Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “He didn’t make any objections. I told him we didn’t like the area, wasn’t suitable for our purposes. That seemed to please him.”

  “Where’s Peter now?”

  “He’s around somewhere. He hurt his hand and Matsubi sent him down to the dispensary. He should be back pretty soon.”

  Rick got up and looked around the room.

  “Something about this deal isn’t Kosher. How about a dictaphone in here?”

  “I looked around. I didn’t find anything.”

  Rick sat down again and put a cigarette in his mouth. He lit it and stared frowning at the floor.

  “This sounds like the place we were sent to find. But I can’t get the pitch about their letting us use the wireless.”

  “Matsubi doesn’t seem suspicious,” Deveer said. “I would have sent a message myself and not taken any chances, but I didn’t have the code signature.”

  “That’s right,” Rick said. “I’d like to meet Matsubi. How do we arrange that?”

  “No trouble,” Deveer grinned. “We’ll just walk down and drop in on him.”

  “Have they given you all the freedom you want?”

  “They haven’t bothered us yet. They seem pleasant and cooperative.”

  Rick got up and dropped his cigarette to the floor, stepped on it.

  “Let’s go see Matsubi,” Rick said.

  MATSUBI greeted him with a smile.

  Rick saw a fragile, elderly Japanese with close-cropped white hair, discolored teeth and brown wrinkled chin. He glanced about Matsubi’s office, surprised at its comfortable well-used appearance.

  Matsubi came around his desk smiling.

  “It gives me pleasure to welcome you,” he said. “My men were rough with you. I apologize. They said they were frightened when you began to fight.”

  “Yes,” Rick said dryly. “They were so frightened they jumped me from the back,”

  “I am deeply sorry,” Matsubi said, with a slight bow of his head.

  “I can forget about it,” Rick said. “I want to know about the girl.”

  “She is resting. Your comrade, Mister Rundell, I believe, is also in good condition.”

  Deveer glanced at Rick. “Let’s get the wireless deal straightened out. We can’t use this terrain for anything, so let’s get out of here.”

  “You may use our wireless facilities immediately if you like,” Matsubi said.

  Rick hesitated. There was something wrong with the deal. This was a Jap stronghold. They had scientific equipment, a perfect hideout. Why should they be willing to cooperate with them? He glanced at Deveer and shrugged.

  “I’ll get the message ready right away,” he said.

  Matsubi handed him a pad and pencil. “For your composition,” he grinned.

  “You go ahead, Rick,” Deveer said.

  When the door closed behind Rick, Matsubi seated himself and put the tips of his fingers together carefully. “He looks quite intelligent,” he said musingly.

  “Is the wireless ready?” Deveer asked.

  “Yes. He will suspect nothing. The set will appear to be operating normally. We have cut the voltage, however, so that the signal won’t carry more than a mile. Our receiver will pick up the message and the code signature.”

  “Then?” Deveer said.

  “Then?” Matsubi smiled dreamily. “I will send a message to your Government. It will be a fine message. It will have Major Rick Mason’s signature attached to it. I don’t think I will have any more interference after that.”

  He looked thoughtfully at the top of his desk and then he glanced at Deveer.

  “That is what you planned, eh?”

  “That’s it,” Deveer said. “Maybe after that you’ll tell me what kind of place this is and what your plans are.”

  Matsubi continued to smile. “Maybe,” he said quietly.

  Rick spent a half hour writing his message. He sat on the cot with the pad on his knee and tried to get it right; but he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was wrong. Wrong as hell.

  Finally he tossed the pad aside and got to his feet. He was in the room in which he had come to; a small, rock-walled room with two cots and a lavatory. He paced up and down a while scratching his chin.

  Suddenly he turned and walked to the door. He tried the knob and it turned in his hand. He hadn’t been sure that it wasn’t locked. The door came open and he stepped into the corridor. To his left the rock-walled hall led to the elevator which had carried him up to Matsubi’s office.

