THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Chapter 17

17

(You can read the previous chapter HERE.)

The jet car raced through the dark tunnel beneath the mountain. The Shadow drove grimly, his fiery eyes staring ahead into the black. At last he saw the faint light of the cave behind the buildings of the rocket base. He slowed the jet car and glided into the dock at the end of the single rail. He leaped out of the car.

The cave was silent and deserted. Nothing moved.

They eyes of The Shadow blazed as he searched for a sign of life.

Then he smelled the odor—the smell of gunpowder! There had been shooting in the cave. The Shadow glided across the stone floor toward the larger cavern behind the office of the CYPHER Commandant. Then he saw the body lying on the stone. The Avenger bent and turned the body over. It was Dr. Max Ernest! The Research Director had been shot twice in the head. Ernest was dead. There was the pistol in his hand. The Shadow felt it and found it still hot from being fired.

His eyes blazed up. Then he heard the faint voice.

“… Chief …”

The Shadow floated toward the sound. It came from a dark shadow near the wall of the cave just where it opened into the larger cavern. The Shadow reached the spot and found Harry Vincent propped up against the wall with the CYPHER sub-machinegun in his hand. The agent grinned at The Shadow.

“I’m okay, Chief. I got one of them. The one in the wheelchair fooled me. He had a gun in the chair and he got me.”

“Where are you hit?” The Shadow demanded.

“Right side and shoulder. Not good, but not bad. The bleeding’s stopping, I’ll be all right. But I’ve lost some blood. Too weak to move. I… .”

“Save your strength Harry.”

Deftly The Shadow poured some special medicine onto the two wounds and stanched the flow of blood. With instant plastic bandages he covered the wounds.

“You will be all right for a few hours. Do not move! The bullets must be removed but now I must find Bryan. I will return soon, Harry!”

Harry nodded weakly. “I’ll be fine, Chief. Bryan went out a different door from the cavern.

Over there next to that big oil drum.”

The Shadow nodded. He left Harry seated against the wall of the dark cavern smoking a cigarette with his sub-machinegun in his lap ready for any emergency. The dark Avenger moved swiftly across the silent cavern to the oil drum. He saw the outline of the secret door, and focused his powers on the electronic circuit that controlled the door. The door slid open. The Shadow entered a wide and dark corridor, wider than a normal passage and less lighted. He realized that this was some kind of freight passage—probably a passage for bringing materials over from the Federal Cybernetics plant on the other side of the mountain to the launch site. Such a passage would be less traveled, and Bryan had undoubtedly picked it for that reason, and for the convenience of his wheelchair.

There was no sound and no one appeared as The Shadow moved quickly along the freight corridor. He reached a double door and heard the sound of breathing on the other side. Silently he opened the door a crack and his fiery eyes studied the scene on the other side of the door. Two CYPHER soldiers stood on guard with their weapons slung on their shoulders. Beyond them The Shadow saw the interior of a storage warehouse piled with what he knew to be cylinders of rocket fuel and other equipment for the giant rocket reaching the end of its countdown out on the launching pad. The Shadow slipped through the double doors and moved on the two CYPHER men. They heard him at the last instant and turned. They clawed for the weapons slung over the shoulders.

They were too late.

The Shadow was on them in a single bound. His steel fingers closed on their throats. He held one soldier in each powerful hand and squeezed with his grip of steel. The two soldiers struggled for a frantic moment like fish at the end of a hook. Their eyes bulged with pain and terror. Then they went limp and The Shadow let them drop like sacks of grain to the concrete floor of the storage warehouse. He bent and picked up one of the sub-machineguns, and stood up to study the interior of the silent warehouse. Bryan must have had some reason for coming into the warehouse. The Shadow saw a wide freight door at the far end of the building. To the left there was another wide double freight door. To the right there was a smaller door. Sub-machinegun in hand, the dark Avenger crossed to the smaller door. He opened it silently and went through.

He stood in a small chamber with two doors in it in addition to the door he had come through.

The Shadow turned to the left door, opened it, and looked out. He was looking out into the open night valley. A half a mile away the gigantic rocket stood on its launching pad, the vapor-steam of cryogenic temperature fuel steaming in a great cloud from it. Then, as the dark Avenger watched, the umbilical fell away and the gantry began to move back.

The launch was two minutes away!

The Shadow saw nothing else and no one out in the open mountain night of the secret valley.

He whirled and crossed the tiny chamber to the last door. He opened it and saw an elevator car. He jumped into the car and pressed the automatic button. The door closed and the car started up swiftly and silently. The black-garbed Avenger held the sub-machine gun in his powerful hands and his fiery eyes blazed with impatience. The car went up and up. There was no sound but the low hum of the elevator motor far below. Then the car stopped. The door opened and The Shadow stepped out.

He stood in a brightly lighted room with a wide window to the left that faced the giant rocket a half a mile away. Three CYPHER guards saw him at once. They turned their weapons on him. A loud alarm began to clang and echo.

The Shadow fired a short burst from his sub-machinegun and then another. The three guards went down as if pole-axed by the deadly accurate fire of the Avenger. His sub-machinegun blazing he moved steadily through the bright room toward the larger room he saw just ahead through a heavy glass partition. Four more CYPHER men fell under the hail of bullets from his blazing gun. When it was empty he snatched up another from a fallen soldier. But it was not the men of CYPHER his fiery eyes watched, it was the room he saw ahead beyond the heavy glass partition!

A room lined with electronic equipment; with gauges and dials; with oscilloscopic units and other equipment even The Shadow could not name instantly. In the room there were three of the CYPHER Sub-Commandants—and J. Wesley Bryan in his wheelchair! All of them were intently watching the instruments and staring out the heavy glass window toward the distant rocket where it towered in the night sky illuminated by searchlights.

The Shadow’s eyes blazed—he had found the central launch control room! There were no more CYPHER guards, and the dark Avenger gave his macabre and mocking laugh as he leaped toward the door into the control room.

All the men in the control room whirled and saw The Shadow!

There were a series of loud slamming metal noises. The Shadow stopped.

One by one heavy steel doors came down across all the entrances into the control room.

The Shadow was blocked out of the room.

He leaped at the nearest door and concentrated his powers.

Nothing happened.

He strained with all the power of his brain focused on the heavy steel door that faced him.

The door did not move.

The Shadow now knew that the doors were deadfall doors. They were activated electronically, but once down they were raised not by electronics but by simple mechanical means. The Shadow, alone outside the door, was helpless to raise it!

Inside the room J. Wesley Bryan looked out through the thick glass at The Shadow.

A neutral voice counted, “… twelve … eleven … ten… nine … eight … .” 

The Shadow fired at the window. The bullets bounced off. Inside the room J. Wesley Bryan laughed aloud at The Shadow, his insane eyes blazing with triumph. Behind him the three CYPHER Sub-Commandants watched their instruments and the rocket out on the launching pad.

J. Wesley Bryan watched The Shadow through the thick glass.

The Shadow’s eyes blazed and his power reached out through the glass. The fingers of his power reached toward the mind of J. Wesley Bryan. Clouds of his massive will poured toward the crippled genius. Bryan stared back. The crippled man smiled a defiant smile as he resisted the Shadow with all the power of his own brilliant mind. The two men stared at each other. The struggle of powerful wills went on in silence through the heavy glass of the window.

