by Guy d'Armen
“That’s quite ingenious,” the Detective said as Ardan hung up the telephone. “How did the machine know to ring you here?”
But Doc didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked, “Would you contact M, or his successor if necessary? I need a favor.”
Doc Ardan was not sure he would ever become accustomed to jet travel. His first supersonic flight over a year ago was marked by the eerie silence associated with faster-than-sound flight. This craft was not supersonic, but was close enough.
The RAF pilot, Major Roger Gunn, had shown him around the two-seater plane, a de Havilland DH 113 Vampire NF Mark 10, before takeoff. The British military were testing this prototype, which had a maximum speed of 545 mph at 30,000 feet, and a range of 1,200 miles. Although the dual tail craft was a night fighter, Doc’s reputation and years of fighting wrongs across the globe had led the British government– and it had been said occasionally that M was the British government–to place the Vampire and her pilot at Ardan’s disposal for the hop to Paris.
Periodically through the short flight, Major Gunn had attempted to break the monotony by drawing Doc into conversation, regaling him with anecdotes of his recent holiday at the estate of the 14th Earl of Marnock.
“The Lord of the Manor is a real gentleman, that he is. And of course the estate, Greensleeves, is kept up impeccably. But that boy of his, Brett, is a bit of a wild one. Oxford lad. Turn in the Service would do him good. Do you know the family, sir?”
“No,” Doc replied.
Gunn was quiet for a bit, and then tried again, telling Doc about his plans to eventually retire and move his family to Kenya.
“Even at three months old, I can already tell that my boy James is going to be a real strapper. Do you have any children, Doctor?”
This time, Doc didn’t even reply, but Gunn wasn’t offended. Doc’s mind was clearly elsewhere and the two lapsed into a companionable silence.
As they entered French airspace, Major Gunn reduced thrust to the DH Goblin 3 turbojet engine, and the Vampire began to descend. Nearing Villacoublay airfield, Ardan and Gunn simultaneously noticed several dark blobs materialize in the sky above them. The plane descended, and the blobs tumbled down along with them, finally coalescing into what appeared to be large chunks of dirt, rock and pavement flying through the sky.
“Taking evasive action!” the RAF man said as he swung the fighter around in a tight arc. The hunks of rock missed the jet by an uncomfortable margin and continued speeding downward to rain on the ground.
“Damn. What the hell was that? They came out of nowhere!”
“Yes,” Ardan agreed. “They certainly did.”
As the plane approached the military airfield, both occupants noticed what appeared to be giant gaping holes in the runway. The plane pulled up and began to circle for a new landing approach.
“I’m being directed to a different runway,” Gunn explained to Doc. “Seems there’s construction or some such on our original landing strip.”
As the plane began its second approach, several large dark spots appeared in the new runway. From this distance, they looked like small potholes on an upcoming stretch of highway, but both men knew that the dark spots would prove significantly more dangerous to their small craft if they tried to land.
“Aborting,” Gunn said as the thrust increased once more and the Vampire pulled up–right into the path of more tumbling chunks of concrete and debris. Swinging violently aside, Gunn and Ardan’s plane barely avoided being pummeled as the pavement flew past them.
However, one large mass of rock remained directly in their flight path. Gunn reacted instantly, firing the Vampire’s four 20mm nose cannon and blasting the chunk into tiny fragments though which the plane blazed.
“I suggest landing as soon as possible,” Ardan said. “We’re not going to be able to avoid this flying debris forever, and if the intakes get clogged...”
“I’m way ahead of you, sir.” Gunn brought the plane around fast and headed for the nearest undamaged runway, this time landing at Villacoublay without incident.
As the fighter slowed and taxied toward a cluster of outbuildings, an official French police vehicle came alongside. The plane stopped and Gunn popped the canopy. Ardan exited the plane at the same time that a middle-aged man in an overcoat and fedora exited the car.
“Doctor Francis Ardan?” the policeman inquired.