  To his right the corridor led straight to a door almost a hundred yards away; in front of this door an armed sentry was standing guard.

  RICK stood for a moment frowning.

  Upstairs Deveer was talking to Matsubi. Somewhere else in this weird city within a mountain Peter and Clare Holloway were being taken care of. Peter, Deveer had said, had hurt himself and had been taken to the dispensary. The girl, he’d said, was all right.

  Rick wondered about that. He wanted the girl to be all right. He knew he’d been thinking about her all the time and that surprised him. They’d fought all the time they’d been together; there had seemed to be an inevitable antagonism between them. Still he was worried about her now.

  He turned right and walked slowly down the corridor toward the guard. He’d decided to find out more of what was going on before he sent his wireless.

  The guard paid no attention as he approached. He remained at attention, his back to the door he was guarding. Rick stopped in front of him.

  “What’s in there?” he asked.

  The guard shook his head. “You must go no further,” he said, in good, but accented English.

  Rick shrugged and took out his cigarettes. The corridor formed an L at this spot with another narrow hallway that extended straight for about a hundred yards. There was no apparent door at the end of this corridor; it was a cul de sac.

  He offered the guard a cigarette but it was refused with a single shake of the head. Rick lit his and dropped the match on the floor. The guard paid no attention to him. His eye seemed fixed on a spot several inches above Rick’s head and they remained there unwinkingly.

  There was no animosity evident in the guard’s attitude. He was a short, stockily built man and he Seemed indifferent to Rick. Rick was turning away with the intention of returning to his room when he heard a low groan that seemed to come from beyond the door.

  He turned back as the groan was repeated a second time.

  “What’s that?” he asked the guard. “You must go no further,” the guard repeated.

  Rick hesitated a second, then moved forward. The guard brought his rifle to port arms and thrust it flat against Rick’s chest.

  “You must go no further.”

  “Who’s in there?”

  “You must go no further.”

  Obviously it was all the guard knew. The groan was repeated again and this time Rick went into action. He brought his knee viciously up into the guard’s groin. When the man doubled forward he grabbed the rifle and wrenched it from his hands. The guard stared stupidly at his empty hands, then drove forward in an attempt to wrap his arms about Rick’s body. Rick stuck a left into his face, straightening him up; then he swing his right fist down in an ax-like Chopping blow.

  THE guard staggered back and Rick hit him again. This time he went down in a senseless heap. He stepped over the man’s body and tried the door.

  It opened and he stepped cautiously into a darkened room. From a corner he heard a low moan. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a paper of matches and struck one.

  The brief flickering illumination revealed a room about ten feet square; a dank, damp hole with rock walls and a smell of moldy straw.

  Lying in a corner on a filthy matting was Peter Rundell. The light flickering and went out then, but Rick had seen enough to send a cascading chill of horror down his back.

  He dropped to his knees beside him and felt in the dark for his face; it was burning hot to his touch.

&n
bsp; “Peter!” he said. “Can you hear me?”

  “Who is it?” The voice was a whisper.

  “Rick. What in the name of god has happened to you?”

  “I didn’t tell, Rick. I didn’t tell them anything. They tried to make me. Major Kok tried, Rick. He’s a devil, Rick. But I didn’t talk.”

  “All right,” Rick said gently.

  He struck another match. Peter was lying on his back. His shirt had been removed and the skin of his chest and shoulders had been horribly burned. It looked as if each inch of his torso, had been exposed to a branding iron.

  The light went out and Rick’s hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t strike another. The rage in him was hot and deadly.

  “Who did this, Peter?”

  “Major Kok. He’s twisted and horrible, Rick. Keep away from him. Matsubi gave me to him to play with.”

  It took Rick a moment to understand. And it was too horribly clear. Deveer had sold out. Matsubi had tortured Peter for information. Deveer had lied. Had said Peter had been to a dispensary. Matsubi and Deveer were working together. He wondered then about the girl. Deveer had said she was all right. Had he lied about that? Was Clare now in some dark room like this, burned and tortured to the point of insanity?

