The Nemesis of Evil Page 11

  “Long and short!” exclaimed Robert Russell Ryan excitedly. “Your man is using Morse, just as you suggested he would!”

  They bent their eyes to the screen where a sharp point of green light stuttered in a swift off-and-on-again succession of signals. None of the Omega men needed to copy down the signals; they were all so firmly practiced in Morse that they could read it at a glance, or at hearing, like written or spoken letters. Suddenly the signal ended and the carrier wave itself was cut off; the screen went dark.

  “Either somethin’s blockin’ the wave or Lucifer’s boys caught on and smashed the gadget,” hissed Nick Naldini worriedly.

  “But what did it say?” demanded Elvira Higgins. The pretty, red-headed girl was tense with impatience and curiosity. “What did the message say? I can’t read Morse code, I’m afraid!”

  “Yes, what did your man communicate? I don’t know the code, myself,” added Robert Russell Ryan.

  Zarkon glanced at his men. “Did we all read it the same? I thought so. The message,” he said, turning to the impatient girl, “read ‘N-S-D-M-T’ ”

  Her green eyes widened.

  “N-S-D-M-T? But what does that mean?”

  Zarkon looked uncomfortable.

  “I ... don’t really know,” he confessed. “But whatever it means, Menlo thought it important.” They looked at one another, baffled.

  N-S-D-M-T. What secret was concealed behind that enigmatic sequence of letters? Whatever it was it was the only clue they had to the hiding place of Lucifer. And they had to solve the mystery of the code swiftly — time was running out, and Menlo Parker’s life depended upon their solving it.

  Chapter 14 — An Hour to Live

  They had not bothered to blindfold the eyes of Menlo Parker, so the skinny scientist observed the secret location of Lucifer’s headquarters as the helicopter entered it. The skinny scientist was seated in the cabin of the craft, his back up against the rear partition, and from this position he was able to observe his surroundings through the wide plexiglass windows of the craft.

  His wrists were tied together and his hands were bound behind his back. Luckily, he was in such a position that he could use his hands unobtrusively. Plucking the long, slender needle from the lining of his cuff, he skillfully wielded it in such a manner as to interrupt the carrier-wave broadcast by the coat button that contained a miniature radio. He continued sending the message until the air vehicle came to rest and the red-robed minions of Lucifer entered the craft to conduct him into the presence of their Master.

  The heavy vault-like door to the secret hideout was constructed of steel and concrete, and the frail physicist doubted if his signal could penetrate it. Condensing his message as much as he dared, he continued sending the same signal as long as he could possibly do so unobserved.

  When the red-robed thugs came into the cabin to drag him out, then and only then did he cease repeating the message. He concealed the long, steel needle in the lining of his coat sleeve once again and did nothing to resist the men as they hauled him out of the vehicle. The slim, strong steel needle might well come in handy, he thought to himself; you could never tell. Used properly, you could kill a man with the thing.

  Menlo did not know the small, slender, bald man with the saffron skin, whose eyes blinked weakly behind the powerful lenses of spectacles the size of airplane goggles. But Ching, the subtle. Eurasian who was Lucifer’s chief aide, obviously recognized him.

  “Where did you procure your passenger?” he inquired smoothly. The pilot of the helicopter frowned truculently and thrust out his chin.

  “I already reported about that,” the thug began in a heated voice. “They was waitin’ for us on the roof, and when we landed they cut loose with guns and got most of the boys Hugo was takin’ down inside. The trick with the gas didn’t work, somehow, dunno why —”

  “Well, you brought back one of the Omega men, anyway,” Ching observed silkily. “How did you capture Dr. Parker?”

  The pilot swore sulfurously.

  “Dang fool jumped up and caught ahold of the landin’ gear,” he cursed. “We carried him halfway across Palma Laguna till I notice how sluggish the chopper is, on account of his weight. We haul him inside, tie him up, and search him, but he’s clean.”

  Amusement flickered in the Eurasian’s eyes. He gestured to a glowing screen near his hand.

  “According to the metals detector, the gentleman is far from being ‘clean,’ as you phrase it in your colorful underworld jargon. There is an instrument concealed in his cuff button, another in his right heel, and a third in his belt buckle. See to it at once!”

