Raiders of the red death
by
Emile C. Tepperman
CHAPTER SIX - Slavery or Death!
NEWARK airport was a bedlam of excitement. Bright incandescents made daylight of the field. Planes were taking off one after the other, each with a full quota of passengers.
Near one edge of the field, a squad of Secret Service men were anxiously watching a huge transport that had banked into the wind and was settling to a perfect landing. Brakes squealed as the plane taxied toward them.
The Secret Service men swarmed about it, while several of them made sure that no unauthorized person approached. They all seemed nervous, high-strung, as if they expected trouble.
From the pilot's compartment of the plane emerged Operator 5. He had not yet removed the uniform or make-up of Major Horgavo, and he had to identify himself to the Secret Service operatives. He shook hands with B-6, a small, wiry man, who was in charge of the squad. "Why are all these planes taking off?" Jimmy asked. "The airline seems to be having a rush of business."
B-6 nodded jerkily. "People are fleeing the city," he replied in terse, clipped accents. "Montezuma is striking here. That's why Z-7 hurried to New York, and wired you to fly directly here to meet him. He's waiting for you at Address Y." B-6 extended a yellow sheet. "Here's a message from Z-7. He instructed me to deliver it to you as soon as you landed."
Jimmy took the message, and his eyes clouded as he read:
OPERATOR 5--MEN WOMEN DYING BY
EXPLOSION IN STREETS
OF NEW YORK...MONTEZUMA
DEMANDS UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER...
CLAIMS HE CAN DESTROY NEW YORK CITY
WITHIN
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS...WE
CANNOT LOCATE HEADQUARTERS
OF AGENTS HERE...MUST ACT
QUICKLY OR POPULAR PANIC
WILL FORCE PRESIDENT TO CAPITULATE....
RUSH POWERS TO
MEDICAL CENTER FOR ATTENTION.... SEE
ME AT ONCE AT ADDRESS Y...Z-7...
Jimmy crushed the paper in his hand. He spoke swiftly. "I've got George Powers in the plane, with his wife and daughter. The Aztec princess, Dolores, is also in there, being watched by Tim Donovan."
He added in explanation, as he saw B-6's surprised look: "I picked Tim up at Fort Sam Houston on the way up. Now the first thing to be done is to get Powers into the hands of competent physicians."
"We've arranged that," B-6 told him. "We have half a dozen specialists at the Medical Center, waiting for him right now--the biggest men in the country. If they can't do anything with him, nobody can. There's even a doctor from Washington, who just flew in by plane."
"All right," Jimmy said. "You take care of him. I'll take care of Powers' wife and daughter. Have two cars ready--one for Powers, and another for the two women. Tim and I will take care of the Princess Dolores."
He watched B-6 walk over to the plane to take charge of the scientist, then he entered the operations-office and used the phone to arrange for a room for Helen Powers and her mother at the Beacon Hotel which was often used by Intelligence....
When Jimmy came out of the operations--office, he saw Powers being driven off in a car with a guard of Intelligence men. At his direction, B-6 ordered another car to take Helen and her mother to the Beacon; then the wiry little agent returned and reported. "Your roadster is here, too, Operator 5. Z-7 ordered one of the men to drive it out for you. It's parked back of the operations office."
"Splendid!" Jimmy retorted. "Have the roadster brought here."
B-6 left to execute the order, and Jimmy went over to the plane, entered the passenger compartment. He found Tim Donovan grimly guarding the Princess Dolores, who sat stiffly disdainful. When Jimmy climbed in, her dark eyes flashed with momentary fear.
"What are you going to do with me?" she queried huskily.
Jimmy said gently: "You will not be harmed, princess. Come with me."
He turned and led the way out. The princess' eyes flashed, but she followed, accompanied by Tim Donovan.
AS Jimmy Christopher drove swiftly toward New York City, his mind reverted to the crisis facing the nation. B-6's sketchy information had been filled out by the messages which Jimmy had gotten over the phone. All of New York, he learned, was under martial law. People did not dare to leave their homes, for the exploding death struck everywhere. And even their homes were not safe, it appeared, for men had been exploded within theatres, offices and residences. Montezuma's mysterious force could reach everywhere, and he was spreading terror and demoralization throughout New York.
Operator 5's eyes scanned with grim bitterness the motor trucks full of soldiers which they passed on the road. The mobilizing of these men was only a futile gesture--for Montezuma could destroy them in a moment, just as he had destroyed others. These soldiers were contingents of the National Guard, which had been called to the colors overnight. It was the only thing that the government could think of doing--well knowing the futility of mobilizing troops that could be wiped out by the enemy at will; yet--what else was there to do ....?
The soldiers in the trucks were not laughing and singing as the National Guard usually do when on their way to training camps in the summer. This was no pleasant two weeks of training and target practice that they were going to; at any moment, without warning, they might be destroyed in a dreadful, inexplicable manner. Their faces were very somber, gray...
At the Holland Tunnel, Jimmy was stopped by a lieutenant of the regular army in charge of a detail of men. Every car was being examined. Jimmy Christopher had removed his gaudy uniform, but he still kept the make-up on his face. He produced credentials showing that he was George Wakely, of the Department of Justice. The lieutenant at once stepped aside.
As they drove through the tunnel, the princess Dolores fidgeted in her seat between Jimmy and Tim Donovan. Finally she spoke. "Where are you taking me, Operator 5?"
"To the apartment of a very good friend of mine," Jimmy told her. "A young lady who will take excellent care of you. We're not going to any of the regular Intelligence offices because I'm afraid that your father's agents will already be watching those spots. Where I am taking you, you will be er--safe!"
Tim exclaimed: "We're not going to Diane's apartment, are we Jimmy?"
Operator 5 nodded. "I need an unofficial place. The princess is an unofficial prisoner. Diane, being a newspaper reporter, and not an Intelligence agent, will not be suspected by Montezuma's agents."
AT the New York end of the tunnel, Jimmy swung north to Gramercy Park, drew up before a small, two-story brownstone house. With himself on one side and Tim on the other, the princess was brought up the short flight of stone steps. Before they could touch the bell, the door was opened by a trim, chestnut-haired young lady whose softly modeled face reflected deep anxiety as she gazed at the princess, at Jimmy, and finally at Tim Donovan.