  “Peter,” Rick said. “Can you get up? Do you think you could walk?”

  “I might. I’m—I’m not hurt inside. That devil is too smart for that. He wants me back tomorrow for another session.”

  “I’m going to get you out. Where can I lift you without hurting?”

  “My back is all right. He’s saving that for tomorrow. Then he’s got other ideas. God, don’t let me live, Rick. Kill me before I go back to him.”

  “You’re not going back to him.”

  He moved a hand carefully under Pet’s back and helped-him slowly to his feet.

  “Are your eyes all right?”

  “Yes, I can see.”

  RICK led him to the doorway, into the corridor. The guard was still unconscious. Rick bent and unbuckled a revolver and belt from his waist. He strapped it around his middle; and picked up the rifle. He had no idea of what to do. They were outnumbered by the hundreds. He didn’t know the way out. But he was going to get Deveer, for one thing, if he was killed trying. And if his luck was good he’d save a shot for Matsubi and one for this Major Kok. There was the girl, too, but he didn’t know where she was. He didn’t know anything.

  He was straightening up from the guard’s body when he heard a shout. Looking down the main corridor he saw a single Jap signaling frantically. The Jap started to run toward him, tugging at the revolver at his hip.

  Rick snapped the rifle to his shoulder. He let the Jap shoot twice, heard the bullets flatten themselves with a ping! against the wall. Then he fired once and the Jap went down in a sprawling tangle.

  From, the connecting corridor a squad of Japs appeared. A shout went up when they saw the Americans. At the head of the main corridor another squad appeared.

  Both corridors were cut off. The only avenue left led to a blank wall a hundred yards away.

  “Move ahead of me,” Rick ordered Peter.

  Peter obeyed, stumbling toward the cul de sac. Rick backed after him. He fired twice and the Jap squad flattened itself on the floor and began sniping. Rick dropped to one knee and aimed at the infrequent light. He picked off four of them, plunging the corridors into darkness. The rifle clicked then on an open breech. The gun was empty.

  He tossed it aside and ran down the corridor after Peter. Behind him he could hear the Japs following cautiously.

  He hissed. Peter?”

  “Here, Rick.”

  The voice was a few yards behind him. He turned and moved quickly toward Peter. His outstretched hand touched the other’s arm.

  “This is the end of the line,” Peter said. “This is a solid wall. I can’t find any opening.”

  Rick took the revolver from his holster and moved around Peter until his back was flat against the wall. Down the dark corridor he could hear the stealthy approach of the Japs. An occasional hissed word, a foot scraping against rock, told him the Japs were closing in cautiously.

  “Crouch down,” he whispered to Peter. “No sense giving them a king-sized target.”

  He dropped to his knees and Peter came down beside him.

  A shot sounded and a bullet smacked into the rock above their head. Splintered shale cascaded onto their shoulders. Another shot sounded; the Japs were fifty yards away now and by their excited whisperings Rick knew they were gathering for a charge. He held the gun ready in his hand. When the Japs came for them he’d get as many as he could. That was all he could hope for.

  There was no more firing. The whispering of the Japs had died away. The silence was immense and tomb-like. Rick knew the Japs were ready. He touched Peter gently.

  “Any second now,” he whispered. “Take it easy, kid.”

  “Okay, Rick. I’ll try.”

  SUDDENLY the silence was shattered by a shrieking Banzai! yell; shouted by one man, then taken up in frenzy by dozens of others. The sporadic firing began. Then they heard a rush of feet.

  Rick fired twice and heard the sound of a scream and then a body sprawling to the ground.

  Suddenly Peter grabbed his arm. “Rick! There’s an opening here in the wall. I leaned against it and it opened.”

  Rick heard the words but for an instant they made no sense. Then he scrambled around Peter, feeling the hard surface of the wall with his hands.

  Yes! Here it was, an opening! A section of the wall had swung away leaving a four feet gap. He grabbed Peter by the arm.