“… seven … six … five … four …” 

Behind Bryant the three CYPHER Sub-Commandants tensed over their instruments and stared eagerly out the windows toward the rocket. Great clouds of vapor rose at the base of the tall space vehicle. In the control room J. Wesley Bryan blinked, shook his head, his face going white with fury as he stared at the blazing eyes of The Shadow. The Avenger let his eyes look to the red button no more than four feet from where Bryan sat in his wheelchair. Bryan shook his head.

His mouth moved, said, “No … no … no …”

But the hand of the crippled man suddenly moved. The wheelchair rolled.

The power of The Shadow rose to a massive peak.

Bryan sat in front of the red button. His hand reached out.

“… three … two … one … fire!” 

The building rumbled. The grounds shook. Outside through the window the rocket stirred …

lifted … moved ponderously up toward the dark night sky.

The Shadow’s mind gave a silent command. “Now!”

J. Wesley Bryan’s face twisted once in a final agony of battle—and his hand reached out and pressed the red button. The explosion rent the sky.

A great sheet of flame and smoke shot skyward. Flame burst sideways and down.

The whole valley lighted up like brilliant sunshine.

Great rocks were torn from the steep sides of the narrow valley. Chunks of metal hurled through the blazing night sky. The two buildings closest to the shattered and blazing rocket were smashed and burst into flame. The forest blazed with flames. Farthest from the launch site, the warehouse next to the control building still stood, but flaming debris already had ignited its roof.

In the control building the whole edifice rocked, and the observation windows shattered and blew in.

Through the shattered windows the screams of men could be heard all through the flaming valley.

Inside the control room the men had been hurled down. Outside the control room, The Shadow had been flung to the floor like a puppet.

Stunned only for a second, the black Avenger struggled to his feet. He looked into the control room. The steel doors were still secure. On the floor of the control room the three Sub-Commandants lay unconscious, hurled down and unconscious without the amazing strength of The Shadow.

The Avenger looked for J. Wesley Bryan. For a moment he did not see the crippled genius.

Then he saw Bryan!

By a fluke, a stroke of fate, the low and heavy wheelchair had not been hurled over. It had simply been pushed by the force of the explosion against a far wall. Bryan was uninjured and free now of the power of The Shadow! Even as the Avenger watched, Bryan wheeled away into the open door of a second elevator and vanished. The Shadow turned and ran to the elevator he had come up on. It was damaged by the blast and inoperable. The Shadow dashed for the emergency stairs. He ran down the narrow winding stairs toward the bottom.

He reached the small chamber that had withstood the blast and ran into the warehouse.

Flames licked down from the ceiling of the warehouse. In the distance explosions continued to rock the valley as ammunition stores, and stores of other chemicals, exploded. The warehouse was a pandemonium of activity. Hundreds of black-uniformed CYPHER soldiers battled to control the fire in the warehouse before it could reach the stored cylinders of rocket fuel. No one saw The Shadow glide across the room toward the door through which he had entered. Mad with fear, the men of CYPHER and their leaders had no eyes for anything but the fire and the danger. Twice soldiers looked straight at the Shadow as if they did not see him.

He reached the double doors and raced through. The wide freight corridor was deserted. He ran on and reached the secret panel. His powers focused and opened it. He ran into the large cavern and on toward the smaller cave where the jet car was—it was the only escape for J. Wesley Bryan, the crippled man had to be trying to reach the car. The Shadow reached the smaller cave.

“Bryan! Stop!”

The Shadow heard the shout. It was the voice of Harry Vincent. The Shadow reached where Harry lay flat on the stone floor with his sub-machinegun extended and a new wound on the side of his head. Harry did not look around as The Shadow bounded to him.

“Stop! Now!” Harry shouted.

The fiery eyes of The Shadow looked in the direction of where Harry’s gun was pointed. He saw a scene like a slow-motion movie.

J. Wesley Bryan sat in his wheelchair beside the torpedo-shaped jet car. The crippled genius had started the engines. Now he struggled to raise himself from the chair and lower himself into the cockpit. He was half out of the chair, the engines up to a high whine, when Harry Vincent fired a burst from the sub-machinegun. The bullets must have struck the controls of Bryan’s chair. Without warning the chair lurched, began to roll toward the rear of the jet car. Bryan was flung back into the seat of the chair. The small crippled man beat at the jammed controls. His face was a mask of fear. The chair rolled to the rear of the jet car, lurched, and pitched over into the track directly behind the flaming jet engine.

The agonized scream of J. Wesley Bryan echoed through the hidden underground caverns deep inside the mountain. Then there was silence.

Harry Vincent lay on his face, his eyes sick.

The Shadow glided forward and stood over the charred remains of Bryan and his smoldering wheelchair. Then the dark Avenger reached down and shut off the jet car engine. The cave became totally silent. The Shadow moved back to where Harry now sat up again.

“He surprised me again. Grazed my head. Superficial, but it stunned me a moment,” Harry explained. The agent was clearly weak from the loss of blood.

“Rest, Harry,” The Shadow said. “It is over. The rocket was destroyed. The CYPHER base is a ruin. I do not think they will have much fight left tonight.”

The Avenger bent over his ring radio. “Come in Margo!”

There was a silence, and then Margo’s clear voice.

“Margo reporting, Chief.”

“Report,” The Shadow intoned.

“Troops from the nearest Air Force Base have arrived at the plant and have the situation under control. Troops were dispatched under orders of General Broyard when I contacted him as soon as we left the CYPHER rocket base.”

“Very good, Margo. Were all the CYPHER men captured?”

“Negative,” Margo reported. “A strong unit made its escape by the highway, is presumably heading for the rocket base. General Broyard’s commander here is reluctant to advance over the mountains in his helicopters in the face of the battalion size strength we reported to be at the rocket site. However, we heard the explosion, it shattered all our windows. What is the situation there?”

“There will be little resistance here, Margo,” The Shadow said drily. “The base is destroyed, the troops scattered and demoralized. Tell the commander he can come in by helicopter and should beat the unit that escaped here.”

“Very well, Chief,” Margo said.

“Are you all safe?” The Shadow asked.

“Stanley is wounded, but I am unhurt. However, Professor Farina and General Rogers are missing. Farina is in the hands of the CYPHER unit, and probably Rogers, too, but we are searching. Most of the workers here seem uninvolved.”

“Very good, Margo. I will await you here.”

The Shadow clicked off and stood for a moment in the dim cave with his eyes blazing. Then he raised his head to listen. Far off be heard a faint sound. It was the high whine of one of the jet cars. A whine too high for anyone but The Shadow to hear. The eyes of the Avenger gleamed.

Someone was coming!

“Harry,” The Shadow said.

But the agent had finally fainted from the effect of his wounds and the loss of blood.

Quickly, The Shadow carried the unconscious man into a safe shelter in the cavern, ran to the secret door into the office of the CYPHER Commandant, and vanished through into the office.

To Be Concluded

SATURDAY

at

HERO HISTORIES

Please Support Crime & Punishment

Visit Amazon and Buy...