"Hello, Tim," she said. "I'm so glad you're safe." She looked questioningly at Operator 5, not recognizing him in his disguise. Then she glanced once more at Tim Donovan, a question in her eyes. "W-where is Jimmy? He phoned me from the airport that he was coming here with you--"
She was gazing directly at Jimmy, but seeing only the gross-featured face of Horgavo which the make-up showed.
Operator 5 chuckled, and Tim burst out laughing. "I fooled you that time Di--I didn't think you'd fall for it!"
Tim Donovan took the princess by the arm, escorted her into the house.
Jimmy walked ahead with Diane, explaining to her swiftly what had taken place in Mexico City. "As long as we can keep Dolores out of the way, Di," he finished, "Dad may be comparatively safe. Montezuma won't dare to harm him for fear of reprisal. Of course, he doesn't know that we aren't capable of the same kind of cruelty that he indulges in. Men like him can't understand anyone who is different from themselves."
Diane said eagerly: "I'll put her in the spare bedroom. There are bars on the window, because it's a ground floor. She won't be able to get away."
Jimmy nodded. "And stay here every minute of the time, Di. If you see anyone or anything suspicious in the neighborhood, phone me at Dad's house. If I'm not there, talk to the man who answers the phone. He'll be some one you can trust."
When they had gotten the princess safely in the spare room, Operator 5 and Tim Donovan prepared to take their leave. Diane went to the door with them. Her face bore a troubled expression. "Jimmy," she said! "I'm--I'm afraid for the country. Terrible things are happening. Tonight the entire audience of the International Theater and two other theaters were killed in their seats. They exploded--" she snapped her fingers--"poof! Just like that! The theater was like a--like a charnel house! I went over there to cover the story for the Amalgamated, and it was--beyond description. No one can understand how it was done."
Jimmy soothed her. If we can only bring George Powers back to sanity, we'll know the answer. He pressed Diane's hand. "We're off, Di. Remember, stay here every minute. Come on, Tim...!"
OUTSIDE, Tim scrambled into the seat beside Operator 5. As the powerful Diesel engine purred to life, and the car slipped effortlessly away from the curb, Tim asked: "Where to now, Jimmy?"
"We're going to Dad's house," Operator 5 told the lad. "Z-7 is waiting for us there. Then we'll phone the Medical Center, and see what progress they've made with Powers."
Four times they were stopped on their trip, forced to show their credentials. The city was in the grip of a reign of terror....
Jimmy swung north on Fifth Avenue, drove to a quiet residential street in the East Forties. Here was the unpretentious brownstone house which was John Christopher's home in New York. It had also been entered among the official addresses of the United States Intelligence as "Address Y." Jimmy had a laboratory here, and did much work in this house. It was here that he had perfected his anaesthetic powder that he had used with such success on the Princess Dolores.
Jimmy Christopher, with the caution that had many times saved himself and Tim Donovan from death, did not drive up directly to the house. He slowed up upon turning the corner, observed the street keenly. It was deserted, as were all the other streets of the city. He drove past slowly, blew his horn twice, and watched the window on the ground floor.
In a moment, a face appeared at that window--the face of Z-7, Jimmy's chief. Z-7 lowered the shade, then raised it--the signal that the coast was clear. Then his face disappeared.
JIMMY pulled in close to the opposite curb, preparing to make a complete turn and park before the building. But at that moment, a man darted out from a doorway near by, ran up close to the car. The man was swarthy, might have been a Latin American; but he might also have been a Mexican Indian.
Jimmy's hand involuntarily strayed toward his shoulder holster, and his eyes narrowed. But the man made no threatening moves. Instead he said, speaking rapidly in Spanish, and looking right past Tim at Jimmy:
"Do not go into that house, major. In five minutes the explosive death will be directed against it!"
For a moment, Jimmy had forgotten that he still retained make-up that duplicated the features of Major Horgavo. Now, suddenly, the full import of the man's words struck home. In five minutes, everybody within Address Y would be destroyed!
Jimmy saw that Tim Donovan's puzzled face was directed at the man, and he gripped the lad's hand before he could say anything that would give the game away.
Jimmy said sternly: "Who ordered this destruction?"
The man appeared nonplussed. "Why, major, you yourself ordered it, only a half hour ago, as soon as you arrived in New York. I thought that you were here to see that your orders are carried out."
Jimmy thought quickly. Horgavo in New York! It meant that the Aztec invaders must have removed their headquarters from Mexico City. Horgavo could have flown here as well as Jimmy had. This was an opportunity to discover where the major was holed up. Five minutes to go. One was elapsed already.
Jimmy spoke swiftly, mimicking Horgavo's imperious tones: "You must be mistaken. Where was I when I ordered this?"
"Why, major," the man answered puzzled, "you were in the big house on the river--secret headquarters. You even gave me the address yourself!"
Jimmy thought quickly, while Tim Donovan sat tense, not understanding the Spanish, but realizing that something vital was in the wind. Horgavo must have discovered the secret of Address Y from some other agent whom he had tortured as F-3 had been tortured. Even now, Z-7 was in that house. With the shrewd chief of Intelligence dead, the whole service would he crippled for hours.
Jimmy said crisply in Spanish: "I wish to change my mind. I wish to countermand the order to direct the explosive death against that house. Cancel the order!"
The man stared at him suspiciously. "You know that cannot be done, major. The instruments have been set at the house on the river. You set them yourself. The explosion will take place unless you yourself telephone to change the order. And--" he glanced at his watch--"there are but three minutes left!"
Jimmy Christopher said, very low: "I see." At the same time his hand darted out past Tim's astonished face, in a lightning quick, stiff-fingered jab that caught the swarthy man at a point just beneath the Adam's apple. The man's eyes bulged, his mouth dropped open, and he collapsed to the pavement, writhing in agony.
Jimmy exclaimed: "Watch him, Tim!" and frantically punched his horn in a raucous summons. He turned his head as he did so, watching the window of the brownstone house. A face appeared there, and Jimmy thrust open the door of his car, sped across the street...
"Come out!" he shouted "Come out! Danger in there!"
