by Denis Hughes
As he talked he watched the silhouetted shape of the bomber diving and climbing, twisting and turning in the network of lights against the velvet dark of the sky.
“My destiny is my own, Tern,” came the cold reply on the radio, “Interfere, and it will gain you nothing but the certainty of death for Vivienne.”
Tern was so close now that he could see the flicker of exhaust flame from the bomber’s engines. He flew close alongside, gesturing wildly, helplessly. Then there was a swift stammer of flame from a gun turret forward. The Monster, or possibly even Brooking, was firing at him!
Clinging to the bomber like a limpet, Tern sought for some way of changing the lunatic mind that controlled it.
Before he could do a thing, however, hell seemed to break loose from somewhere above and behind him. Streamers of tracer and cannon shell tore past, disappearing into the fuselage of the bomber. No matter how the big plane dived and jinked it could not escape that deadly hail. Tern made out the shadowy shapes of three other fighters going in to the attack. He heard confused noises on his radio. The thin sound of a scream coming over on the air from the bomber. It was a sound that turned his heart to water with anxiety, for it might well have been Vivienne mortally wounded.
And then the air was full of diving, twisting shapes as the pack of jet fighters pounced on their kill. With two of its engines already out of action, the bomber laboured. Then it gave a lurch to port, sliding away in a savage slip, to fall from the network of lights, vanishing earthwards, a long plume of smoke and flame growing out from one of its wings.
Tern shut his eyes, loathing the visions that creased his brain. He flew automatically, not caring now what happened to him. And from far below, down to where the twisting ribbon of the Thames gleamed faintly, down in the wake of the attacking fighters, there rose a great bloom of orange, a billowing mushroom of smoke and fire. Even as Tern saw it and watched against his will it vanished, quenched in an instant as the mighty plane crashed into the river, killing its own funeral pyre.
One by one the lights winked out, glowed red for a brief moment as the arcs slowly cooled.
Tern tried not to think of those last seconds on board the crashing bomber. But his imagination gave him little rest. Only by calling on all his reserves of will-power did he pull himself together and head the plane towards its base.
Only when he was within sight of the lighted flare path did it dawn on him that the moment he landed he was due to be put under arrest again. It was not a prospect that cheered him, nor did he feel up to coping with official explanations and the innumerable questions he would have to face. There was too great a weight of misery on his shoulders for that. The only bright spot in the whole sequence of events had been the saving of London from bombing by the Blue Peril.
Well, the Blue Peril was finished now. Nothing could have lived in that holocaust that had flared down from the sky.
Circling the aerodrome, he saw the last of the other fighters land along the lighted strip of the path. Then it was his own turn and he had to make up his mind. He could have crash-landed in a field and chanced his neck, but that would mean wrecking the plane. It might be better to face the music after all. But instead of touching down on the main length of lighted strip he brought her down right at the extreme windward end, braking hard and stopping short, long before he was anywhere near the buildings and dispersal point.
He switched off, finding to his joy that so far no one had even started towards him by tender. He still had a chance to get clear and avoid the embarrassment of arrest—to say nothing of the righteous indignation with which the squadron leader would view him when they met again! That, he thought, would take a lot of living down.
He was thinking most of these things as he ran at full pelt towards the perimeter track, at this point backed by a standing of dark pines and forested scrub. His main object was to lie low for a while before making a break and getting back to London somehow. Now that Vivienne was dead and the Monster finished he would have to go to work again to keep his mind off recent events. He might even get his story accepted by his old editor before the police caught up with him.
*
The morning was raw, damp and matching his mood when he arrived at his lodgings and put on a kettle for tea. The time was nine-thirty. By devious ways he had succeeded in evading capture at the aerodrome, had borrowed a car without the owner’s consent, abandoned it somewhere south of St. Albans and taken an early morning train. Now he was so tired that he doubted if he could keep awake for a minute longer.
Even if the police came and arrested him soon it would be worth it to sleep for an hour. Memory of the recent tragedy swept his mind, and was reinforced by reading an account of it in the newspaper. No bodies had as yet been recovered from the debris in the river. Wreckage had been scattered over a wide area, for it appeared that the bomber had exploded shortly before hitting the water. Mercifully there were no civilian casualties, and it was assumed that the only persons killed were the crew of the machine itself. For some reason or other no mention was made that the plane might have been flown by the popularly called Blue Peril.
“They probably didn’t believe me even when my story was confirmed by that mechanic,” grunted Tern. “What the hell anyway?” He hurled the paper aside, poured himself a cup of tea and sank into a reverie as he stared at the floor.
The phone in the hallway outside the door rang, breaking in on his sober thoughts like a fire alarm. For several seconds he took no notice of it, waiting for someone else to answer it. No one did. He dragged himself to his feet and slouched to the door. The phone was still ringing.
“Hello?” he said tersely, not giving his name for obvious reasons.
“I’m glad you answered, Tern,” came a shrill, piping voice. “I was afraid you might let it ring.”
Tern’s knuckles were white as he gripped the handset. He had to lean against the wall to support himself, so groggy did his legs feel at the sound of that cursed voice again.