The Shadow

Circle of Death

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Chapter 15

  

15

(You can read the previous chapter HERE.)

Moments later, the door to the toilet opened and a pair of fiery eyes peered out. The corridor was empty. But it was bright with light and there were voices and the sounds of machines behind the closed doors of the corridor. A few seconds passed. The fiery eyes watched. The lights in the corridor slowly seemed to dim until they were almost out. There was a sound like a quick rush of wind, and a black shape seemed to float in silence along the dim corridor. The corridor lights came up full again. A CYPHER soldier came out of an office, looked around him for a moment, shrugged, and went back inside. The door from the corridor out into the night closed silently.

Out in the dark night in front of the low building, The Shadow stood for a moment listening.

His keen ears heard the sound of the firing squad still marching some distance to the left. Up the narrow side valley the giant rocket still towered, its base steaming with the condensed vapor of its cold fuel. The gantry was still attached, but men no longer worked around the tall space vehicle that reached like some great arrow into the dark mountain sky. Time was growing shorter. The Shadow raced off after the firing squad. Like a great night bird his black shape bounded through the night unseen and unheard with his great cape billowing. He reached the small open field. It was a simple clearing in the forest on the mountain side. It was open on three sides, and the fourth side was a tall cliff.

Margo, Stanley and Harry Vincent were lined up against the cliff wall.

A strong light shone on the three agents of The Shadow.

The firing squad was in position facing them. The Group Leader was looking at his watch, and looking back toward the building where he expected to see his men appear with Cranston.

The Group Leader was impatient. But this was a time when iron discipline did not help CYPHER.

Ordered to shoot four prisoners, to report the shooting-execution of four prisoners, the Group Leader did not want to shoot three now and one later, did not want to shoot three here and another somewhere else. So he hesitated, looked at his watch, and waited. He waited too long.

In the dark that bordered the field of execution, The Shadow’s eyes blazed as he concentrated all his powers on the Group Leader and the men of the firing squad.

The Group Leader rubbed at his eyes and looked up at the sky. He shook his head, looked at his watch. He looked back again toward the distant building where he expected to see Cranston brought out. He scowled and again looked up at the sky. He was looking for the thick fog that seemed to be obscuring his vision. The distant building was clouded in mist. The three prisoners seemed suddenly hazy. Then, all at once, something very strange seemed to happen to the Group Leader. He forgot why he was there in the field. He could not quite remember who the three people against the cliff wall were. He shook his head to remember, but a soft thick cloud seemed to enfold his brain and he could not recall what he was supposed to do with the prisoners. He suddenly seemed to feel that he knew them, that they were friends. A voice, his own voice, spoke to him and told him to release the prisoners. He nodded. Of course, that was what he had to do—

release the prisoners.

“Release the prisoners,” he heard his own voice say.

Vaguely to his surprise, and then to his approval, three men of his firing squad stepped out and walked to the prisoners. They released the prisoners and walked back to their firing squad line where they stood rigid staring into space. They all seemed to feel that all was in correct order. They made no resistance as the three prisoners walked to them. One of them, Harry Vincent, stepped to the Group Leader and took his pistol. The other two stood near the firing squad that did not move.

The great black shape of The Shadow appeared in the lighted clearing. His fiery eyes blazed toward the firing squad, and his voice was commanding.

“Ready! Aim! Fire!”

The volley rang out.

“Harry!” The Shadow said.

Harry Vincent fired shots into the air from the pistol of the Group Leader. Four shots.

“Four of you step out!” The Shadow commanded. Four of the firing squad stepped out.

“Remove your clothes.”

The four men undressed. Quickly, Margo, Harry Vincent and Stanley changed clothes with three of the CYPHER soldiers. The Shadow threw the clothes of Lamont Cranston to Harry who dressed the fourth guard in Cranston’s clothes, and the other three in the clothes of Harry, Margo and Stanley. The fourth uniform went beneath the great black robes of The Shadow.

“Go to the wall and lie down,” The Shadow commanded the four CYPHER soldiers now dressed in the clothes of the four prisoners. The soldiers went to the wall and lay down. The Shadow concentrated and rendered them unconscious. The Shadow turned to the Group Leader.

“Take the bodies of your prisoners for burial. Dig graves and fill them again. Do not bury the four. Merely hide them. Then return with your squad, report the executions completed, explain the four missing men, and then forget everything that has happened! You have carried out your orders. The four prisoners are shot and buried. All else is forgotten!”

“The four prisoners are shot and buried. I have sent four men to the squad room to replace their digging tools,” the Group Leader said.

“Go now!” The Shadow commanded.

The firing squad picked up the four unconscious men dressed in the clothes of the prisoners and marched off in the night toward the burial ground with the Group Leader smartly counting cadence. The Shadow watched them go. He turned to his three agents.

“Now, Margo and Stanley, you will get off this base and go to find General Rogers, Farina and Bryan. You will tell the General what has happened, and also report to General Broyard. It should be simple to leave the base in those uniforms, you must commandeer some kind of vehicle. Ask General Broyard for help!”

“Yes, Chief,” Margo and Stanley said together.

The Shadow’s eyes blazed. “Harry, come with me. We have very little time!”

The Avenger, followed by Harry Vincent in the CYPHER uniform, faded into the dark mountain night in the direction of the same building he had just left.

Some five minutes later, the enormous room where the farcical trial had been held was empty and dark. The eyes of The Shadow glowed in the doorway. Harry Vincent stood guard behind him, a CYPHER sub-machinegun in his steady hands. The eyes of The Shadow studied the empty room and the door behind the line of tall throne chairs.

“Come, Harry,” the Avenger said softly.

Like a wraith, The Shadow crossed the enormous and empty room in the dark and reached the row of throne chairs. Harry trotted behind him almost as silently. The agents of The Shadow were trained in silence. At the door which the Commandant and his Sub-Commanders had gone through, The Shadow stopped. His burning eyes examined the door while Harry watched the room.

“It is electronically operated, Harry, as I thought,” The Shadow said. “I did not see the Commandant use a key or a door knob. Are you ready?”

Harry took a position behind one of the throne chairs from where he could cover the opening behind the door when The Shadow opened it.

“Ready,” Harry said softly.

The Shadow nodded. His glowing eyes looked at the door as he focused his powers on the electronic circuit that operated it. There was a faint hum and the door slid open without a sound.

A narrow and dark passage stretched out behind the door. The passage was deserted. The Shadow motioned for Harry to follow him and the two men plunged into the passage. The door closed behind them with a sigh.

Ten minutes passed in the silent bowels of the mountain stronghold. The narrow passage had branched into other passages. All were empty. The Shadow and Harry Vincent explored all passages and all the rooms. They found no living person. Then they came to the end of the last passage and entered a room they knew at once was the headquarters of the Commandant. The Shadow’s eyes glowed and his finger with the red fire-opal girasol pointed to the corner of the room above the large metal desk.

“Look!” The Shadow said.

On a tall hat tree a uniform hung neatly on a coat hanger.

It was the uniform of the CYPHER Commandant! The golden mask hung with it.

“He’s not in his uniform!” Harry said.

