by Barry Reese
Leonid Kaslov moved through the crowded streets of New York City, eyes never wavering from his goal: a small office set in between two large clothing distributors, each of whom had a steady stream of affluent-looking clientele coming and going from within. The office seemed to blend into the background and none of the women in their high hats or the men in their fashionable suits even seemed to take notice of it.
It was a cold day, with a harsh wind that made the already bustling New York pedestrians hurry all the more. Kaslov barely noticed the strong gusts, however. He had spent more than a few years in the desolation that was Siberia, where the average yearly temperature was only 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Compared to those harsh environs, a wintry day in Manhattan was almost like a vacation to the handsome Russian.
Kaslov attracted a few stares from passerby as he moved through the streets, for his was a famous face, frequently seen on major newspapers and magazines. For many of the women whose gaze lingered upon him, it was for more sensual reasons than his mere celebrity that they took notice of him. Kaslov was a handsome man, who cut an athletic, muscular figure and bore remarkable grace, making him an easy target for the wandering eyes of women. For most of his existence, Kaslov had spurned the attentions of the gentler sex, for his life was based upon only two things: the eradication of evil and the betterment of mankind.
In pursuit of those two goals, Kaslov had spent years honing his body into physical perfection and had mastered numerous sciences. Newsworld magazine had named him Man of the Year twice in the last decade, making him one of the most famous men in the nation. Given America’s sudden entry into the global war that was threatening to spin out of control, Kaslov’s importance was growing ever more paramount. The previous night Kaslov had worked well past the midnight hour on a draft of a letter advising the President on what new weapons could be developed within the next six months.
Kaslov pushed into the small office, the smell of sweet perfume hanging heavy in the air. Several words were etched onto the establishment’s door:
KASLOV AND ASSOCIATES
By appointment only
Elizabeth “Libby” Raines was seated behind the desk in the lobby, her blonde curls hanging in ringlets around her shoulders. She looked up with a smile, her blue eyes twinkling as she took him in. Her black dress was cinched tightly at her trim waist and as she leaned over the desk, an ample amount of cleavage was put on display.
A fairly recent change in their relationship had taken place, as Kaslov had at long last relented and given in to the attraction they shared. It had taken several extreme events to alter his opinion that romance would interfere with his ability to work: he had forged a friendship with Max Davies, who had remained a vital weapon against evil despite his marriage; and Libby had entertained a brief infatuation with an employee of Kaslov’s named Benjamin Flynn. That last event had spurred enough jealousy in the Russian’s heart to override his fears.
“Hello, Leo,” Libby said, flashing a stunning smile.
Kaslov inclined his head, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat to bring forth a glass rose, its petals painted a beautiful red. “Good afternoon, Libby. I saw this in one of the shops and thought you would enjoy it.”
“Oh, Leo,” his secretary gushed, taking the flower and staring at it with a smile on her face. “That’s so sweet. I love it.”
Kaslov’s normally stern lips twitched a bit, as close as he generally came to a grin. “Good. And you don’t have to worry about it dying, since I know you’re always going on about your inability to keep a plant alive.”
Libby chuckled and set the flower to the side of her typewriter. “Leo, there’s a visitor for you. I went ahead and let him into your lab.”
That news brought a sudden narrowing of the eyes to the Russian. His lab was off-limits to all but a select few. “Who is it?”
“Max. He looked pretty serious so I went ahead and showed him inside.”
Leonid stepped down the hallway towards a red door marked in black letters: PRIVATE. He stepped inside and scanned the crowded interior. His laboratory was home to numerous pieces of equipment, ranging from experimental thinking devices to weapons of mass destruction. He found Max standing near a microscope, peering through the device at one of the many slides that Leonid kept nearby.
“Excellent work you’ve been doing,” Max was saying. Leonid noticed that Max was in a nicely tailored suit but there was a thick bandage underneath his shirt on the left shoulder. “Are you really working on a cure for polio?”
“I think I’m somewhat close to a breakthrough,” Leo said. When Max straightened up and the two men looked at each other, neither could hide their delight at being reunited. They clasped each other warmly, patting each other’s backs. “What brings you to New York?”
Max stepped back and ran a hand through his wavy hair. He looked a little bit different than the last time Kaslov had seen him, during the affair in which the Warlike Manchu had been destroyed. Max had confided in him during that time about a horrific vision of the future he’d received as a curse from an entity known as Nyarlathotep: that Max would outlive everyone he loved, surviving well into the 21st century before finally expiring. The knowledge that he would live to see his son and wife pass on before him had haunted him for months but it seemed that Max had moved past it. He looked vital and confident, moreso than ever before.
“I need your help in tracking down the last of the so-called Greater Skulls. They’re crystal—”
“I’m familiar with them,” Leo cut in. “Why in the world would you be tracking those things down? Bring them all together and the danger level would be immense!”
“It’s not a matter of me trying to do it… I’m trying to stop someone else. A Nazi agent named Werner Richter. He’s already managed to get two of the damned things. I need to find the third before he does.”
“Is he the one who gave you that wound?”
“Yes. He wields a scythe and dresses like the Grim Reaper.”
“We never seem to face the well-dressed gangsters, do we?” Kaslov replied with a shake of his head. The powerfully built Russian moved over to a large box-shaped device that took up most of the far wall. A series of flashing blue and green lights flickered across its surface and Kaslov reached up to a box of punch cards located above the unit. He retrieved one after ruffling through several and inserted it into a small slot near the middle of the machine. The action caused an immediate response as the lights began flickering madly in a new sequence.
“What is that thing?”
“I call it EPIC. That stands for Electronic Personal Integration Computer. There’s a company working on their own version which will be named ENIAC but they’re several years away from a working model.”
