The New Adventures of Richard Knight Read online

  Knight seemed surprised by the question. “You read my report, General. During the fight, the box containing the sixth and final rock was dislodged. A thorough search of the area failed to turn it up.”

  “Yes. We’ve combed the area as well. It’s not there.”

  Doyle spread his hands. “It’s a mystery, General.”

  “Quite.” The expression on Brett’s face indicated that he didn’t entirely believe the story he was being told. “I know that you two might have some doubts about whether or not anyone – including the USofA – should have such a weapon. But it’s not your decision to make. If you know where the Stone is, you need to tell me. Right now.”

  Knight leaned forward, his handsome face quite serious. “General, do you trust us?”

  Brett relaxed somewhat. “Of course I do. The two of you have done right by me again and again.”

  “Then believe me – the Stone isn’t in our possession.”

  “And if I asked the Professor the same thing?”

  “He’d give you the same answer.”

  Brett slowly exhaled. “Then the matter’s dropped. Good work, gentlemen.”

  ***

  Richard Knight stepped into his apartment, smiling as the pleasant scent of perfume reached his nostrils. “I’m back,” he yelled.

  “Then hurry in here,” Gretchen replied, her thick accent sounding charming to Knight’s ears.

  He stepped into the bedroom, where she lay across his bed, her nude body only partially hidden by his sheets. Her hair was tousled over her shoulders and she held two glasses of champagne in her hands. Knight paused, taking in the sight. When he’d left before, she’d been fully dressed. This was a new and not altogether unpleasant shift in their relationship… but it was one that really couldn’t continue.

  Knight sat on the bed beside her, taking one of the glasses.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Very well, I think. Brett didn’t believe us for a second about the Stone, of course.”

  “But he didn’t throw you in the brig?”

  “Obviously not.” Knight chuckled. “I just hope that you and your father are telling me the truth. If things get too dire and America needs that weapon, you’re going to turn over the Stone to the authorities….”

  “Of course! Dick, you have to understand. That weapon was so dangerous that men have not only killed for it, they’ve died simply to keep it away from others.”

  “Yes. Your father was very persuasive in that regard.” He gestured to the sheets that covered her form. “You’re going to catch your death of cold.”

  “I’m very warm blooded.”

  “I bet.”

  “Thank you for letting me have the Stone,” she earnestly whispered. “But I hope you don’t think that… this… was meant as some sort of bribe.”

  Knight stared into her blue eyes, realizing how easy it would to get lost in them. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure that her sexual attention wasn’t intended to sway his judgment regarding the Stone. But in the end, he agreed with her father: a death-ray like that would eventually lead to a very bad end for everyone. It was that way with weapons, he’d found – every time a new gun or bomb was invented, the enemy had to not only match it, but take it up a notch.

  “I’m sorry, Gretchen… but this can’t happen.”

  A look of disbelief crossed her pretty face. “You’re rejecting me?”

  “I’m not the sort of man who falls into bed with a woman that I barely know. Besides, there’s already someone that I care about.”

  “Most men wouldn’t pass up this opportunity,” she haughtily pointed out.

  “I’m not most men.” He clinked his glass against hers. “Here’s to heavenly bodies… and to a future that’s free of death-rays.”

  Gretchen slid out of bed, carrying the sheet with her. Tossed the contents of her glass straight into Knight’s face, showering him with German curse words as she did so.

  Knight watched as she stomped out of the room before bursting into laughter. Doyle would love hearing about this!

  THE END

  THE BAPET

  by Terry Alexander

  “A man’s got to be crazy to be out in weather like this,” Cecil Stockton mumbled. His hands squeezed the steering wheel, driving his battered Ford pickup in one of the worst snowstorms to ever hit New Mexico. The chained rear wheels churned on the quickly accumulating powder, grinding the slush under the tires. He rolled down the window and casually tossed his cigarette outside. Though the window was only partially open for a brief moment a bitter cold draft seeped into the cab of the pickup by the time he had the glass back up.