“No, Harry,” The Shadow said grimly. “I expect he is in the disguise he assumes to show the world. I wondered why he did not wear any national insignia. Unlike all the others, or most of them, he is undoubtedly not a known defector from his country. He is still in good standing in some high position. I think many of the top CYPHER leaders are.”

“Where do you think he has gone?” Harry said.

The Shadow’s eyes blazed. “I think, Harry, that the rocket will soon blast off. I think he has gone to be with the man or men who hired him—and I think that will be someone in either NASA or Federal Cybernetics! Quick, Harry, there must be some other way out of these passages!”

“Another way?” Harry said, “but why … . .”

The Shadow’s fiery eyes shone grimly above the high black collar of his cloak, beneath the wide brim of the black slouch hat. “Because it has not escaped me, Harry, that while the way to this valley by the road is long, the valley is actually just on the other side of the mountain from the Federal Cybernetics plant! I think there is a way from here to the plant!”

“Through the mountain?”

The Shadow nodded. “If I am right, these caves and passages were natural and have only been modified by men. I think the area was chosen for this reason. And if I know CYPHER, the passage will be somewhere near this office of the Commandant. We must… .”

The Shadow held up his hand for silence. His eyes flickered. He had heard a faint sound.

Silently, he motioned for Harry to follow him, and the two men faded into the corner of the office behind four tall filing cabinets. They waited crouched there behind the cabinets.

There was a whirring sound, and a section of the office wall slid open. A man stepped through. Harry Vincent only watched the man who went straight to the desk of the Commandant and seemed to be looking for something. The man opened drawers like a man who knew what he was looking for and how to find it in the desk as if it were his own desk!

Harry only watched.

But The Shadow’s eyes blazed with a certain triumph. He recognized the man at once.

Dr. Max Ernest, Research Chief of Federal Cybernetics! The Shadow watched Ernest. The Federal Research Chief found what he wanted, an envelope that was thick with some documents, and closed the drawer he had found it in. He then walked quickly across the room and back through the secret door. The instant the door closed The Shadow came out of hiding and glided swiftly to the wall. Harry Vincent followed him. The Shadow turned to Harry.

“Remain here, Harry, after we go through the door. I think we will find our passage through the mountain, and I want you to cover this end. I don’t know where this passage will lead, and it may be a false start. You remain here, and if the Commandant returns, capture him if you can. Let no one back through the passage.”

“Right, Chief.”

The Shadow concentrated his powers on the panel and the wall slid open. The two men passed through.

They stood in a natural rocky cavern with dim light. Water dripped from some underground source. The cavern was not large, and seemed to extend into a cave at the rear toward the heart of the mountain itself. The Shadow glided swiftly ahead with Harry behind him. They crossed the cavern and entered the cave. Lights lined the walls of the small cave. Just ahead there was a sudden noise. The Shadow bounded forward. Harry hissed as he ran behind.

“Chief!”

Harry pointed down. There was a deep, ditch-like trough in the center of the small cave floor.

The trough ran off into the dim and dark distance around a sharp curve. At the bottom of the trough was a single shining steel rail!

“Some kind of monorail train!” Harry panted as he ran. Ahead the noise turned into a loud whine that grew higher and higher in pitch.

“Stop here, Harry! Be alert! Let no one back this way except myself!” The Shadow commanded.

Harry stopped and blended into the dark against the wall. The Shadow bounded silently ahead with his great cloak flying. The whine had become almost a scream now. The Shadow rounded the curve and his eyes blazed as he saw Dr. Max Ernest standing beside a small torpedo-shaped vehicle that rested on the single rail. The torpedolike car shivered as the whine of its. special jet engine rose into a steady scream and then vanished from a sound that could be heard by human ears! The car shivered but became silent to all but the ears of The Shadow.

Dr. Max Ernest stepped into the cockpit of the torpedo-shaped vehicle without seeing the shape of The Shadow that rushed toward him. The jet car began to move. Small, intense flame shot out the rear. In an instant The Shadow estimated the entire situation. The cockpit of the car was in the nose and was blind to the rear. The torpedo back of the car sloped gently down to the engine. The tunnel directly ahead was low, but there was some three feet of clearance. All this The Shadow saw as he bounded up to the slowly moving car.

The car gathered speed.

In seconds it was moving at an incredible rate.

It plunged into the tunnel guided by its single rail.

On its back, out of sight from the cockpit, and between the cockpit and the flaming engine, the black-shrouded shape of The Shadow clung grimly as the car vanished into the tunnel.

Only the steel strength of The Shadow’s fingers held him on the smooth back of the torpedo-shaped car on its wild ride through the black tunnel. The walls skimmed by a foot away. The rocky ceiling seemed inches above his clinging form. The jet car raced at a speed close to half the speed of sound. Even at the incredible speed, and clinging precariously, The Shadow saw everything around him and knew that the long tunnel was really a series of natural caverns connected by a few man-made tunnels. Suddenly the sound of the engine fell to the range of human hearing. The car began to slow. It glided into a bright room of concrete walls. It came to a stop at a kind of platform like a miniature train station. Four guards in the uniform of the security force of Federal Cybernetics stood on the platform! They stepped forward to help Dr. Max Ernest from the car. The jet car was in full view, but the guards saw nothing unusual.

There was nothing unusual.

The Shadow, who had slipped off moments before, lurked in the shadows of the lighted room at the mouth of the tunnel. He watched the security guards, and he knew that they were not simple security guards—they were men of CYPHER as he had guessed when he had seen them at the gate earlier that day. They did not see him. They followed Dr. Max Ernest up a flight of stairs without a glance behind. The eyes of The Shadow blazed. Once again CYPHER showed the fatal defect of all iron-discipline organizations—they had no imagination, they did not think for themselves. They had orders and no one had told them to be alert unless they actually saw something suspicious. They took orders, they did not think, and that would be the fatal flaw in CYPHER!

The instant they vanished up the stairs, The Shadow came out of the tunnel and glided silently after them like a wraith from the heart of the towering mountain.

To Be Continued

THURSDAY

at

ATOMIC KOMMIE COMICS

Please Support Crime & Punishment

Visit Amazon and Buy...

The Shadow

Circle of Death

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Chapter 11

 11

(You can read the previous chapter HERE.)

In the windowless storage room of the plant basement, Colonel Derian sat alert against the wall. He had not been tied in any way, but the door that he had heard locked was made of solid steel. The room was a storage area for dangerous chemicals, and was built with thick, explosion-proof walls. For a time the Colonel just sat there listening. When he was sure that no one was in the corridor outside, he began to consider his position.

“The concrete is too thick,” the cobra-like Colonel said to himself aloud. It was a trick he had learned in many years in prison. To keep calm and sane it was good to talk aloud. “The door is steel. However, they must feed me, and sooner or later they must come to interrogate me or move me. They will want to know what I am doing here. Yes, some of them will want to know what I am doing here. I wonder why …”

The Colonel stopped speaking. His cobra face became alert. His long neck was rigid and cocked at an angle as he listened to something. Derian thought that he had heard a sound—a very faint sound, but a definite sound. His cold and glittering eyes flicked around the dark store room.

There were no windows in the room, but it was not pitch black. A small work light was set high up against the wall and cast a feeble light that barely reached a quarter of the concrete room.

