Chapter 11 The Flame of Death

Big-fisted Renny Renwick carried metal equipment cases from the engineer's plane to Doc Savage's huge gray tri-motor. Each case was numbered, and although there was an index--somewhere--to the contents of the cases, the man of bronze knew by memory what was in each case. Doc Savage spent two hours every day doing an exhaustive regimen of exercises, both mental and physical, to hone his muscular body and keen mind. The physical exercises pitted muscle against muscle, so that Doc could perform them anywhere, without carrying all sorts of equipment around with him. The mental exercises consisted of various calculations--such as finding the cube root of a multiple digit number--and memory retention routines. The bronze man probably concentrated the most on the last of these. Giant Renny also knew, in a way, what was in these cases, because of what the puny-looking Long Tom had told him. The equipment would be used to determine how men had been turned to stone. After receiving a telephone call from Long Tom, Doc had ordered them put on his all-metal job, and then left to pursue the "Locker" lead, not saying how he would do so. It was the long-standing practice of Doc's band of adventurers not to inform the others when pursuing a lead surreptitiously, as when donning a disguise. "What you don't know can't hurt me," Monk, Doc Savage's ape-like aide, had said when the policy had been formed, referring to the fact that a man being tortured for information cannot reveal what he doesn't know. Big Renny inferred they would be leaving soon, but did not know where they would be going. He didn't ask the bronze man; the engineer knew it would have been pointless, because of Doc's habit of remaining tight-lipped during an investigation. A red-and-white eyesore of a cab pulled into the hangar, and Lucky Loo disembarked from the vehicle. "I got the stuff the boss wanted," he informed the big engineer, holding forth a picnic basket crammed to overflowing with food. "A picnic basket?" boomed Renny, sounding like thunder gobbling in a cave. Lucky shrank back a foot. "The boss didn't say anything about what to put the food in," he said, defensively, trying his best not to be intimidated by the big engineer. "Stow it in the galley," instructed Renny. The huge tri-motor was equipped for long flights, with a small galley, writing desk and sleeping berths. At the rear of the plane was a laboratory which Doc used as needed. As well-equipped as it was, discovering the transforming mechanism of the "stone death" was beyond the scope of the small lab. "The boss must have the thing figured out if we're going to leave the city," said Lucky, passing the big engineer on his way to Doc's plane. "Doc frequently knows more than he says," rumbled giant Renny. He suddenly smiled grimly. "And who said anything about you going along?" From the door of the tri-motor, Lucky shrugged. "You're short-handed; you need my help." Renny "hmf"-ed aloud, sounding like a car engine turning over but not starting, as Lucky Loo disappeared inside the all-metal plane. Little Joe Blosser--Doc Savage--returned to the fore deck of the tramp steamer. During the course of his movements throughout the small ship, the bronze man had learned that his missing aide, Johnny Littlejohn, was not aboard. Although he was heavily-disguised--colored glass caps over his own flake-gold irises, a skin-lightening dye, a black wig and other sundry appliances such as the scar and the out-thrust chin--the man of bronze was careful not to arouse suspicion by his activities. He was trusted only so far, and had never been allowed out of sight of another of the gang. On deck, dusky men--Doc had noticed that several of the men on board were of Spanish origin--hauled a metal drum from off top a crate. A startled cry caught the bronze man's attention. He turned in time to see the drum crash onto the deck. The men ran away from the damaged drum. They ran as quickly as they could, heedless of the yells of Shanks. The dapper man appeared from behind some crates. Shanks' voice was strident as he ran toward the fleeing men. He suddenly backed away when he saw the drum. Doc Savage glanced back at the cause of the commotion. A glow erupted from a small tear in the fifty gallon drum--a glow the bronze man recognized from Treasure Island. The stuff pouring from the gash was like liquid flame. It was bright, shedding light, and had substance. The viscous stuff poured out onto the wooden deck, and seemed to evaporate on contact--the planks were being transformed into stone! Doc Savage had never seen anything like it. A sound like the wind whistling through a forest with limbs devoid of leaves filled the fore deck. It took a moment for Doc to realize he was making his trilling noise. The sound had come out of him unconsciously. "Doc Savage!" exclaimed Shanks. His steely eyes roved the deck until they lit upon the brawny new recruit, "Little Joe". Something in the dapper killer's mind clicked when he saw the giant sailor. "Get him," snarled the natty straw boss, indicating Little Joe with the wave of a thick forearm. As tough-looking men closed in--mostly unarmed because of the manual labor they had been doing, although a few carried hand guns--Doc Savage ran toward the side of the ship--bowling over a man to get there--and leaped overboard. With the breath he had taken, the bronze man could have remained submerged for a few minutes, not long enough to swim to safety. Within that time, the thugs would have recovered their guns and be hunting him, an easy target in the open water. So Doc circled beneath the ship, coming up on the side of the hull opposite the one he had vaulted. Doc Savage took several deep breaths, oxygenating his lungs. Angry cries came from above, on the deck of the tramp steamer. He heard footfalls run the length of the ship, back and forth, searching for him on the wrong side of the tramp steamer. If he were not the target of their wrath, the bronze man might have found the gunmen's antics amusing. But he was completely unarmed, without a single gadget. He had left everything behind--including the bulletproof vest itself--in the belief he might be searched, and found out. Finally, the bronze man took a moderate breath, one which would not strain his lungs, and sank below the surface, slowly stroking away from the steamship. The armed gunmen of Medusa probably could not conceive the distance Doc could travel beneath the surface on a pair of lungs fully filled with air. At least, that was what the bronze man was counting on. He propelled himself away from the steamship with powerful strokes. Dapper Shanks said, "Savage hasn't surfaced yet, and no man can hold his breath for this length of time. He must have drowned." Medusa glared at thick-forearmed man. "Do you really believe that, Shanks?" "My beliefs are unimportant, sir," Shanks said uncomfortably. "I'm only stating the facts as I know them." This comment was met by silence. "Evacuate the ship," Medusa said finally. "With Savage this close, we'll have to use a plane. Find a fast one. He may have figured out where we're going." Natty Shanks turned to leave, opening the door. "Shanks," said Medusa, softly. The well-dressed straw boss glanced back at the "stone death" mastermind. "Yes, sir?" "You realize how lucky you are?" Medusa asked in a too-quiet voice. There was no menace or emotion of any kind to it. He might just have well as asked "are you hungry?" for all the emotional content he gave the question. "Yes, sir," Shanks said uncomfortably, swallowing nervously. "Go," said Medusa. The dapper dandy closed the door behind him as he left. Natty Shanks knew he had just avoided the "stone death". Doc Savage tread water effortlessly beside a small boat several hundred feet away from Medusa's tramp steamer. Face impassive, the bronze man watched as the members of Medusa's gang fled the small ship, black smoke pouring from its hold, resembling an ominous ebony serpent slithering skyward. Medusa had set fire to the steamer, destroying any clues the gang had left behind. There would be nothing left of the ship by the time the city's fire department arrived. Doc Savage swam to shore, his bronze features not showing the disgust he felt.

The Stone Death Written By: Jeff Deischer Dedicated to "Kenneth Robeson X" for his encouragement. The Stone Man is a work of fan fiction. Doc Savage is © Conde Nast Back to: Top of Page Index Page Home Page