The New Adventures of the Eagle

by Pro Se Press

  The facility was in the middle of nowhere, miles from any civilization. It was minimally manned and made to look inconspicuous. As far as the world knew, it was simply an old run down farm. The barn has an extensive basement outfitted for specialized interrogation. Just what the Eagle needed.

  When Weiss opened his eyes, he shook his head from side to side trying to shake loose the grogginess. The Eagle slapped him in the face once just to wake him up. Weiss grunted. He strained his arms and then his legs. He looked around, noting he was tied with leather straps to a metal chair in a windowless gray brick room. His eyes gave away his fear. Hofstetter was still unconscious, bound in the corner of the room with his face to the wall.

  “So, Herr Weiss,” the Eagle began walking around his captive. “You are a double agent.”

  “I have no idea wha-” Weiss tried to retort, but his attempt was quelled by a vicious slap across the face from The Eagle’s right hand.

  “Don't lie to me. I don't like it when people lie to me. Who are you working for?”

  “The Fuhrer.” Weiss stammered, fear vibrating in his every breath.

  “Wrong answer,” said the Eagle kicking over the chair. Squatting down over the toppled man, “That's what I thought at first, but the “Fuhrer”,” he added extra acid to the word “has no need for our scientific discoveries. Not with the people he has under his fist..

  “Ungh.” Weiss grunted again. The Eagle sat him back up and asked again, “Who are you working for? Who hired you to lead us in the wrong direction?”

  “I don't have to talk to you,” Weiss spat.

  “That's fine, you don't have to talk now, but I'll find out who 'C' is,” Weiss cringed at the mention of the name, “and when I do, I'll make sure to tell him that you're the one who led me to him.”

  “He'd kill me!” exclaimed Weiss.

  “Oh, that would be terrible,” the Eagle responded sarcastically. “If you help me, if you tell me everything you know, he'll never know I found out about you. If,” he emphasized his point with the inflection on the word.

  “All I have to do is tell you what I know, and you'll keep me out of it?” It was clear that Weiss was genuinely afraid of this man, this 'C'. Perhaps he was even terrified.

  “Yes, Herr Weiss. All I want is information. So, who is he? Who is C?”

  After some moments of silence, Weiss finally explained the secret of C. “C is just a code name. I was approached by a tourist one day asking if I had love for the cause of either side. I don't care either way. I have to be here. So this man says how would I like to make some extra money, and I say sure. I never should have said it, but he said he had a very easy job. All I had to do was give somebody some information that may be misleading and he'd pay me. Asked if I had anyone who could help me. I said sure. That's how Hofstetter got into all this,” he said gesturing to his knocked out friend.

  “But who's C?” the Eagle asked, his impatience bursting through his stiff facade.

  “C...” Weiss started. “I don't know his entire name. He introduced himself as Carmichael. No first name, just Carmichael.”

  “And what did this Carmichael look like?”

  “Older, around fifty. He was losing his hair, but what he did have was gray. He had a beard and mustache, and he wore glasses. That's really all I remember. Oh yeah, and he was American too.”

  “Weiss you've been very helpful,” the Eagle said and left the two men alone in the room. He dropped the letter and money by the door and left the compound.

  Taking a minute to think about what he'd just learned, he sat down on a hay bale in the barn. An American named Carmichael. He had money. The Eagle had estimated there to be around ten thousand dollars under the bed. Finally it clicked. It couldn't be, but it was. Millionaire, confidence man, and all around bad guy opportunist, Wilbur Carmichael, was well known in The Eagle's circles. He made his fortune stealing from people, scamming businesses, and cheating at cards. Recently, it had been rumored that he was into the information trade. The Eagle was almost sure he was the one trying to steal government intelligence and sell it to the Germans. Now he was sure the intelligence was the nuclear technology. Shannon knew that the Germans weren't as far ahead as the British and Americans were. While the British were looking for the death ray, that gave Carmichael's network the chance to get to the science. He only hoped he had gotten wise to their scheme before it was too late.