The face at the open window was that of Z-7. The chief of Intelligence saw Jimmy gesticulating, but did not recognize Operator 5 behind the gross features of Horgavo. Z-7 frowned, thinking, perhaps, that it was some sort of trick to lure him into the open. He stepped back frown the window as Jimmy raced toward the house, and in a moment his hand appeared with an automatic.
THERE was, perhaps, only a minute or a minute and a half to spare. Jimmy Christopher acted like lightning, with the well-trained coordination of mind and muscle that had helped him in many a crisis in the past.
His right hand moved with eye-defying speed, came away from his shoulder bolster with his own automatic; and before Z-7 could take aim, Jimmy Christopher's pistol had barked a single shot. The slug went true to its mark, struck Z-7's automatic, sent it spinning from his numbed hand.
And in a bound Jimmy Christopher was up the three steps of the stoop, calling frantically:
"Z-7! It's Operator 5! Come out of there---through the window! There's no time to lose!"
Z-7 looked out, his face pale, puzzled. He started to say: "Op--?"
But Jimmy did not let him finish. He reached over, grasped Z-7 by the sleeve, yanked powerfully. Z-7 lost his balance, came tumbling over the windowsill. Jimmy let him fall to the pavement, then leaped over the railing down beside him. Z-7 was struggling to his knees when Jimmy landed next to him, gripped him about the waist, raised him to his right shoulder and ran across the street.
Z-7 gasped: "Wait--what--?"
Jimmy said: "It's Operator 5, Z-7. Montezuma is going to send his exploding death into that house in less than a minute!"
Z-7 gasped: "My God! There's some one else in there--Yes! He was reporting--"
His words were cut off by the sound of a terrific, dull detonation emanating from the interior. Something like a cold draft of air pressed around them, and Jimmy suddenly found it hard to breath. He staggered to the opposite curb, let Z-7 rise to his feet. Then he looked toward the house. Every pane of glass in the brownstone house was shattered. Bits of clothing and torn flesh came catapulting through the open window from which Jimmy had dragged his chief.
Z-7 groaned: "Y-8! That's the end of him!" His face was purple with the effort of breathing. It was as if the air in the neighborhood had suddenly become polluted....
Immediately to the left of the brownstone house was an empty lot; but on the right was another building, also of brownstone, and this one seemed also to have suffered from the detonation, but not to the same extent. For the glass windows were also shattered, and a man and a woman came running from it, clutching at their throats as if to tear something dreadful away from them. Out on the sidewalk, they could run no more. They both dropped, writhed, and then stiffened, lay still.
Jimmy had been breathing in deep lungfuls of air. Now, suddenly, breathing seemed to become easier. In a moment it became normal. Jimmy left Z-7, crossed the street to the two prostrate bodies. He knelt beside them. Both were dead....
He looked up to find Z-7 and Tim Donovan beside him, staring down at the disfigured faces of the man and the woman. It seemed that their veins had burst, for their faces were clotted with blood, their eyes bulging, their tongues hanging from their mouths. They had both died in exactly the same way.
Z-7 said: "They were choked, somehow!"
Jimmy shook his head. "No, Z-7, they weren't choked. It's the same sort of death as killed our troops, as killed Y-8 in there. They exploded. Only the process wasn't completed with them for some reason, and they didn't die immediately. Perhaps the attack was concentrated on Dad's house, here, and they only got the excess."
Tim Donovan was staring about him, wide--eyed. "Gee, Jimmy, is it a sort of gas?"
"No, Tim, it isn't a gas. It is something far more deadly. Let's get hold of that fellow that warned us. He knows a lot, and we'll make him talk!"
Jimmy raced across the significantly empty street. Not even the sound of the explosion had brought anybody out--so great was the fear of the public. And that fear was very well based indeed, as the bodies of the man and woman on the pavement testified...
The swarthy man was just scrambling to his knees as Jimmy got across the street. He saw Jimmy coming, snarled, and his hand went to his armpit. Jimmy still had his automatic in his hand, and snapped a shot that caught the other in the right shoulder. The swarthy man's hand fell away from his holster, and he reeled against Jimmy's car.
Operator 5, with Tim Donovan at his side, came up to the man, caught him as he was about to fall. He looked up at Operator 5 with hate-filled eyes, gasped: "You--you are not Major Horgavo!"
Jimmy shook his head. "You are going to tell us everything you know about this explosive death, do you understand? Do you want to talk now, or shall I take you where you will be made to talk?"
The man winced with the pain of his wounded shoulder, whispered: "I will--"
He seemed to slump, but in a moment he straightened up, pushed Jimmy away from him. He wavered on his feet. He was holding a small white pellet in his hand. Operator 5 leaped toward him, but it was too late. The man lifted it to his mouth, swallowed it.
His lips twisted in a ghastly smile. In Spanish he said: "You cannot make--me talk--any more. I--have been faithful to my emperor!" His body was suddenly convulsed in agony; he slumped to the pavement.
Jimmy bent beside him, heard him murmur through froth-flecked lips: "I--pay the penalty--of failure. I go to the bosom--of Huitzilopochtli!" And the man was dead....
Jimmy arose slowly, gazed somberly at Z-7 and at Tim Donovan. "At least," Jimmy said, "he died bravely. But I hope there are not many more like him in the service of Montezuma!"
CHAPTER SEVEN - The Road to Hell
JIMMY CHRISTOPHER, with Tim Donovan and Z-7 in the car, drove uptown to the Medical Center.
At One Hundred and Sixty-eighth Street, Jimmy swung the roadster left, in through the wide gate leading to the grounds on which were erected the dozen or so buildings that comprised the huge institution.
They went up in the elevator to the ninth floor, where a dozen of the most eminent physicians in the country were gathered in the consultation room adjoining the chamber where George Powers was resting.
Dr. Angus Maynard, the head of the psychiatric department of the biggest hospital in the city, was presiding. In answer to Jimmy Christopher's terse question, Dr. Maynard replied: "It is our opinion, young man, that the patient suffers from a trauma of the brain. That, of course, is a very general diagnosis. For more definite findings, it will be necessary to subject him to a series of tests to ascertain the extent to which his coordinative faculties--"
Jimmy Christopher interrupted him. "How long will these tests take that you propose?"
