The New Adventures of the Eagle Read online

  “This is current?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

  “Yes. We have been investigating a ring of saboteurs operating with impunity within the United States,” the contact said, his voice monotone as if he had simply ordered a meal instead of openly admitting that there were enemy agents running loose within the United States of America.

  The Eagle found that situation untenable.

  “A task force has been assembled to track them,” Agent Palmer continued. “But as yet they have been unable to catch them in the act.”

  He decided to let the admission of their failure pass without comment. “What else can you tell me?” he asked instead.

  “The strikes are well planned,” the contact said plainly, giving only the facts without commentary. “The saboteurs have hit five different U.S. installations in the past two weeks. You will find a list in the briefing. Whoever they are, the saboteurs are well-trained, well-financed, and determined.”

  “I take it since I’m here that you have a suspect in mind?”

  “We do,” Palmer said and tapped the edge of the envelope with his finger.

  The Eagle removed a stack of photos from the file.

  “That man there is Curtis Allen. He is a motion picture director of some renown.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” the Eagle said before Palmer could continue. “I caught one of his pictures while I was in France. I took the sweetest girl to see it. She worked a flower stand and...”

  The agent shot him a disapproving look.

  “Not important,” the Eagle said when he noticed the man’s demeanor shift. “Continue.”

  “Our best intelligence puts him and his film crew at or near the site of each of the sabotaged installations at the time of the attacks,” Agent Palmer said. “Either Curtis Allen, or someone working on his movie, is helping the saboteurs.”

  “What project have they targeted?”

  “It’s called Project Ragnarok,” Palmer said.

  “Sounds sinister.”

  “We hope so,” Palmer said. “At least to our enemies.”

  “So what does Project Ragnarok do?”

  “The project is classified top secret so I can’t go into specifics, but Research and Development has developed a new weapon system for use against the Axis Powers. As per protocol, the components have been farmed out to seven different government subsidiaries for manufacture. Individually, the components are all but useless, but once they are brought together and assembled we will have our secret weapon.”

  “But…”

  “But, the sabotage has destroyed several of the components,” Palmer added. “The eggheads back at R & D are trying to recreate the process from scratch, but its slow going.”

  “And my part in all of this?”

  “We want you to find out who is responsible for the sabotage so they can be stopped and brought to justice.”

  The Eagle flipped through the photos. On the front was a photo of the person in question. Some were candid shots and others were professional head shots, all too easily accessible in Hollywood. On the back of each was the pertinent information about that person of interest.

  “We have assembled dossiers on the director as well as those on the film’s crew and the actors. Everything you need is there.”

  “I take it Mr. Curtis has a legitimate reason for being in the areas where the attacks happened,” the Eagle said. Off of his contact’s momentary pause he added, “Or else I wouldn’t be here.”

  “That’s correct. Curtis Allen is filming a new motion picture. He has permits that allow him to film in the areas where the attacks took place. Everything looks above board on the surface,” the contact said.

  “And you’re sure it’s not simply a coincidence?” the Eagle asked.

  “It’s possible, though highly unlikely,” the contact said, his jaw twitching slightly. It was the first reaction the Eagle had gotten out of him since climbing into the car.

  “But you’d like me to poke around and make sure, right?” the Eagle asked.

  “Yes. We have assembled a cover ID for you, which you will find in the envelope. Everything you need to know is in there except for the photo for the ID. I was informed that you would handle that final detail yourself.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Good luck, Mr. Shannon.” Agent Palmer offered his hand.

  Jeff Shannon shook his hand, but only smiled in reply. He opened the car door and stepped back out into the heat. “I’ll be in touch,” he said before heading back into the desert on the motor bike.

  Palmer waited until the Eagle’s motorbike crested one of the desert hills and disappeared from view before he relaxed. He flipped the intercom button. “We’re done here. Take me back,” he told the driver.

  From a ridge nearby, Jeff Shannon - the Eagle - watched the limousine pull away.

  ***

  Curtis Allen wanted to strangle someone.

  Most of the time he loved his job, but there were aspects of it that always managed to push his buttons. One of those was dealing with actors. Listening to the insecurities and complaints of attractive men and women who were always looking for validation was bad enough, but it was when they started questioning his script or his choice of shots, that he wanted to wrap his hands around their throats. If there was a worst part of his job, that was it.

  And Hamilton James was one of the worst.

  Ham, as he wanted his friends to call him, was one of Hollywood’s biggest stars. Like most, he had started his career in westerns, but had come to prominence doing war pictures where he played the dashing and gallant heroic type. James had knocked on his office door just after the sun started to creep over the horizon. Allen had only been on the lot five minutes and had just taken the first sip of his morning coffee when he caught a glimpse of the acclaimed star of stage and screen tromping his way across the lot toward his office.