  He placed a call to the Secret Intelligence Service to give word that two known double agents had found their way to a top secret facility in France, and that they had dropped evidence outside the door before they tied themselves up. When he was satisfied that his two friends in the basement would be taken care of, the Eagle gassed up the plane from a fuel pump behind the barn, and set his course for Washington. He'd get in touch with some contacts he had at the department there. Then he'd make his move.

  ***

  The Department of State is, at present, occupying the same space as the War and Navy Departments, though they've got plans to move to a new building in the works. The State, War and Navy building is an imposing structure that has taken on more the look of a palace than of a collection of offices where plans concerning the public safety are hatched. Deep in the offices of the State Department is a section that does not exist. It's only known throughout the offices as Section Five. Jeff Shannon is a regular visitor to Section Five. He had two favorite young men there who didn't yet know they were going to take down one of the most diabolical men in the country.

  Walking through the door, Shannon did not have time to waste on pleasantries, instead he walked purposefully up to Section Five, entered his code’ and the inner workings of all the secrets contained by the State Department. Agents Barnaby Fitzgerald and John Parker were two complete opposites. Fitzgerald was young, new, still had the freshness of enthusiasm about him. He exercised to stay in top physical shape and took excessive care grooming himself. Parker was a more rotund specimen, often found with some kind of sandwich around him. He was an older man, had been with the department longer than he cared to admit, even though he never tired of telling the younger fellas about back in his day. As different as they were, Shannon wouldn't want anyone else on his team. These two were some of the best trained and most successful field tested agents he had ever had occasion to partner with. Parker was a crack shot with a keen eye, and Fitzgerald brought his enthusiasm out in chasing down the bad guys and working a good bluff. Just the two men Shannon needed for this assignment.

  “Shannon!” Fitzgerald shouted when he saw the newcomer. Parker had to put down his pastrami.

  “Fitzgerald and Parker. How're things?” Shannon asked his comrades.

  “Great,” Fitzgerald answered immediately.

  “Oh alright, I guess,” grumbled Parker. “Doc says I gotta stay away from bad foods. Can you believe that? Bad foods my foot, I'll give him bad foods...”

  “So, listen fellas, I got a job for you.”

  The three men immediately huddled together. They talked in hushed whispers, trying to come up with a plan to catch Carmichael. It had to be good, and it had to be fast, but most of all… it had to work.

  The phone rang about five minutes later. A young woman in her early to mid twenties came to give a message to the threesome. They lounged back in their chairs, laughing about old times with at least five of their six feet propped up on desks.

  “There's a call for you, sir,” she said.

  “Word sure travels fast,” Shannon said as he followed the girl to the front desk, taking more than a little notice at the sway of her walk.

  “Yes, sir. Hello, sir,” he said into the phone. “Of course Mr. Secretary. Yes, I am, sir, would you like to... No, alright sir. Yes. Parker and Fitzgerald. Yes. Goodbye sir.”

  The girl's eyes were wide with admiration as he walked away. Not many people talked directly to the Secretary.

  Back at the cove of desks, Shannon put his plan into motion, and the three men walked out of the State Navy and War
Building, down the street, and into the lavish entrance of the Hay Adams Hotel. Along with being a crack shot, Parker also had connections in the district. He had called around to some of his people, and got news that Carmichael was actually staying in DC on business. He was staying in none other than the Hay Adams Hotel. He was practically in their back yard.

  The Hay Adams was built on the historical site of the homes of John Hay and Henry Adams. That's not half of what drew people to it though. It had all the amenities anyone could ever desire, steam heat, cold water circulation, and elevators. What drew Shannon, Parker, and Fitzgerald there was coaxed out of the nice young man at the reception desk with a Jackson and some convincing, “Room 304.”

