Doc Savage - Terror and the Lonely Widow Part 11

There was a nodding of pa.s.sengers' heads, but it was not unanimous. Some were sullen, distrustful. Two had been too outspoken and had tried to fit action to speech; they had been seized, tied, now lay in an aft compartment, sullen-faced and raging. They were not against Doc Savage. Particularly-they wanted freedom, life, as much as any of the others, but they had been gullible enough-in the opinion of the others, and of Doc, his aides-to think that the thing to do was to surrender. One woman had had hysterics. Another had fainted.

Mostly, though, they were in agreement. They understood each other and the risks involved. They'd had many a long hour to get acquainted.

Ham Brooks said, "They're going to glide right into the lagoon."

Doc said, "Monk, Renny-better get set."

Monk and Renny moved toward the rear, Renny pausing to turn, saying, "This is tricky business. It may call for some close coordination."

Doc nodded. "Just remember the signals."

Renny followed Monk. They were crawling back into the tail of the s.h.i.+p, as far back as it was possible to crawl, which was actually to the tangle of struts and braces where horizontal and vertical stabilizers, rudder and elevators, were attached...The other times during the flight when they had crawled back there, the pa.s.sengers had carefully moved forward in a body, so that the change in center of gravity would not be noticeable enough to alarm the enemy in the control room. Now they started to repeat this, and Doc said, "It won't be necessary." The tone of the engines had changed to idling. "They'll think the difference in airspeed is changing the lift. They won't notice."

A man, a tall Australian businessman, that looked narrowly at Doc Savage, said, "This is a crazy, dangerous thing. I know planes. I have a s.h.i.+p of my own. I don't like this."Doc said, "You under-rate Renny and Monk."

"They don't seem too confident themselves."

Ham, turning from the window, asked, "You want to be tied up with those other two?" He was scowling at the Australian.

"That won't be necessary," the Australian said bitterly.

"Everyone fasten safety belts," Doc said.

THE plan was quite simple, but not, as the Australian had indicated, fully safe. Renny and Monk, far in the stern-section, had access to the rudder and elevator controls. With pinch-bars, which they had fas.h.i.+oned carefully, they could make the plane nose up or nose down, make it skid right or left. They did not have any control over the ailerons, so they could not force a turn, only a skid, or a nose-up or nose-down position They were by no means able to fly the plane, but they could mess up any effort to fly it from the c.o.c.kpit.

Doc worked his way aft, took up a position at a window.

"Remember, relay my exact words back to Renny and Monk," he said.

In the beginning the idea had been that they could prevent the s.h.i.+p landing. But now they did not dare do that, because they were sure the gasoline supply was quite low. Renny was certain of this. Renny had done some engineering design work on this type of seaplane, and he was quite positive about cruising range and fuel capacity.

They were going to try to put the plane down, by force, where they would have a chance to escape. That meant on dry land. Not a landing sh.o.r.e, which would be a crash.

Doc said, addressing the anxious Australian, "On the lagoon, but close to the beach, will do it. The beach is not too wide. The s.h.i.+p can, if we re lucky, be made to ride up across it and into the jungle."

The Australian was sweating. "But you've got no instruments, no airspeed, no altimeter! You need the airspeed particularly. These big s.h.i.+ps have no feel to speak of. How can you judge ..." He grimaced, shook his head.

Miss Berthena Gilroy touched Doc's arm. "Anything I can do?"

"See that everyone gets their safety belts fastened," Doc said. "When we slide up on beach, if we do, it'll be a shade rough."

She nodded.

He watched the sea, the island, approach. It was always, he knew, difficult to judge alt.i.tude with the eye after a long-distance flight at high alt.i.tude. But alt.i.tude here was vitally important. They must, when the pilot attempted to set a normal glide, stretch it, make him come in too high, then, when he attempted to gun off and go around again, force the s.h.i.+p down and make him land just where they wanted the s.h.i.+p landed. It was, with Renny and Monk working with pry-bars, a job for genius and G.o.d.

He said, "Nose up-one!"

Crisply, the command was relayed back into the tail section. The number-one-was part of the signaling system agreed upon. One to ten, with ten being the elevator in full up or full down position."Nose up-two," he said.