  The thug flushed, grumbled, but bent to the task. They tore off the button that concealed the Squealer, and removed Menlo’s right shoe and his belt. At the removal of this last article, the skinny scientist’s trousers sagged alarmingly.

  “Hey!” protested Menlo Parker vehemently. “I’m gonna need somethin’ to keep my pants up, dang it!”

  Ching shrugged aloofly. “Use the gentleman’s tie in place of his belt,” he said.

  This was done; then they cut the ropes that bound his bony ankles and permitted the peevish savant to hobble from the room, with a red-robed thug at each side of him.

  Menlo peered about with alert interest as they conducted him to their Master. Walls of rugged natural stone — of igneous origin, Menlo noticed — gradually gave way to smooth blocks of masonry; neon tubing flooded the vaults and caverns of the hideout with softly brilliant glare. They passed through chambers whose walls were covered with control panels, televisor screens, and huge turbines and power generators.

  Menlo keenly eyed the glowing televisors as he was led past them. They depicted plains of thick forest growth; rocky, winding trails; and mountain ledges. From this room, obviously, Lucifer was able to keep under continuous scrutiny every avenue of approach to his secret lair. Small television cameras must be concealed about the exterior of the hideout, he assumed. The man was damnably clever, thought Menlo to himself.

  But his men had missed the steel needle up his sleeve!

  Either the bit of metal had been too small to show up on the screen, or Ching had thought it of no particular importance to remove so insignificant a trifle from their captive.

  Menlo grinned, smirking inwardly.

  Things just might work out that the little steel needle would in time prove to be a real thorn in their flesh.

  They brought him into a huge stone room. The floor was tiled, and the walls were of smooth artificial masonry; but the room had originally been a natural cavernous space, Menlo knew, from the huge stone spears that hung suspended from the rough, uneven roof. Those dangling stony spear-like growths were stalactites, he knew. Moisture glistened on their tips; the slow drip of mineral-bearing waters caused them; the mineral residue of many years of slow, continuous dripping built up the great stony growths.

  From a great stone chair, like a primitive throne, Lucifer observed the captive his men conducted before him.

  “Dr. Sinestro, I believe?” cracked Menlo with a leering grin. The bald mastermind nodded calmly.

  “Dr. Parker! Welcome to the lair of Lucifer, for by that name. I prefer to be henceforth known. Zandor Sinestro, as the world knows, died in prison five years ago.”

  “Okay, then, Lucifer,” replied Menlo with a genial nod. He glanced around impishly. “But if this is Lucifer’s lair, where’s all the hellfire? Dang it all, don’t tell me my Sunday school teachers were wrong about that point! I always heared tell the Devil lived in a, well, in a region of more-than-tropical warmth.”

  Lucifer eyed him cordially, and even smiled.

  “It pleases you to be humorous,” he observed. “Very well! I admire the faculty to jest in the very teeth of death: That degree of bravery is a factor that I admire and respect in any man. Even as I respect your enviable scientific attainments and the reputation they have won for you in the scientific community. Although your genius is significantly inferior to my own, I can use a man of y
our learning and brilliance and technical ingenuity in my organization.”

  Menlo Parker blinked incredulously. Then he laughed, a nasty, bad-tempered cackle that brought a flush of anger to Lucifer’s frowning visage.

  “Am I dreamin’, or what?” demanded the skinny little man. “Are you really offerin’ me a job?”

  “I have always an opening in my organization for a scientist of your caliber, Dr. Parker,” Lucifer assured him solemnly. “I have read with deep interest your paper on the results of your experiments with cathode ray tubes. The theories you evolved from those data agree with my own hypotheses in that area. Your monograph on the linear acceleration of high-energy particles, as well, richly deserves praise. Think well, Parker! I can use a mind such as yours ...”

  Menlo Parker pinched his thin lips together in a sneer. His eyes grew scornful. “If you think I’m going to join up with a gang of crooks, Lucifer, you’ve got another think coming!”

  Lucifer nodded with ponderous, calm majesty.