Dr. Maynard raised his eyebrows. "In cases such as these, young man, we cannot hasten things. I have often kept a patient under observation for as long as ten weeks--"
Jimmy Christopher heaved a deep sigh, cast a significant glance at Z-7 who had remained in the background, standing near the door with Tim Donovan.
"If you don't mind, doctor," Jimmy broke in, "I should like to talk to Powers myself. Perhaps I can extract some information from him without waiting ten weeks. The entire nation may well be destroyed while you conduct your tests!"
Doctor Maynard smiled in superior fashion. "The layman," he said indulgently, "never appreciates the problems which face the physician--"
"Pardon me, doctor," Jimmy said softly, "it so happens that I hold a degree of Doctor of Medicine myself. I studied under Prague and Liegnitz. If you will permit me--" he bowed to the assembled physicians--"to cut the red tape with which you have surrounded your profession!"
He stepped toward the connecting door which led to Powers' room. One of the other physicians, a Doctor Cabello, to whom Jimmy had been introduced among others, hurried toward him, gripped his arm: "You musn't go in there, young man! We are leaving the patient in strict solitude for three hours, after which we shall conduct further tests. If you disturb his rest now, you will ruin the tests!" Doctor Cabello was tall, thin, with piercing black eyes that commanded attention.
His fingers on Jimmy's arm felt strong as iron.
Jimmy Christopher said quietly: "I am sorry, Doctor Cabello, but Mr. Power's rest must be disturbed. This is an emergency."
Cabello shrugged. "Then I wash my hands of the whole affair. I will have nothing further to do with it." He turned to the other physicians. "Good day, gentlemen!" He bowed, stalked from the room.
Jimmy frowned, turned the knob, and entered the bedchamber of George Powers. Inside, he stopped stock-still, gazing at the motionless form on the white, clean bed. George Powers was dead. The needle of a hypodermic syringe had been thrust through his eye and had pierced his brain. He had died, bloodlessly, while asleep. Even in death his countenance was vacuous, peaceful. But he would never reveal the secret of Montezuma's mysterious force to anyone....
Jimmy Christopher swung about, thrust back into the consultation room again. He snapped at the astounded physicians: "Powers is dead---murdered! Who was with him last?"
Dr. Maynard stammered: "Why--why---we all were there. Dr. Cabello suggested that Powers be given an opiate so that he could rest. I filled the hypodermic, and Dr. Cabello administered it. I--"
Jimmy did not wait for him to finish. He lunged past Dr. Maynard, tore through the door into the corridor, with Tim Donovan and Z-7 following him. The white-tiled corridor was empty except for a neatly uniformed nurse who gazed in wonder at the two men and the boy who had barged out of the consultation room. Jimmy Christopher seized her arm, demanded: "Did you see a tall, thin man come out of here just now?"
The nurse nodded, bewildered. "Yes. A tall thin man just went down in the elevator."
Jimmy turned from her, to face Z-7 and Doctor Maynard, who had come out after them. "How long have you known Doctor Cabello?"
"I had never met him before," Doctor Maynard confessed. "In fact, I never heard of him as a specialist. But he came here with a letter signed by someone in the office of the Secretary of State. I thought he was a government doctor."
Operator 5's eyes met those of Z-7, and his lips formed one word: "Forgery!" He said aloud to Doctor Maynard: "Thank you, sir. I think there's no further use in our staying here." He glanced at Z-7 who nodded, and led the way to the elevator.
Downstairs, in the roadster, Tim Donovan rubbed his freckled nose in puzzlement. "Who was that Cabello guy, Jimmy?"
Jimmy Christopher explained dully: "He must be an agent of Montezuma. He came here with a forged letter from the office of the Secretary of State. Montezuma is making sure that we don't learn the secret of his mysterious power!"
"Which means," said Z-7 bitterly, "that we are back just where we started."
THE old Beacon Hotel on Fifty-ninth Street, was a superannuated structure that would long since have been torn down had it not been for the financial support accorded it by the United States Intelligence Service.
The rental paid by the Intelligence Bureau for the fifteenth floor alone, was enough to defray the operating costs of the entire undertaking. The proprietor of the Beacon Hotel was a retired Intelligence Agent, and he knew how to render exactly the service required.
Here, on the fifteenth floor, many strange things had taken place that had never seen the light of day, never been reported in any newspaper. Here men from all over the world had sold secrets vital to the safety of the United States. To this hotel had come, from time to time, free lance spies with information to sell, inventors with ideas for destroying whole armies of the enemy in case of war. Intelligence agents were always on hand to interview them, to make deals, to investigate the worth of the things that were offered for sale.
Now the fifteenth floor of the Beacon Hotel played host to two women, fugitive from a ruthless invader. And it was to the Beacon Hotel that a young, keen-eyed man, accompanied by a freckled boy, came. At the desk the young man said to the desk clerk: "May I see Mr. Zilder, please?"
"Mr. Zilder?" the clerk asked. "What room is he in, sir?"
"1501," said the young man. "You might tell him that I come from Mr. Frost."
"Ah, yes; Mr. Frost. You mean Mr. Frost the architect?"
"No. Mr. Frost, the linguist."
The clerk was satisfied. "You wish to give Mr. Zilder a number, sir?"
"Yes," said the keen-eyed young man. "Tell him that Operator 5 is here."
"Yes, sir," said the clerk, suddenly deferential. "You may go right up, sir. Mr. Zilder is expecting you. It will not even be necessary to announce you."
Jimmy Christopher thanked the clerk, winked at Tim Donovan, and led the way to the elevator. At the fifteenth floor, Jimmy Christopher and Tim made their way down the corridor to 1501, and knocked at the door. It was opened in a moment by a man in a green eye shade, who nodded a greeting, let them through. The room was equipped with a battery of telephones, and two teletype machines. A dozen agents were at work here, taking messages as fast as they came in.
The man in the green eye shade said: "This way, Operator 5," and led the way through a connecting door into another room. Here there were filing cabinets reaching up to the ceiling, and more agents were busy cataloging information. They passed through this room into another, and here the man in the green eye shade left them alone with the man who was sitting before the big battered desk. The man was Z-7....