Beyond this circle of light, where Derian sat, there was a deeper darkness of vague shadows.

It was one of these shadows that Derian’s glittering eyes now looked at.

The shadow had seemed to move.

Derian tensed like a coiled snake and prepared to jump if necessary.

The low laugh was soft in the room. Soft and macabre. A chilling sound.

“There will be no need for defense, Colonel Derian,” a low, strong voice said.

Derian’s eyes glinted. “Who are you?”

There was no fear in the cold voice of the Soviet Secret Policeman, no panic, no apparent surprise at the sudden laugh and voice from the shadows of the room.

“I am called The Shadow, Colonel Derian, and I fight all evil!”

“So?” Derian said calmly. “How did you get in here? Where are you? I cannot see you.”

The laugh reverberated. “No walls stop The Shadow, Colonel, and I am in front of you. Look closely, Colonel Derian.” The Colonel peered into the shadows. He saw a faintly deeper area of black. Then he saw the eyes—two fiery eyes that glowed in the darkness. He saw the blood-red fire-opal girasol ring, and he saw, in the red light of that ring, the long face and hawk-nose of The Shadow. The Colonel neither moved nor flinched.

“Yes, I see you now. You wear a disguise.”

“No, Colonel, not a disguise. This is as I appear to all men. This is my power. Your mind is open to me, Derian, I know all the evil that lurks in the hearts of men!”

“So?” Derian said quietly. “What do you want with me? Why have you come here?”

“I come to learn what you know! I am here to stop the sabotage of Project Full Moon! You will tell me all that you know, Colonel Derian! You will tell me why you have come here!”

The laugh of Colonel Derian was louder and colder than the eerie laugh of The Shadow. “I will tell you nothing!” Derian said. “This is some trick! You think I’m a fool? This is some American trick to learn what I know. Fool, do you suppose I believe that you can come through 64

walls without a trick? There is a secret door, of course. You have been sent to trick me, and you will not!”

The Shadow’s voice was stern. “This is no trick, Colonel! I am The Shadow. I defeat all evil men. I must know what you are doing here. I will know!”

Suddenly the tall Colonel lunged. His trained muscles hurled him up to his feet and across the room in one powerful leap. He reached the spot where The Shadow stood.

The Shadow was gone.

An amused laugh came from another dark area of the room.

Derian swore and leaped again.

The clutching hands of the Soviet Colonel closed on empty air.

The laugh of The Shadow was mocking. “You cannot catch me, Colonel Derian. No one can catch The Shadow. You will tell me now what I must know. Your mind is open to me. You feel my power.”

Derian swore. But the tall Colonel did not lunge again. He knew when it was time to change his tactics. He peered into the shadows. He searched the room with his eyes from where he stood just outside the circle of light. He rubbed his eyes and peered again. He shook his head as if it were suddenly heavy.

The hard voice of The Shadow intoned. “Your head is heavy, Colonel Derian. Your eyes are heavy. You feel your brain growing soft, warm.”

Derian rubbed his eyes hard and shook his head. He tried to clear the fog from his brain. He suddenly became aware of the heavy mist that seemed to hang before his eyes, the thick cloud that filled his mind, the soft delicate fingers of some power that seemed to be touching his brain.

For an instant he felt panic—the cloud on his mind had grown thick and heavy, so thick he could not see the room! He uttered a single cry of anger—and then he smiled. The cloud filled his brain and he stopped struggling. He felt peaceful, at rest. At some command he thought he heard he went and sat down again inside the circle of light where he had been when The Shadow first laughed.

The Shadow emerged from the darkness. His black-shrouded shape loomed over the seated Colonel. His fiery eyes burned with the power learned so long ago in the Orient from the great Master Chen T’a Tze.

“Why are you here, Colonel Derian?”

The Colonel brushed at his eyes. “To learn the source of the sabotage of the project.”

“Why here specifically?”

“Because it was the fuel control that failed on the last shot,” Derian said promptly now.

“You knew that?” The Shadow demanded. “But the NASA people only learned that today!”

“Of course I knew. Our scientists found the cause a week ago,” the Colonel snapped with a spark of his unclouded personality.

The Shadow’s eyes burned as he stared at the Colonel. Then they suddenly flashed! There was the key! What he had missed! Vaslov had spoken of “sabotage” and “the project”! He had assumed that Vaslov meant the NASA Project, Project Full Moon. But Vaslov had not! Vaslov had meant a Soviet project! 

“Your Government has a special project to reach the Moon very soon?” The Shadow demanded.

“Yes. Any day we will be first on the Moon. Our Project Far-Space is ready. We would have been on the Moon weeks ago but for the failures.”

“You have had many failures?”

“Five. All sabotage. There is no doubt.”

“And you suspect the fuel control?”

“Of course. It is the heart of the project. It was the new fuel control that made the accelerated project possible. We all wondered.”

“Wondered?” The Shadow snapped quickly.

Derian laughed. The cloud that held his mind in the power of The Shadow did not change his personality or his freedom of expression. The power only made it impossible for him to not answer the questions of The Shadow, indeed it made him want to answer. But his mind was still his own mind if no longer in his full control. The Colonel laughed sarcastically.

“I knew nothing of the project until they called me in after the fourth sabotage act,” the Colonel said. “The instant I came in I smelled something wrong. The new fuel control was supposedly developed in a secret rocket lab of ours in the Urals. It was the work of an ex-German scientist we had, ah, borrowed shall we say, after we defeated the Nazis. This German had a good record as a scientist, yes, but not good enough to have made the brilliant theoretical leap that was at the heart of the new fuel control! I saw at once that many of our rocket experts had doubts about this, too. I made some discreet investigations.” The Colonel smiled up at The Shadow as if they were old comrades in arms. “We have our methods, you understand. Well, it did not take me long to learn that the United States also had a special Moon project!”

Derian snorted bitterly. “It was simple to learn that the United States project was almost exactly at the same stage as ours, that it too had been held up by sabotage, and that our special fuel cell was not very special but was similar to the one made by Federal Cybernetics in this country! You can imagine that I had that ex-German in for a small talk. Unfortunately, he died before he could tell me how he had happened to develop a cell so much like an American cell. At the same time I conducted a complete investigation into the sabotage. I had no luck—and then the last failure came and we traced it instantly to a minor change in the functioning of the fuel control. At this point it became clear to me, by studies I had made, that our fuel control was not similar, it was identical to the United States control. At that point I came to this country to see just exactly what was going on. I traced the control to Federal Cybernetics, and activated Vaslov to help me learn what was happening.”

The Shadow nodded grimly now. “And you learned what I have learned—that Federal, or someone at Federal, is conducting some extra but parallel work, that more material comes into the Main Laboratory than should, and that only half the results are sent to NASA Utah Base! That someone is sabotaging both projects!”

“Yes,” Derian said. “But who? And why? Somehow, for some reason, Federal’s fuel control was given to us! Why? Who in Federal gave us the identical fuel control, why did they give it to us and the United States, and why then sabotage both projects!”

The Shadow’s piercing eyes burned into the tall Colonel of Secret Police. “Did you or your people kill Major Oates?”

