The New Adventures of Richard Knight Read online

  “Only guy that’s in hell now’s the one who deserves it,” judged Doyle.

  Benita held on to Knight as they watched Brett’s mop up operation march through the skull caves with military efficiency. “Even when it all seemed hopeless I could never give up,” she told the hero. “I know you.”

  “Never give up, mi amado,” Knight told her. “Never.”

  “You have your duty to do, Ricardo. I know that.”

  “And every guy needs something to fight for. Someone.”

  All of Nadalmetzger’s research couldn’t beat that. The Hostage Academy was ended with a kiss.

  THE END

  FEAR FROM ABOVE

  by Frank Schildiner

  The Western Star was an unhappy ship. A barely profitable tub of a vessel built in 1908 Bremen, the Western Star was a heavy lifting ship of 120 tons. She traveled a regular route of London, Cork and New York. The ship was shabby, poorly maintained and under the tyrannical control of the murderous Captain “Evil” Edward Larsen. Larsen, the son of a sea captain, was a man of average height, massive strength and a bullying disposition. He perpetually walked about the ship, pistol and knife on his hips, looking for any sign of laziness or weakness and pouncing on the victim with the savagery of a jungle cat.

  The men of the Western Star were perpetually searching for a means of “accidentally” disposing of their beast of a skipper, but so far no plan had come to fruition. The terrible commander of the Western Star had the instincts of a predator, sensing both weakness and danger and reacting instantly and maliciously toward the crew. A giant Dutch Able Seaman named Nielsen once attempted to dump a container on the unsuspecting head of Evil Larsen, only to find the captain had switched places with third mate Johnson. Larsen later attacked Nielsen and shattered both of the man’s arms and hands, letting the giant Dutchman live as an example to those who plotted against their skipper.

  Most of the crew planned on jumping ship, pay or no, when they hit New York three days from today. Larsen never worried about losing crew, the downturn in the world economy left many sailors out of work and unable to find a berth. By the time the ship was ready to leave for London, he would have a full crew who would be grateful for the regular work. They would learn about their Captain’s style of command midway through the trip to Cork, Ireland and the murderous plotting would begin anew.

  “Parker?” Larsen bellowed, his voice carrying down the companionway. “Parker, damn your eyes, step up here lively!”

  Parker was the second mate of the Western Star, a moderate seaman who was completely cowed by Evil Larsen’s cruelties and walked about the ship with the aspect of a whipped puppy. The crew didn’t respect him, but felt sorry for the officer in a distant way. He was better than Doc Martin, a discharged Irish vet who informed on the crew any chance he got and made them pay dearly for even the smallest medical treatment.

  Larsen’s yells of anger echoed about the ship, though few of the crew looked up from their work. Those who were off-duty pretended to be asleep or ended their card games abruptly, knowing their terrible skipper could fly off in a rage for no reason. The presence of any form of idle actions other than off-duty sleep was too tempting a target for Evil Larsen and the crew always hid their various indulgences as soon as they heard the captain’s snarls of rage.

  The crew cabin door burst open and Evil Larsen leapt into the room, no doubt expecting the often hapless Parker to be hidden amongst the seamen that were off duty. His massive blond head swiveled slowly about, examining all present for excuse to explode into a violent assault. Finding none, he kicked aside a chair and turned back toward the companionway.

  “All of you, up on deck, now! Find me Parker and bring the cowardly dog to bridge. Get on with it while I’m still feeling calm and relaxed.” Larsen stated, striding away and heading back to the Western Star’s main bridge. Evil Larsen was given to such ironic comments, knowing all too well he was as explosively dangerous as his late infamous sea captain father. That man was still spoken about in shudders by those who had crossed his path, a nearly mythical figure that traded in the Pacific and was often accused of piracy in whispers.

  The crew reluctantly dressed and began the search, knowing it was easier to bring Evil Larsen his probably drunken soon to be victim than to resist. Most of the officers drank heavily while off-duty, needing some form of release from the terrible life they were living on the Western Star.