“I thought you were finished,” he muttered. And then a swift surge of renewed hope welled up inside him. “You must have jumped! Did—did Vivienne get out in time?”
The Blue Peril chuckled on an ugly note. “She did,” it replied. “That is why I am contacting you. Listen to what I say and act on it. If you have any human feelings for this girl you will come to where I am as quickly as you can. Bring bandages and some general first aid equipment.”
Tern gulped. “You mean she’s hurt?” he gasped. “For God’s sake tell me if she’s badly hurt! Where are you?”
“Keep your voice down, Tern! There is no need to lose your head. I know it was not you who shot us down. If it had been Vivienne would have paid for your folly before now. As you guessed, we were all able to jump, though Brooking was unconscious at the time. I still take great care of him, you see? His time has not yet come to die.
“Fortunately everyone imagines we were all killed. That is not the case, though you will be doing your friend a great service by bringing the first aid stuff I ask for. Are you prepared to do that without pulling any tricks? Once again the girl is my safeguard and guarantee of your co-operation; never forget that, Tern.”
Tern gritted his teeth. “Of course I’ll come, damn you!” he snapped. “Only tell me where you are!”
“Some distance from where we landed, Tern. We persuaded Brooking to drive. Later, of course, we abandoned it and concealed it, proceeding on foot.”
“Where are you?” insisted Tern frantically.
“In a disused hutted camp among the trees of what is known as Epping Forest,” came the answer. “Drive north out of the town till you come to a lonely phone box at a fork. It is the only one in that particular district so you can’t miss it. I can allow you two hours. If you fail to arrive by then I shall take my revenge on the girl.”
“Is she with Brooking now?” He had an awful vision of Brooking treating her sadistically.
“Brooking has been rendered unconscious again, I regret
to inform you. He is a violent man in his terror, subject to savage attempts on my life, which do not suit me. Bring the supplies for her sake, Tern. You are sure you can find the place?”
Tern ran over the details carefully, forcing himself to keep calm. He got more exact location details and prepared to ring off.
“Oh, just a moment,” said the sibilant voice. “You had better leave your lodgings quickly. Use the back entrance. The police are coming towards the front door now. Hurry!”
“Damn your eyes!” snarled Tern. But he knew too much of the creature’s amazing clairvoyance to discount the warning. In less than thirty seconds he had grabbed his hat and raincoat and ducked swiftly through the rear premises and sprinted along the quiet street that ran at the back of the block. Whether anyone saw him leave he did not bother to find out, but when he turned a corner some distance away and crossed the road on which his lodgings fronted it was to catch a glimpse of two uniformed figures standing stolidly at the front door as they waited for admittance.
“I can thank the Blue Peril for that much at any rate!” he muttered. The news that Vivienne was alive was the best he had had in years, and even the fact that she was injured did not belittle his thankfulness.
Once clear of his own neighbourhood he paused to work out a plan of operation. Luckily he had remembered to cram a few notes in his pocket before leaving, so was well equipped to buy what he needed and hire another car. He decided ruefully that the car hire game must be a very chancy one with customers like himself. It was doubtful if his next one would be returned at once. Anything might happen to it if last night’s adventure was a sample of the Blue Peril’s brand of entertainment.
He hired a big American saloon from a small mews garage, filled up the tank and drove off. Buying the first aid stuff was not so easy because he did not know what manner of injury they would have to deal with—the Peril had refused to say. In the end he stocked up with bandages, iodine, lint and all the usual household remedies for cuts and burns, which were the kind of injuries he thought Vivienne was most likely to have suffered.
It was exactly an hour and forty minutes after the Monster had phoned him that he slowed the car and stopped near the phone kiosk in the Epping Forest. A thin drizzle of rain was falling and what little traffic used the road, was all in a hurry.
He got out of the car and stood peering round, wondering in which direction the hutted camp lay. There was no indication from where he was. Instinctively, he struck off through the trees to the right of the kiosk.
Hardly had he covered twenty yards before he stopped dead in his tracks. Right across his path lay the twisted body of a man, the flesh hideously torn and savaged.
Tern shuddered, knowing by what he saw that he had found the right place. This killing was the Monster’s work. He dropped to his knees beside the still and horrid figure. Life was extinct, as he knew it would be. A tiny sound made him raise his head and peer round.
“The fool tried to intercept me,” said the Monster quietly.
Tern bared his teeth angrily. The Monster was alone. For the first time he was alone, without Vivienne to threaten! Tern literally threw himself forward, lashing out with all his strength at the bald, gleaming skull and ugly face. But he might as well have attacked a shadow. The creature swayed backwards, seizing him by the throat with one hand and lifting him clean off the ground, right above its head as it heaved.
Tern let out an involuntary yelp of terror, half choking in his throat at the awful pressure of those steely fingers. Then the monster flung him down and away, much as a child might toss aside a rag doll in fretful temper.
Tern landed heavily, the breath knocked from his body by the force of the impact. As he struggled to a sitting position the blue toned Being was beside him with an agile leap. Its hand fell on his shoulder, lifting him upright and whirling him round despite his struggles.