“No,” Derian said.

The Shadow nodded. He concentrated his powers to release Derian from the cloud on his mind. He left Derian with full memory of all that had been said, of all the questions. Then he released the Colonel—an unclouded mind thought better, and The Shadow now knew that he and Colonel Derian were working on the same side no matter how much he might detest the snake-like Soviet officer. Derian shook his head, blinked, and looked up at The Shadow as his mind cleared and returned to his own control. Derian stared at The Shadow for a long minute in silence.

“So, we are on the same mission after all,” the Colonel said quietly. “With certain differences.”

The Shadow’s eyes glowed. “At the moment, Colonel Derian, we are on the same errand. And we have the same questions. Who at Federal Cybernetics gave both countries the same fuel control, and why?”

Derian thought where he sat on the concrete floor. “If it were some sympathizer with our cause, the Communist cause, then why give it to both? No, that would make no sense.”

“The same for the United States,” The Shadow said.

“So it cannot be patriotism,” Derian said. “More, if one person in the company gave the cell to the United States, and a different person gave it to the Soviet, then it would be very unlikely that both projects would be sabotaged!”

“True,” The Shadow agreed. “If, say, the company was loyal to the United States, but one man wanted the Soviet to have the cell, that man would sabotage only the American project.”

“Or the company, learning of the defection of its control to us, would then sabotage only our effort!” Derian said. “But who would sabotage both projects! And why? That is what I cannot understand!”

The Shadow’s eyes blazed up as his mind concentrated on the seemingly impossible problem.

It was not logical—there was the crux. It made no sense as it stood now. Something was missing; some key that would explain the contradictory facts. He could tell by Colonel Derian’s face that the Russian could understand it no better than he could. And there was still the problem of who? 

With the Soviet ruled out, only the company was left. But why would Bryan sabotage his own efforts?

“What,” The Shadow said quietly, “if there is more than one man or group? What if we have two groups working at cross purposes?”

Derian’s cold eyes watched The Shadow. “It is possible, yes. I have thought of that. This Dr. Max Ernest, there is something suspicious about him. Then there is that woman, Freda Talent. Then there is Bryan himself.”

The Shadow nodded. He did not tell Derian that at least he was sure that Freda Talent was not involved since she had simply let Margo assume her place, but the other two possibilities were very real. Was Max Ernest working against his own boss and company? Was Bryan? It was possible on both counts, and yet—the same problem was still there: why? What did either man have to gain? And why give the control, and then sabotage the projects?

“Time!” The Shadow said.

“What?” Derian said.

The eyes of The Shadow burned. “They gained time! They delayed the projects. But for what? Why do they need a delay?”

Derian was about to answer when The Shadow suddenly raised his hand. The fire-opal girasol glowed red in the silent room. The Shadow had heard the approach of men, many men. They were coming for Derian. The Shadow thought of his course of action, but he had no choice—he did not yet know enough to reveal himself or stop the removal of Derian.

“I cannot interfere yet, Colonel, you understand?”

Derian nodded. “Of course. One of us must remain at large. I shall attempt to escape and rejoin you. But the sabotage must be stopped—for both our sides.”

The Shadow nodded and faded into the dark areas of the room. Moments later the door opened and General Rogers came in with three of the security guards of Federal. Rogers nodded to Derian, and the guards stepped forward and hoisted the Colonel to his feet.

“A little strong arm work, General?” Derian said with a thin smile.

“We don’t work that way, Derian,” Rogers snapped. “We are turning you over to the State Police, they will hand you to the FBI. What the FBI does with you I don’t care.”

“Very commendable, General, no one will accuse you of atrocities, eh?” And Derian laughed as the guards took him out and marched him along the corridor toward the stairs up.

Behind the guards and Rogers, a black shape loomed in the dim corridor and floated silently after them.

To Be Continued

SATURDAY
at

HERO HISTORIES

Please Support Crime & Punishment

Visit Amazon and Buy...

The Shadow

Circle of Death

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Chapter 9

 

9
(You can read the previous chapter HERE.)

It was dawn over the great city as Lamont Cranston stood and stretched the weariness from his bones. He went to the window of his high office and looked out over the awakening city. New York was always a magnificent sight at dawn as its great tall buildings emerged from the night, its shining rivers and harbor stretched in the morning light as far as the eye could see, and its millions began to stir with a growing hum of sound and movement that was like the slow awakening of a sleeping giant.

At the window, Cranston enjoyed the sight as he always did, but his mind was on Project Full Moon and the events of the day before. Behind him, Margo and Stanley sprawled in chairs, the drawn weariness of the night showing on their faces. Cranston’s face, with the power and endurance of The Shadow behind it, showed no trace of weariness or worry. The hooded eyes and impassive face of the wealthy socialite and international businessman were exactly the same as normal without a sign of the long hours of analyzing the strange events that now occupied the organization of The Shadow.

“We are missing a key,” Cranston said without turning around.

In her chair Margo nodded. “Shall we go over it again, Lamont?”

Stanley groaned. “I can hear it without talking already.”

Cranston turned from the window. He smiled at Stanley. “Once more, Stanley. From the beginning. Margo, you start.”

Margo sat up and stretched. She was herself again in the office, her disguise discarded. Her lithe figure seemed taller than it was as she stretched. Her slim legs were curled beneath her now where she sat in the big armchair, and the morning sun through the window glinted on her dark hair. She was dressed in a severe suit, as befitted her position as executive private secretary to Lamont Cranston, but the suit could not hide the smooth, strong curves of her figure. Under the suit was the trained body of the actress and secret agent for The Shadow, a body that was almost as much at Margo’s command as the body of The Shadow himself. Her training and skill had often stood her in good stead in her work for The Shadow. Now she relaxed again in her chair and her eyes became serious and intense as her keen mind went to work.

“We know that about six months ago NASA started Project Full Moon. It is a top secret project, known to very few even within NASA itself or the Government. The reason for the secrecy, and the importance, is that a new fuel control system has made it possible to reach the Moon right away instead of the minimum time of two years for the regular. Moon Project.”

Cranston frowned. “The object was to prevent any news of the new control from becoming known until we reached the Moon. A certain development time was necessary, but Full Moon was scheduled to blast-off on its final flight to the Moon a few days ago. But … . .”

Stanley broke in. “Don’t forget that the final shot had already been delayed, Boss. The other failures they had on the test shots, right? I mean, the testing had been held up.”

Cranston nodded. “Correct. The project was plagued with ‘accidents’ from the start. The final accident cost the lives of three of our best astronauts!”

“And all the ‘accidents’ could easily have been sabotage,” Margo said.

Cranston paced the floor of the office as the sun rose higher outside above the great city.

“Very clever sabotage if it was, and almost certainly by someone who has close access to the Project. Someone, or some group, with great efficiency and organization has to be behind it.”

“We’ve got the Russians,” Stanley said. “They’re efficient and organized.”

“Yes,” Margo said. “That Colonel Derian is an important man, which means that something very serious has brought him here.”

“And Vaslov admitted to The Shadow that his work was involved with sabotage of the project!” Cranston said. “Vaslov was disguised as Doctor Reigen at Federal Cybernetics,” Margo said. “For some reason the Russians are very interested in Federal.”