  The vehicle’s worn out wipers scraped over the windshield, barely clearing a spot big enough for him to see through. He cursed himself for the hundredth time. Still he needed the money. Mr. Caruthers promised him fifty dollars to deliver a load of hooch to Marvin Cox.

  Cox, a pitiless hard case that did some time in prison, owned the local tavern in Wright City. He purchased ten gallons of Mr. Caruthers rasinjack every week. Everyone within fifty miles knew Lon Caruthers made the best squeezin’s. On Friday and Saturday nights the local ranch hands crowded into Marvin’s place elbow to elbow to drown their sorrows over a glass of Caruthers’ brew.

  The heater struggled against the ice building up on the windshield. A clear coating covered the wiper blade on the right side rendering it useless. Nerves stretched to a raw edge, he longed for another cigarette, but he knew trying to roll one while he was driving in this weather was foolish.

  The dim street lights of Wright City cut through the mass of flakes blowing in the stiff wind. Marvin’s place was down the block and around the corner. Cecil figured it would take him a half hour to deliver the product and collect Mr. Caruthers’ money. His lips turned up in a half grin. A nice slow drive home and he would be sitting by his wood stove in less than an hour. There he could enjoy another cig and the storm could unleash all its fury while he was inside safe and warm.

  The old man didn’t see the huge one ton Chevrolet slide around the corner until it was too late. He stomped down hard on the brake. The chained tires slid in the snow. Instinctively his arms covered his face as the heavier truck plowed into his grill.

  Old Marvin’s sure going to be peeved when I don’t deliver this rotgut, he thought as his head whiplashed into the windshield. It was his last thought on earth.

  A clear fluid leaked from the ruptured container of home brew. The liquid seeped through the cracks in the wooden bed and dripped onto the hot exhaust below. A small fire whooshed to life, eating into the boards. The flames quickly covered the truck, burning hotter with the addition of the accelerant. Fire spread to the one ton.

  Thick sinewy arms broke through the top of the wooden crate riding in the bed of the one ton. A thickset woman with long ratty hair stepped to the smoking wood. The fire spread, surrounding her. A loud growl came from her thick lips as she leaped to safety. Her gnarled foot touched down on the snow. A savage howl filled the night sky. The starving beast smelled food. It had to have sustenance. Thick muscular legs carried it from the fire into the frigid darkness.

  ***

  Richard Knight and Larry Doyle parked the coupe in front of General Brett’s large home. Snowflakes whipped through the air carried by a fierce northern wind. Richard raised his collar against the wind and ran to the shielded front door. The two men were a contrast in appearance, the shorter, homely man with a crooked nose, a souvenir of a brutal fight in China. A tall man with dark hair and a firm jaw followed.

  “I wonder what’s so important that the old bird called us back early.” The short man brushed wet flakes from his hair.

  “It’s got to be important, Larry. The general isn’t one to panic easily.” Richard’s dark eyes sparkled. “Still I won’t mind seeing Benita again.”

  “You saw your girl a few days ago. I doubt she’s changed much since Tuesday.” Larry’s hand closed on the brass door knocker.

 
The door opened suddenly. Benita Navarre’s smiling face beckoned to them from across the threshold. Her eyes fastened on Richard. She instantly ran into his arms.

  “Ricardo, I have missed you so.” Her lips found his.

  Larry politely turned away.

  Richard caught Benita by the shoulders and pushed her away. “Querida, the general is expecting us.” They shrugged from their heavy overcoats. Benita hung them on the rack near the entry way.

  “Si, he is in his office. He is very…” She struggled with the words. “Anxious to see you both.” She led them through the entry way to the cream colored door of Brett’s office. “General, you have company.” She turned to Richard, excitement in her dark eyes. “I want to see you before you leave.”

  “Dick, get in here. We have to talk.” General Brett yanked the door open, then crossed the room standing behind his desk, his hair mussed, tie loosened and collar askew.

