Simeon lunged back into view, his gun coming up—
Eddie threw himself into a dive. Two shots tore past him as he hit the floor and rolled behind the clock’s drive. Simeon ran towards him.
He jumped up — and hurled the empty gun at the cultist’s head.
Simeon jerked back, snapping up both arms to deflect the spinning hunk of metal away from his face. A grunt of pain, then he recovered, advancing once more as Eddie ducked behind the giant motor.
A bleep from the hub. The gunman looked back in alarm, then dropped—
The bomb detonated.
The explosion was more powerful than either man expected. Metal panels blew from their supports as a ragged hole ripped open in the clock’s face. Shrapnel flew across the machine room. A supporting beam tore loose, scything away more panels and crashing down on top of the hub. A fierce wind shrieked in through the rent.
Simeon, caught in the open, had been knocked over by the blast. Eddie saw his chance and rushed at him.
The gun came up again—
Eddie kicked it from his hand. The pistol glanced off the motor and disappeared through the opening into the emptiness beyond. Simeon cried out. His opponent drove another kick at his head.
The blow made contact, blood spurting from Simeon’s burst lip, but the American still managed to grab Eddie’s leg — and now he was off balance as Simeon tried to drag him down.
He staggered — and his hand slapped one of the giant cogs. He jerked it away just before it was crushed in the gears, but he was now past the point of no return and fell heavily to the floor.
Simeon clawed at him. Eddie lashed out with his other foot. A sharp smack — and the African American lurched back as the Yorkshireman’s boot heel struck his eye socket.
Eddie dragged himself upright and pressed his attack, kicking the dazed man hard in the stomach before grabbing him and throwing him against the exposed gears.
Simeon’s robe caught in the cogs. He tried to fight back, but was abruptly restrained as the material pulled tight around his neck, the mechanism slowly but remorselessly drawing his clothing between its teeth. Eddie hit him again, then looked around. Where was the angel?
Outside, he could see the clock’s long hand, pointing towards the eight. It had been damaged by the explosion and flying debris, a long, jagged split along its length surrounded by shards of carbon fibre. Closer to him, the motor was making a deep, ominous buzzing noise. The broken girder had wedged against the shaft bearing the clock’s massive hands, jamming the mechanism. It was at risk of overheating and catching fire, or even exploding as the electrical system overloaded.
But there was a greater threat. The statue lay under the hub, just inches from the gaping hole in the clock face.
And it was moving, creeping towards the precipice.
For a moment Eddie thought the wind was blowing it, until a vibration through his feet told him the true cause. The fallen beam had jammed the clock — but the motor was still trying to turn the gears. The entire mechanism was shuddering, transmitting the movement through the floor.
Ripping cloth. He looked back to see Simeon tear free from his robes. The American’s eye was almost shut where Eddie had kicked it, but his other was open and blazing with rage.
Simeon was still a danger — but if the angel fell, the gas would kill thousands. He had to save it—
Eddie rushed to the hub. The shaft was not far above the floor, forcing him to crouch to reach the statue. The vibration became more pronounced as the overload built up. He ignored it, groping for the sculpture and pulling it from its hiding place.
Running footsteps behind him—
He jumped up, turning to face his opponent — as Simeon delivered a flying kick squarely to his chest.
Eddie spun backwards… and toppled through the hole.
34
Mecca rolled far below the Englishman, the wind screaming in his ears as he fell—
He hit the clock’s long hand and grabbed at it in terrified desperation. He jolted to a halt, the fifty-six-foot pointer digging hard against his armpits as he dangled from its upper edge.
But he was far from safe. The clock’s hands were as elaborately decorated as the rest of the enormous timepiece, but the curlicued gold details were simply applied to the surface, offering no grip. And he could feel the whole thing shaking from both the impact of his landing and the vibrations of the overloading motor. He kicked backwards, trying to brace himself against the clock, but managed only to break off LEDs set into the sheer face.
Still clutching the angel, Eddie strained to raise himself higher. If he could secure the statue inside his jacket, he might be able to climb back to the hole—
The clock hand jolted, almost shaking him loose. He squeezed both arms against it to pin himself in place. But he still began to slide sideways… and downwards.
The minute hand was moving — and at a much faster rate than sixty seconds per minute. Loud cracks came from the gear mechanism at the hub’s end as teeth were stripped from an overstressed cog—
An explosive bang of shearing metal, and the long hand swung freely from its axle, six tons of steel and composites sweeping down towards the vertical. Eddie slithered along its edge — until it dropped out from under him.
He plunged, both raised arms scrabbling helplessly for a hold—
His feet hit a jagged slab of carbon fibre. It snapped under his weight, but slowed him for the fraction of a second he needed to thrust his left arm into the crack down the clock hand’s damaged rear.
Broken shards tore through his jacket and slashed his skin, making him scream, yet he still managed to grab a thick skein of wiring. Some of the LEDs embedded in the front of the huge pointer tore out, but more held. He jerked to a stop as the minute hand swung pendulously back and forth over the six o’clock position.
Eddie gasped for breath. Directly below him was the observation deck. He saw the curved supports of the protective netting, and considered letting go and dropping on to it, before realising that would be suicide. The net was pulled drum-tight; falling on to it from this height would be like landing on a trampoline, catapulting him over the edge.
But the hand’s tip was less than fifteen feet above the netting. If he climbed down further, he might make it…
A fierce jolt cancelled all thought beyond holding on. He looked up. The entire axle assembly was visibly shaking, more fragments of the ruptured clock face falling past him. The wind drew a streamer of smoke out through the hole; it became darker and thicker as he watched, swirling away into the sky. The overloading motor was catching fire.
Simeon appeared at the opening. He looked down, expression changing to an almost offended anger as he saw Eddie still alive below. He ducked back inside with a barely suppressed obscenity, returning holding a broken metal spar — which he threw at the Englishman.
Eddie whipped his right arm above his head just fast enough to take the painful blow. If it had struck his skull, it would have knocked him senseless. The steel bar fell away, bouncing off the netting to be flung into the void.
Another violent shudder. He managed to jam the statue inside his jacket before taking hold of a carbon-fibre spearhead with his right hand, forcing himself to ignore the pain as it cut his palm.
Above him, the hour hand was now rocking violently against the axle like a ruler twanged on the edge of a desk. More panels in the clock face buckled outwards. The smoke grew more dense, and even over the wind he could hear a fearsome electrical growl. It wasn’t just the clock’s motor: the overload was feeding back into the transformers powering it, and he knew from experience that could have explosive results.