by Ron Goulart
"That's the castle there, behind those low outbuildings." The two Challengers had halted when they'd spotted the lights.
"Any guy who'll send out robot trucks to keep off visitors," said Rocky, "is sure to have a lot of electronic protection."
"We'll have to get close, see if there's a fence."
"Could be an electric-eye setup long before we hit any kind of fence."
Patting his black box, Red said, "I can use this to nullify anything like that."
"Okay, but you can't nullify nightscopes. They could be watching us right now."
"Better smile then. Let's circle and hit the castle from the backside."
"More hiking," grumbled Rocky.
"Sure, sure. You think I'm a pantywaist?"
"There's an expression I haven't heard in ages, Rocky. Did you pick that up at a gym or a health—"
"Listen, smartass," growled Rocky, while maintaining a whisper, "do you want to get over this wall or do you want to stand around mouthing off?"
"I pick the former. I was only asking to make sure you can—"
"I can." Spreading his legs and cupping his huge hands, the big ex-wrestler said, "Hop on."
The Challenger teammates were at the rear of the Fortaleza castle. They'd, utilizing Red's black box, outwitted an electrified wire fence and a scanning-eye system. That had brought them to a ten-foot-high stone wall, slick-surfaced and with no apparent places to catch hold. The fence circled the entire black stone castle.
Red placed one booted foot in Rocky's finger cradle. "Fire away."
"Here you go." Without any strain, the big man boosted his partner up into the night.
The force of the boost was sufficient to propel Red to the very top of the high wall. He caught hold, pulled himself up. Lying flat out on the smooth, two-foot-wide top section of wall, Red surveyed the castle courtyard below.
A small amount of light leaked into the area from a distant ground-floor window. There was no one on the flagstones below, no indication Red's arrival had been noticed.
Red returned his attention to Rocky. From his belt Red unfastened a coil of very thin, very strong rope. Unreeling it and getting a good grip on his end, he gave a come-on-up twist of his head.
Silently, without a single grunt, Rocky used the rope to aid him in scaling the smooth wall. When he was seated atop it, legs dangling, he said, "Didn't think you could support my weight. You did okay, Red."
"I worked with some pretty fat acrobats during my circus days," he said. "Now let's jump down into this seemingly empty courtyard and case the joint."
"Some joint, too, ain't it? Like one of them castles in the movies."
Red left his perch to go plummeting down. He landed flat-footed, took three steps and was upright again.
ThunkI
Rocky hit on his backside. Shaking his head, he struggled to his feet. "Misjudged a little on that one."
Red was glancing around. "Hope your advent didn't shake the castle walls too much."
"Aw, I was . . . watch it, buddy!"
A dog had appeared from around a shadowy corner of castle wall. It was large and black, shoulders narrowed and head held low. Snarling, it was slowly approaching them.
"Easy now," said Red, bracing himself for the dog's attack.
"Kee-rist, I hate it when they got mad dogs around," Rocky complained. "Cause I like dogs and it makes me feel bad to beat up on them... . Huh!"
When the dog was five feet from them, it stopped still. The top of its skull clicked open. Inside there was an intricacy of wires and transistorized components. Also a tiny silver nozzle, which rose up now.
Before either of the Challengers could retreat from the robot, a fine bluish mist came swirling out of the nozzle to engulf them.
Ten seconds after the mist reached their lungs, both of them fell to the flagstones.
. . very efficient at all, if you don't mind my saying so . . .
"This is hardly a time for . . ." ". . . let them outfox you on the road . . ," ". . . had you alerted us to the capabilities of their van . . ."
". . . catch the Challengers, you can't even overcome some simple-minded sea monster . . ."
". . . my best men lying dead and you choose to . . It wasn't all getting through to her. The voices of the two arguing men came and went, like a surf advancing and retreating.
". . . were stupid enough to let the darn thing get the jump on . . ." ". . . what you describe, the creature must be . .
. . until we take care of the Challengers . . ." June Robbins was able, after several unsuccessful and painful attempts, to move her arms. Eventually she brought her hand up to the side of her head.