  Richard nodded. “I’ll do my best. Sounds like this is important,” he whispered to Benita as he passed through the threshold.

  “Grab a seat you two.” Brett walked to the window, gazing through the icy panes at the white fluff accumulating on his yard. “We have a situation in New Mexico. Take a look at those photos. I received them from a special courier three hours ago.”

  Richard lifted a stack of 8 X 10’s from the table and passed half the stack to Larry. The black and white glossies showed scenes of mass devastation. Two vehicles, blackened and twisted in the center of a snow covered street. Several close-up photos of dead men, women, and children, some in bed, others lying in snow covered streets, frozen in horrific poses. Bellies ripped open, entrails scattered in a frenzied fashion. Large chunks of flesh missing from the bare flesh of the victims.

  “Those pictures are from Wright City, New Mexico, a small burg up in the northern mountains. Two vehicles collided in a snowstorm three days ago. The autos burned to slag and unleashed something that killed most of the population. Of the three hundred people in Wright City only seven are still alive.” The General turned and stared at his two operatives. “The area is very isolated, they have all their supplies trucked into the mountains, fuel, food, medical supplies, everything. If not for the local sheriff’s monthly report and the chance dropping of one of the driver’s names we wouldn’t know anything about this. It took over a day for the military to get wind of the accident and send a man to Wright City. You see what he found.”

  “Who was the driver?” Richard thumbed through the photos, a look of disgust on his face.

  “Heinrich Roemer.”

  “I’ve heard of Roemer. He’s headquartered in Brazil.” Richard’s eyes widened.

  “He’s a high placed agent for the German SD. We need to know why he was in New Mexico.” Brett took an overstuffed easy chair across from the duo. “We’ve got a huge problem and nothing to go on.”

  “What could have done this, wild animals? From the way they’re dressed most of these people were attacked in their sleep.” Larry threw the stack to the table. The pictures skidded across the slick surface.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I called you.” Brett nodded. “I’m sending you both to Wright City. I want to know what is going on there and I expect you to find out. The way things are in Europe and China we can’t take any chances.”

  “I’ve got a date with a sweet redhead from Philly,” Larry shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to call her up and cancel. She’ll be heartbroken.”

  “Relax, Romeo. She’ll be waiting when we get back.” Richard jumped to his feet. “We’ll leave within the hour. Does Wright City have a landing strip?”

  “Captain Anderson is on-site. He’s preparing a temporary landing strip now. Contact him when you’re close.” The General climbed slowly to his feet. “I want this wrapped up fast, FDR is worried about the Nazis. We know they have spies in the country waiting to carry out Hitler’s orders.”

  Larry ran a finger over his crooked nose. “If they’re in New Mexico we’ll root them out, Sir.”

  “See that you do.” General Brett walked them to the door. “This has been a stressful day. I’m talking with Franklin tomorrow. I’ll assure him you’ll deal with this mess.” He looked into Richard’s eyes. “I want this taken care of quickly and quietly.”

  ***

  The blue Northrop hurled through the chill air like a bullet. Richard scanned the control dials. He and Larry had stopped at the airport in Kansas City to refuel and were nearing the New Mexico state line.

  “Dick, what’s your notion on this business?” Larry asked.

  “I don’t know. I keep thinking of a weapon of some sort, but a weapon wouldn’t do that kind of damage to those people.” Richard glanced over his shoulder. “We need more information before we can even guess what we’re up against.”

  “Don’t look now, but we have company.” Larry twirled his specially made cockpit seat. “Coming up on the left wing, about a quarter mile out, Biplane, open cockpit. I can’t make out any markings from here.”

  “I’ve got it. In this cloud cover and with that snow cover on the ground, that white plane is perfectly disguised. I’ll bet they’re freezing in that rig.” Richard moved the stick toward the unidentified aircraft. The shadowing ship moved to maintain the same distance. “Put the field glasses on it. See if you can make out any details.”

