by Ron Goulart
"They didn't," said the girl, "and I didn't. A very neat and clean job, except it failed."
"Did it?" said Prof.
Ace looked over at him. "Meaning?"
"I'm commencing to wonder if our gaggle of assassins really want to kill us. Maybe they just want to incapacitate us, or simply scare us."
"Aw, nobody can scare the Challengers of the Unknown." Rocky smacked his palm with his fist. "Everybody knows that."
"Not everybody," said Red, "or we'd be out of business."
Hentoff cleared his throat. "Suppose we put all these attempts, and all speculations as to probable motives, on the back burner. I'm due back in Washington as soon as I can get there. I'd like to fill you in on the assignment NEA has for you."
"Fill away," invited Red.
After another throat clearing, the youthful National Espionage agent began. "You'll understand that the United States is anxious to see PetroSur succeed in its development of the oil resources of Ereguay," he said. "A dependable source of oil there will contribute to making us less dependent on the Arab countries. Now, you may not agree with some of the political stands of PetroSur and its parent company, yet I believe you'll agree that PetroSur's activities in Latin America are vitally important to the continued well-being of our own nation."
"Hear, hear," said Prof.
"A few months ago," Hentoff continued, "some very strange things started happening near one of the PetroSur experimental fields, in the vicinity of Lake Sombra. No doubt you are familiar with the legends surrounding this particular body of water."
"We know about the supposed monster," Ace told him. "We've heard the stories of his rising again."
Hentoff said, "There have been several killings, each of which appears to be the work of ... of something . . . something unearthly."
"Appears?" put in Red. "You boys think it's possible the killings have been tricked up to look like the work of some kind of creature?"
"I've brought along all the actual autopsy reports and photos of the victims. Personally, and this opinion is backed by what our own NEA lab people have decided, I favor the theory we're indeed dealing with a very real . . . well, a monster."
"You mean," asked Prof, "a straitlaced outfit like the National Espionage Agency believes a creature called Zarpa has been dwelling in that lake for untold centuries? That he pops up every now and again, rips up a few hapless passersby and then goes back to sleep in the deep?"
Hentoff smiled. "Surely, Prof, after all the odd and bizarre adventures you four have had, you can't still be a skeptic."
"Sure, I'm an eternal skeptic," Prof replied. "The real challenge in any job of ours is to get at the truth. Maybe we'll find a monster down there in the wilds of Ereguay; maybe we'll find a lad in a funny suit."
"Ahum," said June. "Isn't anybody going to correct Alex? He said four of us. Counting me, it's five."
"There's another point," said Ace, "Why do we need a cover story, this business about June doing an article for Newsmag?'
Hentoff pursed his lips for a few seconds. "At the moment Ereguay is enjoying, under President Chanza, a relatively open and democratic government," he said slowly and carefully. "The political situation in Ereguay is, however, very volatile. Therefore, we deem it necessary to have you work a bit more covertly than you sometimes do."
"Darn," said Red, "we'll have to leave the noise-makers and party horns at home."
Hentoff resumed: "We're arranging private lodgings for you in San James, the capital. We'd like you to arrive there no later than tomorrow evening. By that time Holden will have briefed one of our agents there, and the man will work with you."
"Aw," complained Rocky, "we don't need no help." "Let me stress again you must go carefully, keep a low profile," said Hentoff. "Our man will make the necessary arrangements to give your cover story plausibility and set up the necessary transportation and permits."
"Relax, Rocky," said Prof. "It'll be nifty to have an
extra somebody to put between us and the next assassin.
There wasn't another aircraft like it in any hemisphere. A silvery, wing-shape jet, it came knifing through the clear afternoon sky over the Ereguayan capital. Zooming over a city which was a mix of high-rise glass and metal, ancient cathedrals, red tile roofs, broad streets and twisting lanes.
Ace Morgan, who'd designed the ship, was at the controls and in communication with the San James airport.
