Free Golden Heart (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles) by P. J. Thorndyke Page A

British destroyers welded together and had not one balloon, but several, clustered like swollen hemorrhoids. On the side of the largest was the Confederate flag, and beneath it in white block letters was written; ‘ Fort Flagstaff II ’. Lazarus began to understand why the Hualapai lived in fear.
    “What in the hell is that?” asked Vasquez, his eyes wide.
    “This here is Fort Flagstaff on the move,” the captain answered. “It’s the Confederate navy’s greatest achievement. With five of these we could level the Union and win the war for good and all.”
    They descended into the shadow of the colossal balloons and on the deck below, Lazarus could make out several other dirigibles in dry docks, their balloons deflated. There were Interceptors like the Santa Bella and also other, larger craft. He realized then that this was more than just a dirigible. It was a dirigible carrier . They landed and clambered down onto the wooden deck. The captain sent somebody to fetch the general while he oversaw the securing of his vessel.
    A large man whose  uniform had a white collar with three gold stars and a wreath on it marched over to them, flanked by several soldiers. He had wide side whiskers only touched with . “Gerard Vasquez,” the general exclaimed. “My lucky day.”
    Vasquez’s eyes blazed. “Reynolds! So those crazy bastards put you in charge of this airborne asylum. If my hands weren’t manacled, I’d choke the life out of you.”
    Hok’ee suddenly lurched forward in a furious burst of rage, and nearly reached the General before he was clubbed down by four soldiers. He cursed in Navajo and they continued beating him until he barely had his senses left.
    “General,” said Lazarus, stepping forward, alarmed by the vitriolic reaction of his companions. “My name is Lazarus Longman, agent of the British Empire. I believe you have been in contact with my associate, Morton.”
    “Yes sir, I have indeed. We were expecting you many days ago.”
    “There have been some unfortunate diversions from the original plan, but here they are and here is the map.” He held the iron box out.
    “Limey, if you give the map to this man, I’ll shoot you myself,” said Vasquez.
    Lazarus hesitated and then handed it over.
    General Reynolds opened the box and looked inside. He smiled. “Let’s adjourn to my office,” he said. “It’s mighty chilly out here on deck. Captain, escort the prisoners to the brig.”
    “General, these men have come here of their own free will to aid you,” said Lazarus.
    “Your mission was to deliver them to me,” said the general. “They are dangerous criminals; one a deserter and the other an escaped prisoner.”
    “I gave them my word that I would vouch for them, Sir.”
    “Then you’re a fool, begging your pardon. These men will shoot you in the back first chance they get. Now get them out of here!”
    “General, I must insist,” said Lazarus, wilting under Vasquez’s stare as he and Hok’ee were hauled away, under arrest for the second time in the same number of days. “These men have been the very word of cooperation in coming here.”
    “Insist? On my air-fortress? You’ve done your duty, Mr. Longman. Let me handle things from here.”
    Lazarus threw Vasquez an apologetic look and tried to reassure him that everything would be fine. But Vasquez’s eyes were outmatched only by the piercing stare of Hok’ee, who seemed to be able to tear holes through him with those black pupils. Lazarus was consumed by an awful feeling of betrayal as he followed General Reynolds to his office.
    They passed a platform in the deck that was being raised amid a fug of vapor. On it stood six mechanicals; highly polished, highly equipped war machines painted with Confederate colors. These were no rust-streaked tin cans like the Mecha-guard onboard the Mary Sue . This was the new face of war; clean, ruthless and efficient.
    “As you can see,” said Reynolds standing proudly with his gloved hands