Chapter 21
Tracking the Devil
"We're gonna melt!"
Hot on the heels of Renny's shout, an inexplicable noise filled the plane. A loud sort of burring buzz that originated from the rear of the craft and actually shook its entire structure.
Doc's golden gaze swiftly took in the quaking indicators and disturbed gauges arrayed before him. The yoke actually shivered within the mighty grip of the bronze man's hands. Ordering Renny to take over the controls, Doc whipped to the rear of the plane.
Here was stowed a variety of Doc's equipment cases. The sound was louder here. Rapidly unlashing and shifting aside the boxes, Doc found the noisemaker -- a round-cornered triangular-shaped box encased in brass, about three times the size of a cigar box, held to the flying wing's metal deck by magnetic clamps.
Doc resisted the urge to cover his ears. Pains shot through his feet and up his legs. The unsecured cases skittered across the plane's deck.
The bronze man dared not touch the thing. He opened one of the equipment cases and withdrew a thickly-insulated flask, which he opened. He poured its contents over the shaking devil. The thing rapidly began to melt, for Doc had doused it with a highly concentrated acid.
Doc opened an exhaust vent to flush out the acid's vile fumes when the shaking thing ceased its vibrations. He also dashed a neutralizer over the mess to keep the corrosive from eating through the belly of the plane.
He rejoined Renny in the cockpit. The giant engineer still had a worried expression. "What was that?" he asked.
"That," Doc answered, "was the elusive catalyst. And don't worry about the melting sun problem. We're safe. So are Admiral Ryan's ships."
"Holy cow, Doc! How?"
The bronze man pointed to the windscreen. "Notice that the visibility has gotten a bit murky? You'll even see some crystal formations along the seams. Monk concocted this goo that I spread over all the wing's exposed surfaces. It basically neutralizes the effect of the bleeding sun chemical. With further work, Monk was able to improve it, which is what the Navy ships spent the night slathering on their ships. The murkiness results as the mixture reacts with the melting chemical. Monk also devised an ointment that the sailors could use on their skin and clothing. I call it bleeding sunblock."
"What was that racketing devil back there, the catalyst, you called it?"
"Barlowe's men would attach gadgets like that to ships from the miniature subs. Apparently they were switched on with a radio control, probably by the subs or one of Barlowe's planes. When activated, they set up a tremendous vibration in whatever they're attached to. Perhaps not as noticeable in a large ship, but very obvious in a plane this size."
"But why, Doc?"
"From my limited study of the melting phenomenon, I'd say the chemical mixture released by the planes weakens the electro-chemical forces binding the molecules of whatever it touches."
"What does light have to do with it?"
"Experiments have shown light to act as both wave and particle. But whatever light actually is, the tiny packets of energy that travel along as light actually would knock apart the individual atoms of the chemically weakened molecules -- so the light seemed to actually melt people and ships into nothingness.
"That worked alone for relatively delicate materials like human flesh or cloth. But sturdier materials, like steel, required the intense frequencies released by this shaking devil to act as a catalyst, to assist in the melting process. This device," Doc said while gesturing to the melted puddle in the rear, "was undoubtedly hidden aboard while the wing was grounded in the hangar. I'm sure Barlowe had me shadowed in the City, so someone would have reported my leaving in this wing. It would have been a simple matter to locate it after I arrived here."
*
Reaching the Navy base again, Doc and Renny were informed by Lt. Sherman that Monk had been repeatedly calling from New York.
"Doc, they're taking Ham to Japan!" Monk screeched as soon as Doc Savage called his headquarters.
The bronze man asked for a full report of what he and the various operatives had learned. When Monk described the activity at the shipbuilding yard where Ham had been captured, Doc asked the name and address of the yard.
After Monk gave his reply, Admiral Ryan's office was filled with the weird trilling noise that Doc uttered at times of surprise. It rarely happened these days, as the bronze man had conditioned himself to avoid this unconscious response, so the look of surprise on the faces of Ryan and Lt. Sherman was matched by that of the giant engineer, Renny.