  The three gentlemen took up seats at the hotel bar and waited. When Carmichael came down for dinner, they'd go up. Parker and his keen eye would keep a look out for Carmichael going back up and would stall. He was also there as backup in case something went wrong and people started running. Just what you'd need a crack shot around for. Fitzgerald would wait twenty minutes and attack Carmichael with his excessive zeal and accusations, sending Carmichael back up to his room.

  Fifteen minutes later Jeff Shannon inconspicuously passed a group of large men wearing black jackets surrounding a small cluster of middle aged, well dressed gentlemen, one of which was balding with glasses. The boys were at their posts with their orders, and Shannon was at the door to 304 with a few slim tools and some good old fashioned know how. In less than a minute, he was on the other side of that door. The room was as expected from a hotel like this. Everything was in shades of white with gilded trim. The bed was covered in down and resting atop the soft plush cover, sinking down slightly was a black attaché case. The engraving on the gold plate by the handle read, W. H. C. Wilbur Herman Carmichael. Shannon tried the latch. It was locked too. With his same tools and a few more seconds, he was in.

  The case was a treasure trove of damning evidence. There were copies of telegrams to and from Weiss, blueprints of a laboratory with a route outlined, a list of names clipped to the prints, and the rough draft of the death ray plans he had sent to the SIS. No one would be this stupid, the Eagle thought. Until he realized that this was Carmichael's private inner sanctum. No one gets in here. Carmichael figured the only safe place was with him, and that his reputation was so great, that no one would dare break into his hotel room. After all, who can break through two locks?

  After a quick shuffle through the rest of the room, the Eagle stuffed the papers in his jacket, buttoned it up and waited in the dark of the closet, hugging the wall. This was the plan. He would lay in wait until just the right moment. He estimated that his time was almost up... a fact proven right two minutes later by the frantic pounding of feet and the tinkling of keys. Mumbled voices sounding agitated hurried to his ears. Fitzgerald had done his job perfectly. Now Carmichael would be an easier mark.

  Shannon listened intently for cues about the happenings around him. Three men entered the room. Two stopped on the far wall. The ones wearing heavier shoes, perhaps boots, definitely the muscle. One man with a sluggish gait approached the closet. The handle turned slowly. Shannon readied himself. The door opened and an entire second passed before he was even noticed. Then he reared up a left hook right into Carmichael's cheek knocking him over and probably unconscious. Shannon stepped out of the closet over Carmichael's foot. The two bodyguards rushed him, but he got there first, sliding across the floor. He slammed his foot into the first’s knee, topping him into the other like a pair of dominos.

  Quickly picking himself up, Shannon leaped for the door. In the hall, he took a precious two seconds to put himself to rights before continuing down to the ground floor. As agreed, his accomplices were waiting by the back door, ready for a quick exit across the square and a trip back to Section Five.

  They went immediately to Secretary Hall's office with the news.

  “Parker, Fitzgerald,” the Secretary began, “thank you for assisting our visitor here. You may go now. Please never speak of this mission.”

  They exited with a collective, “Yes, sir,” sounding disappointed at not being included in the debriefing.

  “So Shannon, what'd you get?”

  “This,” the Eagle presented his pilfered documents to the eager eyes of the United States Secretary of State. “There are plans and blueprints here. It appears he was proud of this job. He kept records of the progress, copies of telegrams, drafts of letters. It's all here.”

  “Did he get anything though?” Secretary Hill asked with concern.

  “No sir, it appears he hadn't yet struck the lab. I believe our inquiry slowed down his plans. I don't think he expected to get caught honestly. He'd enjoyed his untouchable status for too long. He was being too brazen this time, sir.”

  “But we've got him.”

  “Yes sir we do. If you hurry, he should still be up in his room, taking a... nap.”

  “There's one more thing Shannon.”

  “Yes?”

  “I've been in contact with Director Fletcher from the SIS, says two spies were given up with enough evidence to condemn them to prison for the rest of their lives. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?” Hill asked knowingly.