He arose, shook hands with Jimmy Christopher, then with Tim Donovan.
Jimmy Christopher asked crisply: "Have you checked on all those locations I gave you, Chief?"
Z-7 nodded. "We've gone through every one of those buildings with a fine tooth comb, and I would be willing to stake my life that not a spot in any of them has been used as a headquarters by any agents of Montezuma!"
Jimmy frowned. "Then there must be some spot that I overlooked. Well, what about those two men you phoned me about who registered on this floor?"
Z-7 returned to his desk, picked up a folder. "They're in 1531, which is right next door to the suite in which Helen Powers and her daughter are confined. They seem to be Latin-Americans, and they have registered under the names of Gonzales and Hernando. Their story is that the rooming house where they have been staying was visited by the explosive death this morning, and everybody in it annihilated, while they were out. Naturally, they say that they do not wish to return there. They told all this to one of our men who managed to get friendly with them in the barroom."
Jimmy Christopher tapped the edge of the chief's desk thoughtfully, while Tim Donovan watched him. "Have you checked on their story, Chief?"
Z--7 NODDED. "The lists of casualties for today mentions eight deaths at the boarding house they named. There is no flaw in their story--except for the fact that they wanted the fifteenth floor. They had a good reason for that, too. As you know, this is the top, and they feel they will have a little better chance of escaping alive in case of another visitation of the exploding death. They think that it may not reach so high up."
Jimmy Christopher laughed bitterly. "It reached me in an aeroplane. It reached hundreds of our aviators before the War Department could be induced to ground all flying units!"
Z-7 gazed into Jimmy Christopher's eyes for a long minute. Then he sighed, said: "I guess you're right, Operator 5. I--"
He stopped as a knock sounded at the door. A shirt-sleeved agent entered, reported tensely: "There's a report in from Gramercy Park, Chief! S-3 and P-12 are dead--blasted to pieces by the exploding death!"
Z-7 glanced at Jimmy Christopher with concern. "Two of our best men, Operator 5. You--know why they were posted there?"
Jimmy Christopher suddenly paled. "Chief! They were posted to guard Diane Elliot's house!" Jimmy gulped, addressed the shirt-sleeved agent. "You--you got a report on Miss Elliot? She's---safe?"
The agent shook his head. With reluctance he said slowly: "I'm sorry, Operator 5, Miss Elliot's apartment is empty. I sent two men down there at once. Neither Miss Elliot nor the Aztec princess whom she had in charge was in the apartment. They must have been kidnapped by Montezuma's men."
Jimmy Christopher whirled to Z-7. "You'll have to excuse me, Chief. I'm going down to Gramercy Park. Come on, Tim."
Z-7 made no move to restrain him. Jimmy Christopher and Tim were on their way out, when one of the phones one the chief's desk rang. "Wait!" said Z-7. "This may be--" He picked up the receiver, listened a moment, then said: "I'll have Operator 5 handle it. He's already been up against that set-up."
Jimmy looked inquiringly at the chief. Z-7 said: "Operator 5, I hate to ask you to do this--but you've got to pass up going to Gramercy Park. That was the agent posted in Room 1529, right next door to those two men who are registered here as Gonzales and Hernando. We've got a dictagraph planted in their room, and it seems that one of them is talking. If he's reporting to Aztec headquarters, it's our chance to check on locations. You're the logical one to take charge."
JIMMY CHRISTOPHER lowered his eyes to hide the intensity of feeling in them. For a moment he was silent, fighting a quiet battle to master his emotion. Then he said in a voice rendered thin by the effort he made to control it: "Okay, Tim. Take the car and go over there. Be careful, old-timer. And for God's sake, see if you can pick up Diane's trail."
He followed Z-7 and H-9 out into the corridor, and down past 1533, where Helen Powers and her mother were resting. Next door, in 1531, were the two men, Gonzales and Hernando; and beyond them, in 1529, was posted the agent with the dictagraph.
The agent looked up as they entered, removed the earphones from his head. "They've just finished talking," he reported, "most of it was inaudible, but I got a few words. Here they are." He handed to Jimmy Christopher a sheet of paper upon which he had taken a stenographic record of the conversation.
Jimmy read it without difficulty, translating: from Spanish into English as he went along:
"We should make our report, Hernando...It is the hour at which our master will be waiting...." (second voice) "Master, we are ready...the girl and her mother are in the next..."
Jimmy glanced up from the sheet. "Chief! Those men in the next room are preparing to kidnap Helen Powers, right under our noses! They must have a carefully laid plan. They're probably getting instructions over the radio."
He stepped to the window, gazed out over the roofs of the city. "Their portable transmitter can't be very powerful. The Aztec headquarters is undoubtedly within the metropolitan area. Use direction finders--"
The chief dispatched an agent with terse instructions.
The agent at the dictagraph suddenly raised his hand for silence. His lips formed the words: "They're talking again next door!"
Jimmy hastened to his side, watched the words take shape under the agent's pencil as he transcribed the Spanish conversation. Jimmy Christopher translated for the others as he read:
Come, Hernando, in ten minutes it will be time to strike. You will shoot out the lock of the connecting door, and we will break into the girl's room. The mother we may kill--but the girl must be brought unharmed to our Master....
The words droned off into silence, and Jimmy Christopher sprang into action. "Come on, Chief! They're going to break into 1533!"
H-8 produced a key from his pocket. "This'll open their door. I made sure to get it ready."
Jimmy Christopher took the key, hurried out into the corridor. He inserted the key in the lock of 1531, gave it a quick twist, and flung the door open. An automatic appeared in his hand as if by magic.
From within the room, at the instant that Jimmy had flung the door open, came the sharp report of a gun. Two men, dark complexioned, sharp-featured, were standing close to the side door connecting with Room 1531, where Helen Powers was.
The shot had been fired by one of them into the lock, and the connecting door was now yawning open. Beyond it, Jimmy Christopher could see the startled faces of Helen Powers and her mother. But he had no time to call out to them. For the two dark-complexioned men turned on him, snarling, and raised their automatics....