June Robbins touched her fingertips to the viewport beside her seat. "What's all that fringing the city?"
"You're not supposed to notice," said Prof. "They call that the barrio
"Up in the States, during the Depression," amplified Red, "they were called shantytowns and Hoovervilles. You know, makeshift towns built on the edges of the big cities. Lots of jobless, homeless people in America in those distant days."
"Citizens now flock to San James from all over Ereguay," said Prof. "Tired of the agricultural life, looking for a better deal and maybe a little luck in an urban setting. Well, cities have always been a magnet. Trouble is Ereguay's economy isn't quite in good enough shape to support its poor. So they throw together a shack and wait."
"Wait for what?" asked Rocky.
"Ah, there's the rub," said Red.
Prof said, "We can ignore the barrio this trip, June. It's got nothing to do with our mission."
"Look at how much ground those terrible shacks and huts cover," persisted June. "There must be thousands of people living there, or trying to live. People sick, starving."
"Hey, you're supposed to be working for Newsmag," Red reminded her. "Newsmag newspersons don't have hearts. Don't blow our cover by getting sentimental, kid."
"Red, sometimes I think you—"
"We have arrived," announced Ace.
"Kee-rist," rumbled Rocky, "talk about your smooth landings."
"She handles very well, doesn't she?" said Ace, grinning proudly.
"There is a chap out there on the field with a homespun grin and an attache case." Red was unbuclding his safety gear, gazing out the doorport. "He is now trotting toward our ship. Bet he's Hentoff's boy."
Standing over the control panel, Ace flipped a toggle. The door whooshed open. "Check him out," he said.
Red posed casually in the hatchway. "Afternoon," he said amiably out at the large young man who was hurrying toward their ship.
"I'm Denny Yewell," the broad-faced young man called.
"That must be a great source of comfort to you."
"You've got to be Red Ryan."
"Going to have to start wearing a hat." Red placed a foot on the top rung of the disembarking stairs. "Hentoff mentioned your name, Yewell. Got any little special phrases to pass on."
Yewell halted a few feet from the ship, blinking up at Red. "Phrases? Oh, you mean you want to go through all that cloak-and-dagger routine." He laughed, scratched at his close-cropped blond hair. "I keep forgetting how gung ho Hentoff is."
"Us, too," said Prof, who'd joined his Challenger teammate on the stairs. "We find identifying phrases are a big help in sorting the good guys out from the bad guys."
"Once that is established," added Red, "we know whom to shoot and whom not to shoot."
"Okay, okay." Yewell blushed, swallowed. "I'm supposed to say . . . 'O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done.' Then you respond with . . ."
" 'The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,'" supplied Red.
Nodding with satisfaction, Yewell asked, "Can I come closer now?"
"You know the right lines, you must be okay." Prof sidestepped down the metal ladder, held out his hand to the American agent.
It was a dry, warm day in the capital city.
After shaking hands vigorously, Yewell said, "I was able to rent a very nice house for you in a nice section of San James. You're not superstitious, I hope?"
"Why?" asked Red, joining them on the field.
"Oh, the defense minister from a couple regimes back was murdered in the house,"
the agent said. "That was over two years ago and it was a very neat killing, knife-in-the-back sort of thing. There aren't any bullet holes in the plaster or anything. Yet some people refuse to—"
"Not us," Red assured him. "The more haunted a house is, the better we like it. Does the defense minister roam the halls at midnight rattling his chains?"
"I don't think he ever had any chains," said Yewell. "Well, I'm certain you people will like the house. It really is a nice house. Soon as you're ready I'll drive you over to—"
"We'll follow you," said Red. "We brought our own vehicle."
A hatch in the cargo end of the Challenger ship was sliding open. A ramp swung down and, with Rocky at the wheel, a small van came rolling out. Rocky grinned at them, beeped the horn twice.
"Equipment." Prof tilted a thumb at the emerging van.