“Had you been anyone else you would have suffered more grievously,” it said in a bleak, high whisper. “Will you never learn that to attack me is dangerous?”
Tern said nothing, cursing himself for not trying to get hold of a gun before leaving town. Had he had one with him now he would not be in this position. But again, recrimination was a waste of tune.
“Behave yourself in future,” carne the cold advice. “I am liable to lose my temper once and for all with you, Tern. Walk in front of me now, straight through the trees.”
Tern glanced at it venomously, surprised to see that it was holding the automatic in its right hand. Till now it had not bothered to display it.
The pair of them proceeded in silence for nearly a quarter of a mile before the first rusty hump of a Nissen hut showed up at the edge of a clearing among the trees.
“Not this one; the next one,” said the Monster. “We shall be joining the others in a moment now.”
Tern hesitated. “The first aid stuff!” he gasped. “I left it in the car. What about it? Is Vivienne badly hurt?” All the old anxiety flooded buck into his mind, till now swamped by the tussle he had had with the monster.
The monster smiled—or rather gave that horrid twist of its face that passed for a smile. “She will need no first aid, Tern,” it replied sardonically. “Nor will Brooking. I had to bring you scurrying here, hence my playing on your emotional sympathy for the girl.”
“You devil!” he grated. And yet he felt relief seep in through the mist of his anger. Vivienne was safe and well, which made everything else worthwhile.
They stopped at the door of a ramshackle Nissen hut well screened by scrub and undergrowth against a background of trees. The windows were broken and the door hung drunkenly on one hinge. Tern thrust his way in, with his captor close on his heels. The inside was gloomy, damp-smelling, grass grew up through cracks in the concrete floor. At the far end two motionless forms were huddled against the curving wall. Tern ran towards them.
Brooking was unconscious; Vivienne bound and gagged. But her gaze was eloquent when Tern bent over and raised her gently.
The monster stood watching, cynical amusement quirking its mouth. “You may release her now,” it said. “I had to tie her while I met you; that was the only reason.”
Tern glanced round. He was between Vivienne and the monster, but the gun was aimed at his back and to force another struggle would be suicidal.
The monster nodded slowly. “A wise decision, Tern,” it murmured. “I know your mind. But be quick and free the girl. There is work to be done and I am anxious to carry out a further plan designed to throw your race into chaos.”
Tern did not bother to answer; if the monster could read his most intimate thoughts it would know what he would have said had he spoken. Instead he untied Vivienne and released the gag from her mouth. She whispered something to him, gripping his arm in quiet gratitude. The monster allowed them to talk and whisper for a moment or two before interrupting, but they had had time to say the kind of things that are timeless.
“Come!” it said at length. “Enough of this drooling! We will use the car now hidden among the trees not far from here.” As it spoke it bent and picked up Brooking, tucking the scientist under its arm like a bundle of rags. The man might have had no weight for all the effort it seemed to need.
“Another crazy drive?” said Tern. “It’s daylight his time. Aren’t you asking for trouble?”
“The distance is so short that the risk will be negligible. You need have no fear; I know exactly what I am doing.”
“Just as you did last night, I suppose?” His voice was bitter when he remembered the flaming torch of the crashing bomber.
“A slight matter of underestimating my enemy, Tern. It is not a mistake I shall make again, I promise you. Now you will walk ahead of me. I am holding Vivienne by the arm and at the slightest sign of treachery on your part I have only to jerk sufficiently hard to tear it off. Do we understand each other?”
Tern faced him squarely. “You know what I’m thinking!” he snapped. “I’ll do as you say because I have to; for no othe
r reason.”
Vivienne shot him an imploring glance. “Please,” she murmured, “please, darling, don’t take a chance. No matter what happens don’t risk getting hurt yourself. I’m all right, honestly I am.”
“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “What are we going to do?” he demanded of the monster.
The creature’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I feel it best to keep my own council on that point, Tern. All you need to know is that very shortly we shall take to the air again, but not, this time, in a loaded bomber. Now do as I have told you and walk to the car.”
CHAPTER 10
HOSTILE RECEPTION
Just as the monster had promised, the ride was a brief one. Not far from the hutted camp, situated on the fringe of the forest, was a small maintenance aerodrome. Viewed in the thin, depressing drizzle of cold rain that was falling, the place had a forlorn, deserted appearance. Tern brought the car to a halt as directed, not by the main entrance, but up a narrow lane that flanked the field on the north.
“Aren’t you a bit optimistic about getting a plane from here?” he said sourly. “From the look of it I should say the field is closed.”
Vivienne stared unhappily from the car window. Brooking was still unconscious, a limp sprawl on the back seat beside the Blue Peril.
“That is where my ability to know things is of such use, Tern,” came the answer. “There happens to be an aircraft due to land here within a few minutes. In the present state of wind and flying conditions it will come down close to where we are, then taxi round right past here. All we have to do is be ready to intercept it and take over.”
Tern grunted, wondering how the creature imagined it would be done.
As if in answer to his doubt, the thing went on: “I am going to try something, a little experiment, which I feel sure will prove most effective.”