  “No, sir. I've no idea what you're talking about.”

  Shaking his head, Hill admitted, “Anyway, good job out there Shannon.” Pointing to the papers, “And I'll take care of this.”

  ***

  The beach was exactly as he left it, girl included. And boy… was she a sight for sore eyes.

  “Is the world safe for us poor innocent people now?” Joan teased.

  “Oh, no,” he joked. “The only safe place is our cabana. I'll protect you”

  “My hero,” she swooned as he scooped her up and carried her off to the hut behind the tropical ocean sunset.

  THE END

  FIRE FROM THE SKY

  by R.P. Steeves

  George Pappas checked his watch once more.

  She was late.

  He lit a small Russian cigarette, impossible to get now, since the events of 1939 played out across Europe. He was in the habit of conserving them, but he felt he needed one now to calm his racing nerves.

  For the fourteenth time, he scanned the horizon, the setting sun dancing blazes on the water, reflecting across his retinas, causing him to squint and turn away.

  She. Was. Late.

  He slipped his hands into the pockets of his linen trousers and fiddled with the message. It was clear. This was the place. And the time had passed.

  He dropped his cigarette to the dock and stamped it out with a sandaled foot. He turned to walk back toward his hotel. Perhaps there would be a new message waiting for him, explaining the delay, expounding on the bizarre communiqué he had received in the first place. Perhaps not.

  But he never made it to the hotel. Moments after he’d stepped off the dock and onto the cobblestone street, Doctor George Pappas felt cold metal press into his back. He knew that sensation well enough.

  A gun.

  It was followed, almost immediately, by the rough grip of two gloved hands around his mouth and his throat, as he was dragged away by a person or persons unknown.

  And, even as he was being kidnapped, only one thought passed through his mind.

  She wasn’t coming.

  Chapter One

  The Eagle Lands

  Joan’s knuckles were white as she gripped the arms of her seat. The small seaplane shuddered in mid-air and Jeff could see her making a silent prayer to the aviation gods.

  He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Joan… darling. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve told you, when you’re with me, you’re under my protection. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Joan Kirke brought her eyes up from the worn spot on the carpet that had caught her attention the moment the plane had started shaking. She stared into the clear blue eyes of Jeff Shannon, the man she loved, and the man she had faithfully followed on this dangerous mission, a
mission that began when he received the oddest missive in the post.

  She’d opened it for Jeff without thinking, acting in her capacity as his assistant (he refused to use the word “secretary,” saying that she helped him in more ways than he could describe). It appeared to be nothing more than a note from his dear old Aunt Maud, asking him to bring certain items from the market when he came for his weekly visit.

  What made the message peculiar was that Jeff had no Aunt Maud.

  Joan knew something out of the ordinary was afoot when, after carefully reading and then re-reading the message, Jeff burned it with a flick of his lighter. Then he grabbed his hat and topcoat and, with sudden urgency, said, “Joan, gather your things. We’re taking a trip. How do you feel about the Greek Isles this time of year?”

  Their journey was a whirlwind. In order to make their way from the United States to Greece, the two companions had been forced to take a series of boats and planes to avoid the growing international turmoil. After a blur of travel, Jane barely knew where she was, never mind where she was headed.

  “It’s just a spot of foul weather, my darling… nothing to worry about.” Jeff brought Joan out of her memories with a touch on the cheek. As he flashed her his broad, gleaming smile, she found herself calming. He’d had that effect on her ever since their harrowing experiences in South America had brought them together.

  “Um, Mr. Shannon… it’s not just weather!”

  The quavering voice came from the cockpit, never a good sign, in Joan’s opinion.

  Like a shot, Jeff sprung to his feet and crossed toward the pilot with three long, quick strides. He stood behind the young man in the cramped cockpit. In an effort to involve as few people as possible in their travel arrangements, Jeff had opted to put his faith in a young, inexperienced pilot, the only one who had been immediately available.