After a few more remarks, Doc rang off. "Admiral Ryan," Doc said, "with your leave, I'd like Renny to take a trip with me. We may be gone a few days. We have to rescue one of my associates, Ham Brooks."
*
When Doc entered the room where Curly Wolfe and his daughter were being held, Black Cat Jackson whipped to the bronze man and gave his face a ringing slap.
"Your blasted interference has ruined everything!" she cried.
An expression of great surprise crossed Doc's face. Not often had women confronted him in quite this way.
"I heard the story you handed Barlowe," Doc said. "Some of it was clearly true. But some of it was obviously false."
"Oh, you think you know so much!" the dark-haired beauty shouted.
"My men found and questioned Harry Portman," Doc explained. "I know your father hired him to find your husband, Hiram, though Harry didn't quite have all the story."
Black Cat made fists that trembled with her rage.
"I investigated the tunnels Barlowe's men used for making and storing the melting chemical. What does Hiram look like?"
"He's tall and slim, with dark hair and brown eyes," Curly Wolfe spoke up for the first time. "Gotta small dark spot on his chin like a little bruise. Did you see him?"
"No," the bronze man answered, and the young woman sat down, slumped in her seat. Doc did not add that those men in the underground lab were killed either during the Navy's invasion or the explosion Barlowe triggered after the hideout was compromised. Earlier, Lt. Sherman had related to the bronze man that Navy technicians had located and defused the bombs set around the farmhouse attacked during the dark hours of this morning.
Curly Wolfe shook his head. "I told that monster some terrible lies. I oughta wash my mouth out with lye for some of the things I said to that son of a she-coyote. Those men with me, the ones his gang killed -- they weren't men I'd hired in the city. They were good ol' boys that worked with me back on the oil fields. Fine boys, been with me fer years. I just told Barlowe that hogwash so's he'd think I was a tough customer. It makes my heart ache, Savage, it surely does."
He paused, then looked up at Doc. "This whole thing is just about Cat's Hiram. Not about mineral extraction or any of that mess I told Barlowe. She went looking for Hiram on the inside of the Blind Man's gang, and when I found out what she was up to, I started looking from the outside. I didn't want Barlowe to find out about me, 'cause he woulda killed my darlin' girl."
"Barlowe escaped," Doc said. "I'm sure he's gone to the Blind Man, who has one of my associates. I'm going after him. Do you want to come along?"
Curly Wolfe and Black Cat Jackson looked at the bronze man. A fierce glow filled their gazes. The cracking of Wolfe's roughened knuckles filled the room.
"Let's go get 'em!" he said.
*
Ranks of domed white clouds marched over Colorado toward the horizon. Out of the bright morning sky buzzed a silver plane that touched down outside Denver at Buckley Field.
Although any schoolboy will answer that Colorado is a land-locked state, the Navy maintained Buckley for testing ordnance and training fliers and artillerymen how to use that hardware.
Doc Savage was the first of the passengers to step down from the plane. The bronze man usually preferred to pilot any plane he traveled in, but the Navy supplied this craft and its pilot. And the trip allowed Doc time to rest and to think.
Black Cat Jackson, Curly Wolfe -- his goggles repaired and back on his face -- and Renny Renwick followed Doc onto the tarmac. They were met by a jeep, whose driver told Doc, "Your associate, Mr. Mayfair, is waiting at Admiral Murray's office."
In the admiral's office, Monk rushed up to Doc. The chemist still exhibited a frantic expression. "Doc, what are we gonna do about Ham?" The simian-faced chemist caught sight of Black Cat Jackson then, and his ugly features re-arranged into an expression of delight. "Why hello, bee-yoo-tiful." Then he frowned a particularly ugly scowl. "Say, you're part of this mess that got Ham kidnapped. And you!" Monk made a fist and hurled himself at Curly Wolfe, but was held back by Doc. "You whacked my noggin with that blasted antique cannon! Hey!"
"Settle down, Monk," Doc ordered. "Let's be polite for a moment."
The bronze man greeted Admiral Murray, a tall, hawk-eyed man. Renny had the feeling that the officer's steely gaze could burn a hole right through a person, and Murray could know what a man was thinking just by looking at him.