  Normally, he would have his assistant, Sterling, run interference for him, but at this early hour she had not yet arrived. He would have to alter her schedule so that she was in the office before him just to avoid this sort of thing ever happening again.

  He sighed and pulled a bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer of his desk, which he kept on hand for emergencies. That was his story and he was sticking to it. He poured a finger’s worth into the mug of steaming hot coffee and stirred it with a pencil that was sitting on his desk. On advice from his doctor, he had been trying to avoid drinking alcohol before lunch, but Hamilton James did not make that task easy. He had been a pain since day one.

  “Curtis!” Hamilton boomed joyfully as he stepped inside. Without knocking, he might add, though Allen decided it was best to just let that go. Some movie stars, like Ham, believed that the rules of the civilized no longer applied to them. Such was the nature of stardom. And there were few stars bigger these days than Hamilton James, so the director bit his tongue and dealt with it for the good of the picture.

  Allen pasted on a tired smile for his star. “What can I do for you, Ham?” he asked.

  “I was reading over today’s new scenes and I have a few suggestions.”

  “Of course you do,” Curtis muttered as he took a sip of his coffee and felt the joyous burn as it worked its way down his gullet.

  “I just don’t understand why it was changed,” James said. “The way it was written before was perfect. My battle with the bad guy at his island retreat was a fitting big finish to the story. As written, this new scene doesn’t seem as grand a finish.”

  Allen held out his hand. “Let me see that.” The actor handed over the dog-eared script already folded open to the newly added scenes. He read silently, sometimes muttering as he followed along.

  “You see?” James said once he completed the script.

  Allen took a sip of coffee. “I agree with you one hundred percent, Ham,” he said as the actor began to smile. “That original sequence was incredible. It would be a masterpiece to film and would light up movie screens across
the great nation. It would be talked about for years. However...”

  James’s smile drooped.

  “The truth of the matter, Ham, is that the original scene, as brilliant as it was, is un-filmable. At least on the budget we’ve been given by the studio.”

  “But--” the actor started to protest.

  Allen cut him off before he could continue. “Do you know how expensive it is to rent a private island, Ham?”

  “No.”

  “Well I do. And let me tell you, it’s a lot.”

  “But for the good of the picture,” James started.

  “Right,” Allen said. “If that was all that mattered then I’d say we’d do it, but it’s not. You know how this business works. The island is too expensive. Not to mention the expense of getting the cast, crew, and all of our equipment there? It would take half the film’s budget. There’s no way the studio is going to sign off on that expense.”

  “I didn’t realize,” James said softly.

  “Understandable,” Allen said, taking another sip of coffee. “By filming the final action sequence in a factory instead of an island, we have more opportunities for explosions, innovative angles, and we can turn on the sprinklers. It will be incredible.”

  “I... suppose,” James said, although he didn’t really sound convinced.

  “Trust me,” Allen said. “We have some stock footage of an island that we will cut into the final reel so the audience knows that the factory is on the island.”

  “But I...”

  “Ham…Trust... Me.”

  The actor nodded, sufficiently deflated. “Thanks for listening, Curtis” he muttered. “I just want to make the best damned movie we can.”

  “I understand completely. Feel free to drop by anytime you have a question,” Allen said, even though he didn’t mean it. He stood and extended a hand to basically announce that the meeting was over.

  James stood as well and they shook hands.

  “Why don’t you head on back to your trailer,” Allen said. “And get those lines down so we can have a great day. We’ve got a lot of pages to cover today.”

  “See you on set,” the actor said as he headed toward the door, satisfied that he had said his piece. Now, if the picture did not do well, he could say that he tried arguing to keep the scene in, but was overruled by a selfish director, who didn’t value his star’s input. James was almost to the door when it opened from the outside.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Allen,” a new voice said from the opposite side of the door.

  “Can I help you?” Allen said even though he was thinking, What now?

  I hope so,” the stranger said as he stepped inside the office. He smiled and nodded at the famed actor as James stepped out and closed the door behind him. “I’m Jeff Rollin.

  The Studio sent me.”

  Curtis Allen felt the floor nearly fall out from beneath him. The last thing any director wanted was a visit from a studio representative. They were usually penny pinchers trying to trim costs, even at the expense of telling a good story. He was nearing the end of a very important project and he needed every last penny in the budget just to meet his deadline. The last thing he needed was someone looking over his shoulder every step of the way and second-guessing his decisions. Of course, he kept all of that to himself.

  “Please come in,” he told the new arrival instead. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you. Most kind,” Jeff Rollin said as he took a seat across from the director.

  Allen gave him a predatory smile that did not attempt to hide the man’s annoyance that the studio had sent a watchdog to look over his shoulder. “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Rollin?”

  “I just have a few questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Let’s start with the new ending to your movie.”

  ***

  It had been a long day.

