by Ron Goulart
Carefully Ace inserted the metal bar into the opening. The electromagnet beneath the metal surface took hold of the bar. He heard a faint click from the wall next to the door. "Going to open up now, Juney; stand back."
Ace used the key and the door opened outward.
"Well?" June watched him hesitating on the threshold.
"Come on out."
"Thanks." When the slim blonde girl was next to him in the corridor, she said, "What was supposed to happen?"
"They figured we'd go breaking in, either try to force the lock or break the door," explained Ace. "That would have released a gas out of jets up in the ceiling and inside your cell."
"Deadly gas?"
"Deadly."
"I'm glad this particular trap didn't spring." She took his arm. "Where's Prof?"
"Chasing Yewell and the headman."
"What about all the other underground Nazis?"
"All locked inside their auditorium, with all the exits electrified to prevent anybody from bolting till we get some troops out here."
"The army's crooked, too," reminded June.
"There are troops and there are troops," said Ace. "We should be able to round up a peacekeeping force to take care of this many old-school Nazis."
The girl said, "Do we wait down here for Prof?"
"Better meet him upstairs. Since he's out in the lake now in a minisub, hunting for those guys." "Lake Sombra? That's where the monster is." "Profs handled many a monster," Ace told her. "Don't worry."
"But I will worry."
The minisub broke free of the black surface of the lake. Its lights made the beads of water it was shedding glisten and sparkle in the night.
"Is that him?" asked June.
"We'll have to wait and see." Ace and the girl were crouched in the underbrush near the shore of Lake Sombra. "Don't wave hello till we see who comes out."
The amphibious sub came rolling clear of the lake to go crashing several yards into the surrounding jungle. When the hatch on the control cab flapped open, Prof came popping out. Pie slid down the wet side of the sub, landed on the mossy ground with his stunpistol already in his hand. Pie stood for a few seconds watching the lake he'd emerged from, then pivoted and started jogging away.
"Hey, Prof!" called Ace.
Slowly, halting, Prof said, "Everybody run."
"Why?" asked June.
The girl and the crew-cut Ace had stepped into the throw of the lights.
Prof shouted, "Because that damn monster is about to ... or is he?" He came walking back to them.
The surface of the lake seemed still.
June touched Profs sleeve. "You saw the thing?"
"Yep, saw a good deal of the old boy," he answered. "He followed me on my dash to safety. I was expecting he'd attack about the time I touched dry land
"There's no sign of him," Ace pointed out.
"Even so," said Prof, "I'd like to get away from this particular section of picturesque Ereguayan jungle."
"We better trek back to our van," Ace said. "I want to radio the capital anyway."
"Let's commence trekking," urged Prof.
"What about Yewell?" the girl asked him.
Moving away from the sub, Prof said, "I'll give you a full account at a later date, if you don't mind, princess. Suffice it to say he's no longer among the living,"
"Shuster likewise?" Ace said.
"Monster got both of them," said Prof. "I may eventually write him up as the Most Unforgettable Character I Ever Met. It was incredible what that thing did. He attacked their sub, broke right into it and . . ." Prof didn't provide an account of what the creature had next done.
After several minutes of silent walking, Ace said, "You obviously got a good look at it."
"Very good, yes."
"Any idea what it is?"
"A monster."
"What sort?"
"There I'm at a loss. It's like nothing I've ever encountered, at least not in my waking hours. If you crossed a giant human with a crocodile and a couple of lizards and then . . . No, you still wouldn't quite have this chap. Most unsettling aspect is . . . He's, I don't know . . . there's something glaringly evil about him. Excuse the melodramatic phrasing, but once you see him in action . . ." Prof didn't finish the sentence.
"You got away from him," said June. "I'm thankful for that."
Prof grinned. "Takes a crisis to make true love blossom, as my sainted—"
"Love has nothing to do with it," the girl cut in. "But we're a team, and I'd hate to have some critter break us up."