“That’s easy,” Stanley said. “Federal makes that new fuel control!”

“True, Stanley,” Cranston said. “Federal is the most important part of Project Full Moon, and yet something is going on at Federal as shown by the strange shipments and supply of material.”

“The mislabeled shipment also came from Federal,” Margo said, “And they have a plant in Idaho.”

Cranston paced. His impassive face showed nothing of the deep thought going on behind his hooded eyes. He turned again to Margo.

“Let me hear Burbank’s report on Bryan again.”

Margo looked at her notes. “Federal Cybernetics was founded six years ago by Bryan. It has specialized in rocket fuels and space-age controls. Bryan himself is an electronic genius, a scientific genius of many abilities. After his accident, the one that crippled him, he designed his own wheel chair and continued to work on the rocketry projects. It was later that he founded Federal Cybernetics. He developed the new control system, and presented it to NASA about six months ago.”

In the large and lavish office of Cranston there was a long silence. Cranston paced. Margo studied her notes and frowned as if she hoped that the answer was still to be found somewhere in the history of Bryan and Federal Cybernetics. Stanley sighed softly where he sat, and looked at his watch. Stanley was hungry. Neither Cranston nor Margo seemed to have any thought of, or need for, food. Cranston stopped pacing.

“What would Bryan have to gain by sabotaging Full Moon? The fuel control is his! He has every reason for wanting the shot to the Moon to be successful,” the wealthy socialite and alter-ego of The Shadow said. “And yet something odd is happening at that laboratory. Some secret work is being done, and I have a strong feeling that the Idaho plant is involved.”

“What about Dr. Max Ernest?” Margo said. “You knew that it was him you overheard talking about being ready. We know that that ledger is in his office. Is it possible that Ernest is working with the Russians?”

Cranston, nodded grimly. “Yes, Margo, it is entirely possible. And that brings us back to the Russians. It looks more and more like they are behind this. They must have learned about the fuel control through Vaslov, or Reigen as he called himself. Until they get the control they are sabotaging Full Moon to give themselves time to make their own Moon Shot.”

“It fits like a glove, Boss,” Stanley said.

“Yes,” Cranston said, “and yet I don’t like it. It feels wrong, Stanley. They have not acted like men who want to steal the fuel control. They are acting as if they want to learn what is happening at Federal Cybernetics exactly as we do! When Derian questioned Margo I had the strong impression that he was trying to really learn what she knew and who she was.”

“But, Lamont, that would still fit with Stanley’s idea. If they want to steal the fuel control and sabotage our Project, they would still question me the same way—to know what I knew.”

“True, Margo, but the way Derian questioned would also fit a man trying to learn what he did not know! If they are stealing the fuel control, they would not have to know any more. If they were only out to steal it, why are they so interested in that ledger with its extra supplies?”

“But Vaslov practically admitted that they are behind the sabotage of the project,” Margo pointed out.

Cranston was silent. Then he turned to speak. He stopped. The signal light beneath his desk was silently flashing. The socialite stepped to his desk and touched a secret switch. Instantly a voice filled the room. The voice of Burbank.

“Agent Harry Vincent has reported in from Salt Lake City,” the smooth voice of the Communications agent said from deep within the hidden complex of blue-lighted rooms behind the office of Cranston. “I have Agent Vincent on the radio if you wish to have him make his report personally. Otherwise I will tape it in the normal manner.”

“Channel the report,” Cranston said. “We need any information we can get at once!” Cranston sat at his desk, flipped a switch.

“Closed channel, simultaneous taping,” Burbank’s efficient voice said.

In the lavish office of Lamont Cranston the three leaned forward in the chairs to listen. The sun was high outside now.

The delivery truck was parked in an alley on the outskirts of Salt Lake City. The magnificent Tabernacle was not far away, and the jagged and massive peaks of the Wasatch Mountains towered high over the city. Rising almost directly from the plain of the Great Salt Lake with its wide salt flats, the Wasatch loomed so high it seemed that they could topple at any instant and engulf the city. In the distance the thin light of the first crack of dawn reflected from the mirror-surface of the vast lake.

In the alley it was still dark and nothing moved near the delivery truck. Inside the truck there was no one in the cab. To anyone who could have been there to see, the truck would have seemed abandoned, parked for the night. It showed no light and no sign of life. Had there been anyone to investigate, they could have opened the rear doors and still seen nothing but a truck filled with boxes for delivery. An innocent truck.

But this truck was far from innocent.

In a secret compartment between the cab in the front, and the boxes in the rear, a man crouched. He was bent over a small but powerful radio sender-receiver of special design that broadcast on a special channel that was scrambled for anyone else and had a range of three thousand miles when received on the proper receiver. The man smoked, and there was an ugly

.45 caliber automatic at his feet. He spoke urgently into the radio.

“Harry Vincent reporting. Come in Chief. Do you read me?”

The calm voice of Lamont Cranston seemed to fill the small compartment of the truck as it spoke softly from the far-off office above Park Avenue in New York.

“I read you, Harry. Report.”

Harry Vincent bent closer to the small microphone. “I located the trailer truck here in Salt Lake City and confirmed the fact that the staff car drove into it and escaped me. It was a simple trick, I should have guessed at once. Tire tracks in the truck proved the matter. I feel stupid, Chief.”

“We all make errors, Harry. Forget it, and continue,” the voice of Cranston said quietly.

Harry nodded as if Cranston were there. “Of course, Chief. I also found paint scratches from the staff car, and various license plates for quick changes. I …”

Cranston voice was quick. “What plates, Harry?”

Harry consulted his notebook. “New York, Utah which they used, Nevada, and Oregon. They were in a rack, and one rack was empty. This empty rack had a taped label with ID on it.”

“Go on,” Cranston said.

“I checked the truck and the garage in which I found it very carefully, Chief. I found the uniforms they wore. They have a cache of arms, mostly Czech-made sub-machine-guns. I found nothing else in the garage. In the truck itself I found only one thing in the cab—a package of cigarettes, all gone but two. It looked like it had fallen from the pocket of someone who had sat in the cab of the trailer truck. They were Russian cigarettes, Chief!”

There was a silence from the other end of the radio. Then Cranston’s soft voice said simply,

“Continue, Harry.”

“After the cab I checked out the trailer. In addition to the paint, license plates, and tire marks, I located a certain amount of dirt. I realized that it was not like the dirt around the NASA Utah Base, nor anywhere in-between the Base and Salt Lake City. This is all desert, while this dirt was definitely red clay with streaks of granite. I took a sample and had it analyzed by a lab here. I took the record to the office of a geologist here. The result was that the dirt is typical of the Rocky Mountain area, probably from the western side of the divide in Idaho!”

This time Cranston’s voice was more agitated. “Good work, Harry. Is that all?”

“No, but it was all that is positive. I found nothing else in the garage or truck. I then checked around as much as was possible to try to locate what happened to the three men in the staff car. I had no luck at the railroad, bus terminals or airlines. No trucking companies seemed to recognize my descriptions of them. Unless they disguised themselves heavily, which is possible, they did not leave Salt Lake City on any commercial transportation. I think that this means that they left in the staff car. I think that will be traceable, Chief. There are not too many roads out of here, and a staff car should have been noticed.”