And then, in a moment, "Nose up-four."

He could imagine the pilot now fighting the control column, trying to get the s.h.i.+p to nose down in a glide.

There would be an argument, accusations, denials. He hoped they would not, in a suspicious rage, shoot the pilot.

The seaplane, nose up, holding about its maximum glide angle, floated toward the lagoon, now less than a mile distant ... Suddenly the engines took hold-the pilot was trying to go around again.

"Nose down-two!" Doc said. "Down, two!"

Lazily, the big s.h.i.+p dipped. The speed, in this nose-down position with throttles open, increased noticeably. Then it slackened. The pilot had cut his throttles back. He tried nosing down.

"Nose up, four!" Doc urged. Once more, the plane held its alt.i.tude.

Fiercely, the loudspeaker cursed them. "You'll crash the s.h.i.+p!" it snarled.

Doc did not take his eyes of the lagoon. As lagoons went, it did not offer bad prospects for a landing.

No snags, no reefs inside the barrier. The beach, narrow, not too steep, was a border of white sand between jungle green and lagoon blue and blue-yellow.

Doc began to smile thinly ... He believed that now, barring accidents, they had it in the bag ...

THE island itself was a conventional coral atoll. There seemed to be no volcanic structure at all. Actually, he had not given it more than casual inspection; all his thoughts, all his anxieties, were on whether or not they could smash the s.h.i.+p across the beach and into the jungle, but not smash it hard enough to cripple anyone. Thick, tangled, matted, as green as clover, the jungle covered most of the atoll, but that was usual too. The atoll was the shape roughly of a thin slice of quarter-moon, lying generally north and south, and at each end, swinging out in an embracing circle, there was a line of reef, tiny islands that were only white sand, naked to the gleaming moonlight.

It would be dark in the jungle, Doc hoped. That, actually, was why he had thought of putting the plane into the jungle. The darkness would give them a chance to escape, to fight.

"Down," Doc said. "Nose down, five. Five! Four ... Two ... Nose up! Nose up, one! ... Four! Nose up, four! ...

It was not a good landing. Not a good landing in anybody's book. Actually, they flew into the water, bounced all of twenty feet, came down, bounced again. Slam ... Bounce ... slam! Doc yelled, "Nose up, ten! Nose up, all it'll go!" ... The bounces grew less violent ... They hit the beach. Then the jungle.

They did not lose either wing, but the wings lost their shape, leading edges caving in, ribs buckling, spars cracking, bending, drag wires snapping. But the wings stayed on ... None of this did Doc immediately know. He had-he thought with inexcusable stupidity -forgotten to do what he'd ordered everyone else to do, fasten his safety belt. As a result, he was plastered against a bulkhead, and stunned.

Chapter XIII.

SOMEONE who had a hoa.r.s.e rumbling voice like a bear in a cave was saying, "Take his heels, I said!

Don't you know which end his heels are on!" Doc Savage could barely hear this voice; it seemed to come from infinite distance. But he felt that in some way the words were related to him. He tried toconcentrate, tried to figure out why. He seemed to be afloat on an exceedingly turbulent sea composed, not of water, but of gray vapor that was almost colorless, but as hard as steel or stone and very painful to lie upon.

A frog croaked. He had the feeling that it must have croaked before, maybe more than once. But this time he was quite certain that it croaked, and it was a very remarkable sound, as if it came from a bullfrog twenty feet tall, and in good voice. "Okay," somebody said. "Let him drop." Somebody else said, loudly and in fright, "Watch out-climbing that palm tree!" A gun popped, a man screamed, another man said hoa.r.s.ely, "G.o.d, you got him!" but he did not sound at all sorry about it. The waves, the hard waves like stone, suddenly s.h.i.+fted from under Doc, and there was the awful sensation of falling through s.p.a.ce. The shock when he hit hurt, but it was quite delicious because he was so glad to have something under him, something solid, not to be falling. Monk Mayfair's voice said, "That was graceful as h.e.l.l, you shyster! I'm glad he's not conscious to see you heave him around like a sack of oats." Ham said, "Oh, shut up!"

