by Ron Goulart
"All assassins aren't efficient."
"Okay, if it was you they were after, Prof, take care, huh? Meanwhile, can you get back to the studio, out of the kindness of your heart, to help my people whip up a new supersub?"
"Tomorrow," promised Prof.
"For sure? This guy I got playing the sea monster is very quirky. He complains all the time if he has to sit around with all that makeup on and—"
"Tomorrow, trust me. Shoot around the sub. I'll see you bright and early, as bright as the smog allows, in Burbank tomorrow. Bye." He hung up the receiver, placed the phone on the redwood planking near his chair.
"I sense a yarn," said the girl.
"Where's my orange juice?" Prof walked over to her.
"Everybody's equal now. Hadn't you heard?" She remained reclining.
"You talking about that thing Lincoln signed?" Giving her a mock scowl, he wandered back into the rented beach house. When he was opening the kitchen refrigerator, he heard the patter of bare feet on the parquet behind him.
"You're very droll today," said the blonde.
"Gallows humor." Prof poured himself a full glass of orange juice. "Somebody tried to blow me up."
"I hadn't noticed."
"Let us rephrase that, sunshine. That prop sub I lent Norman Lancer a hand on was blown up this morn-ing."
"Since some people thought you'd be inside it today, you suspect—"
"Not sure what I suspect, Hildy. This being my vacation I think I'll turn off the fabled Haley brain and—"
"Famed Challenger's Near Miss with Death," Hildy Niven said. "I see another fast three hundred dollars from the National Intelligencer coming my way."
"No, nix." He shook a hand at her in a negative gesture. "No more yarns about me or the Challengers of the Unknown. As it is, I shouldn't have—"
"Prof, are you expecting company?"
"Not at all. Why?"
"I hear footsteps on the roof."
Prof glanced upward. "So do I, along with the familiar chuff of a helicopter." He touched her smooth bare shoulder. "Stay here, gumdrop, and be prepared to duck at a moment's notice."
"Challenger Defies Death in Own Home," Hildy said as he left her. "That's another three hundred bucks."
"Rented home. And I've got to shake this terrible habit of getting romantically entangled with scandal sheet reporters." Silently he padded down the hall toward the sun deck.
The footsteps had ceased to sound on the slanting shingle roof overhead.
Prof eased a .32 revolver out of the holster at the back of his belt.
"No wonder you felt so lumpy the last time I hugged you," remarked Hildy.
"Back in the kitchen," he ordered without turning.
"I'll do no—"
An upside down red head was visible dangling over the edge of the roof and grinning at them through the sliding-glass deck doors. "Everybody decent?"
"Once a circus clown, always a circus clown." Prof stowed his gun. "Splendid seeing you again, Red."
"Same here." Legs flashed and Red Ryan somersaulted backward off the beach house roof to land upright on the deck. "Pleasant setup you have here. Afternoon, miss."
Prof came, frowning some, out into the sunlight. "Who's up in the autogiro?"
"Rocky."
Profs left cheek puckered. "Tell him to park it," he suggested. "Then we'll all sit out here soaking up the proverbial sun. When dusk spreads along Malibu's golden shores, we can go clamming or perhaps you can stick around long enough for the next run of grunion. Or perhaps you can take—"
"Easy, Prof, whoa," said Red with a grin. "We wouldn't barge in on your vacation unless it was important." He glanced at Profs ear. "Um . . . been having any trouble with your hearing?"
"I turned it off. Red Ryan, this is Hildy Niven. Hildy, Red. She knows about the little summoning bug."
"Sorry," the girl said to Red, "I stumbled on it the last time I fondled his ear."
"Not supposed to be able to shut it off," said Red. "Your man-in-the-street electronics whiz couldn't,
but to Prof Haley," said Prof, "such a simple problem is—
"We have to go," interrupted Red. "That we includes me, too?" Prof asked. "Right. Ace wants us back . . . back home soonest." "Okay, I'll gather my gear together." Prof patted Hildy's elbow on his way into the house.
The blonde girl watched Red. "You wouldn't want to tell me where the next challenge is going to take you?"
"That's right," answered Red, "I wouldn't."