JIMMY'S gun barked twice, swiftly. The nearer of the two men pitched forward with a slug in his heart, while the second, who had just been about to step through the connecting door, was whirled around violently by the impact of Jimmy's bullet, and fell across the doorway into Room 1531. He groaned. Blood spurted from his side. He had been partly behind his companion, and Jimmy Christopher had to shoot him in the right side.
Operator 5 strode into the room, called through the connecting doorway: "It's all right, Mrs. Powers; you're safe!" He knelt beside the wounded man, demanded: "Talk quick! Where are your headquarters?"
The man groaned, glared up at Jimmy, twisted with pain, but made no answer. Jimmy tried again. "Your master will kill you for failing. Why not speak?"
The man's lips quivered, his lips clamped shut determinedly.
Z-7 had gone through the connecting door, and was quieting the two women. Jimmy Christopher pushed past H-9, stared about the room. On the bed was a suitcase, all packed and closed. Another suitcase lay on the floor. Jimmy stooped beside them, used his master keys, and in a moment had both suitcases open. One of them contained a complete radio set.
Operator 5 sprang to his feet, sped to the side of the wounded man. His eyes burned into the eyes of the other as he demanded: "Where is the message you just received over that radio?"
The other whispered feebly: "I--don't--know!"
Jimmy pursed his lips, thrust his hand into the man's pockets, one after the other. He found a notebook with the man's name in it, showing that he was Gonzalez. He found other odd trinkets, but no message.
He looked up to see that Z-7 was watching him from the doorway. Saying nothing, he turned to the body of the dead man, went through his pockets. This time he found what he had been looking for--a crumpled sheet of paper.
Jimmy hastily straightened out the paper. He motioned to H-9: "Take this down as I translate it!" And proceeded to read and translate:
All is ready. At six-fifteen promptly you will break through the connecting door and seize the girl, Helen Powers. Her mother you may kill if she resists; but the girl--at the peril of your lives, no harm must come to her!
At six-twenty-five exactly you will start to leave the hotel with the girl. Do not start a minute sooner, for at six-twenty-five exactly the explosive death will be sent into the street outside the hotel. This will distract the attention of the agents, and you will be able to leave by the back way. A car will await you, to conduct you and the girl to headquarters. Do not fail. Do not harm the girl!
Slowly Operator 5 looked up from the perusal of that message. There was a calculating gleam in his eye. He was gazing speculatively through the open connecting doorway at Helen Powers....
Z-7 SAID urgently: "H-9! Have the street outside cleared of all people! It's six-twentythree---you have two minutes to save anybody who may be out there. At six-twenty-five the explosive death will strike!"
H-9 hurried from the room to obey.
Operator 5 exclaimed: "Chief! This is our chance to discover where the Aztec headquarters are located!"
"How?" Z-7 asked, puzzled.
"Don't you see? There is to be a car waiting at the back entrance--to take Gonzalez and Hernando to their headquarters--with Miss Powers!"
"I still don't see--I'll have a radio report--"
"Wait, Chief!" Jimmy Christopher strode across the writhing body of the dying Gonzalez, into the next room. He seized both hands of Helen Powers.
"Miss Powers!" he said urgently. "You know that your father was killed by the agents of Montezuma; you know that the United States is threatened with slavery or complete annihilation!"
She stared at him wide-eyed. "Of course I do. Why?"
"Would you be willing to take a great risk---with me--to try to strike a blow to rid us of this menace--perhaps to avenge the death of your father?"
"I would!" she breathed. Her eyes shone, gray and determined. "Even if it means my death! Whatever you say, I will do!" Her pretty, child-like face was suddenly transfigured with a shining zeal.
"Good!" he exclaimed. He left her, stepped across the threshold, and knelt beside the body of the dead Hernando. His swift, long fingers extracted from an inner pocket his flat make-up case. He set up the adjustable mirror on the floor, beside Hernando's body, laid out his tubes of pigment and plastic material.
Under the wondering gaze of Z-7, of Mrs. Powers, and of Helen Powers, his dexterous fingers began to stray swiftly over his own face, applying pigment here, molding plastic material there. From time to time he glanced at the dead Hernando. Soon his own keen, intelligent features had disappeared, to give place to those of the other.
So swiftly did he work, that at the end of four minutes he arose, after packing away his makeup case and mirror. Z-7 uttered a gasp of astonishment. "God!" he exclaimed. "Every time you do that I'm astounded. I'd swear you were a twin brother of that dead man!"
Helen Powers' eyes were shining. "You--you are going to take me with you to that car--instead of Hernando!"
Operator 5 nodded. "Exactly. As far as the Aztecs know, the plan to kidnap you has gone through. I will tie your hands, gag you, and take you out the back way. We will enter that car, and let them take us to their headquarters. I will say to them that my partner, Gonzalez, was killed in the escape."
Helen Powers said eagerly: "Let's do it. And may God grant us success!"
Operator 5 led her into the corridor. "We'll go down in the service elevator," he told Z-7. "Have a couple of your men appear to chase us, and fire at us--but be sure they shoot high! And don't forget, Chief, to have a couple of cars trail us!"
He shook hands quickly with his chief, and they left, the girl stumbling along with a gag in her mouth, her arms tied behind her, while Jimmy Christopher followed her, the living image of the dead Hernando....
CHAPTER EIGHT - Machine Gun Message
WHEN Jimmy Christopher had brought Helen Powers out of the Beacon and pushed her into the waiting sedan, he had not even bothered to look behind. He had been too busy appraising the Aztec agents.
Two men sat in front, and the car was in motion almost at once, roaring down the street with the throttle wide open. The man siding in front, next to the driver, said in Spanish to the one who sat in the rear beside Helen:
"Bring out the quick-firing gun, Leon. We will give them a doze of the exploding death!"
Jimmy Christopher glanced at him across the trembling form of Helen Powers. He was a gaunt man, with the hard face of a killer. Jimmy decided that he must be one of Montezuma's officers. Leon turned his bulging eyes on Helen Powers, and his glance traveled up and down her form admiringly. He switched to English:
"And you, pretty flower. You are very pretty, yes. But I do not understand why our master, the Emperor, wishes so badly to have you. For myself, I like the dark beauties of Mexico City." His eyes raised to Jimmy's. "Eh, Hernando? What say you?"