“Yes.”
“I am Inspector Maigret of the Sûreté.” Maigret displayed his identification to the bronze man. “I must speak with you immediately. In private. Will you come with me, please?”
Doc dryly thanked Major Gunn for the interesting flight and entered the Inspector’s vehicle. Maigret promptly sped away, dodging the gaping fissures in the pavement which looked as if they had been smoothly dug out of the ground, as if with an ice cream scoop.
“Doctor, do you have any idea how these giant craters in the runway came to be?” the Inspector asked.
“It appears that the rubble we were dodging as we tried to land came from the holes,” Doc replied.
“But how is this possible?” asked Maigret with disbelief.
Instead, Doc responded with questions of his own. “What is this about, Inspector? Why did you meet me at the airfield?”
In reply, Maigret handed Ardan a slip of paper. “I received this very strange note this morning. It did not come by normal post. I had momentarily turned away, studying a case file, and when I turned back, the note was spiraling down through the air to land upon my desk. When I noticed this, I went to my office door and checked the hall, but there was no one. My office is situated such that I surely would have seen a messenger, and yet as I say there was nobody. This would have been extraordinary enough, but the contents of the note were even more peculiar, especially given what we both have just witnessed.” He gestured that Ardan should read the note, and drove on.
My dear Inspector Maigret [the note began]–
Please excuse the unusual nature of this missive’s delivery, but I implore you to treat it with the utmost seriousness. You will note the impending arrival this a.m. at Villacoublay airfield of Doctor Francis Ardan of New York City. He will arrive via RAF jet, and though he shall encounter some small difficulties upon landing, I trust he shall arrive intact. It is not my intent to discourage the good Doctor’s advent in Paris. Far from it. Rather, this morning’s unique exhibition should demonstrate to you both my utter power over this situation, and the futility of any opposition.
You shall meet the Doctor’s plane immediately upon his arrival. You shall not notify your colleagues or anyone else of the contents of this message, with the exception of Doctor Ardan. You shall immediately escort Doctor Ardan to the clinic on the Rue Mouffetard–you know the clinic to which I refer–and leave him there.
Do not deviate from these instructions in the slightest. The fate of two brilliant women depends on it. I would very much regret depriving the world of their future scientific contributions. Ardan understands.
Doctor Natas
The stone-walled chamber was smoke-filled, scented with a hint of jasmine incense. The lavish Oriental decor reminded Louise Ducharme of her time in Shanghai, China, when she was a researcher at the School of Medicine.
“Welcome to my humble clinic, Doctors.” A man with the face of a devil, resplendent in his silk robes, emerged and ensconced himself in what was essentially a small throne. He fixed his diabolical gaze on mother and daughter, Louise and Justine Ducharme.
Louise visibly blanched.
“Yes, Doctor Ducharme, it is I,” came the sibilant reply. “It has been a long time. But not so long, I see, that you forget your former opponent. I am honored.” He turned to the younger woman.
“Doctor Ducharme–I shall call you Justine, in order to distinguish from your honored mother–Justine, I will come straight to the point. You are a recognized expert in theoretical physics, specifically the disassembly, transmission and reassembly of solid objects. Your experiments with Profe
ssor Rushton are legendary among my scientists, and I expect great things from him. But you are in Paris, and he is not. Thus, your presence here.”
“Professor Rushton!” Justine exclaimed. “But that research is classified!”
“My dear, nothing is hidden, nor remains hidden, if I wish it to be revealed. You, Mademoiselle, have knowledge which I require, expertise in the area of accurately directing and controlling the integrity of the matter transmission over large distances. You shall be escorted to my laboratory, where you will consult with several other professionals in my service. They will brief you on the precise information which we require from you. Your mother is here to ensure your cooperation. That is all.”
“Who are you?” Justine demanded. “How dare you?”
“Your mother knows me as Doctor Natas, and I dare much, my child.” There was no flicker of recognition in Justine’s gold-flecked eyes. “I see you are not familiar with the name.”