"Kee-rist!" Rocky came rumbling into the chill meeting room, waving a tabloid newspaper aloft. "Have you guys seen this rag?"
Slouching farther in his place at the oval conference table, Prof cupped a hand to his ear. "Eh? What say?"
"They got a whole lot of baloney about us in this here National Intelligencer." The wide wrestler slapped the offending newspaper down on the table-top, poked a thick forefinger at it. "What kind of pea-brained nitwits read this tripe, anyhow?" He dropped into his chair with the force of a felled tree.
When the table ceased shaking, Red said, "I haven't seen the annoying item, Rock. Read it, will you?"
Prof slouched still farther. "Why don't you wait till your subscription copy arrives, old man?"
"Ain't Ace here?" Rocky had realized the leader of the Challengers was not in evidence.
Prof said, "Expected momentarily."
The pages of the tabloid got ripped as Rocky turned them. "Okay now, listen to this bilge. 'Living on Borrowed Time, They Dedicate Lives to Fight Evil.'
That's your here now headline. Which is right next to an ad for an Egyptian amulet that can both increase and decrease your fertility."
"Don't scoff," put in Prof. "My Uncle Rufus had one of those and he ended up fathering sixteen children, many of them with his wife. The brood included two sets of identical twins, three sets of triplets, six sturdy—"
"Whoa," said Red. "That's nineteen already."
"Gosh, he was even more fertile than we realized."
"Come on, you guys," protested Rocky, giving the newspaper article a few more pokes with his finger. "This broad goes on to say that—"
"Which broad?" inquired Red.
"I don't know, some dippy broad named Hildy Niven. Probably got a face like a bulldog and a build like the wrong end of a truck."
"Could that be the same Hildy Niven I met recently in Southern California," said Red.
Prof asked, "Did she have a face like a bulldog and a build like the wrong end of a truck?"
"Nope, this girl was terrific-looking, sparsely clad and with a very tiny appendix scar right along—-"
"Ha!" Rocky rose up, snapped his fingers. "I see the handwriting on the wall."
"If you spot any good phone numbers," said Prof, "let—"
"That dame you was dallying with there in Malibu, Prof. Ha!"
"I'll have you know, old man, I never dallied in my life."
"It was what's her name, it was Hildy Niven," accused Rocky. "You blabbed to her, gave her all this guff about us. Such gunk as, and I quote, 'Each Challenger faced a personal moment of truth mere weeks before the fateful plane crash that was to alter their lives so completely.' And like, 'They were flying toward fame and fortune when a sudden violent storm changed their flight plan and their lives. They lived through a crash that should have been fatal. And having survived this clash with the greatest unknown of them all—death—the feisty quartet vowed to continue challenging the many mysteries that puzzled and ofttimes imperiled mankind.' Kee-rist, Feisty? Vowed? Fateful?"
"The young lady writes very well," said Red. "And she got your number, Rocko. You are a feisty one."
"Listen, you clowns," growled Rocky, "I am ticked off. Getting written up in this sheet along with Egyptian doohickies and guys who claim to have cured their crippled old grannies with a dowsing rod."
Prof cleared his throat. "Do you want to put all this in the form of a motion?"
"Broads," muttered the big man, "going to be the ruin of you."
"Quite likely," admitted Prpf. "I would, however, like to talk a bit more about the more immediate and less attractive forms of getting knocked off."
Red folded his arms, eyed the ceiling. "You think our little accidents are work of one hand?"
"The most obvious assumption, isn't it? In the same day three heavies try to cold-cock Rocky, somebody cuts the string on your trapeze and they plant an infernal machine in the prop sub I am rumored to be descending in."
Rocky grunted. "That makes it kind of spooky," he said. "Means whoever's got it in for us also knows one heck of a lot about us, about what we were gonna be up to." He scowled down the table at Prof. "Somebody like that newspaper broad of yours."
Prof smiled slowly at his teammate. "What I told Hildy about us, Rockbound, was little more than she could have dug out of magazines and newspapers," he said, the smile gradually fading. "We've been together a long time and you ought, I think you do, to know I'm not about to betray the Challengers."
"Takes more than a pretty face to get anything out of Prof," added Red.