  “Do not try my patience overlong,” he suggested, with an undertone of cold menace creeping into his voice. “I would naturally expect you to remain loyal to your leader for a time, but self-interest always wins out over idealism in the end. This ‘gang of crooks,’ to employ your own vulgar term, will within ten years form the nucleus of an empire that will displace the present government of the United States of America, and that will in the ensuing decade come to dominate the entire globe.”

  Menlo Parker made a rude noise with tongue and lips.

  Imperturbably, Lucifer spoke on. “The alternatives to joining my organization, Dr. Parker, are singularly unpleasant ones, let me assure you of that! The lair of Lucifer does indeed contain ‘hellfire,’ even as your myths suggest! That invisible fire has already brought to a terrible and agonizing end the life of the reporter, MacAndrews, and of four of my underlings who had the misfortune to permit themselves to be captured alive by Prince Zarkon. The sixth victim of the Hand of Death will be yourself, unless you decide wisely to take the vows of the Brotherhood and to become my servitor!”

  Menlo Parker, playing for time, permitted his eyes to rove uneasily. Wetting his thin lips with the point of his tongue nervously, he let his figure, proudly erect, seem to wilt a little.

  “I ...” he began, hesitantly.

  “Yes?” Lucifer asked encouragingly.

  “I ... I need a little time to think it over,” said Menlo in a weak voice that trembled ever so slightly. “It ... well, it ain’t easy, makin’ a decision like that! I been on the side o’ law an’ order all my life. ... I guess I need a little time to think things out.”

  “Of course,” said Lucifer smoothly. “But time is of the essence, my dear sir! You may have an hour to contemplate your decision — not a minute more!” Turning to one of the red-robed thugs, Lucifer commanded him to escort the captive to detention chamber No. 1.

  The cell was a rough-walled cubicle, cut into solid stone. It smelled dank and musty; moisture gleamed wetly on the rock walls. They thrust the bound figure of the frail physicist inside and slammed the heavy metal door.

  A rude wooden bench was pulled up against the far wall. Menlo Parker sat down upon it and leaned his head back against the damp stone.

  He had an hour. At the end of that hour, he must either swear obedience and fealty to Lucifer, or die horribly beneath the Hand of Death.

  We shall leave him now, alone with his thoughts.

  Chapter 15 — The Code Message

  The Omega men and their master had come to an impasse. With one of their number a captive of the brilliant but deranged scientific mastermind, Lucifer, decoding the enigmatic message was of crucial, paramount importance. The life of Menlo Parker might very well depend on how swiftly they solved the secret of the curious code signals. That life could perhaps be measured in minutes.

  “Have any of you any thoughts — any ideas at all — on what this code might mean?” asked Zarkon of his lieutenants.

  They cudgeled their wits, scowling thoughtfully, but no one spoke up.

  “Doc, you’re about as close to Menlo as are any of us,” said Zarkon to the big, sheepish-faced man with rumpled, sandy hair and pale, watery eyes and outsized hands and feet. “You know how his mind works. Any ideas, any suggestions? Even a hint of the method he used in constructing the code?”

  The man with the super-memory looked distinctly unhappy.

  “Gee, chief, what can I say? This don’t look like any code we ever used before.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” admitted Zarkon, grimly.

  “Only thing I notice about it,” mumbled . Doc Jenkins slowly, “is that it’s all consonants, no vowels. Seems funny!”

  “Yeah,” muttered Scorchy Muldoon, “why just consonants, I wonder?”

  “Since this is not one of our regular codes,” Zarkon suggested, “Menlo must have had reason to think that we could solve it, that it would not baffle us for long. Therefore, whatever the secret of the code may be, it cannot be very complicated.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” agreed Nick Naldini, his black eyes, usually lazy and sleepy, now sparkling with excitement.

  “Let us see if we cannot reconstruct Menlo’s mood of the moment, his situation, and the thoughts that must have been uppermost in his mind,” suggested the Lord of the Unknown.

  “Well, heck,” said Scorchy Muldoon, “for one thing, of Menlo had just made a discovery he knew was important enough to send us. It must of been the secret location of Lucifer’s hideout; at least, I can’t think of anythin’ else he could of found out, under the circumstances.”