Natas directed an inquiring glance at Louise. “So you never told her the tale? The story of our adventure together in Tibet? Never told her of Doctor Ard– “
“That’s enough,” Louise interjected. “We are here. You have us. Get on with it.”
Natas’ cat-like green eyes blazed briefly, but his visage quickly calmed. “You are right, of course. Time is of the essence.” He clapped once, and two lascars emerged from behind the throne. Natas pointed to Justine. “Escort the doctor to the laboratory.”
The two burly men took Justine by each arm and directed her to a wall of bookcases, one of which slide aside to reveal a hidden elevator. As the three entered the elevator cage, Justine turned and looked imploringly at her mother, but Louise merely nodded reassuringly. Then the elevator’s folding door closed and they were gone.
Louise looked at the satanic visage of Doctor Natas. Twenty-two years ago, he had held her and Doctor Francis Ardan captive in his “City of Gold and Lepers,” hidden deep in the wasteland of the Koko Nor desert of Tibet. Then, Natas had mastered the alchemy of converting base matter to gold. He had captured dozens of eminent scientists–including Doctors Francis Ardan and Louise Ducharme–as well as thousands more menial workers. All the prisoners had been held as slaves, hostage to an especially virulent form of leprosy. Only the City’s Z-Rays, another of Doctor Natas’ discoveries, held the sickness in check. And thus had held Natas’ slaves captive to toil in the City, for to flee was to die.
Natas had aspired to world domination, and would have achieved it, if not for Francis Ardan and Louise Ducharme.
Now, Louise’s face took on an expression of profound disgust. “What do you really want from her?”
“Information, Doctor Ducharme, merely information.”
“You won’t get it.”
“By hook or by crook, I will.”
“She is but a girl!”
“She is of age. And she is genius… Just like her father. She will share her secrets. They will be safe with me.”
Two more lascars appeared. “Take Doctor Ducharme to her room.” The three entered the hidden elevator and disappeared from sight.
Another Asian man came forward from the shadows behind the throne. “You play a dangerous game, Master.”
“Perhaps, Pao Tcheou, perhaps. I have been patient, have waited 22 years. I am close. The danger is necessary.”
“But to lead Ardan here. It is hazardous,” Pao Tcheou said.
“I decide what is necessary or not. Remember that, honorable cousin. When you lead the Council, you may decide.”
“Master, you have my allegiance. But the other Council members do not have your foresight. They do not understand your plans. Fen-Chu, in particular, grows restless.”
“Pao Tcheou, all is unraveling as I planned. I brought Doctor Ardan and Doctor Ducharme together all those years ago. I set them in the perilous circumstances that drew them to each other. Though they destroyed my City of Gold, it was I who won in the end. All is as it should be. You will reassure the Council,” Natas said.
“Very well, Master.”
“Excellent. And now, go to check in the laboratory. Ensure that Doctor Caresco is obtaining what he needs.”
Pao Tcheou bowed deeply and withdrew.
“It is time,” the villain Natas said to himself. Turning to a large apparatus in the corner of the throne room, he activated several switches. A screen came to life, and focused on the outside of the clinic, just around the corner from the nearby dairy. A police vehicle pulled up to the corner.
Arriving at the clinic on the Rue Mouffetard, Doc Ardan instructed Maigret to wait outside, but to bring police backup if he did not appear after four hours. Maigret agreed and turned to enter his vehicle. At the faint sound of a high-pitched whine, he looked up and saw a slight shimmer in the air, almost as if he were looking through waves of heat on the desert, although the waves were tinged with blue light.
And nothing else.
Ardan was gone, leaving nothing but the faint hint of ozone in the air, although he couldn’t possibly have rounded the corner so quickly in the time Maigret had been turned away.
Doc Ardan materialized in Natas’ throne room, appearing in mid-air and dropping to the floor. Cat-like, Ardan landed on his feet. He stared for long seconds at the Asian man standing by the apparatus in the corner, an assemblage of electrodes, antennae and globes topping a control panel of knobs, switches and sliding levers.