"Okay, okay, excuse it." Rocky examined his knuckles. "So who, then?"
"To put your alleged mind at ease," Prof said, "Hildy didn't know where you or Red were. And she was one person who knew for sure I wasn't in that sub."
"Aw, okay." Rocky dug a handful of carrot sticks out of a pocket, began chomping on them. "Don't keep harping on it, Prof. I'm sorry."
"We understand," Red told him. "Getting jumped and losing a pint of your favorite yogurt all in one day can unsettle anyone."
"It was a quart."
"I am wondering," said Prof, tilting back in his chair, "if these tries at removing us from this plane of existence are maybe connected with our new assignment."
"Possible." Ace had come silently into the long win-dowless room.
"Hi, skipper." Rocky gave him a casual salute, touching a carrot hunk to his craggy forehead.
"What more can you tell us on this new job?" Red wanted to know.
Ace slid into the chair at the head of the table.
"Alex Hentoff of the National Espionage Agency will be out here in the morning to give us a complete briefing," he said. "From the hints June dropped, though, I've been able to put together—"
"June?" Rocky sat up. "We going to be working with June Robbins again?"
"Looks like," answered Ace.
The big man made a chuckling sound. "I like Juney." Frowning in Prof's direction, he added, "Don't go bird-dogging the poor kid this time, huh?"
"Me? Hardly know the young lady; besides which, my heart is promised elsewhere."
"You were saying," Red urged the chief of the Challengers.
"Dug into one of the files I've been keeping," Ace said. "Something like two months ago stories began drifting out of an area in Ereguay around Lake Sombra. Nothing big, back-page stuff mostly."
"The Monster of Lake Sombra," said Prof. "The old rascal hasn't surfaced since late in the last century. I recall seeing a squib about his recent return."
Nodding, Ace said, "Locally he's called Zarpa. Means claw in Spanish."
"He's certainly got claws," said Prof. "Legend has it he's quite fond of ripping his victims apart."
"This is one legendary creature I'm not up on," said Red. "What is he supposed to be? A big serpent like the Loch Ness beastie or what?"
"Stories about Zarpa go back several hundred years," said Ace. "Most accounts, which include several by folks who claim to have been attacked by Zarpa and escaped, depict him as roughly humanoid. But with the head of some kind of amphibian reptile."
"What's Uncle Sam want us to do?" Rocky finished the last carrot. "Cage the guy?" "PetroSur, which is a branch of one of our biggest U.S. oil companies, is developing oil fields in that part of Ereguay," said Ace. "So far the creature has attacked only local citizens—"
"Ah, but we can't have him eating up Americans," said Prof. "Specially not big oil biz Americans."
"Easy, Prof," cautioned Red, with a grin, "you're starting to sound a shade too radical."
"There's a lot more to it than protecting PetroSur's interests," said Ace. "In the first place, I'm damn curious to find out what exactly this creature is."
"Lot of 'em turn out to be hoaxes."
"Not all, Rocky," reminded Red. "Which is one of the things which keeps us in business."
Prof was running his tongue around against his cheek, left eye nearly shut. "There's some political turmoil abrewing down Ereguay way," he said. "At the moment it's one of the few South American countries with anything resembling a democratic government."
Red added, "Their President Chanza was actually elected."
Rocky folded his newspaper, sat on it. "Speaking of June Robbins," he said, "when's she due here at Challenger headquarters?"
"Sometime between now and tomorrow," said Ace. "That's as close as I can come. You know how June is."
"Unpredictable," supplied Red.
"I'm kind of worried about her tagging along on this caper," the big man said. "In case we end up tangling with a monster and all."
"Worry about the monster," advised Prof.
The one-way glass wall let in a sweeping view of orange and gold cliffs and canyons. Alex Hentoff shook his head, which seemed slightly too large for his slim body, and wiped at his glasses with a swatch of treated paper before replacing them. "Incredible," he said in his somewhat piping voice. "From outside, this looks like just one more Southwest hunk of mountain."
"We call it camouflage," Prof said from the comfortable chair where he sat watching the young government agent.
Giving his rimless spectacles a final adjusting pat, Hentoff turned his back on the briefing room's impressive view and crossed to a chair.
