The Nemesis of Evil Read online

  “Also a lot more visible,” said Zarkon. “We’ll take the two cars out front, park them out of sight in the woods, and climb the mountain on foot. Scorchy, call Chief Patterson and tell him we’re going. Have him follow us up with a couple of dozen state troopers about a half an hour behind us.”

  “Obbyoboyoboy! Action at last!” chortled the Pride of the Muldoons, grabbing the phone.

  “I believe it would be wiser if you two remained here,” said Zarkon to Elvira Higgins and Robert Russell Ryan. “We will certainly be going into danger, and there is every likelihood that there will be gunfire.”

  A determined glint shone in the green eyes of the red-headed girl.

  “You’re not going to leave me behind now,” she said firmly. “And who’s afraid of guns? Not me! With Grandpappy’s six-shooter in my purse, I’ll face a few thugs any day!”

  Zarkon said nothing, but approval shone in his eyes.

  The millionaire publisher flushed belligerently. “You’re surely not going to leave me behind, Prince Zarkon,” he argued. “I’ve been in on every piece of this case from the beginning; I’m not going to miss out on the finish!”

  “Very well, I shan’t forbid you to come,” said Zarkon. “But you are unarmed, and we may have to fight it out. Here, take my gun.” He handed the aristocratic man one of the flat, slim pistols and showed him how to use it.

  “But this is one of those mercy guns of yours,” Ryan protested. “You’re not going up against rifles and machine guns with a bunch of rubber bullets, surely!”

  Zarkon shook his head.

  “This weapon is armed with steel-jacketed slugs,” he informed the newspaperman. “When we face death, we must be prepared to deal it out in return. Ready, men?”

  “Ready, chief! Let’s go!” they replied in an eager chorus.

  Pelting downstairs, they left the state police headquarters building and piled into the two big cars. With Ace at the wheel of the lead car and Nick Naldini driving the second vehicle, they pulled away from the curb and drove through the all but deserted streets of Palma Laguna toward the interstate highway on the outskirts of the city.

  The moon was well up, and most of the city slept. Hunched over her bag on the back seat of the lead car, Elvira Higgins felt possessed by a mood of heady excitement such as the young lady had seldom experienced in her life till now. She had eaten no dinner, save for the sandwiches and coffee Zarkon had ordered for them back at state police headquarters. And by now it was long past the hour at which she would have put down her nightly novel on the bedside stand, switched off the lamp, and composed herself for slumber. The surprising thing about it all was that she did not in the least feel hungry or sleepy.

  “What a day this has been!” she marveled to Prince Zarkon, who sat beside her on the back seat. “I haven’t had so much fun all year.”

  “The day is not yet over,” commented the Man of Mysteries quietly. “And we have quite a bit more ‘fun,’ as you call it, ahead of us.”

  They drove on into the night, headed for the secret stronghold of one of the most dangerous criminals in America.

  Chapter 16 — The Death No Man Can See

  As soon as he had been locked away in his cell, heard the shuffle of footsteps receding down the passage, and knew himself alone and unobserved, Menlo Parker slipped the long, steel needle out of the sleeve lining and began working on his bonds.

  The skinny little scientist, by pretending to half permit himself to be persuaded to join forces with Lucifer, had won himself an hour’s time. He did not intend to waste it.

  When Lucifer’s thugs had hauled him up into the cabin of the helicopter, they had bound his wrists rather hastily with a length of cord. Once inside Lucifer’s hidden lair in the bowels of Mount Shasta, Ching, the mastermind’s Eurasian lieutenant, had seen to it that these crude bonds were replaced with a pair of standard handcuffs of the finest steel. Menlo was secretly delighted at this substitution. It would have been extremely difficult for him to saw through tough cords with nothing but a needle. But picking a lock with a needle is quite another matter!

  Six years before, when Nick Naldini had been recruited into the Omega organization by Prince Zarkon, the ex-stage magician had been prevailed upon by his new comrades-in-arms to teach them some of the tricks of his profession. Among these were some of the methods whereby an escape artist can free himself from ropes or chains. Naldini had assiduously taught his new friends how to pick a lock; the tool of choice was, of course, a burglar’s pick, but in a pinch almost any long, slender bit of metal can serve, providing you know the simple technique.