  “I agree,” said Zarkon. “Now, the letters might be simple map co-ordinates, arranged by a number-substitution code —”

  “You mean, like ‘A’ — the first letter of the alphabet — stands for No. 1, and ‘B’ for 2, and so on?” inquired Elvira Higgins brightly.

  Zarkon nodded.

  Doc Jenkins closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “If that’s it, then the message reads ‘14-194-13-20,’ ” he announced. “The first two letters might be latitude, the second two longitude, or vice versa.”

  “Doesn’t make sense either way,” Ace Harrigan said after a glance at the wall map of the state. “And, anyway, we got one extra number left over: 20. Only need four numbers to pinpoint map coordinates.”

  “Yeah, and why would Menlo go to all the trouble of working up in his head a number-substitution code, when he could just as easily transmit the numbers themselves by Morse?” Scorchy Muldoon demanded reasonably.

  “Not only that, how could Menlo pinpoint latitude and longitude that nicely, just from an aerial view from the helicopter?” asked Nick Naldini rhetorically. “Lucifer’s men could hardly be expected to hold a map under Menlo’s nose and show him precisely where they were landing!”

  Scorchy slumped in a swivel chair, gloomily. “The whole thing beats me,” he mumbled. “I can’t make any sense out of it, nowise.”

  Zarkon had been thinking clearly and precisely, in his calm, unhurried way. “I think we have been approaching this entire problem from the wrong angle,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a code at all. Why leave out all the vowels, unless speed was important? I think, in the last few seconds before landing, Menlo caught a glimpse of Lucifer’s hideout and flashed us the simplest, swiftest message possible under the circumstances. He omitted the vowels simply for purposes of condensation, expecting that we would fill them in ourselves if he could transmit the consonants alone.”

  “Chief, I think you got something there!” said Scorchy excitedly. “Lessee now ... ‘N-S-D-M-T’ ... izzat one word or two, d’you suppose?”

  “ ‘N-S-D,’ ” repeated Doc Jenkins, frowning heavily. Then his brow cleared. “Inside! Take away the first ‘i’ and the second ‘i’ and the final ‘e,’ and whaddaya got? ‘N-S-D,’ that’s what!”

  “And the rest of it, ‘M-T,’ ” began Ace Harrigan. But Nick Naldini cut him off.

  “Mountain!” he yelped e
xcitedly. “Mt., the standard abbreviation for mountain!”

  “Not quite,” smiled Zarkon. “Mount. The message was obviously cut off short.”

  “And there’s only one mountain that occurs in this whole blamed mess,” said Scorchy.

  “Yes,” Zarkon agreed. “Mount Shasta. At every turn, we keep coming back to that particular peak. It is upon the slopes of Mount Shasta that Lucifer meets with his disciples; it was at the base of Mount Shasta that MacAndrews died; and it was also at the foot of Mount Shasta that Miss Higgins found the hidden camera —”

  “And from there I was followed home to Palma Laguna by Lucifer’s men in the black car!” the girl said swiftly. “I must have been watched from some point of vantage higher up the slope.”

  “Of course!” groaned Scorchy, slapping his brow with the flat of his hand. “Jeez, why didn’t we think of it before? Why would Lucifer pick such a hard-to-get-to, outa-the-way spot for his meetin’s, unless he had his hideout there?”

  “And Mount Shasta is a peak at the northernmost extremity of the Sierra Nevada mountain range,” added Doc Jenkins. “That’s where the chopper was headin’ when the state cops lost the blip on their radarscopes!”

  Ace was studying the wall map behind Chief Patterson’s chair.

  “No doubt about it,” Ace said affirmatively. “Mount Shasta is about a mile and three quarters due east’ of where the radar blip was positioned at last sighting, just before the state cops lost it on their ‘scopes. And didn’t Doc say Lucifer’s boys couldn’t have held their radar-scattering gas cloud together for more than two miles?”

  “Mount Shasta it is, then,” said Zarkon. “Let’s get moving! What’s the quickest way to get there, Ace?”

  The aviator’ studied the map with keen eyes. “The interstate north, then the Bellaire Parkway. Must be side roads leading from the parkway to the foot of the mountain. Be a lot quicker by helicopter, though.”