  A little under two hours later, the crew assembled on the deck, having conducted a cursory search of all the locations Parker was likely to inhabit. Evil Larsen lambasted them with words that even caused the jaded seamen to stare in shock. But eventually the flow of curses ran out and Larsen paced back and forth across the deck above their waiting eyes.

  “Wilner,” Evil Larsen barked, staring down at one of his toadies, “you’ll take that dog’s watches from now on. Damn fool must have fallen overboard.”

  None of the crew aired the idea that Parker may be hidden in the many depths of the large ship. If the man was aboard, revealing himself would result in terrible retribution by Larsen, best to hope the man fell overboard accidentally or had an escape plan he never revealed.

  “Captain, sir?” Doc Martin asked tentatively, stepping forward from the rear of the crew. He was a tall fleshy man with wispy brown hair and pale damp skin that never tanned or seemed dry. Everyone aboard knew the former veterinarian was incompetent and an informer to the captain, but they had recourse should they require medical aid. Shipboard life, especially under someone as cruel as Captain Evil Larsen, resulted in occasional injuries no matter how cautious you behaved.

  Larsen looked down at Doc Martin, hiding the disgust he felt for the sad little man. Martin, despite informing on the crew regularly, was an incompetent who loved to inflict pain on others. Despite the man’s usefulness, Evil Larsen longed for the day he could seize the struck off vet up and beat him to death.

  But until that day, Larsen would use the man and allow him to think they were friends and partners, “Yes, Doctor?” Larsen asked, his voice mild.

  “Three other members of the crew are not present. Morton, Hirano and Bevins were last seen working with Mr. Parker,” Martin wheezed, smiling up at the Captain. Jonah Martin, formerly a certified veterinarian in Dublin, enjoyed the ripple of fear that always filled the crew when he spoke to the captain. Fear was a delicious delight, a savory feast that was always his reason for any of his actions.

  “How did you know that, Doctor?” Larsen asked, interested despite himself. One vanishing he could understand, men fell overboard on occasions, but four confused him.

  “Because it occurred last night and I recalled seeing them working hard on repairing the radio mast. And then I noticed this afternoon that said mast is still unrepaired and we are still unable to utilize the radio if help is required,” Martin explained, feeling the wave of fear from those around him upon discovering the Western Star had no working radio.

  “Wilner!” Larsen snapped, bringing everyone back to the problem at hand. “Take three men and repair that mast right now. The rest of you get to your stations! Now!”

  Wilner and the three men he chose at random left first, heading for the radio mast a little quicker than they usually moved on the Western Star. Nobody moved fast on this ship, you walked just fast enough to keep the Captain from getting angry, but not fast enough to warrant his notice. Not an easy feat, but somehow everyone aboard learned this skill as a survival instinct.

  A moment later there was a high-pitched shriek, a sound similar to that of an animal in torment. Then three more cries followed, sounds of shock and terror, and all present immediately realized the sounds came from the direction of the radio mast. Captain Evil Larsen drew the long bladed hunting knife from his waist while his other hand pulled free the large silver revolver he always kept on his other hip. His body was taut as he stared about, his eyes wild and filled with terror and some fear.

  “Follow me!” he ordered the crew, the black eye of hi
s pistol moving across his men as a means of ensuring compliance. Larsen was under no illusions about how he was viewed by the crew, which was why he carried weapons all the time and had no compunction about using them against anyone.

  The crew was reluctant to follow the Captain, despite his skill with his gun and knife. A few backed away, muttering prayers in quivery fear filled voices. “Gentlemen,” Doctor Martin said, smiling broadly at the crew, “our Captain has ordered you to follow him. If you don’t comply with his orders, he’s likely to grow rather…annoyed with you. Get along now!”

  The crewmen who were backing away gave the ship’s medical officer a look of open loathing. The same look of disgust filled the array of faces before Martin, but he merely gave them a wide amused smile. But move they did, following their terrible Captain forward toward the screams that cut off the minute they began to walk.