Jimmy Christopher shrugged. From where he sat, in the corner, he could not see out in back. He could still hear a few shots behind them, and knew that the Intelligence men were staging a good imitation of pursuit.
He glanced across at Leon. He must be careful now. Apparently, as Hernando, he was very well known to Leon. He could imitate the dead man's voice well enough, even though he had heard him speak only a few words. Anything he said might be the wrong thing, might arouse the suspicions of these men and destroy any chance of being taken by them to the Aztec headquarters. However, he could not remain silent all the time. He would have to talk sooner or later, and now was as good a time as any. So he shrugged at Leon's question, said carelessly in Spanish: "It is all one to me beauty or no beauty; as long as the emperor is pleased."
"Ha!" exclaimed Leon, his gaunt face twisting into a sardonic grin. "That is our Hernando--always the business! Tell me, Hernando, what has happened to Gonzalez?"
"Gonzalez," Jimmy told him, "was killed while we were escaping. The gringos fight well."
Leon clucked sympathetically. "Too bad!" He fondled the machine gun in his lap. "I think I will let off a few blasts at these fools who pursue us to avenge Gonzales. What do you think, Hernando?"
"I think you had better not," Jimmy said hastily. "It may attract soldiers."
Leon laughed. "Soldiers! What do we care for soldiers! Soon we shall rule this whole country, and step on the necks of the proud Americans!"
Jimmy asked a question that he had been wanting an answer to, badly. "Is the Emperor Montezuma in New York now, Leon?"
"Did you not know?" Leon asked, surprised. "Ah, yes! I forget that you have been away from headquarters for almost a whole day. Our emperor has but just arrived from Mexico City by plane. It is from here that he will rule America. He brought with him two or three gringo prisoners. We are going to him now, with this pretty flower. He awaits us at the old Craigland estate, across the Hudson."
Jimmy Christopher's blood raced. His question was answered--better than he had expected. The Craigland estate--a massive old pile which stood like a fortress on the New Jersey side of the Hudson. Z-7 would spot it from his radio reports...
Important as that information was, Jimmy had just received equally as important information--the news that Montezuma was in New York--with some prisoners! Would one of them be John Christopher? Operator 5's blood raced with excitement. But he maintained an outward appearance of calm, asked: "The Princess Dolores has she been rescued from the Americans?"
"Of a surety, Hernando. We followed their car from the airport, the one in which that Operator 5 took her to the home of the newspaper girl. Soldiers wished to stop us at the Holland Tunnel, but we blasted them with this--" he tapped the machine gun affectionately--"and we rode past their riddled bodies. When he spotted the house of the newspaper girl, we made our plans just as we did here. Only a little while ago, another group of our men carried off the princess and the newspaper girl. They also are being brought to the Craigland estate. The emperor--"
Suddenly the driver turned, said in Spanish to Leon: "There is a black roadster behind us. It is coming too close, Leon. It has a more powerful motor than ours."
Leon swore, looked out through the rear window. Jimmy looked too, past Helen Powers' shoulder, and his blood went cold. He hadn't paid any attention to the pursuing cars, knowing that the agents had been instructed to keep far behind. But now he saw his own roadster, guessed that Tim was driving it. Tim must have come back to the hotel, he assumed, and taken up the chase. The boy, in his usual headstrong manner, was not counting the odds, but was bent on stopping the sedan.
Leon growled: "It is that same Operator 5. I recognize the car. He will soon be up to us!"
The driver threw over his shoulder in Spanish: "Give him a drink of your lead, Leon. He must not follow us to the river!"
Leon's thin lips twisted in a cold smile. "Now," he said softly, "I shall show you, Hernando, that I can use this plaything as well as you!"
He raised the sub-machine gun, and with the muzzle broke the rear window. Then he stuck it out, aimed at the tires of the pursuing roadster. He chuckled. "Watch him turn over when I puncture the tires!"
JIMMY CHRISTOPHER met the frightened gaze of Helen Powers over her gag. And he acted.... He raised his left arm, with his hand opened stiffly; brought it around in a wide circle so that the edge of his hand caught Leon in a sharp blow at the base of the skull. It was a blow that seemed weak, ineffective to an observer not initiated in the art of jiu-jitsu. In reality, that particular spot at the base of the skull was one of the eighty nerve centers in the human body which, when struck at the proper angle, will paralyze the entire system. Jimmy Christopher knew all eighty of those nerve centers, as well as the proper way to strike at them. He had studied the "soft art" (which is a literal translation of the word, jiu-jitsu) under one of the most exacting teachers in the world--Kashawatska Hoia, the Imperial Instructor in Tokyo.
Leon, who had been facing toward the rear, suddenly let out his breath in a deep sigh as Jimmy's blow went home. Soundlessly he clumped, and his head lolled to one side. His body slipped from the seat to the floor at the feet of Helen Powers, and the machine gun dropped from his nerveless fingers.
So swift had been the flash of Jimmy Christopher's arm, that the two men in the front seat had not noticed it; neither had been looking back at the moment.
But now, the man next to the driver turned his head, exclaimed in Spanish: "Hold! Leon!"
Jimmy interrupted: "He's been shot!" and snatched up the machine gun. He gave a good imitation of ferocity, saving: "The dog shot Leon through the broken window. I will make him pay!"
He swung the muzzle once more out of the window at the swiftly nearing roadster, and pressed the trip. His slugs, aimed with precision, struck against the steel fender of the roadster in a peculiar rhythm.
As the two cars raced westward across the deserted city streets, the hail of lead from the sub-machine gun beat a strange tattoo on that fender--dash; dash, dot, tot--T. D.! T. D.I
THE clever Irish lad in the roadster at once grasped the significance of the situation. Though he did not understand how Jimmy Christopher came to be in that sedan, he knew that only he could have sent that rapid-fire message drumming through the air against the steel fender, using the trip hammer of a machine gun for a sending key.
Jimmy Christopher held his breath while he watched the boy do marvelous tricks with the roadster, causing it to swerve from curb to curb without perceptibly diminishing its speed. Finally, at the Intersection of Eleventh Avenue, Tim jammed on the brakes, sent the roadster skidding in a wide, screeching curve, while the sedan roared west toward the river, free of pursuit. The Intelligence men in their cars had long since been outdistanced.