Introductions made, the group sat and Doc explained the presence of Wolfe and his daughter. Monk sulked a little less obviously after hearing the history behind his encounters with this rough-and-tumble father-and-daughter team.
"After you were captured, I did what I could to keep you from being killed," Black Cat explained to the rusty-haired chemist. "And to find out what the bleeding sun targets would be. But Barlowe always had plans of his own. For example, I only found out about the Boston tanker a few hours ahead of time. I couldn't stop it."
"I went there looking for Hiram," Curly Wolfe spoke up, "but he was nowhere to be found."
Murray interrupted. "So why are you here, Dr. Savage?" Eyes turned to the officer. "I got a wire from Admiral Ryan that you'd be coming, that your man Mayfair would meet you from New York City, and a few other details, but nothing really specific. I'm interested in assisting you -- as I've been ordered to do by the War Department -- but I've got a base to run and other responsibilities that will quickly be taking a higher priority. There's a war still on, you know."
"Yeah," squeaked Monk, "how are we gonna get to Japan to rescue Ham?"
Doc answered calmly, "We're not going to Japan."
Renny was thuderstruck into silence, and after a moment of marveling at his leader, Monk complained loudly.
"Consider," Doc cut off Monk's tirade, "that the Blind Man and his crew have used one primary technique: misdirection. Like a stage magician who directs his audience's attention away from the mechanics of his trick, the Blind Man has directed the attention of the military away from what is now its primary target: Japan.
"The melting sun attacks all occurred on the East coast. The gang's plan, I'm sure, was to stir up nationwide dismay to dull the euphoria that rose with the announcement of peace in Europe. Bringing a threat to the eastern shores of America would cause the increasingly tight focus on the Pacific Theatre of War to be split again. The military would devote resources far from Japan to battle the threat to its eastern seaboard. Japan would therefore not immediately have to bear the brunt of a more vigorous and strengthened U.S. attack force."
"But Ham!" sputtered Monk.
"The only reason we know Ham is heading for Japan is because the Blind Man's crew told you so. Again, we can assume they are employing misdirection. With the inroads the military has made on Japan's territory, it would now be nearly impossible for someone to travel from this country undetected to Japan. So the Blind Man -- and Ham -- are undoubtedly closer to home than the Empire of the Rising Sun."
"Why are we in Colorado, Doc?" Renny's voice boomed out.
The buzzing of Admiral Murray's phone brought conversation to a halt. After Murray listened, responded, "Send him in," and hung up, he looked to Doc. "Your local man has arrived."
"Holy cow, is Johnny here?" Renny asked.
The door opened and in walked a vigorous-looking fellow dressed in very dusty khaki clothing and carrying an even dustier Stetson cowboy hat. His sleeves were rolled above his elbows, and his skin was darkly tanned. He grinned widely at the group. "Not Professor Littlejohn, I'm afraid, Mr. Renwick. I'm Howard Hopkins. I've been assisting operative Jenson back in the big city where you fellows hail from."
The bronze man greeted the newcomer and shook hands. "Hiya, Doc!" Hopkins said. "Good to see ya again. By the way, your wheeled package was located and it arrived safely in California."
Doc nodded thanks.
Operative Hopkins turned his attention to Admiral Murray. "Howdy, Will! Y'know, Doc, I've known the admiral here since back in the days when the closest he could get to the Navy was fishing in Jeffy Sines' leaky row boat on old man Farmer's pond."
A smile finally broke through Murray's scowl. "Savage, if you're relying on this prairie dog for help, you're in trouble," he joked.
"To get back to your question, Mr. Renwick, the notes for placing the ads in Spicy Sea Stories were telegraphed from an office in a small town named Stillwell," Hopkins said.
"Barlowe or the Blind Man used these ads to recruit his crew of thugs, including the Killer Kalbs," Doc explained.
"I didn't know the Blind Man operated out of Colorado," Black Cat said. "I originally followed Hiram's trail to New Orleans."
"Apparently the Blind Man had bases scattered across the country," Doc said. "We know he has one here, so we're checking it out. Ham -- and Hiram -- may be there. Maybe not. But we're starting our search here."
