviting another swing. The taller man struck, but Rip blocked it with his left and struck Dar Caul’s jaw with his right.

This time, holding the wrench behind his knuckles, Rip made a bigger impact, knocking the other man over slightly.

Caul looked up and rubbed his chin where Rip hit him, pale eyes glittering.

He darted forward, moving faster than Rip expected. His fists blurred and connected with Rip’s mouth and jaw three times in a row.

Even enhanced, Rip felt stunned. He staggered back, wiping blood off his lips.

“You were holding back, huh?”

Caul’s eyes narrowed and he said, “This ends, now.”

He pulled out a long dagger from his belt, the steel glinting through the smoke.

Rip focused on the blade and jumped with newly enhanced speed. One hand went for the wrist holding the knife, while he slammed down with the wrench on Caul’s forearm with every ounce of strength he could muster.

He heard a satisfying crack as Dar Caul’s forearm snapped, and the knife clattered to the floor.

Rip whaled on the big man’s face, striking it with the end of the wrench again and again, putting all his enhanced strength behind every swing.

Caul stepped back and Rip slammed the wrench against the side of his head, knocking him down the steps to the bridge. Rip jumped on top of him, keeping up the attack.

The pilot sprang out of his seat as both men fell to the floor of the bridge.

Rip did not stop flailing Dar Caul until the larger man’s eyes closed, his face now battered and bruised. Then he looked up and locked eyes with the pilot.

The man’s eyes grew big behind his gasmask, right as Rip jumped up and slammed the wrench home in one smooth motion, straight into his right eye.

The pilot fell back over the chair dead, his body pushing in the steering wheel sticking out of the leather dashboard.

The nose of the ship dipped down at a steep angle and all the bodies on the floor slid toward the front.

Rip grunted, pulling the pilot off the wheel and down to the floor. Then he pulled his wrench out of the man’s eye with a sucking sound. A small gusher of blood came out with it. He quickly wiped the wrench off on the dead man’s clothes and put it back in his coat pocket.

The ship still headed down, and fast. A tower loomed in the windscreen ahead. Rip sat down in the pilot’s seat and pulled back on the wheel, trying to level the ship out before they hit it. He saw four clock faces staring out from the tower in cardinal directions.

“Not Big Ben!”

The airship felt sluggish, and slow to respond. The rapid descent slowed, but he still had trouble leveling out. He pulled the wheel as hard back as he could but the tower seemed to rush for the windscreen now.

He turned the wheel hard to the right and the tower shifted a bit with their new trajectory.

“It’s like trying to steer the Titanic!”

They seemed to approach the huge clock tower in slow motion. They rose slightly and drifted to the right. Big Ben passed under the bridge and the windshield, the tip of its highest point close enough to touch.

“Did we make it?”

The ship shuddered as the bottom of the cabin brushed against the top of the tower. A horrible screeching noise sounded throughout the cabin as the enhanced light wood, already weakened by dynamite, finally gave way.

The engine mountings in the back ripped off as the ship moved slowly forward .The wheel swung loose in Rip’s hands.

The rear of the ship sank down as the tower penetrated. Then the envelope in the very back of the dirigible hit the tower with enough force to rip through the enhanced fabric.

At last the airship pulled free from Big Ben, like an enormous whale pulling off a giant harpoon. But helium rushed out in back, and with no more engines or ailerons, the dirigible headed inexorably down.

“Aw, man!”

Rip gave up trying to control it. The windshield showed nothing but the ground now.

Slowly, water came into view.

“And there’s the Thames.”

The ship headed down for the river at a sharp angle.

“We’re gonna pull a Sully and land in the water . . .”

The nose struck water first with a splash, the impact reverberating throughout the ship.

The cabin plopped down belly first, the rear airbags now thoroughly deflated.

“I gotta get outta here.”

Rip scrambled up the steps and back into the passenger area, waving aside the smoke still pouring from the hallway. He made it to the sliding entry door, in the same place as the Steel Comet’s, and pulled it open. Water poured in as the ship began to settle, moving slightly with the currrent.

He dove in, leaving the Tommy gun behind. When his head broke the surface he swam as hard as he could to get out from under the frame of the dirigible, which was coming down fast now as more gasbags burst.

When he felt sunlight on his face, he kept going, concerned the gurgling sounds behind him might involved the ship sucking him down with it. He had no idea how deep the river was here, but he decided to take no chances, and swam for shore as fast as he could.

At last he reached the bank and pulled himself up in the mud and grass. Once on level ground, he collapsed to catch his breath.

Whistles sounded from the street and a dozen blue-clad policeman ran up to him.

Slowly, bedraggled and wet, he stood up to meet them. Once on his feet, he realized the officers all had their clubs in hand. No one smiled at him, either.

“I’m with the Royal Venture Society.”

That seems like the appropriate thing to say.

“Where’s your badge?” one of the men said, with more than a trace of suspicion.

“I was just enhanced a little while ago, when this airship attacked Doctors’ Commons. I don’t have one yet. I’m with Bixby’s Bandits, though. Lord Bixby will vouch for me.”

Then he remembered someone else.

“Chief Inspector Sperry was at Doctors’ Commons, too. He’ll know me.”

That name at last made all the men relax. Most of them put the billy clubs back in their belt loops.

One of them said, “Did you do that? Did you bring that thing down all by yourself?”

Rip glanced over to Big Ben to see if the tower was damaged by the airship’s impact. He could not tell from here, but the highest point might have broken off.

Are they gonna take that outta my paycheck? Do I even get a paycheck?

Before he could answer the officer, he saw a black shape on the opposite side of the river, heading toward the banks.

The tall man, Dar Caul, climbed out of the water.

He stood, dripping wet, and locked eyes with the sergeant. Even from this distance, Rip could see the fury blazing in his battered face.

Then Caul turned and disappeared from view.