"Ow," she said when her fingertips touched the lump at her hairline.
"We can talk about that later, Shuster. Miss Bobbins is back with us, I think."
When the blonde girl got her eyes to open, she saw the smiling, clean-cut face of Denny Yewell hovering a few feet from hers. "Bingo," she said. "I guessed right about you."
"Afraid you did, Miss Robbins," acknowledged the American agent. "I'm not on your side, I'm on theirs."
The room was filling in. A gray room, with blind walls. She was lying on a hard couch, the light from the stark ceiling fixture glaring down at her. "I confirmed that," said June as she made a try at sitting up, "when you popped up in the jungle."
"Sorry I had to hit you on the head." Taking hold of her shoulders, he aided her to a sitting position.
Once she was off her back, the girl shook free of him. "I got the feeling, from the look on your face while you were swinging that blackjack, that you got a great kick out of it."
Yewell grinned, shuffled back from her. "Well, as a matter of fact, Miss Robbins, I guess you've got my number," he said. "I'm really not the nice guy most people take me for."
June noticed Shuster now, standing across the room, arms folded. "Is he one of them?" she asked Yewell. "One of your neo-Nazi pals?"
Grinning more broadly, the turncoat espionage agent said, "He's no neo-Nazi. He's the real thing, a holdout from the good old days. And I've got to tell you, Miss Robbins, these guys have got a budget that really knocks your eye out."
June massaged the back of her neck. "I have the impression I'm the only one you caught."
"I was all by my lonesome when I bumped into you. Came out here on an impulse, figuring Shuster's boys might screw up the whole operation. Sure enough they did, not even—"
"There's no need," Shuster cut in, "to go into this now."
"Doesn't hurt to let her know your people aren't infallible," Yewell told him. "Makes you seem a little more human, besides adding an element of suspense to future events. Are they going to foul up this time? Or will they succeed? Good psychology."
"I can't agree. The whole theory of blitzkrieg is based—•"
"Old stuff," said Yewell. "Halloween pranks for grown-ups. Forget about the good old days in the fatherland, Shuster, and let me handle things." He motioned to the girl. "Want to have you come alcfng with me now, Miss Robbins, to another part of this underground establishment. They've got a setup here that'll work just fine in case we have a visit from the celebrated Challengers of the Unknown." His bland eyes narrowed for a few seconds. "I know what you did to those goons who tried to rough you up on the San James U campus, but I'm quite a bit faster on my feet. You try any tricks on me, Miss Robbins, and I'll kill you right here and now."
When June stood up, the room did one swaying spin around her. After she got control of her brain and her stomach, she said, "It doesn't matter where you hide me. The Challengers will come after me."
Yewell laughed aloud. "I sure hope they do," he said.
'It wasn't the lake creature," Ace said, frowning down at the jungle floor.
"Not unless he's in the habit of wearing boots." Prof swung the beam of his light from the signs of scuffling on the trail to the face of their captive escort.
The Nazi had another control disc attached to his neck. •
"We go
t here within minutes of June's cry," Ace said. "But there was no sign of her."
"Indicating that whoever grabbed her got her out of sight shortly thereafter."
"Down in the Nazi hideaway."
Indicating the Nazi captive, Prof said, "We can follow the trail of whoever snatched June. If it ends up at a secret entrance, then he can get us in."
Ace was thoughtful, cheek hollowing, left eye narrowing. "Why do you think she was grabbed?"
"Because she's one of the gang, and today is sure enough Do Dirt to Challengers Day."
"Maybe," said Ace.
With their mind-controlled Nazi between them, the two pushed off the trail. The tracks left by the booted attacker of June Robbins were intermittent, but there were enough footprints, or fragments thereof, to provide a track to follow.
"Boots sinking deeper since we left the pathway, and none of June's prints," said Ace.
"So he's carrying her," said Prof. "Indicating he knocked her out or trussed her up."
"Or killed her."