"My investigations and snoopings have traced a likely camp at Table Lake," operative Hopkins added. "Whoever placed the ads came from there and returned."
The wiry operative plucked a topological map from his back pocket and unfolded it on Murray's desk. Squiggly lines had been penciled onto the map.
"You can see that Table Lake is a sort of oval-shaped bowl that gets its name because of its elevation -- it stands above its immediate surroundings, although there are mountains all around the area. But Table Lake sort of stands alone -- like a mesa, but filled with water."
Hopkins pointed to the pencil marks. "These are rough roads and trails around the Lake, whose waters are supplied by springs deep at its bottom. The lake feeds creeks, which are marked here. We'll follow this one up to the mountainside today."
"In broad daylight?" Curly Wolfe asked.
"Yup, we'll be outfitted as prospectors to throw off any suspicions," Hopkins said, then cast a look at Black Cat Jackson. "May take a little more outfittin' for the lady to pass as a grizzled old prospectin' coot, though."
The lady of Hopkins' attention proffered no response to his remarks.
"And the goin' is pretty rugged," Hopkins continued. "You gotta set aside your vanity and imagine yourself to be part mountain goat to get along some of these trails."
This time, Black Cat directed a boulder-withering glare at Hopkins, but the unflappable operative simply returned to his presentation.
"I've found signs of recent foot and wheeled traffic along this trail, but then it reaches this point," he said as a finger tapped the map, "and all signs are gone. I figure this Blind Man and his crew are close by."
"Why should it be them?" Renny rumbled.
"Old-fashioned snoopin', Mr. Renwick, thanks to asking questions at the Stillwell telegraph office, banks, stores, and so forth."
"It makes sense that the Blind Man would need an out-of-the-way lake to test out his submarine methods," Doc interjected.
"So close to a military base?" Admiral Murray questioned.
"The Blind Man is a bold villain," Doc answered. "Who would suspect an enemy power to hide under the nose of the U.S. Navy or Army?"
"When do we leave, Doc?" squeaked Monk.
"You'll head out as soon as possible," the bronze man replied. "I have some work to do, then I'll take off later."
"Everything the prospectin' crew needs is outside," Hopkins said. "I brought it with me." Then he grinned, Black Cat thought, like a donkey.
*
When Monk finally got his feet on the ground again, he nearly bent down to kiss the dirt.
As it was, he spluttered against the swirling clouds of dust that still swam about the car.
"That ain't no car," he groused, "it's an abomination!"
It was a sort of stagecoach, but lacked horses. Instead, it was an old big sedan with a rebuilt body that was half-again as long as it had been when it originally rolled off the Detroit assembly line. Even equipped with heavy-duty tires and springs, the car rode like a bucking bronco over the rutted trail, according to Monk.
"This fine steed put in miles of work in the Texas oilfields," Hopkins said proudly. "She'll get you just about anywhere you need to go."
"So I'm a prospector," the chemist said. "Does that mean I have to feel like a mule kicked me all the way here?"
Roped to the roof and hanging from the sides of the car and lashed to the front and rear bumpers was a variety of provisions and supplies wrapped in canvas.
"All that dust," Curly Wolfe said. He had swapped his goggles for a pair of eyeglasses that hugged his face. "Anyone for miles will know we're here."
"Part of our disguise," Hopkins said. "Anyone trying to sneak in wouldn't make such a spectacle arriving."
A spectacle in disguise accurately described the group's outfits. All wore fake beards. Monk's happened to cover most of his face -- his tiny pig eyes appeared even more sunk within pits of gristle -- and looked like an angry porcupine rested between his shirt collar and his much-beaten Stetson.
Even Black Cat Jackson's considerable charms were difficult to detect. Her hair was tucked into a shapeless hat, and her work-worn shirt and trousers were large enough to conceal her normally unoverlookable curves. The only elements of her usual attire that she wouldn't give up were the pointy-toed cowboy boots she still wore.