Six chairs were placed in the center of the large room, all but one now occupied.
Rocky shifted again in his, drumming his fingers on the clipboard on his knee, frowning toward the entry panels in the wall. "She's late," he muttered.
Red raised an eyebrow at Prof. "Who's the Rock alluding to?" "Search me. Some young lady, I gather."
"Knock it off, you guys," growled the big man. "All the things that've been happening . . . well, Kee-rist, I'm a little worried about Juney Robbins is all."
"Women are always late for meetings," Red said.
"Not anymore," put in Prof. "They have equal rights now."
"I forgot."
Hentoff allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "Shall I wait for Ms. Robbins?"
"Yes," said Ace.
Nodding, the National Espionage agent said, "You alluded to some unusual things which had been taking place, Rocky. Would you amplify on that?"
"Aw." Rocky gave a lopsided shrug. "Some guys tried to knock us off. Nothing serious."
"Attempts were made on your lives? When?"
"Yesterday," said Ace. He gave Hentoff a brief and concise account of what had befallen each of the other Challengers.
Hentoff stroked his beardless chin. "Interesting, Ace, and yet I'm at a loss to see how it connects with this pending assignment of yours. Furthermore, no one but Holden Chote, Ms. Robbins and myself even knew NEA intends to bring you into this affair. In fact, until early yesterday the final decision hadn't even been made. Even if there were a leak, which I judge to be nearly impossible, there would have been no time to set up three separate schemes to do away with you fellows."
"Probably just some free-lance killers," said Prof, "looking for practice."
"Right," said Red, "probably out to earn their merit badges in mayhem and slaughter."
"You weren't," asked Hentoff, after allowing another fleeting smile onto his face, "able to catch any of these people? Or to get some lead as to who they were?"
"Nope," said Red. "Nobody at Bimm's circus saw any suspicious characters lurking around. The rope had been cut, but I couldn't determine when and by whom. I wasn't, in what time I had before hightailing it back here, able to get a single clue."
"Similar situation prevaile
d in Southern Cal," said Prof. "Though I'll have the bomb fragments shipped to our lab here, once the police bomb experts get finished."
"Be sure to have them send the stuff special bomb rates," suggested Red. "Saves postage."
"Oh, really? I thought that only applied to letter bombs."
"Come on, you guys," Rocky grumbled, "knock off the levity." Eyebrows nearly connected, he glanced once more at the entryway.
As he did, a panel slid aside and a slim blonde girl, pretty face slightly flushed, came hurrying into the briefing room. "Sorry I'm late, one and all," she said.
Rocky's chair rumbled when he hopped to his feet. "You okay, Juney? You look kind of flustered."
"Oh, well, somebody tried to shoot me," June Rob-bins replied. "It sort of unsettled me."
"Welcome to the club," said Red, standing and easing the one empty chair a few inches toward her.
June sank into it, smiling a thank you at him. "I'm not the only one who's been playing target?"
Ace leaned in her direction. "Before we fill you in," he said, "give us the details of what happened to you."
Her long blonde hair brushed at her shoulders when she gave a self-deprecating shrug. "It was at the airport when I got in a couple hours ago." "You should have taken me up on my offer of a lift in the NEA jet," said Hentoff.
Not looking at the agent, June said, "I had some things to take care of before I left Washington, Alex. Anyway, when I was walking from the plane to the airport. . . bam! Somebody shot at me. I hit the deck in my usual nimble fashion and no harm was done. At least not to me."
"Anyone else hurt?" asked Ace.
"No, none of my fellow passengers or any of the crew, but a lot of the suitcases on one of the baggage trucks got sliced in half and—"
"Sliced in half?" said Rocky.
June explained, "Seems my assassin was using some sort of laser gun."
Hentoff bounced in his chair. "That's impossible, June. No civilian could—"
"The airport police were of the same opinion," the blonde girl said. "But there were all those suitcases neatly cut open, not to mention the truck itself. After talking in circles with me for a while, they all gave up and turned me loose. Here I am." She smiled, spread her hands wide apart.
Ace steepled his fingers. "I imagine they found no trace of the lad with the laser gun? No witnesses?"