"You're growing very negative as old age creeps up on you, Ace. Perhaps you can ask our underground Hitler fans to give you an age-fighting treatment or two."
"Don't think that's the treatment they have in mind for us."
After a moment Prof said, "No more telltale boot marks, chief."
Ace tightened his grip on the small man's arm. "Is there an entrance to your base hereabouts?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"There, the palm tree to your left is hollowed out."
Prof gave the indicated tree a gentle thump. "So it • »
is.
"How do we use it?"
The Nazi droned, "A switch is to be found on the ground beneath that orange fern."
Prof squatted, probing with fingers and flashlight. "Here 'tis."
"Any identifying procedures before you enter?"
"None."
"How do they know you're not an unwanted intruder?"
The small man replied, "There is continual television surveillance once you reach the first level of tunnels."
"I've always wanted to be on television," said Prof, "but this is going to take away a lot of the surprise element from our invasion."
"Possibly," said Ace.
The first thing they saw was iron bars.
Red awakened a few minutes before his Challenger partner. Directiy in front of him, heavy bars rose up out of the stone floor. He lay there contemplating the bars, getting used to his body again. The bones of his face ached, there was an irregular throbbing in his skull. "Aftereffects," he mumbled.
After watching the sturdy bars awhile longer, Red sat up. That increased the throbbing's intensity, made his spine and ribs ache and revealed to him that there were bars on all sides. He was in a cage, the cage was in the center of a much larger stone room. The bars were sunk well into the chill stone floor, thrust far up into the low stone ceiling. There were no windows in the outside room; the only light came from the wire-netted lamps on each side of the thick metal door.
Rocky was spread out on his back. The big man started thrashing around, as though he were struggling to keep a wrestling opponent from pinning his shoulders. "They stick us in the zoo?" he asked, waking up and staggering to his feet.
"Zoo, prison, pen, dungeon," said Red from his seated position. "Take your pick."
Shaking his head from side to side, Rocky inquired, "How long was we in cloudland?"
"We're offering a prize of a free weekend for two in Cleveland, Ohio, for the best guess."
Rocky scowled, surveyed their cage and the shadowy room beyond. "Two, three hours at least," he decided. "Does your noggin ache?"
"Moderately."
"Reminds me of my prehealth-food days, when I used to get hangovers. We're inside the castle, huh?'
"A fair assumption, Rocko." Red pressed a palm to the stone floor, pushed himself to a crouch and then stood upright. "I imagine we're now the guests of Senor Escabar."
"Exactly." A voice came down out of the shadows of the roof above them. "Allow me to welcome you to the hospitality of the Fortaleza."
Rocky made a glum face at the ceiling loudspeaker. "This ain't my idea of hospitality, buster."
"Considering the fact that you are trespassers, and possibly assassins, I believe you've been treated quite well." The voice was now coming out of the tall, lean man who'd opened the heavy door and entered the room. "Much better than you deserve."
"We're not assassins," Red told him.
"It was you tried to do us in," added Rocky. "With that goofy robot truck of yours."
"I shan't apologize for the attempt, though I am pleased you survived. That way we can have something of a talk." He stopped some ten feet from the
front of their cage. "As you surmised, I am Escabar."
"Pleased to meet you." Red inclined his head toward the door of the cage. "Can you let us out now?"
"We can have a perfectly satisfactory conversation with you both on that side of the bars." Escabar walked to a corner of the room, picked up a light aluminum-frame chair. Placing it a safe distance from the bars, he seated himself. "Let me point out, to avoid possible future embarrassment, that you were thoroughly searched while you were sleeping. Quite a fascinating collection of weapons and gadgets turned up."
Rocky slapped at himself. "Hey, you even took my packet of sunflower seeds."
Moving to the bars, taking hold of them, Red said, "What do you want to talk to us about?"
"For One thing, I'm an admirer of yours," answered Escabar. "Here in my relative isolation I've often read of your exploits, and with much interest. I, too, work on the border of the natural and the supernatural. Although I've never gone in for any of the physical bravado you Challengers of the Unknown so frequently display."