"Ancient monsters are breaking up that old gang of mine," sang Prof. "Do you mean to tell me, June, you'd be just as thankful about Rocky's escaping from the clutches of that thing?"
"Possibly a shade more so."
"That's carrying esprit de corps to ridiculous extremes."
"Well, anyway, I am glad you came through whole."
"I trust I'll do as well next time."
"Next time?"
"Certainly," said Prof. "We came here to put a stop to that monster's activities, didn't we? Granted we seem to have put the kibosh on a Nazi plot to take over the world again, and we've rounded up a hundred or more bad guys ... You did catch them all, did you not, Ace?"
"Got the whole set safely locked up down there."
"Then we ought to get back to our original purpose. Which is to track and catch that beastie."
"I wish," said June, "you wouldn't."
Prof said, "The Haley Clan has long been noted for its stubbornness. I'm going to take another crack at that thing, when I'm a bit better equipped."
Prof was watching the mug of cocoa he held in both hands. "This must be an optical illusion," he decided. "I have the impression my hands are shaking."
"Optical illusions don't splash on your knee." June reached over, wiping at his trousers with a Kleenex.
"Astonishing," Prof said. "My recent underwater encounter must have shaken me more than I realized. Can I ever live this down?"
"You really are, despite that glib front of yours, a very conventional guy. A man can never show fear and all that."
"Well, a real he-man shouldn't spill cocoa in his lap."
Ace came into the rear end of their Challenger van. "I got through to President Chanza," he said. "He's going to call in an International Police unit. They'll have our cooped-up Nazis in custody by tomorrow sometime."
Prof had the cup resting on his knee now. "That monster continues to intrigue me."
"Intrigue isn't quite the right word, is it?" June helped herself to some more cocoa.
"Be that as it may," Prof went on, "I'm going to go down into Lake Sombra again to look for him."
"Considering what he did to Denny Yewell," said the girl, "you're going to have to go very carefully."
"I brought along sufficient monster-tackling gear. And I'll avail myself of the Nazis' handy little sub."
June turned to Ace. "What do you think?"
"I think I'll go along," Ace answered.
It was a warm afternoon in San James. The streets below the balcony seemed fresh and bright. Men in white suits, women in bright dresses, Indios in multicolored ponchos and straw hats were all on view.
General Cuerpo sat, alone, on the wide balcony, looking down at it all. He was sipping a glass of chilled Chablis. In a very few hours he would give the signal for his men to move, and by tomorrow he would be heading the country's government.
Now, though, he would relax in the bright sun. It was odd, but the general didn't feel the excitement he should. He was, if the truth were admitted, very tired. Weary. For the first time in a long time he felt as though he might join in the ridiculous national custom of a nap after lunch.
"Perhaps it's depression which makes you feel this way," he said to himself.
Then he straightened in his wicker chair. He hadn't intended to speak aloud, but he felt a strong suspicion that he had.
"Don't start behaving like that fool, Shuster."
Gene
ral Cuerpo carefully placed his glass on the mosaic table beside his chair. Yes, definitely that time he had uttered the words aloud rather than simply thinking them.
It was understandable, wasn't it? He'd learned this morning the Challengers of the Unknown had invaded the underground headquarters in the jungle near Lake Sombra. The entire facility had fallen to them, and that idiot Chanza had called on international troops to take all the Nazis prisoner.
"But they don't know about you," he reminded himself. "Only Shuster and Yewell were really aware of your link with the operation . . . weren't they? . . ." He couldn't remember who else had known. "The two of them, from all accounts, are dead. Outside of advancing the date, the coup can go ahead as planned. Yes, that . . . Whatever is that fat and ugly Indian woman up to?"
Down in the street three stories below, a woman in a yellow and red poncho and a derby-like, chocolate-brown hat was staring up at the general. With one plump hand she repeatedly made the sign of the cross.
"She can't possibly have heard me talking to myself," Cuerpo said aloud. "Even if she had, that would hardly cause such a display of superstitious religious behavior."
"She saw me, General."