Doc realized he was now being dragged. He rolled over and operated his legs, and presently he was running beside Monk. They flopped down behind a large palm bole.

Monk said, "You got knocked out!"

Doc remembered the safety belt he hadn't fastened. He asked, "How long-"

"Fifteen or twenty seconds," Monk said. "We've got two of them. Renny got one. That Australian potted one who was trying to s.h.i.+n up a palm tree just now. I think maybe-"

The bullfrog twenty feet tall talked again, and it was more impressive than before. It was one of the machine pistols.

"That's Renny," Monk said. "I think maybe-"

A man howled, "h.e.l.l, Here's one!" He was to the right in the darkness, and from the same spot came struggle sounds. Blows, grunts, profanity, at least three men doing the striking, grunting and swearing.

Presently the man who had howled said, "Ugh! Blood! Oh!" In a moment, this man came staggering toward them. He was horrified. He looked at them and said, "I didn't know you could cut a man's throat with a pen-knife!" A gun whanged. The man folded down, grabbed his left leg with both hands and whimpered. Red fluid crawled out between his fingers, looking brightly cardinal in the moonlight.

Monk seized him, dragged him behind the palm trees.

"What I've been trying to say," Monk explained, "is that I think maybe some of them were killed or injured in the crash."

With three behind the palm, it was quite crowded.

DOC SAVAGE had his thinking organized by now. He decided that he had been shoved, while dazed, through the after hatch of the seaplane. Ham had done the boosting, Monk the catching. More of the pa.s.sengers must be out of the plane. How many, he did not know. The Australian and Renny, at least.

"How many got out of the s.h.i.+p?" he asked.

"I don't know," Monk confessed. "Things have been a little confused."

There was a shot, an instant replying shot. Then one of the marksmen said sheepishly, "Sorry. Did I hit you?" And the other gunman replied, "We d better get organized!""Monk, I'm going to work around the south of them," Doc said.

"Okay. Wait a minute! Which way is south?"

"To the left."

"Oh."

Doc crawled carefully. He was glad to get away from the palm tree. With three of them trying to hide behind it, someone was sure to be hit if there was any sniping in that direction.

He was not, he decided, damaged seriously. He felt bruised, the front of his face felt like a football, but he could function normally ... He tried to recall whether there had been signs of habitation on the island, a village, or houses, a trading station, docks. He could not remember. It was remarkable how little he had noticed, preoccupied as he was with the problem of whether or not they could get the seaplane down in the lagoon exactly where they had wanted it.

There was another shot. He stopped crawling. But nothing followed the shot sound, except that disturbed gulls set up a distressed crying somewhere far distant, on a reef probably. He could hear a soft whirring sound, decided it was the gyro in one of the flight instruments still turning. It was the nature of the things to run several minutes after a s.h.i.+p stopped flying.

He was lying p.r.o.ne. He stretched out a hand, preparatory to rising-and someone stepped on it ... His mouth went wide open, teeth bared, with pain. But he lay perfectly still, hoping whoever it was would not realize what he had stepped on.

A stiff breath, barely audible, left a man's lungs. A figure leaned down, barely distinguishable in the gloom. It was, considering how bright was the moonlight on the lagoon, remarkably dark here in the jungle ... A hand touched Doc's arm, fingers clutched. A man said, "What the-"

Doc took hold of the arm, jerked violently. There was no gun in that hand, so there would probably be one in the other, and Doc tried for it furiously. The man came down on him hard, grunting. Doc got the other arm, between elbow and wrist, not a healthy place to hold it. The gun let loose flame and an earsplitting blast in his face.

Following the shot, they fought in fierce silence. Doc, whenever he could, inched fingers up the man's arm, forearm, along his wrist, trying to get the gun. He gave all his attention to that. Suddenly the man changed hands with the gun. Doc, just as suddenly, hit him in the midriff. There was, a moment later, a thump as the gun landed several yards away. Placing both hands around the man's neck, Doc began squeezing. He was dizzy, and evidently not as fully recovered from the b.u.mp on the head, received when the seaplane crashed, as he had thought. He had difficulty concentrating, had trouble thinking at all. It seemed to take every effort he could manage to concentrate on his hands, on making them tighten. He did that, thinking of nothing else, until a flashlight blazed on him, spraying such a glare that he could see nothing at all, making his eyes feel as if thorns were sticking into them.