"Aw, anybody can do the physical stuff," Rocky put in. "You just got to exercise and eat right."
"No doubt true," said their host. "I've never had the patience for such a program. There are, however, other ways to keep up a youthful and vigorous appearance."
"Fads," said Rocky with scorn. "Nothing pays off like hard work."
Red said, "We've had a very difficult time paying a call on you. Our troubles started when the man who was going to tell us something about you blew up."
"The unfortunate Satara, yes. We were quite good friends at one time," said Escabar. "Drinking got the better of him and then, what is worse, total abstinence. He became, did Satara, very self-righteous. Killing him was the best solution."
"Who was he exactiy?"
Escabar uncrossed and recrossed his legs. "I'll tell you something about myself, as well as the late Satara," he said, smiling carefully. "You realize you'll never be able to use any of the information I impart?"
"We figured," said Red, "you had us penciled in to follow Satara to glory."
"I, myself, don't use such flamboyant means, but your destination will be similar," acknowledged Escabar. "Have either of you heard of Otto Wenzler?"
"Didn't he used to wrestle as the Mad Prussian?" asked Rocky.
Red said, "Wenzler was a research scientist in Nazi Germany. He's been dead thirty years or more."
"Not at all," said Escabar. "I am Otto Wenzler."
"This is where I'm supposed to exclaim, 'Impossible!'" said Red. "Impossible! You can't be more than forty. Wenzler was that age when he was killed three decades ago."
"One of the things I was working on when I decided to leave Germany was a process to retard aging. Once I was settled safely in Ereguay, I perfected that process, along with a good many other processes and mechanisms."
"A regular Renaissance man," commented Rocky.
'Yes, I am gifted in many fields."
"Who uses this process?" Red wanted to know. "Only you?"
"Several hundred of my former colleagues in the fatherland have been enjoying the Wenzler Process these past thirty years. They hope eventually to gain power in the world, political power." He left the chair, circled
it. "General Cuerpo, who served the Reich quite admirably under another name, plans to take over this country quite soon." Pacing in widening circles, Escabar continued talking. "I've come to the conclusion a much different, and surer, kind of power could be obtained simply by exploiting the Process on a much larger scale. Oddly enough it was Satara, who'd been an assistant of mine before he was allowed to wander off and sink into the barrio life, it was Satara who suggested these possibilities to me originally. Unfortunately, during most of my years of exile here, I maintained a zealous loyalty to my fatherland and the ideas I'd been imbued with there."
"Some ideals," remarked Rocky, "borrowed from a jerk like Hitler."
"How," said Red, "does General Cuerpo feel about your change of heart?"
"As yet I've discussed this with no one," replied their host. "Except with the late Satara and now with you two estimable Challengers. I imagine I would go the way of Satara, since I foolishly gave them the formula for the Process many years ago." He resumed his chair. "I have been able to prepare a small surprise for General Cuerpo, which should provide an interesting finale to his takeover attempt."
"What exactly?"
Escabar smiled. "I don't intend to confide everything in you, even though you'll soon be dead."
"You better go easy on this goofy idea of bumping us off," Rocky told him. "If you know about the Challengers of the Unknown, you know there's more than two of us. You do us in and the rest of the gang'll show up and put your butt in a sling."
"My castle is secure," said Escabar. "No one can get in to do ... to do me ... do me harm." He paused, ran lean fingers along his cheek.
Red watched the man closely. "What about the celebrated Monster of Lake Sombra? How do you connect with all that?"
"Connect with ... all ... all that? I . . . don't . . . the Monster . . . it's unfor . . . unfortunate . . . because it draws attention . . ."
"What's wrong with the guy?" whispered Rocky.
Escabar was leaning far forward, resting his hands on his knees. "Our underground . . . underground facility ... built to my specifications ... underground." He raised his head to stare at them. "Forgive me, gentlemen, I seem to be . . ." Escabar fell from his chair, hitting the stone floor, hard, headfirst.
"What the hell?" Rocky rattled the bars. "Is the old boy sick?"