  “In you go!”

  He snapped two more shots down the corridor at the onrushing Japs. He heard another scream and the rush of footsteps faltered and stopped. The, firing began again. Luckily the Japs were firing high.

  Peter disappeared into the opening. Rick fired one more shot, then lunged in after him. He gripped an edge of the swinging wall section and shoved it back into place. He fumbled about with his hands looking for a lock; but the section was perfectly smooth.

  He found Peter with his hand.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Y-Yes, I’m okay. Hadn’t we better get moving?”

  “Yes.” Rick stood up carefully and stretched his arms around. They encountered nothing. They were in a room of some kind, a place that was cold, damp and drafty. The draft was encouraging. They weren’t blocked in.

  He fumbled through his pocket for a match. He was ready to strike it when a flame flared in the darkness several feet away. Holding the light was a man; a scrawny man with white hair and a brown-seamed face.

  The man touched the light to a candle in his right hand. Illumination spread in a weak circle about him. Rick jerked his gun around to cover this strange apparition.

  The man saw the gesture and shook his head slowly.

  “I am a friend,” he said. “You need not fear me.”

  He was short, barely over five feet tall and he wore a single garment of white linen that stretched from his neck to his ankles. He was old, incredibly old. His skin was lined and weathered, his blue eyes were coated with a rheumy film.

  Rick saw that they were in a room that had been roughly hewn from solid rock. It was about ten feet square and on his right there was the black mouth of a small tunnel through which a. draft of cool damp air was blowing.

  “Who are you?” Rick said.

  “I am called Lento,” the strange figure answered. “My ancestors were Llamas. We have been here through many ages, but I am one of the last of my race. The others who live in the mountain have destroyed everyone else, I think. I am the last. I heard the noise of their weapons and I knew you were in trouble. I opened the wall to save you from them. But who are you?”

  “AMERICANS,” Rick said. He didn’t know whether to believe the old man or not, and he didn’t see whether it made much difference one way or the other. For the minute he and Peter were out of danger. That was the important thing. Bu
t how long they would keep this freedom was something else. Through the thickness of the wall he could hear faint voices. Chattering querulous voices. And the sound of milling feet. Obviously the Japs had completed their charge and were now perplexed at the disappearance of their quarry.

  He inspected the closely fitting section of swinging wall, then glanced at the old man. “Is there anyway of locking that?” he asked.

  “No. But it is difficult to see from the other side. They will not discover it.”

  Rick looked at Peter. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Okay;” Peter said. His face was tight and drawn with pain but he managed a smile. “I feel like an overdone steak, but it’s not too bad.”

  The old man moved to the mouth of the tunnel. “You had best follow me,” he said. “There are recesses in the mountain where we will be safe.”

  Rick nodded and took Peter by the arm. The old man moved into the dark tunnel, his candle shedding frail light in a wavering circle about his feet. They went slowly for about fifty yards until they came to a double intersection.

  The left branch of the tunnel widened; the right branch narrowed.

  The old man, Lento, indicated the left branch with a movement of his head. He looked suddenly frightened. “Down there,” he said, nodding toward the right and speaking almost to himself, “is the cursed grotto of Lellamy. The sins of those before us can weigh heavily.” He muttered this last with a slow shake of his head. Then: “But we must go.”

  He turned left but there was a sudden draft of cold air in the tunnel. Rick felt it on the back of his neck. It came from behind them.

  “The old man turned to them, his eyes wide and staring.

  “They have found the door,” he whispered.

  There was another gust and the candle in his hand flickered wildly and went out, plunging them into a deep, terrifying darkness.

  From behind them came the murmur of voices; then footsteps that were like the scurrying of rats.

  “Follow me!” the old man cried.

  A shot sounded! Rick felt a bullet fan past his cheek. The Japs were shooting blindly now, knowing the Americans were somewhere ahead. There was another shot and the ugly chatter of a machine gun.