Those pursuers—Chloe Carnarvon and her men in the two gunships—swooped after them, flying fast and low, their side-cannons blazing.

Nobody swept his chopper down 42nd Street and into Times Square just as two huge digital billboards exploded in a zillion sparks, ripped apart by the first pursuing chopper’s storm of gunfire.

Rotors booming, Nobody banked their chopper left, rocketing low over Times Square and blasting away down Broadway.

‘I can’t shake ’em!’ he yelled.

‘Whoever holds this bell holds the fate of whole populations in their hands!’ Iolanthe called back. ‘We can’t let Chloe get it! We have to think of some way out of this!’

Raven Rock Mountain Complex (Site R)

Blue Ridge Summit, Pennsylvania

Same time

The Air France 737 exploded on the runway.

The Delta commandos guarding Pooh Bear and Stretch—and the Knight of the Golden Eight commanding the legion of bronzemen behind them—had been caught completely unawares by the sudden blast.

But Pooh and Stretch had been ready.

As had Sister Lynda and Dr Tracy Smith.

This had been their daring plan.

They all whipped out their guns and opened fire, blasting the Delta commandos to hell and—most importantly—nailing the Knight at the front of the legion of bronzemen.

It was Stretch, former sniper and deadeye marksman, who hit the Knight squarely in the forehead, dropping him.

Pooh was on the man in an instant, taking the striking ancient ring off the man’s finger and putting it on his own . . .

. . . and suddenly, he had command of all the bronzemen.

The royal banker, Sir John Marren, grabbed a gun off the ground and was whirling around to fire on Pooh Bear when Tracy Smith shot him—three quick expert shots—and Marren’s chest burst open with three bloody wounds and he fell.

Covered by Tracy, Pooh ordered the bronzemen into action immediately, while Stretch—covered by Sister Lynda—got started on his part, the final part, of their plan.

The Throne of the Tree of Death

29 December, 0454 hours

12 minutes till Omega

Jack and Sphinx were still pinned down by Rastor’s heavy gunfire inside the chapel at the edge of the round space surrounding the Throne of Death.

And suddenly it hit Jack.

‘I do have a solution,’ he said to himself as the realisation dawned.

He turned to Sphinx. ‘We both have the same solution. Didn’t you have some kind of electromagnetic shield before? A Warbler of some kind?’

‘I lost the damn thing inside the rotating maze!’ Sphinx shouted. ‘It doesn’t matter, he’s firing high-velocity tracer rounds! There’s no knowing if a Warbler could deflect those rounds! Would take a hell of a device to deflect them!’

Jack gritted his teeth.

‘My Warbler was designed by Max Epper. He wouldn’t let me down.’