Operative Hopkins had gotten quite exasperated with Black Cat about her boots before the group began its trip. "I can't believe it! I finally meet a beautiful woman who actually acts like she doesn't give a hoot about what a mirror says, and now you prove me wrong! I never saw a person so vain for a pair of boots!"
Black Cat had sent the operative's way one of those steel-withering glares that made even Renny flinch, then responded, "It's not a bit of vanity keeping these boots on my feet, but believe what you will. I'm not taking off my footgear to wear those horrible brogans you're shaking under my nose."
Doc's loyal agent had finally given up on this point, but had at least gotten the stubborn beauty to pull the baggy legs of her trousers over the tops of the boots.
"What now?" Renny rumbled. No amount of fake beard could disguise his deep voice.
"This is trail's end for our coach," Hopkins said. "We take the rest of the way by foot."
The crew unloaded provisions from the auto. As Monk swung down a pack of tinned goods, the bundle smacked Curly Wolfe in the head and knocked the oil man to the ground. He rolled around and held his skull, then jumped up with his fists swinging at the hirsute chemist. Monk would have quiickly found himself in a rough and tumble scuffle if Renny hadn't snatched Curly by the collar.
"Oops," Monk said.
Curly Wolfe swore a blue streak. "You blasted ape, you did that on purpose!"
"Why would I do that?" Monk asked with the innocence of an angel.
"Fer that knock on your rock-filled noggin I gave you back in the shipping office, you dope!"
"We don't have time for this," Renny said. "I'm staying between you two knot-heads the rest of the way." Operative Hopkins rolled his eyes, his estimations of Doc Savage's infinite patience rising to even greater heights.
The group toted supplies along the narrow trail the operative picked out. "First I felt like I'd been riding a mule," Monk complained. "Now it feels like the mule is riding me! Ham better appreciate all I'm going through for his sake. Dumb shyster with no more sense than to get nabbed."
"I recall some companion of that shyster also getting nabbed on an earlier occasion," Black Cat said.
Renny's chuckle was like distant thunder, and Monk kept his mouth shut the rest of the way.
The group tramped along for more than an hour before stopping to make camp, rest and eat. They huddled over Hopkins' map, then separated to search for signs that might lead them to the Blind Man's hideout.
The sun had just disappeared when Monk returned to camp, the last to straggle in. He plopped before the fire and accepted a cup of coffee, which he sipped carefully to avoid burning his mouth and thoroughly soaking his beard. The ugly face he made was evident even though the false brush obscuring his features.
"You made this coffe, didn't you?" he accused Renny. The giant engineer meekly nodded. "Good. I'd hate to think that more than one mortal on this earth could cook so bad."
"Any luck?" Hopkins asked.
"Not a bit!" Monk sputtered.
"Same for everyone," Curly Wolfe said.
"Twenty yards thataway is the last place I ever found signs of anyone getting in here, then all footprints disappear," Hopkins asserted.
The spot to which he pointed was invisible in the darkness, but during daylight hours the features there were clear. A deep, furiously rushing creek ran down from the lake above, its course nearly perpendicular at the spot mentioned by Hopkins. The flow formed a sort of waterfall there, as its bed apparently flattened out to form a sort of basin pool that caught the tumbling waters before the banks narrowed and sent the creek careening downhill again. By the pool stood a tall outcropping of rock -- wide at its base and rapidly narrowing to a sort of steeple -- by which the winding trail led. It was at this thorn of rock that the operative had noted the termination of the Blind Man's signs.
"Are we safe up here?" Black Cat asked.
"We should be," Hopkins answered. "We're just prospectors, after all."
"Yeah, but we gotta watch out for claim jumpers," Renny rumbled.
"I set up some tripwires and alarms around the perimeter, about thirty yards out," Hopkins said. "And we'll take watch shifts through the night."
"That's fine," Monk said, "but when's Doc getting here? I think I'll take a look around your perimeter anyway."
Monk had just gotten to his feet when a voice rang out from the edge of the firelit darkness, "No need to leave the party, shortstuff!" And the camp was suddenly ringed by the racheting sounds of machine pistols being cocked to fire.
docsavage.info
Written By:
Duane Spurlock
based on notes by:
Kenneth Robeson
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