Somebody was trying to loosen his hands and he had no idea who it was-he tried to kick, bite, b.u.t.t whoever it was-until Monk said loudly, "Ham! C'mere and help!"

Doc asked doubtfully, "Monk?"

"Sure. What's got into you? ... Hurry up, before Doc kills this guy! What're you trying to do to that guy?

Don't you know who it is? It's Mr. Chapman, the federal agent."

"Put out that light!""It's okay. We've got them all. Three of them were laid out when the plane crashed."

Ham came stumbling through the brush. He stared in amazement. "That's Chapman! I thought he burned to death in that house in New York."

Doc had some difficulty standing. He was very tired.

"Chapman did die-he was murdered-in New York," he said. He shook his head, with the result that he nearly fell down again. He said, "I seem to be balled up on time. You say it's finished? How are the pa.s.sengers?"

"The pa.s.sengers are fine," Ham explained, "if you don't count two broken arms and one bullet hole in a leg."

Chapter XIV.

SLOWLY, cautiously, as coy as a baby peeking out of its crib, the morning sun appeared. Back in the jungle somewhere a bird squawked in alarm, and a flight of sea birds, fully a hundred of them, lifted all at once from a reef which the incoming tide had partly covered. A breeze, which had been sleeping during the night, stirred softly and crept through the jungle, moving a few very large fragile leaves, but not stirring the palm fronds at all. Out in the lagoon, a large fish arched out of the water, fell back with a loud splash and circular waves, like rings in a target, traveled lazily to the brown-sugar-colored coral beach.

The waves broke with shush-shush sounds on the sand a few yards from a small sailboat, no. longer seaworthy, which lay under a palm. Beyond the derelict boat there were three buildings, two of them quite small, the larger one roofed with sheet iron after the fas.h.i.+on of island trading posts. Leading northward through the jungle, there was a path and, presently, along this path came Doc Savage, Monk, Miss Gilroy-Monk was solicitously helping Miss Gilroy over imaginary bad places in the path-and Mr. Moore.

"I showed you where the bomb was," Mr. Moore said. "You oughta turn me loose."

Monk laughed. He was really amused.

Alarmed, Mr. Moore said, "I didn't have any hand in killing the crew of the B29! That was done while I was away, trading at another island! The killing was engineered by Burrel."

Doc said, "Burrel? You mean Chapman?"

"He wasn't Chapman," Mr. Moore said frantically. "You know he wasn't Chapman ... I think you even knew it in New York!"

Doc said nothing. He had just seen the bomb-it was in the wreckage of the B29, Lonely Widow-and he was thinking grimly of the crew, who were dead. Mr. Moore had explained that they had been murdered, and there was no reason to doubt him ... Mr. Moore had talked freely. He was badly scared.

He had explained that they-Burrel, Rice, Skeeter, Cavendish, Davey, himself, two other men named Paul and Williams-had been afraid to move the atomic bomb after they found out what it was. The crew of the Lonely Widow had not told them what it was, but seem they had heard about the atomic bombing of j.a.pan on the radio, and they had figured it out for themselves. The murdering of the Lonely Widow''s crew had followed ... Then the trip to New York, the search for a buyer, the trouble with Worrik and Wilbur Rigg, who tried to grab the thing for themselves, but didn't know where it was.

Wilbur Rigg, they had killed at once, and the killing, of course, had brought every facility at the command of the United States government down on their heads.Mr. Moore looked at them pleadingly. "Everybody else is dead ... Why can t you let me go?" he wanted to know.

"That," Monk said, "is quite an argument."

RENNY met them at the trading post. He said, "I can get the radio percolating. By this afternoon, I imagine." He jerked his head at the interior of the building, said, "Ham is prowling in there. This is just a trading post. That bird Burrel was head guy. The one who pretended to be Chapman."

Miss Gilroy shuddered. "I don't understand how we thought Burrel was Chapman."

"He was bold," Doc told her. "Boldness pays off, if played right."