  Only Doctor Jonah Martin remained behind, chuckling at the crew’s response. He leaned against the ship’s rail as the screams began again, shrieks of pain and fright that would make any normal person quake and panic. But not Jonah Martin, he merely moaned with happiness as the gunshots began and were suddenly cut off. The screaming voices slowly grew fainter until all that was left were the sounds of the Western Star slowly cutting through the Atlantic Ocean.

  Martin reached for his cigarettes, his hands shaking with the joy he felt from the experience that just occurred. He was about to light up when a shadow passed over his face, causing the former vet to look up. The sight above him caused even a sadist like Jonah Martin to drop his cigarette and scream in fear before that sound too was cut off.

  Two days later the Western Star was found drifting in United States waters by a patrolling Navy ship. After a cursory search it was found to be devoid of life, the crew missing and all the lifeboats still present. This was a mystery and the United States military did not like unanswered questions in their territory.

  The Captain of the USS Orion was a tall spare Annapolis graduate named Doherty. A career man who intended to retire an Admiral like his father, he stared at the shabby ship across his frigate’s bow. This was the type of situation that made or broke careers, which was dangerous for a military officer with high ambitions. Best to take the smart but cautious approach and hand the responsibility off to someone else and remove any chance this situation was dealt with by others.

  Writing a carefully worded message, he sent for the ship’s radioman and said, “Send this to the War Department using the code we received before we left. Don’t tell anyone the contents, understood? Good.”

  A short time later the message was received and passed into the hands of a small unknown department in Washington. The hidden commanders of that unit immediately responded, sending out the man they could best trust for such an unusual incident, one who would take this situation seriously and keep everything from getting into the newspapers…a man called Richard Knight…

  ***

  A black Douglas Dolphin banked around the USS Orion twice before landing off the frigate’s bow with the lightness that belied the plane’s bulky dimensions. The crew tossed the pilot a line and a few moments later the green suited pilot appeared, climbing aboard with the agility of a circus gymnast. The man was tall with dark hair and a powerful lean frame that allowed him to move with the smooth action of a jungle cat. The sailors instinctively moved aside, recognizing a person who was born to command others in or out of battle.

  “Dick Knight,” Captain Doherty intoned sourly. He sounded as if he was proclaiming the name of one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, declaring the man before him to be one of the dangers of the world.

  “Harvey Doherty,” Richard Knight responded, sounding both amused and a little world weary. Doherty was a time server, a man with all the inspiration and command skills of a street sweeper. Harvey Doherty was more concerned about retiring to a golf course as an Admiral, spending his time being saluted while never risking himself or his chances of promotion in any way.

  “I don’t want you here, Knight,” Captain Doherty declared, straightening himself up and looking at the other man with naked dislike. Richard Knight and men like him were loose cannons who appeared to view the rules and regulations of the military as objects to be broken rather than guidelines set out to prevent anarchy.

  “I’m not really interested in your likes and dislikes, Harvey. I need to get about the Western Star and perform a search. If you’d like to prevent me, I’ll radio General Brett and he can type it out in official orders. You remember General Brett, don't you, Harvey? He’ll probably remove you from command since you’d be obviously unable to handle delicate intelligence matters…” Knight almost laughed as he said the words. Men like Harvey Doherty would sacrifice their grandmother to the god Neptune if they thought the death would result in an admiral’s star. Doyle, who was off in Texas on another job, would have enjoyed making Harvey squirm, but there was not time for fun right now.

  Doherty stared with disgust at Knight, despising all intelligence agents and their unseen masters. One day, when Harvey got his star and was seated at the right hand of the President of the United States, men like Dick Knight would be tossed aside in favor of those who could follow the rules of the United States Armed Forces.

  But until that wonderful day, Harvey Doherty knew he needed to cooperate and appear helpful to Knight and his Washington contacts. Giving the tall intelligence agent a nod, he said, “Two of my men will take you aboard the ship and will escort you back. Meet them aft.”