Cuerpo spun out of his chair in time to witness a red-haired man in a royal purple jump suit doing a somersault off his slanting tile roof. "You're one of the Challengers!"
Red Ryan landed on his feet near the wicker chair. "You are absolutely correct, General," he said. "We took this unconventional way of calling on you because we weren't in the mood to argue with those armed guards downstairs. We climbed up the side of your neighbor's villa and then we hopped over to your roof and here we are."
"We?"
"Kee-ristl" Rocky came sliding down the orange tiles, boots clattering. He teetered on the roof edge, dropped to the balcony floor for a buttocks-first landing.
Thunkl
Cuerpo couldn't understand why his thinking was so sluggish today. One glass of wine, and that not even finished, shouldn't produce such fuzziness. Yet he didn't think of going for the pistol in his shoulder holster until the second Challenger had hit the deck. "You were foolish to attempt—"
"No weapons, General." Red was next to him, grasping his wrist. He slid out the Luger from the general's holster. "We came to talk to you in a friendly, relatively friendly, way."
"Do you fools honestly think you can break in here to—"
"We been in contact," said Rocky as he rose off his backside, "with our buddies out in the jungle. The pucky really hit the fan out there, General, and your whole setup is gone blooey."
"My setup?" Cuerpo affected surprise. "I am a loyal Ereguayan, a man of some prominence in this country. I have nothing to do with any nest of fanatical Nazis."
"You shouldn't know about their being Nazis, General, unless you're in cahoots."
Should he? Cuerpo massaged his cheek. No, wait. "As head of the military in Ereguay, I am informed of such matters," he told the pair of Challengers. "I knew quite early this morning what has been going on in the Lake Sombra region. Naturally I feel our own military forces should round up such scum, but I will not go against my president's wishes."
"Not until after the coup," said Red.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Cuerpo, though he knew it would detract from his pose of calm authority, sank down into the chair. "Now I must ask you to—"
"We got through to Escabar," Rocky told him. "He told us all about you before he kicked the bucket."
"Escabar? I don't—"
"You knew him better as Otto Wenzler," said Red. "That's back in the days when you were known as General Steinbrunner."
How could they know that name? What had that fool Wenzler said? "Gentleman, you . . ." It was very strange. General Cuerpo sat watching them and he found he had no idea who they were. "Forgive me, but I . . ."
"Kee-rist!" exclaimed Rocky. "Is this what Escabar was blabbing about, the surprise he had for the general?"
Escabar. There was a familiar name. Yes, Escabar had personally administered the most recent series of Process shots. At least the general suspected that was who they meant. He moved his hand across his face, trying to get his head to clear. "This is most unusual."
He didn't have his own hand any longer. No, someone had replaced it with a gnarled, shrunken hand which obviously belonged to an old man. A very old man. Ninety, at least, from the unpleasant look of it.
"The Process has stopped working for him," Red said. "This is Escabar's revenge, because he suspected they were about to get rid of him."
Two men were talking to him, but Cuerpo couldn't make much of it out. Perhaps they weren't speaking German. Yes, that must be it. "Speak German, if you please," he requested.
Here was another very strange thing. His voice was not his. Somehow it had been replaced with the rasping, whining voice of a doddering old man.
For a few seconds Cuerpo managed to realize what was happening to him. "It does . . . not . . . work any . . . longer."
"Kee-rist." Rocky backed off from what was sitting in the wicker chair.
"You must excuse me, gentlemen," the general tried to say.
The sun was so hot. The voices so loud. Better to go to sleep until the day waned, better to rest until the cool of twilight came on. Better to rest than . ..
Red shook his head. "All over."
"Poor bastard." Rocky didn't look at the body of General Cueipo. "Getting old is bad enough, but doing it in a few minutes . . . ugh!"
Red crossed the balcony. "His office is in here. Let's look around."
"What about him?"
"Leave him there for now." Red stepped into the coolness of the departed general's large office. "I want to dig up whatever records and papers we can, deliver the whole package to Chanza."