  A length of copper wire, stiff enough to probe with, but sufficiently flexible to shape into the contour of the inner lock mechanism, would have worked better. But Menlo Parker did not have a piece of copper wire; all he had was a steel needle, and that would have to do.

  Sweating and cursing, concentrating intently on what his hands were doing behind his back, the skinny scientist probed and poked and pried. A hundred times he gave it up in despair; a hundred times he set his jaw in grim determination, and doggedly set to work all over again.

  Finally he was rewarded with a ringing metallic click. It was the sweetest sound that had ever caressed the ears of the bad-tempered little physicist. He slumped in exhausted triumph and let relief wash through him. But soon he straightened up, for although his hands were free at last, he was still in deadly danger. At any moment the door to his cell might slam open and a dozen armed thugs could pour in to bring him before Lucifer for judgment.

  If Mendel Lowell Parker had been another sort of man, he might have chosen the path of deception.

  He might have decided to play for further time, to take the oath of fealty to Lucifer, hoping later to find a means to escape or a way to bring Lucifer’s plans crashing down in defeat. After all, to merely mouth the empty words of an oath without meaning them is a small price for freedom.

  It was, however, too big a price for Menlo Parker to pay. He had sworn allegiance only once before in his life, and that was when he had entered the service of Zarkon, the man who had saved him from a terrible death through an insidious, wasting disease by a medical miracle. To this moment he had never for one moment wavered in his strict loyalty to the Man of Mysteries he had sworn to serve. To swear a similar oath to another — to the arch enemy of Zarkon himself — was impossible for such as Menlo Parker. The words would have stuck in his craw, even though the vow would have been an empty one.

  Stripping off the heavy handcuffs, Menlo began working on the lock of the cell door. Fortunately for the ill-tempered little scientific wizard, it was one of those doors that can be unlocked from either side. In the tension of the moment, it did not occur to Menlo that this was very strange. One does not lock a prisoner in a cell whose door can be unlocked from within, unless the man thus imprisoned is being tested — and being watched. Menlo did not think of this.

  In a few more minutes he had the door unlocked. It was not too difficult to do, for the lock was big and clumsy, when compared to the small, delicate lock on the handcuffs.

  Menlo inched the door open. It creaked on rusty, unoiled hinges. He peered out, found the corridor dark, and sidled through the opening. Almost at once he was bathed in a harsh pool of light and found himself confronted by half a dozen grinning guards.

  The little man uttered a shrill yelp and shrank backward, cowering. The guards came forward, not expecting much in the way of trouble. After all, the little man had thin, bony arms and wrists that looked to be so puny you could snap them in your hands, like twigs.

  They found out differently, however.

  The first guard stopped dead, as if he had run into an invisible brick wall. He staggered back, blind with agony, streaming blood from a broken nose. Menlo kicked the next man in the jaw, breaking it in two places. The third man found himself flying through space. He smashed against the door of the cell and slumped dazedly to the floor, ears ringing.

  Menlo Parker knew as much a
bout karate and kung fu as he knew about electrons and neutrons. One of the things he knew was that, as far as the martial arts of the Orient were concerned, one did not have to have mighty muscles in order to hold one’s own against an opponent.

  Two more guards came forward, growling, hefting heavy truncheons. They struck out, but the frail little man glided effortlessly from the path of their clubs and struck them with a stunning prod of stiffened fingers or a staggering blow with the chopping edge of the hand. The guards sank floorward, truncheons falling, and decided to take a little nap.

  The sixth guard, however, was more wary than his cronies had been. He pulled a pistol from beneath his robes and showed the muzzle of it to the little scientist.

  It was a Colt .45. Menlo came to a halt, glaring.

  There isn’t much that even the most recondite skills of kung fu can do against a .45, he knew.

  He let himself be taken prisoner again, cursing vituperatively. It had been a good try, but it was not quite good enough. Lucifer had stationed guards just beyond the cell to wait and watch in the dark, to see if Menlo was sincere in his stated desire to meditate on the offer of employment, or was merely planning to escape.