“Perhaps, Harry, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Cranston’s voice said from far-off New York.

“They seem to know what they are doing. I imagine the car would have been disguised. Is that all?”

“Yes, Chief,” Harry said.

“Very well, Harry. Now I want you to make one more check. See if you can locate any private plane, probably a small jet, that flew one or more of them out of Salt Lake. Probably two of them since one had to drive the car. According to Shrevvie, one of them at least was seen here in New York. And check as quietly as you can for the unexplained presence of any Soviet agents. You know our man in Salt Lake, see what he has noticed, if anything.”

“Roger, Chief,” Harry said.

“Continue regular reports,” Cranston said.

Harry nodded and flicked a switch on his small but powerful radio. Instantly the hidden compartment of the delivery truck became silent. Harry Vincent closed up his radio into its innocent case that looked like a regular home radio and put it back into its cardboard box. It was now only one of many such radios boxed in the truck. Harry picked up his automatic, put it into its holster, and slipped out of the hidden space and into to the cab of the truck.

Moments later the truck left the alley unseen and merged with the growing morning traffic of Salt Lake City.

In the lavish office of Lamont Cranston above New York, Cranston, Margo and Stanley sat thinking about the report of Harry Vincent. It was Cranston who spoke first.

“The missing license plate is almost certainly an Idaho plate,” the socialite said. “The ID label would indicate that, and the other states—they are all around Idaho except the New York plate. It would seem that the fake staff car operates mainly in an area around the Rocky Mountains.”

“And the dirt was probably from Idaho,” Stanley said.

“And Federal Cybernetics has a plant in Idaho,” Margo said.

Cranston nodded. “It all begins to point to Idaho, Margo, and that ‘clerical’ error that may not have been quite so simple an error after all.”

Stanley leaned forward. “Those Czech guns, and that pack of cigarettes from Russia, looks like its our Russian friends after all, Chief.”

“Perhaps, Stanley,” Cranston said. “Unless there is some other explanation for Russian cigarettes being in that truck.”

“What other explanation could there be, Lamont?” Margo asked.

Cranston’s hooded eyes were thoughtful. “I don’t know, Margo, but I am still not convinced that the Soviets are behind all this.”

“What do you plan to do next?” Margo asked.

“I think it is time to go to Idaho,” Cranston said. “But first I want to check in with General Broyard and Doctor Cassill to report our suspicions about Idaho, and to find out if they have done any more in locating the actual point of failure in the last shot. I think you and Stanley had better try to get some sleep. I will need you both in Idaho.”

“All right, Lamont,” Margo said.

“First,” Stanley said, “I eat. Never could sleep on an empty stomach, Boss.”

Cranston smiled. “By all means have breakfast first, Stanley.”

When Margo and Stanley had gone, Cranston called General Broyard at the NASA Utah Base.

The General had nothing to report, work was continuing. Cranston made his report of his suspicions that something was happening at the Idaho plant of Federal Cybernetics, without mentioning how he had learned his details.

“My people all over the country inform me that there seems to be unusual interest in the Idaho plant of Federal, General,” Cranston explained. “They cannot pinpoint it, but rumors in scientific circles indicate that something odd is going to happen there. I think we would do well to investigate.”

“We’ll investigate anything, Cranston. However, I have seen Rogers’ report on the Soviet activity, and it looks conclusive. Rogers seems to think they will now lay off, but I mean to be certain. Our next shot is due in three days. This one cannot fail!”

“It won’t, General,” Cranston said quietly.

“It can’t, Cranston!” Broyard said, and then hesitated for a full ten seconds. “Off the record, Cranston, but our espionage people tell me that the Soviet is much closer than we think to its own Moon shot. There is a strong indication that they too have some kind of special project. We must be first!”

“First or second is not my affair, General,” Cranston said, “but sabotage is. You have nothing more to report on the actual failure of that last shot?”

“Not yet, Farina is still working on it. We have a meeting in fifteen minutes, perhaps I will know more then.”

“I’ll wait here until the meeting is over,” Cranston said.

The socialite hung up. In his lavish office, bright now with late morning sun as the noon hour approached, Cranston sat back and continued to think. Everything pointed to Idaho and the plant of Federal Cybernetics. The question was what was it that was being pointed to? He was, in 56

reality, no closer to the source of the sabotage, and not really closer to the reason for the sabotage—unless the saboteurs were the Russians. If the guilty were not the Soviets, what possible reason could there be behind the sabotage of Project Full Moon? Of all people, Federal Cybernetics should be the last to sabotage the project. It was their own fuel control!

But perhaps not everyone at Federal Cybernetics was devoted to the interest of the company.

The hidden laboratory was clearly J. Wesley Bryan’s own laboratory. Men had sabotaged their own efforts for private reasons before this, or for money. It would be well to check Bryan’s financial situation. Then there was Dr. Max Ernest. It looked like Ernest was involved in something. He had known about the murder of Oates. The hidden laboratory could have been available to Ernest, and perhaps the Research Chief of Federal had some private work in hand.

Cranston was still thinking when the telephone suddenly rang and jarred him out of his concentration. He picked up the telephone. It was General Calvin Rogers. The special assistant to the President was excited.

“Cranston? We’ve located the point of failure! Farina has just found it in the fuel control itself! Small, almost nothing! Just a tiny change that could have been done at the plant of Federal and gone undetected by us!”

“So there was no need for anyone to be on the Base?”

“Not within a thousand miles! The damage was done. Broyard told me what you reported.

And, Cranston, the part that failed was made at Federal’s Idaho plant!” Rogers said.

Another direct link to Idaho!

“How is it that Professor Farina didn’t notice the change in the fuel control earlier, Rogers?”

Cranston said. He was thinking about Farina being apparently close to Dr. Max Ernest of Federal Cybernetics.

“He admits he doesn’t know,” Rogers said. “He says he should have. He says it was a subtle change, not easy to notice in what was left of the control after the crash, but he blames himself for missing it earlier. Personally, Cranston, I think under the pressure we all were just too anxious and moved too fast.”

“That is probable,” Cranston agreed.

“Anyway,” the voice of Rogers said. “We’ve got something now, and I’m not going to waste another minute. I’ll stake my career on us finding those Russkis out in Idaho!”

“Perhaps,” Cranston said in the quiet of the lavish office high above the city. His eyes were thoughtful.

“Broyard says you should be with us,” Rogers went on. “So get on a jet and meet us at Lewiston, right? I’m taking Farina with me, he’ll be needed to get some idea of just what really happened. We’re going right now!”

“I’ll be there,” Cranston said quietly.

After he had hung up, the socialite sat back and turned in his swivel chair to face the window.

His eyes suddenly flashed with the fire of The Shadow. This looked like the break, and it was time for The Shadow to enter again and end the evil once and for all. Cranston leaned forward and began to dictate crisp instructions for Margo and Stanley into the master tape recorder. There was no time to lose now.

To Be Continued

THURSDAY

at

ATOMIC KOMMIE COMICS

Please Support Crime & Punishment

Visit Amazon and Buy...

The Shadow

Circle of Death

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts