Doc Savage - Terror and the Lonely Widow Part 6

"Who's the girl, then?" Mr. Moore wished to know. He had spilled egg yolk on his necktie.

"How would I know?" Cavendish demanded. "She's probably helping Savage, or maybe she's a federal agent. Your guess is as good as mine."

"We thought-"

"Well, you thought wrong!" said Cavendish disgustedly. "She's probably not one of Worrik's outfit. I don't think there is any Worrik outfit left. I think all there ever was to Worrik's outfit was Worrik and Wilbur Rigg."

"But they shot Davey!"

"They were probably trying to arrest him. Davey was always a bit quick with a gun. This time, he probably wasn't quick enough."

Shocked, Mr. Moore pointed at Doc and the girl and demanded, "Ya mean they're cops?"

"No, they're not cops," said Cavendish testily.

"Then why was they trying to pinch-"

Cavendish said he would write a book about it sometime. "Shut up!" he yelled. "Doc Savage's profession-and don't tell me this sounds c.o.c.keyed, because I already know it does-is righting wrongs and punishing crooks who are too fast for the law. If that sounds like something zany, don't blame me.

This guy Savage is unusual. I don't think you understand how unusual." Cavendish mopped his forehead.

"I hope you never find out, too," he added.

PRESENTLY Cavendish made an attempt to bribe Doc Savage. Doc listened gravely to the offer.

"I figure," said Cavendish, "that you know what the shooting is all about, or you wouldn't be here. Okay, I won't go over any history. The bomb is on the island, see. It's still right in the bomb bay of that B29, the Lonely Widow. We got the B29 out of sight. Hidden. Took off the wings and moved just the fuselage."

He paused, grinned without humor, and added, "You understand how it is about that bomb. We don't know nothin' much about it. It scares the h.e.l.l out of us. So we just get the fuselage hidden with the bomb inside. n.o.body'll ever find it-even it they knew the island, it would take 'em a long time. I'll grant you a d.a.m.ned close search of the island would turn up the thing but who knows what the island is?" He indicated Mr. Moore, Rice and Skeeter. "Us four. At first, there were five of us Davey was included.

You know why I'm telling you this?"

"I have no idea," Doc admitted.

"It's a kind of a build-up for a deal we might make with you ...You think you would be open to a deal?""That would depend."

The answer seemed to satisfy Cavendish. "Sure it would," he said. "Here's the rest of the story. Listen to it, and you'll see why I'm telling it."

Mr. Moore and Skeeter and Rice were registering discomfort and astonishment. They seemed amazed.

Whether they were amazed at the information Cavendish was giving, or amazed that Cavendish should expend time standing there talking, Doc could not be certain.

Cavendish said, "The five of us were on that island when the B29 landed, and we soon found out what we had. The crew-only two of the crew of the plane were alive, and they didn't live long. They were wounded badly. But before they died, they talked enough to show us what we had. We didn't believe it at first...You see, the island is remote as h.e.l.l, and we hadn't heard about the first atomic bomb being dropped on j.a.pan. But later we heard...So we knew what we had."

"What's the name of the island?" Doc asked.

Cavendish laughed. Fat chance of my telling you," he said.

"Not even if the deal is made?"

"Oh, if we make a deal, that'd be-but let me finish. The five of us came to the States to sell our gimmick. It was ticklish business, as you can see. The war was over and the United States had won, and that kind of narrowed our customer list. The Axis, which would have paid G.o.d knows how many billions for it, didn't have any open members left. There were some prospects, though-and I don't mind telling you the names of a couple of them would surprise you."

Doc said nothing would surprise him. "Hurry up and get to the kernel of the thing," he re- quested.

"You going to turn me down?"

"I haven t said."

"You may think you will but you might not," Cavendish said. "You may be surprised at my deal...But to go back to when we first got to New York and Washington-we did some preliminary feeling around.

For something like that, it's a h.e.l.l of a job to find your customer. It ain't some- thing you can advertise...Did you know that Wilbur Rigg was a spy?"

"No."

"He was."

"I hardly believe that," Doc said. "Rigg was checked and re-checked and his sister was checked. It didn't turn up a thing except that he was acquainted with Worrik."

Cavendish grimaced. "You under-rate Rigg. He was slick and so was Worrik. They made few deals, made them big, and kept d.a.m.ned few contacts with markets. Their chances of getting known were small.

They were free lances. They found a piece of merchandise, then found a buyer for it."

Bert was wide-eyed. She was terrified, but through her terror, she was thinking. She said, "It could be.

There were, here and there, things-little things about Rigg and Worrik that looked strange."

Cavendish smiled at her. "So you're a federal agent?" he said.

HE gave Bert plenty of time to reply, but she did not respond, so Cavendish smiled again. His smileswere just smiles, as empty of warmth as a coffin.

"Yes, you under-rate Rigg and Worrik," he said. "They were not common. And they were not, we discovered, safe to deal with. They were sharks."

Doc said, "They tried to steal the secret from you?"

Cavendish nodded. "I don't see how the h.e.l.l you found that out, though. Rigg and Worrik, it seems to me, would cover it up if they possibly could...Or was it after Rigg got his?"

"You killed Rigg?" Doc demanded.

Cavendish winced. No smile now. Nothing but coldness, and calculating. He said, "Let us say merely that he met a violent end ... Really, you know I couldn't admit being responsible for murder. It would prejudice the deal I want to make with you ..." He stopped and thought about it. "Let's put it this way: Davey killed Rigg, then Davey killed Worrik, then Davey was killed resisting arrest. Isn't that more suitable?"

Doc snorted. "Murder is never suitable."

"Putting it that way embarra.s.ses me less, then shall we say."

Doc made as much of an impatient gesture as he could make, tied as he was. "What's the proposition?"

Cavendish's head came up. "Actually, I have two."

"Two?"

"Yes. The first one is tentative, and is this: How much will you take to forget all about this? You and the young lady, if necessary." He glanced at Bert. "Or you alone, and we will have an accident happen to the young lady."

What little composure Bert had fell off her face. Rigid, losing color, her face, her whole body, registered all the terror the situation called for. Which was plenty.

"No," Doc said.

"No to what?" Cavendish was poised hopeful.

"No to the whole thing."

"A negative, you mean, only to the first proposition." Cavendish bowed his head a little in agreement. "I am not surprised. I am, indeed, pleased. I respect you too much to expect any other answer than the one you gave. However, in justice to my future peace of mind-in order that I might not be tortured in the future with wondering whether or not you might, just possibly might, be bought-I had to make that proposition. We will call it number one. No good."

"Shoot with number two," Doc said impatiently.

Cavendish nodded.

"I will sell the bomb to the United States government," he said. "The price is one million."

Doc was really astonished ... He had not expected the offer. Yet it was reasonable. The price was reasonable and it was a logical offer."I'm not the United States government," Doc said.

A new voice-new to the scene; it was Burt Chapman's voice-spoke with rounded emphasis. "I'm not the United States government either," Chapman said. "But I'll speak for it ... You guys grab air. The place is surrounded."

FOR what might have been ten seconds, surprise was as real as solid gla.s.s in the room, and held everyone rigid, quiescent outwardly.

Cavendish broke the tension. He asked, "You are ...?"

"Get 'em up!" Chapman snarled.

Cavendish spoke to his three helpers. He said, "Do what you are able to do, my boys." His tone was almost dreamy.

As by magic, a gun came into Chapman's hand. The room quickly filled with thunderous noise, spurting flame, movement. With magic not much slower, Mr. Moore, Rice and Skeeter had guns in their hands.

Out of the guns, fire. In the room, yells, thunder, gasps, lead, smoke, motion.

Doc rocked head, shoulders, from side to side as much as the ropes permitted. He saw Mr. Chapman, looking quite astonished at all the bedlam, release two spurts of noise and fire from his gun. Then Chapman stepped swiftly sidewise, out of the door. Bullets knocked splinters off the edges of the door, knocked holes in the plaster walls.

Cavendish said, "Let's blow!"

The chair in which Doc was tied now rocked to a point beyond equilibrium and upset. Doc hit the floor hard. One of the men-Skeeter-jumped wildly at the noise, wheeled, aimed carefully at Doc's head, and fired. The bullet split a floorboard under Doc's nose.

Cavendish, Skeeter, Mr. Moore, Rice, all departed in haste. They used a door at the other end of the room. It led toward the front of the house.

Chapman put his head in the rear door. He shot in the direction the men had gone.

He waited until he was sure there was going to be no immediate return fire.

Chapman freed Bert first. He used a large clasp knife of the type that opened by pressing a b.u.t.ton. He worked rapidly. He said, "Go down the steps, out the back door." He came over and freed Doc.

Doc demanded, "How did you find us?"

"I had the d.a.m.ned good luck to have that Cavendish on my suspect list," Chapman said. "I just followed him here. You take the stairs and outside, too."

"Got an extra gun?"

"No. Hurry up and ..."

Bullets came into the room. They entered rather high, and pa.s.sed overhead, but they were alarming anyway.

"You see what I mean," Chapman said. He gave Doc a shove. The girl was already headed for the steps."Aren't you coming along?" Doc demanded.

"You're d.a.m.ned right," Chapman said. "We gotta keep them cornered here until help comes."

"What about your other agents?"

"What other agents?" Chapman said bitterly. He lowered his voice. "I'm by myself."

THEY were no more than halfway down the stairs when a large object hurtled past them, hit the kitchen door, split, and liquid sloshed over the floor. It was water-colored liquid. Instantly there was the smell of 100-octane gasoline.

Doc said, "Watch out! That stuff, if it gets on your bare skin, will burn you!"

They went cautiously around the gasoline flood. A little of it got on their shoe soles. They could not help that.

Doc added, "Don't breathe the fumes. They're sometimes poisonous some people more than others."

There was a back door, beyond that a backyard not much larger than the bed of a boxcar, and looking like one with its solid board fence.

Chapman began to curse bitterly. Why're they throwing that-" He stopped, let another five- gallon can of gasoline come flying down the steps, burst. "- throwing the gasoline?" he finished. "Why? They've got some kind of a scheme!"

"Probably they hope it'll explode if you take another shot at them," Doc warned. "It will, too. That stuff will burn like gunpowder."

"It's just gasoline-"

"It's 100-octane gasoline, Doc corrected. "There's quite a difference."

Chapman swore some more. "What're they doing with the stuff stored upstairs? What've they got gasoline in the house for, anyway?"

Doc gave a possible good reason.

"They might have intended to use it to burn the house and our bodies," he said.

"Call the cops," Chapman ordered.

"What are you-"

"Call the cops," Chapman interrupted. "I'm going to-" His face darkened, twisted, and some sort of emotion began shaking his hands. He blurted, "d.a.m.n them! They won't get away with this!"

He whirled, dashed across the kitchen, bounded up the stairs.

Doc said bitterly, "The fool!" He shoved Bert toward the fence. "Call the police! Hurry!" Doc then wheeled, started across the kitchen himself, wheeled again wildly when he saw a ball of fire-a pillow in flames sailing lazily down the steps, over Chapman's head. The next fraction of a second was one of the longest Doc had ever lived, but he did gain the door before the flaming pillow set off the high-octane gas vapor. Then the world seemed to go whoosh!DOC was in the air for a while. A giant hand seemed to slap against his back, lift him and propel him forward. He ended up more than halfway across the back yard, on his feet first, then rolling over and over. He saw that Bert had been knocked down also. Every bit of gla.s.s, screen, putty, sash framing, had come out of the windows, chased by flame. The flame tongues jumped at least thirty feet outward and upward, the kitchen walls bulged slightly, the door shut violently, a moment later blew outward like a leaf in a gale. Inside the kitchen, the fire began moaning loudly.