"Oh, right, right." The young man began frisking himself. "I was alerted about that; got your temporary license and insurance certificate here someplace. Yes, here we go." He handed Red a wad of papers. "You being specialists, I imagine you carry a . . . Hi, I'm Denny Yewell."
June had come down out of the ship. She shook the hand the American agent offered. "Pleased to meet you."
"I've rented you, as I was telling the guys, a very nice house to stay in."
"In a nice neighborhood," said Prof.
"That's nice." The girl was turning her pretty head from side to side, watchful.
There were no other people or planes in this section of the airfield.
"Calm yourself, Juney," said Red. "They won't try the same stunt twice."
"So you say," she said. "But maybe they're the kind who believe in trying until they succeed."
They weren't expecting the president.
The walled-in garden of the large house they were staying in was thick with bougainvillea and geraniums; there were explosions of red blossoms all around. Dusk was filling up the garden and the slanting street beyond the garden wall; the wrought-iron lamps hanging from the pink and white house walls were glowing on.
Rocky took a bite out of a cucumber. "Too quiet," he observed. He was standing beside a large, oval fishpond, absently watching the multicolored fish within it.
"No doubt," said Prof, stretched out in a wicker chair and watching the stars commencing to appear high above, "we're experiencing the proverbial calm before the storm."
"Right," put in Red from his perch on a wooden bench surrounded by bright red blossoms. "Wait till we hit Lake Sombra and you and that ancient monster meet face to face, Rocksie."
Scratching at his head, Rocky said, "Aw, I got a hunch there ain't no monster in that puddle at all. There's something else afoot."
"Could be," Red agreed. "Our thrifty, loyal, reverent and brave NEA agent, young Master Yewell, sure hinted as much."
Rocky surveyed the darkening garden. "Nice joint he fixed us up with. You got to give him that."
"He'll probably go into the real-estate line when his government days are over," said Prof.
"Cars stopping." Red jogged across the garden and, aided by a conveniently placed birdbath, boosted himself up to peer over the top of the seven-foot wall. "Official-looking bunch, long black cars, a trio of those, and everybody in a sincere dark suit."
Prof didn't move. "Probably a funeral in the neighborhood."
"Hope not, since they're coming here," Red said. "Marching right up to our front door, ringing the chimes. The heavy guy they're clustered around looks a heck of a lot like President Chanza."
Prof swung off his chair. "President Chanza of this very country?"
"That President Chanza, yeah."
"Kee-rist," remarked Rocky. "Why's the pres of Ereguay dropping in on us?"
"Let's," suggested Red while dropping from his viewpoint, "go inside and find out."
Three large men met them in the main corridor of the house. "One moment, por favor," said the largest one, making a polite, stop-right-there gesture.
His associates were consulting a packet of papers and photos. "Esta bien." They passed some pictures to the largest.
He nodded. "You seem to be Red Ryan, Rocky Davis and Prof Haley."
"Seem to be and are," Prof assured him. "Reading from left to right. Who might you lads be?"
"We are part of the president's security detail, sefior. My name is Del Rio. His Excellency would like to talk with you four as soon as the living room has been gone over."
"Gone over?" said Red.
Del Rio smiled, his thick mustache turning up at the edges. "For listening devices, bombs and related devices, senor."
"Couldn't be anything like that here," said Rocky. "I mean this joint was picked out for us by . . ." He trailed off when he noticed another security man coming out of the living room with a small disc resting in his outheld hand.
"In the lamp base," he said to Del Rio.
"Si, an obvious place."
"Kee-rist," said Rocky, growling. "Some jerk planted a bug on us and we didn't even tumble. Stupid."
"Have to agree with you, old man," said Prof with a rueful shake of his head. "We should have found that dingus ourselves."
"We all of us nod now and again," said Del Rio. "If one is careless too often . . . then we may have no further opportunity of making mistakes."
Red took the disc from the man who'd found it. "One of those Japanese babies. Very efficient." He handed it back.
"Let's go in there and see what else we can find," invited Prof. "No use these lads having all the fun."