Inside the office, still gazing out at the balcony, Rocky said, "I've seen a lot of strange stuff since we all teamed up. But this is the very first time I ever seen something what give me goose bumps all over."
"You've got too much empathy, Rock." Red was at the general's desk, tugging out drawers. "Doubt he stuck anything about the coup in these unlocked ones, but better check 'em all." "Wonder what I'll look like when I get old." Rocky came wandering into the room.
"Like a lost buffalo, same as now. Start in on those file cabinets over there."
"My grandpop lived to be ninety-four."
"Did he rassle till the end?"
"Aw, he wasn't no wrestler. He was a farmer. Had him a gigantic spread in—"
"Hands up, Rocky. You, too, Red."
The wall bookcase had swung open without a creak, and a dapper young man with a head slightly too large for his body came into the office. It was Alex Hentoff, of the National Espionage Agency. He carried a .38 revolver in his well-cared-for right hand.
"You, too?" Rocky shuffled over against a wall, raised his hands.
"Didn't you tumble to that as yet?" asked the American agent.
"In the back of my computer-like brain," Red said, "the idea was starting to take shape. Denny Yewell didn't know we were coming down here until we were en route from the States, yet people started trying to discourage us a day before we took off. Ergo, either you or Holden Chote had to be in on the deal."
"Kee-rist," said Rocky, "don't tell me Chote is a turncoat, too?"
Hentoff laughed. "Have no fear, Rocky. Holden remains as innocent and loyal as a newborn babe. I, on the other hand, can be sorely tempted by large amounts of untraceable cash."
"So you went to work for the Nazis," said Red as he took two steps away from the desk.
"There's more to it than that, Red. Perhaps you haven't as yet heard about Chanza's plans to eventually nationalize all the oil fields in Ereguay," said Hent-off. "General Cuerpo's move to overthrow Chanza was financed by more than just a bunch of Nazis."
"PetroSur," said Red.
Hentoff glanced fleetingly at the balcony and then back at the Challengers. "I've been listening behind the secret door for several minutes,
" he told them. "I'm saddened by the general's demise. He really had a very good chance of getting rid of Chanza for us."
"You should be able to find another general," Red said. "South America is crawling with them."
"Yes, but it will mean—"
"Kee-rist!" Rocky was hopping, pointing to the sunny balcony. "The old bastard ain't dead! He's getting up out of his chair!"
Hentoff turned to see.
Red dived for the floor, flipped over and came up in a perfect position to kick Hentoff in the abdomen with both booted feet. He did that.
Doubling, expelling air, gagging, Hentoff tried to use his pistol.
Red kept him from doing that. He chopped it from the American's hand.
Rocky snorted, chuckling. "The old dodges are the best."
Tossing Hentoff into the general's desk chair, Red said, "Stay there." "You think he really will?"
"Who and what?"
"Give us medals, President Chanza," said Rocky. He let go of the jeep's steering wheel to pat the place on his broad chest where he'd like to see the medal hung.
Red grinned out at the late afternoon jungle they were passing through. "Not a good idea to wear too many medals. They get caught on things."
"Aw, one little medal would be okay," said Rocky. "And, see, I figure if I was a decorated hero hereabouts, it'd give me a little extra clout."
"Didn't realize you were in the need of clout."
Rocky scowled. "Don't laugh now when I tell you this."
"Promise not to."
"I'd like to do something for them little kids. You know, them little kids in the barrio. Start some kind of charity thing, to see they all get shoes to wear and the right food to eat."
Red said, "That's a nice idea, Rocky." "With a medal I can maybe throw my weight around more. I know there are already outfits trying to help out, but they ain't doing a good enough job."
"Once we get back to San James, you can get to work on something. I'm pretty sure Chanza will help you."
"It still depends on if he really delivers on the medal," said Rocky. "Today, when we went over all the documents and stuff we found at Cuerpo's, plus that bastard Hentoff and the general's body . . . naturally President Chanza's going to be favorably inclined. But how about in a few days?"