  “It’s not marked, no insignia of any kind.” Larry shook his head. “My God,” his voice rose in excitement. “That’s a Junkers CL. I. The Germans only built about fifty of them at the end of the war. That’s one sweet plane. He’s maintaining his interval. I don’t think he wants to mix it up.”

  “I remember stories about a German Ace that flew a Junkers. They called him Herr Giest.”

  “Mr. Ghost.” Larry shrugged his shoulders. “If that’s the same guy, he’s a good pilot.”

  A laconic smile crossed Richard’s face. “Let’s see how good.” He pushed the stick forward. The ship answered immediately, diving toward the ground.

  The white plane followed suit, constantly maintaining the half mile distance.

  Richard leveled the Northrop in a tight loop to the right. The mystery pilot executed the same maneuver. The Wasp’s engines roared as he took the craft up in an inside roll. The white plane copied the move exactly.

  “Man, that guy is good.” Larry licked his lips nervously. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I can’t keep playing around. We’ve got to get to Wright City. Get the .50’s ready just in case and keep your eye’s on him. If he moves closer, I want to know about it quick.” Richard glanced at the dials. “Welcome to New Mexico, Mr. Doyle. I’m going to radio Captain Anderson and get instructions on this airstrip.”

  He switched on the transmitter and picked up the microphone. He swung the wavelength lever to a red point. “Q to Captain Anderson, Q to Captain Anderson. Come in Captain.” Richard switched on the receiver.

  “This is Anderson.” A voice came from the small amplifier under the ship’s forward cowl. “Go ahead Q.”

  Richard switched the radio to transmit. “Captain, we just crossed into New Mexico airspace, arrival time in twenty minutes. Give me the layout on this landing strip you constructed.”

  “There isn’t a strip. We can’t get any equipment up here. We managed to clear the main street and make a makeshift runway. Advise you to come in on the east.” Anderson’s controlled voice squawked through the speaker. “The place doesn’t have any electricity or phones so you won’t clip any lines.”

  “Understood, see you when we touch down,” He switched the machine off. “How’s our friend doing?”

  “Holding his position,” Larry answered. “Hold on, he’s moving, coming into our flight path. It’s definitely a Junker. If Germany had those ships earlier in the war, the outcome might have been different.”

  “If he makes any aggressive moves, take him down.” Richard glanced at his instruments, then his gaze shifted to the folded map clipped to the panel. “We’re closing in
on Wright City. I’ll swing around and drop to five hundred feet. We’re looking for a cleared street. How’s our company doing?”

  Larry’s hand shielded his eyes, gazing at the white plane. “He’s still there, a half mile behind.” He glanced at the snow covered landscape below. “I hope it’s a wide street.”

  “The pilot is checking us out, trying to figure out who we are. Makes me wonder what we’re going to find down there.” Richard switched the radio on and turned the lever to transmit. “Q to Captain Anderson, I’ve spotted the street. I’m going to circle the town once and land.” His hand automatically switched the lever to receive.

  “Message received. My men have eyes on you, land at your leisure.”

  “Dick, our friend is peeling off, going southwest.” Larry returned the weapons to the cockpit niche.

  “I’m sure he’ll show up again.” He flipped a lever, lowering the landing gear. “Look sharp, Doyle. I’ve never landed on a crowned road before, this may be tricky.”

  Smoke boiled from the tires on contact with the wet highway. The plane bounced into the air only to touch down again ten feet away. A canvas covered Model T Roadster roared onto the highway following the aircraft.

  Richard turned the Northrop at the end of the makeshift runway. He killed the engine and unlocked the protective canopy. Richard scratched his head, silently appraising Captain Anderson.

  A tall man, his brown hair streaked with gray above the ears, stood beside the Ford. His uniform speckled with soggy mud spots, wet at the elbows and knees from snow melt. He leaned against the hood waiting for the pair to join him on the ground.

  “Captain Anderson, what’s the status on the investigation?” Richard stepped to the hard asphalt and grasped the Captain’s hand, as Larry hopped to the ground behind him.