  The big, bullet-headed man looked sad, as they brought the little scientist before him and reported on his actions.

  “You disappoint me, Dr. Parker,” he said somberly. “I had hoped you were capable of a higher self-interest than your misguided faithfulness to Zarkon. Such blind loyalty in the face of death, however noble and admirable, is also stupid.”

  “Stop yammering and get it over with,” said Menlo wearily. It had been a long day, and not the most successful one he could remember.

  Lucifer flushed angrily, then smoothed his features to their former solemnity. “As you wish,” he said heavily. “I can no longer trust your word, it seems. Which indicates that any further offers of clemency in return for your allegiance would find you equally untrustworthy. And, witnessing your skills at escaping from your bonds, and even from a locked cell, it seems I can hardly afford to keep you as my prisoner.”

  He stood up. “Bring him near the throne and see that he kneels to me!”

  Menlo swore and kicked and squirmed, but there were too many guards. At that, he broke one man’s kneecap and kicked another solidly in the groin — a blow the fellow would not soon forget. But they pounded him to his knees and held him there, panting.

  Lucifer towered over the frail older man, his grim, strong face triumphant.

  “Your leader and your compatriots have displayed an unwise curiosity as regards my methods of disposing with traitors,” said the tall man. “It is called the Hand of Death. I am now going to satisfy your curiosity concerning it.”

  With his right hand, Lucifer dipped into his robes, then leaned down to touch Menlo Parker with deadly fingers. As he did so, he looked into the face of the doomed man. If he had expected to see fear written in those shriveled features, he was disappointed. The sharp eyes held disdain and contempt, the set of the small, pointed jaw was determined and challenging, but not one iota of fear could he find in the features of the Omega man.

  Lucifer’s face hardened with just a touch of annoyance.

  He touched Menlo’s wrinkled cheek. Then he stood back and took his seat again.

  Menlo felt a fleeting touch of moisture, but nothing more.

  His eyes were puzzled for a moment. Another moment passed. Then another. Cold anticipation gleamed in the hard eyes of Lucifer.

  And Menlo — screamed.

  From a side passage, Ching entered the great hall of the dangling stalactites. Behind the thick lenses, his eyes were bright with excitement. He hurried to the throne whereon sat his Master, staring down at the captive who kicked and struggled and gasped at his feet.

  “Master, men approach the mountain,” hissed the Eurasian.

  Lucifer glanced up from the writhing figure, whose struggles now were feeble.

  “Which televisor?” he demanded.

  “No. 4 — the one covering the north slope.”

  “Very well, I will come at once,” said Lucifer gruffly. He looked down at Menlo Parker, whose frail body was now lax and utterly still.

  “Drag this carrion into the storage chamber,” he commanded one of the thugs. “We will dispose of it later.”

  He swiftly strode from the throne room with Ching at his heels. The guard shrugged, stooped, grabbed the limp body by the ankles, and dragged it out of the echoing stone chamber by another exit.

  A few moments later the red-robed figure reappeared. The alarm for combat stations rang through the caverns. The red-robed man drew his hood up about his features and hurried off.

  Chapter 17 — Mystery Mountain

  They drove off the road and followed a deeply rutted dirt path that wound crookedly between virtually solid walls of scrub pine and scrawny oak. Before them, the enormous massiveness that was Mount Shasta loomed up against the sky, blotting out the stars.

  Having gotten as close to the mountain by automobile as they dared, they abandoned the cars and went forward on foot from that point on. In the pitchy blackness, the cars could easily be concealed in the thick woods that crowded closely around the base of the mountain of mystery.

  Scorchy grunted, stumbled, then cursed.

  “Dang this darkness, a guy can’t see his hand in front of his face!” he grouched. “How come there’s no moon tonight, huh? I always heard California was mighty big on moons ...”

  “Oh, will your perennial complaints ever cease, you skimpy-brained pugilist?” groaned Nick Naldini in his hoarse-voiced and theatrical manner. “Due to your dwarfish and diminutive stature, one would assume you could maintain control of your pedal extremities. After all, runt, you’re a lot closer to your feet than we are to ours!”