  Richard Knight knew he could get aboard without the escort, but decided to let Harvey think he’d won this tiny victory. If his information was correct, this ship would be uninhabited and few important clues would be present. Knight’s steely gaze settled on the drab and shabby freighter across the Orion’s bow, hoping his information was merely fanciful thinking by intelligence analysts with too much time on their hands. After all, these men believed and even wanted to prepare for an invasion from Mars in New Jersey in eight or nine years. How ridiculous was that?

  The two men chosen by Doherty were an odd pair. The first, a large barrel-chested hairy character with the mean look of a brawler gone to seed. The second, a skinnier fellow with large tattooed forearms, sparse hair, a deep squint to his eyes and the look of one who enjoyed a scrap with anyone available. They were obviously long-standing friends, but Knight would be willing to bet they would start punching each other the minute they both wanted the same woman.

  Pulling themselves aboard the Western Star, Richard Knight turned to the two sailors and said, “Why don’t you two grab a smoke or something. I won’t be too long.”

  The shorter man shook his head, straightening his cap and replied, “The Captain says we needs to stay with youse, and stays with you we will. Otherwise its scrubbin’ duties for the boths of us!”

  Knight chuckled, knowing the odd sailor wasn’t wrong. If Doherty thought either had been lax while assigned to watch him, he’d give both the worst punishments his limited mind could imagine. No, best to let both men stay at his side as he checked this ship for evidence of what he believed occurred while they were traveling at sea.

  “Fair enough,” Knight stated and waved them both to follow in his wake. “We need to locate the radio tower and see if it has been damaged.”

  “Yeah, sure,” The larger sailor replied, sounding surly and annoyed. Richard Knight was willing to bet that was the man’s jolliest tone, unless he was laughing while beating someone in a fight.

  The radio tower was easy to locate, a ruined piece of steel broken in several places. The metal was almost twisted, as if a great force had ripped into the device with the idea of putting it out of commission.

  “That weren’t broken by no wind,” The smaller sailor said and backed away from the broken metal.

  “You think it’d broken by the Booger man?” The larger sailor scoffed. He began chuckling in large “ho, ho” sounds, almost cartoonish in its mocking style.

  “Why you…�
� The shorter sailor snarled, but Richard Knight cut both off with a dangerous look.

  “We don’t have time for that nonsense. Wait till you get ashore and kill each other then. Until that time, shut your mouths and do what I tell you,” Knight stated, his voice a whip of command that brought both men in line instantly.

  “So what’s you wants us to do?” the shorter sailor asked, watching Knight with squinting, suspicious eyes. He seemed distrustful but respectful, easier to deal with than his large friend.

  “Look around the deck, see if you spot anything that looks out of place or strange. Don’t touch what you find, just call me. Understood? Good, get to it, sailors!” Knight ordered, knowing he needed to keep control of these two, otherwise they’d go rogue in no time.

  The trouble was, this ship was a shabby tub, poorly maintained and occupied by a crew that did the absolute minimum work possible. Most of the ship’s equipment littered the deck, with only important tools placed in the proper location. Richard Knight despaired at finding evidence he was looking for, without proper intelligence he might even be pulled off this assignment in favor of the many other dangers facing the United State military.

  “Hey, Knight!” The larger sailor called out, sounding even surlier than before. “Found a pile of garbage here that don’t look regular. You want to take a look or can I go back to looking for mermaids?”

  With that the large man began to guffaw, his exaggerated chortles filled with malice. An unpleasant fellow, but Richard Knight wasn’t concerned about the sailor beyond his help at the moment.

  Striding quickly over to the sailor’s side, Knight pushed past the man and his shorter partner and observed a pile of debris littering the deck. Kneeling down he could see why this was referred to as garbage by the other man. Bits of string lay next to small bits of paper, rings of keys and other small items. Richard Knight looked through them slowly and without lifting his head, asked, “How much money did you find?”