  Jeff Rollin was really Jeff Shannon, also known as the Eagle. Creating his new identity wasn’t difficult. Changing identity was important in his line of work. It took effort to become someone else, not only on paper, but in actuality. In that regard, Jeff Shannon was one of the best actors in the world. When he stepped into a role he did so completely. Perhaps one day, after the various wars around the globe came to an end and the world settled back into some sense of normalcy, he would audition for a movie role himself. It looked like a fun alternative to espionage. He hoped such a day would come soon.

  Unfortunately, experience had taught him not to hold his breath. If there was one constant in the world, it was war. As soon as one conflict ended, another would crop up. For a world made up of so many peace-loving and kind people, there seemed to be no end to conflict.

  Until such a day came, there would always be a need for men like the Eagle.

  He had spent the first day surreptitiously snooping around the offices as much as possible. It wasn’t easy though. Allen had stuck him with his assistant, Jennifer Sterling. Sterling was young and eager, a bright-eyed young lady from the Midwest. She was just the right type of go-getter that creative types like Curtis Allen used and abused, although she didn’t seem to mind the workload. While the director dealt with creative concerns, it was the assistants under him, like Miss Sterling, that handled those daily mundane tasks that still needed to be done.

  Sterling was never more than an arm’s length away from the metal clipboard that opened to allow for even more papers to be placed inside. She had told him that the entire production was in her clipboard. It was a source of pride for her to have her finger on every aspect of production.

  Sterling was a wealth of information. Jeff Rollin asked her as many questions as he could without revealing his true purpose for visiting the set. She was very helpful, but it was hard to sneak around with her acting as his constant shadow. He had managed to ditch her a few times, but she always seemed to find him again.

  So far, no one stood out as a prime suspect. The file given to him by his contact implicated Curtis Allen, but so far he had yet to find evidence that the director was anything more than he appeared on the surface. The War Department’s evidence was circumstantial at best. He knew that sometimes that was all that was needed to root out an espionage agent, but he preferred to have more concrete evidence before any official sanction could be made against the man. For the time being, all he could do was keep an eye on the director while trying to find some evidence that linked him directly to acts of sabotage.

  The day was winding down even though the sun had dipped below the horizon hours before. There were night shots to film and Curtis Allen worked his actors long hours until the performances were “just right.”

  The Eagle sat on the steps of Allen’s office waiting as the director set up what he promised to be the final shot of the day. The call sheet showed that they were back on location tomorrow at an old factory that was currently unoccupied and set for demolition. The company that had operated out of the building went out of business and the property was eventually foreclosed on. The bank that owned the building had recently offered the location to movie studios. For a substantial fee the building could be leased for a short-term contract. There was no denying that the building and the machinery within would look fantastic on film.

  Scuttlebutt around the set was that the director and his staff had rewritten the ending of the movie just days earlier to accommodate the use of the factory as opposed to the original plan, which would have moved the production team to an island. According to Allen, filming the finale as written would have blown their budget completely out of the water and he was fairly certain that the studio would not pour any additional funds into the production, no mater who was starring in the movie. Using the factory kept the costs down, and kept the crew in Hollywood, saving on travel, lodging, and shipping expenses. It was a huge monetary boon for the production.

  The decision to use the factory also made sense if Curtis Allen was the saboteur. What interested the Eagle about the rewrite was the location of the factory
where they planned to shoot. It was awfully close to the Johnson Filament Company.

  On paper, Johnson Filament was a manufacturer of various electronic wiring harnesses. There was nothing at all to mark them as a government contractor.

  Off the record, however, the Eagle knew that Johnson Filament was a front company. Everett Johnson, the owner of record was a former G-Man. Like the company, the man’s government status existed on paper only. In truth, Johnson Filament was one of the War Department’s most highly classified secret weapons design facilities. The Eagle was only aware of it because it was in the file. Plus, he and Everett Johnson had known each other back in Jeff Shannon’s days as a code breaker. Johnson wasn’t the type to retire, especially not during such turbulent times with the world on the brink of destruction.

  The file had not included any details about what type of weapons were being designed and tested there, but it really didn’t matter. Letting an enemy agent get their hands on whatever they had would be unacceptable.

  The special effects team and the set crews were scheduled to work through the night getting the factory ready for the climactic scene, which called for explosions and water. It would be a very ambitious scene for a movie, but if they pulled it off, it would look absolutely spectacular on screen.

  The other five acts of sabotage had happened at the moment the film crew was on hand, which gave them each an alibi. However, if it wasn’t the director who was behind all of this, then maybe someone on the effects team might be the saboteur.

  Regardless, the Eagle was going to be on hand to stop it.

  ***

  The saboteur hated surprises.

  Up to that point everything had gone exactly as planned. The raid on the secret U.S. government installations had gone off without a hitch. They only needed two more pieces of the puzzle the Americans had been piecing together in secret. As a Nazi officer, the saboteur understood the need for secrecy and compartmentalization of resources, but the Americans had made secrecy an art form.