The three Challengers went striding down the long hallway and into the living room. Two other security men were searching it.
President Chanza was a middle-sized man, a bit plump, and about fifty-five. He had wavy hair, a thin mustache. With his hands behind his back, he stood patiently in the center of the room. "Ah, good evening, gentlemen," he said. "I hope, as I was explaining to Mr. Morgan, you don't mind my intruding on your privacy." "Not a bit," said Prof. "It's your country, after all."
Rocky scanned the room. "What'd they do with June?"
"The president," said Ace from his armchair, "has the Old World notion women don't belong at meetings."
Chanza said, "We are not as enlightened in Ereguay as you are in the United States. I appreciate your indulging of my prejudices."
"Ain't nothing wrong with Juney," Rocky told the president of Ereguay, his big fingers contracting into huge fists.
"A very attractive young woman," smiled Chanza. "But I feel the business of politics, and the political intrigue which goes with it, is business for men only."
"Let it ride, Rock," advised Ace.
While Rocky was defending June's honor, Red and Prof had joined in the sweep of their living room.
"We used to have Easter egg hunts like this at my great-aunt's when I was a boy," said Red.
"So did we," said Prof. "I never found a single egg, though I once turned up a fifth of bourbon my great-uncle had stashed away."
Rocky dropped down on a sofa, causing it to thump. "Them two are a whole lot dopier than June," he said toward Ace. "How come they get to come to this party?"
"Not a party," said the Challenger leader. "Relax."
"Kee-rist," Rocky commented.
Several moments passed, and at last the security men and the two Challengers agreed there were no more surprises in the room. After promising to check out the rest of the house, the security men withdrew, closing the heavy doors.
President Chanza seated himself in a straight-back
chair. "Let me begin by informing you that I know what your real reason for visiting my country is," he said, smiling carefully around at them. "That is, I am aware you are not here simply to aid the attractive Miss Robbins in preparing a magazine story about one of our fabled Ereguayan creatures."
"Wouldn't care to tell us how you came by that information?" said Ace.
Chanza smiled more broadly. "I have ways of learning tilings," he said.
"We really are going to track down your damn monster,"
said Rocky. "That part's not bull."
Ace said, "Hush up, Rock."
"It is my belief there is more going on in the Lake Sombra region than the rumored reappearance of Zarpa," said the president. "I have long followed your careers, gentlemen. When I was a professor at San James University, long before my dream of helping my country had begun to come true, I followed the accounts of your adventures. You Challengers of the Unknown have dealt with many strange things, have always triumphed. What is equally important, you have remained both modest and honest. This is not always the case with those whose exploits thrust them into celebrity."
"It's part of our deal," said Ace. "We all figure we're living on borrowed time. We've got to put that time to the best use. All of it's pretty simple."
"I have, as you've noticed, a very thorough security detail and a relatively loyal police force," continued President Chanza. "The military ... at the present time they pretend to be more or less on my side. We shall see." He leaned, pressed his hands on his knees,. "Certain things are difficult to follow up, either because I cannot spare the men or because I cannot completely trust those I can spare. Therefore, when I heard of your arrival I was delighted. To me you are a godsend."
"That's not who sent Rocky," murmured Red.
"You have a job you'd like us to handle?" Ace asked the president.
"I do," he answered. "At first glance it may not seem to be anything in your line, yet I am convinced there is a dark, a mysterious side to the matter. If it is not supernatural, it is at least unnatural."
"Details?" invited Ace.
"There is a man I would like you to locate and talk to," said Chanza. "He has information which I am informed he is anxious to unburden himself of. Were things in my country different, I would not impose on you."
"You think," asked Prof, "this chap can tell us something that may tie in with our mission?"
"Perhaps," said the president. "Let me simply say I believe what you may learn from him is important to us. I mean to my country and yours. Will you do this thing for me?"
Ace steepled his fingers, eyed the crystal chandelier above his head. "What's his name? Where do we start looking for him?"