“Congratulations, Doctor Ardan,” Natas said, assuming his seat in the room’s center. “You are as agile as ever. The perfect physical and mental specimen.”
“That’s an interesting trick,” Doc said.
“Oh, that. Merely a refinement of a technology developed by another of your many foes, which was in turn based upon Nemor’s Disintegrator.”
“Yes, I know, the teleporter. That’s how you abducted the women. Delivered the note to Maigret. And cast debris into the air at my plane.”
Doctor Natas was only momentarily nonplussed. “Very clever, Doctor. I will not underestimate you again. Since you are familiar with the technology, you also know that the teleporter as originally designed only worked in a straight line, limiting its range. We have strengthened the integrity of the transmission stream considerably, but the device’s range is still not to my satisfaction. Perhaps you would care to ‘take a crack’ at it?”
“I don’t think so,” Doc replied.
“Come now, Doctor. You and I are giants, supermen. Immortals, even! Does not the science of this device intrigue you? I fail to understand how you could let this technology languish these 14 years.”
“I’m not surprised,” Doc said wryly.
“Nevertheless, you will assist in the completion of the teleporter,” Doctor Natas said. Six more brawny dacoits appeared from the shadows and took positions circling Doc.
“On no less than three separate occasions you have interfered with my plans,” Natas continued, raising three long, clawed fingers.
“Tibet, 1927. The destruction of the City of Gold and Lepers. The dispersal of my labor force. That was a considerable inconvenience, Doctor.” One finger curled inward.
“Limehouse, December 1931. You and Allard interfered with my plans and those of my colleague, Yu’An Hee See.” The second finger closed, leaving one long forefinger pointing at Ardan.
“Haiti, April 1940. The complete destruction of my arsenal, including various advanced aircraft and submersibles.” Natas closed his last finger into a fist.
Throughout this recitation, Doc had remained standing as motionless as a Greek statue, evincing no sign of emotion.
“You are a worthy adversary, Doctor Ardan, deserving of my respect.” Natas paused. “But the scales must be balanced. Debts must be repaid. You will assist me with the teleporter.”
“Enough of this charade, Natas,” Doc said. “You’ve already kidnapped Justine Ducharme, and she’s the expert in this area. Louise Ducharme is a medical doctor, so if you’re only seeking to perfect your teleporter, then you have no reason to
capture her, except to force Justine’s cooperation. You don’t need me at all.”
“Au contraire, Doctor. You were present when the teleporter was first used. Doubtless you analyzed its secrets. You are a scientific genius in numerous fields of study, a genius perhaps only second to my own. Do this thing for me, and in consideration of our distant… familial relationship, I will release you unharmed.”
Ardan’s silence was his answer.
Natas gestured for the dacoits to close in on Ardan. “Take the Doctor to the laboratory,” instructed Natas, but before the men could act upon that order, Ardan was a blur of bronze motion.
Two solid punches sent the first two men immediately to the floor.
As two more adversaries approached, Doc tore hanging shreds away from his already ripped shirt, took a classic Baritsu stance and waited for the men to press their attack. They coordinated their assault, and faster than thought, the men were flying through the air in different directions, hitting opposite walls and collapsing insensate on the ground.
The final two lascars appraised Ardan with more caution.
Ardan leaped, and before they could react, he was behind them, with each cabled bronze hand gripping them at the base of their necks and working at the junctures of neck and shoulder. Both attackers slumped to the floor, unconscious.
By this time, however, Doctor Natas had made it to the apparatus in the corner, manipulating several switches and dials. The granite ceiling above Doc’s head was already enveloped in the shimmering blue light. Before even Ardan could react, chunks of stone were raining down upon his head, knocking him unconscious. Only the skullcap resembling his natural bronze-colored hair protected Ardan from suffering a concussion.