  Scorchy started to explode, but Zarkon shushed him with a short word.

  “But lissen, chief,” groused the feisty little boxer, “sure an’ I don’t have to lissen to this broken-down old rummy of a vaudeville has-been makin’ jokes about me height! Faith, an’ fer two cents I’d haul off an’ give him me left in th’ kisser so hard as ‘twould make his mustache curl!”

  “The time for your perpetual quarreling is after we have gotten inside Lucifer’s stronghold, not before. He may very well have guards posted, so will you two be quiet?”

  They subsided, but grumblingly.

  By now it was nearly dawn. Just the faintest trace of wan, colorless light was dimly visible in — the east. It looked as if some giant had crushed a luminous pearl beneath his thumb and then had smeared the opalescent powder against the bottom of a black velvet sky.

  They reached the very foot of the mountain and paused there to get their bearings.

  Elvira Higgins indicated a trail_ that wound up and around the curve of the mountain. “That’s where I found the camera,” she said. Ace Harrigan looked around, then agreed, saying the reporter’s body had been found at the foot of the trail, by the map in the newspaper.

  “Then it is superfluous to indicate the obvious,” said Nick Naldini with a dramatic gesture. “That is, that the erstwhile disciples of the villain must have ascended the mountain by that trail for their conference with Lucifer.”

  “Yeah, there must be an entrance into the mountains somewhere up that way,” said Ace Harrigan. “It’ll be watched, I bet, even by night.”

  “Then, reason dictates, we should go another way,” said Nick in his fulsome manner. Scorchy groaned.

  “Somebody shut Oilcan Harry up — pleeze!” he begged. “Sure, an’ ivvery time he opens his big yap, I’ve a feelin’ I’m in th’ third act of East Lynn —”

  “Listen here, you half-witted Hibernian half-pint,” snarled the lanky stage magician.

  “Do they go on like this all the time?” murmured Elvira Higgins bewilderedly in a low voice to Doc Jenkins.

  “All the time,” the big man grinned.

  Zarkon was examining the mountain thoughtfully, paying little attention to his argumen
tative lieutenants.

  “Another route would surely be preferable to this frequently traveled one, as Nick suggests,” he said quietly. Then, turning to the oafish man with the miracle memory: “Doc, just what do you know about Mount Shasta? Its geological origins, that is, and known topography.”

  The big man blinked watery eyes, rumpling his sparse, sandy hair with a ham-sized hand, thoughtfully.

  “Well, it’s the cone of an extinct volcano, for one thing, chief,” he said, his amazing brain summoning before his inward eye the pages of a geology textbook he had scanned and automatically committed to memory many years before. “Fourteen thousand feet high ... original crater is gone long ago, crumbled away and collapsed in, but there are a couple of fumaroles — you know, openings. Sulfurous gases escape from them sometimes, so the heart of- the volcano must still be semi-active, to say the least.”

  “If the mountain was once an active volcano, it seems likely the peak is riddled through and through with tunnels and caves,” mused Zarkon. “A perfect situation for Lucifer; just where are these fumaroles, do you remember?”

  “Sure,” grinned Doc Jenkins, for whom the question was a rhetorical one. That freak brain of his was physically incapable of ever forgetting anything it had once seen or heard or read. “One fumarole’s just below the summit,” he said in his dull, dopey voice, “the other’s quite a bit farther down and around the other side of the mountain from us, on the north slope.”

  “Let’s try the north slope, then,” suggested Zarkon. “It seems less likely to be under surveillance, since this path is the more obvious route to the top. Come on, men, and try to keep it as quiet as possible!”

  They began to circle around the mountain to the other side. The clear, brilliant orb of the California moon, just risen, made the scene almost as bright as day, once they were out from behind the dense shadow of the mountain itself. They clambered over mounds of broken rock and shale, Nick Naldini and Scorchy Muldoon elbowing each other out of the way in order to help Miss Elvira Higgins over the rougher spots.