Jimmy turned from the rear window to hear the driver say: "That must be the finish of this Operator 5!"
Jimmy Christopher said nothing while the car slowed up at the river front. He could easily, now, have finished off the driver and the man beside him; but that was not his objective. He had to get into that house on the far side of the Hudson.
So, when the car pulled up along a wooden jetty, he got out, allowed himself and the girl, who was still bound and gagged, to be led toward a small power-boat moored alongside. Half a dozen men were waiting there, and each one of them seemed to have had his duties planned to the last detail for everything proceeded smoothly, and within two minutes, the boat was speeding with muffled motor across the Hudson.
The girl, cold and frightened now, huddled on a bench in the stern, with the sharp spray whipping into her face. Operator 5 stood beside her, and took advantage of the darkness to whisper a word of encouragement in her ear. "It's going off nicely, Miss Powers," he said. "We'll be inside that place in a few minutes. Intelligence knows where we're headed for, and we'll be able to count on some outside help." He reached and took off the gag from her mouth.
He stooped under cover of the darkness, and his swift fingers moved with uncanny certainty as he unfastened the cord that bound her wrists. He did not untie it entirely, but left it loose, so that she could drop it off if she had to. Then he took out his automatic, and pressed it into her cold hands.
"If you should need it later," he murmured.
He straightened just as a dark figure approached, walking spread-legged to balance himself against the rolling of the boat. Jimmy Christopher's eyes narrowed upon that figure---familiar even in the night: the heavy, brutish body, the coarse features as the man came nearer. It was Major Horgavo--....!
His thick lips twisted in a smile, and he said to Jimmy: "You are the man named Hernando, are you not?"
Jimmy bowed, watching the other tensely. "I answer to that name, major," he said quietly.
Horgavo smiled his gross approval. "They tell me that you wrecked the car of Operator 5 with your machine gun fire."
Jimmy bowed again, murmured: "I am honored that my small action has been brought to your attention, major."
"Small action? Why, man, don't you realize that you destroyed the foremost Secret Service operator in our enemies ranks? There is a reward on that man's head--and you shall have it!"
"Thank you, sir."
"They tell me that you are an expert with the machine gun."
"I am quite familiar with it, sir."
"Then come. Follow me!" The major turned, gestured toward one of the men who were standing close by. "Watch the girl. Hernando is coming with me." Then he strode away along the tilting deck.
Jimmy followed him into the single low ceilinged cabin. There was no light here, for the boat was apparently riding without lights. The major stopped only a moment here, to pick up a sub-machine gun lying on the floor, and to hand it to Jimmy. He led the way out at once, took Jimmy's arm and guided him to the rail.
"Do you hear anything?" he asked.
Jimmy had already heard it. It was the low, muffled chug-chug of another powerboat coming down the river. He nodded, said: "Yes, major. I hear it. It is a boat--"
Horgavo bent close to him. "It is a river patrol. They, too, are riding without lights. In a moment they will cross our path. It will be your duty to spray their deck with the machine gun. Do you understand?"
Jimmy said: "Yes, sir. I understand."
The jaw muscles of Jimmy Christopher's face bulged as he fingered the tommy-gun. He hoped that the patrol would pass them in the dark.
THE sound of the police motor grew louder, and Jimmy, glancing up and down the deck, saw that he was not the only one with a machine gun. A half dozen forms were lined up along the rail, waiting tensely. The moment they were challenged they would unleash a vicious hail of lead that would mow down every living man on the deck of the patrol.
Horgavo remained beside him, staring into the night, and Operator 5 hoped fervently that the police boat would miss them. Nothing must interfere now, with his gaining entrance to that gloomy building high on the cliffs.
And just then they were discovered. Across the water they heard a low-voiced order; a burst of brilliant light came into being, and a huge spotlight centered upon their boat. At the same time, Horgavo shouted a hoarse order: "Lights! Fire!"
From the rail on both sides of Jimmy Christopher a hail of vicious lead tore from a half dozen machine guns in the direction of the police boat, while from the roof of the cabin their own searchlight clicked on to flood the patrol with light.
Only for a moment did those two spotlights remain on, then they were shattered by the rapid--fire slugs now coming from both boats. Now, auxiliary searchlights, fore and aft of the police boat began to glower, throwing a dull beam across the water.
A storm of lead tore across the deck of the Aztec boat, and cries of agony sounded as men fell. Horgavo, standing beside Jimmy, exclaimed hoarsely: "It is the armored power-boat. We cannot fight them! I must signal the Master!" He turned, ran in the direction of the cabin, and reappeared in a moment with a Very pistol which he raised in the air and fired.
Two green balls of fire described a graceful parabola in the air from the muzzle of the gun. At the same time, the barrage from the patrol-boat ceased, and a voice called out to them: "Cut out your engine till we pull alongside, or we'll rake you again. You're under arrest!"
And then, as if in answer to the Very pistol's signal, a tremendous searchlight fingered down upon the river from the Craigland house on the cliffs. It swept across the deck of Horgavo's boat, revealing the still bodies lying in pools of blood. That volley from the police boat had done plenty of damage. The searchlight kept moving, played upon the police patrol, and remained there. From across the intervening gap between the two boats Jimmy Christopher heard a voice order: "Full speed ahead. Get out of that light!"
Too well did Jimmy know what would follow. And it did. Suddenly, as if the thing had occurred spontaneously, a terrific explosion sounded from the deck of the police boat. The screams of men echoed above the sound of the detonation, and the air was suddenly filled with cascading fragments of torn and battered bodies. Then quiet descended upon the river once more.
The police boat raced madly, aimlessly across the water, with its throttle wide open. No hand was guiding the tiller. It was a boat filled with the torn shreds of what had just been brave men. For a moment, the spotlight followed that boat in its erratic course, then it suddenly clicked off, and darkness hid the gory bits of floating jetsam that littered the surface of the river. The exploding death had come and gone....
Jimmy Christopher's thoughts were bitter as the boat nosed its way into a dark shed at the foot of the tall rock far below the Craigland house....
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