The Peregrine moved to stand next to his friend, watching closely as a strip of paper began to emerge from another slot, with a series of words printed on its surface. “I’m more impressed by you with every visit to your lab, Leo.”
Kaslov glanced at his friend as he tore off the strip from the slot. “You shouldn’t flatter me. I consider you one of the most brilliant men currently alive.”
“Nice of you to say,” Max answered with a laugh, “but you’re one of the most brilliant men who’ve ever lived… so you’re still capable of impressing me.” Max gestured towards the paper. “What did you ask it?”
“I wanted a list of known or alleged locations of the Greater Skulls. The EPIC has an electronic version of all my records making searching through them much quicker than normal.” Kaslov studied the readout, grunting every now and again. “If you can account for the one that was in Georgia that leaves one in Arkham—”
“Just came from there. The Reaper has it.”
Kaslov nodded. “Then that leaves the one that’s in the possession of Alan Armstrong. He lives in Toronto.”
“I’ve never heard of him. Is he a collector or an occultist?”
“Both. I first met him about four years ago when I was investigating
reports of a Deep Ones colony just off the Northeastern coast. Armstrong was there with a bunch of deep sea divers, conducting thefts of Deep One artifacts. Turns out that they were the reason the Deep Ones were so agitated and attacking the mainland. Armstrong got away with a small fortune in artifacts and I wasn’t able to pin him with anything substantial legally.”
“Sounds like a wonderful fellow,” Max said sarcastically. “I don’t suppose you have any details about his house? Maybe have a spare key that might let me in?”
“Nothing that dramatic but I do have the blueprints.”
“How in the world did you get those?”
Kaslov walked over to a large filing cabinet and after a few moments returned with the blueprints. “I paid someone to steal them.”
“You’re a wicked, wicked man, Mr. Kaslov.” Max slapped his friend on the shoulder and looked at his watch. “I better get going if I want to reach Armstrong before the Reaper does.”
“How did you get here?”
“Brought my personal plane.”
Kaslov nodded, being very familiar with the modified airship that transported Max around the country. It was capable of flying from the continental United States to central Europe without refueling and was easily the fastest such plane in the entire world. “Do you need any assistance?”
“If you’re offering, I’d be a fool to turn you down.”
Kaslov started to answer when Libby poked her pretty face into the room. “Leo, its Benjamin on the phone. He says it’s an emergency.”
Max chuckled at the look of consternation on the Russian’s face. “Take care of things here, Leo. I’ll call you if I need you. Mind if I take the blueprints?”
“Not at all. Just be careful.”
Max was headed towards the door. “Always, my friend. Always.”
CHAPTER V
The Reaper Comes Calling
Toronto, Canada
Alan Armstrong was a profiteer, pure and simple. He sold weapons and secrets to both the Allies and the Axis, not caring which would win out in the end. Canada had declared war on Germany in 1939 but Armstrong had never paid such things any heed. He existed above the law, or so he liked to think.
Armstrong was a handsome man with short-trimmed red hair and a goatee. He had mismatched eyes, the left being green and the right being brown. He tended to dress in blacks whenever possible, accentuating his long and lean appearance.
His Toronto home was a mansion in all but name, for it was large enough for nearly a dozen people to live in comfortably, though Armstrong shared it only with Diana, a buxom young brunette with whom he shared his bed and his appetite for shopping.
Armstrong sat in a plush chair, one ankle crossed over the other leg, while Diana sat perched on the armrest. She wore an off-the-shoulders black blouse and knee-length skirt.
Armstrong studied the garish figure that stood before him. The Grim Reaper had arrived moments before, expecting to find the usual scene: that of a man groveling for his life before the death-clad figure of the Reaper. Instead, Armstrong had greeted him with no obvious fear and, indeed, had begun to parlay with him.
“Tell me again why you want my skull?” Armstrong asked, pushing Diana away and gesturing towards a bottle of wine nearby. “Pour me a glass, my dear. Would you like one, Mr…?”
“Richter,” the Reaper replied, gripping his scythe more tightly. He was ready to end the Canadian’s life whenever it became necessary but for now he found the man amusing enough to let him live. “And I have no need for alcohol.”
“Mr. Richter,” Armstrong said nodding. He accepted a glass from Diana. “You were going to tell me why I should give you the skull, I believe?”
“Because otherwise I will kill you.”
“Always a strong argument,” Armstrong said, taking a sip of his drink. “I assume you’re going to try and collect the other two skulls?”
“I have them.”
That did make Armstrong pause. He’d never cared for apocalyptic plans… after all, he needed a world to exist if he was going to make a profit. “You know how dangerous it is to have all three together in one place, don’t you?”
The Reaper moved so close that the cloth from his robes rustled against Armstrong’s legs. Diana shrank away from the scene, fearful of what was about to happen. “The skulls will be given to the Fuehrer so that this war can be ended and the Reich can stand victorious. You can either give me the skull and live… or refuse and die. Either way, I will take the skull.”
“That’s not really what I’d call a negotiation,” Armstrong lamented. “A shame, too. I’d hoped to strike a bargain with you.”
The Reaper felt the impact of the bullets before he’d even recognized the sound. Diana, standing nearby with a pistol she’d retrieved while pouring her lover’s drink, had just emptied the bullet chamber of her small pistol.
The bullets ripped into the Reaper, who staggered away, twisting so that his body was mostly hidden from view. Armstrong rose, a smug smile of victory on his face.
“Sorry, old chap… but you should never take me lightly.” Armstrong reached out and gripped the Reaper’s shoulder, intending to turn him about and finish him off himself. Armstrong had a small knife he always kept on his person for close-up work like this.
When the Reaper came around to face Armstrong, however, the Nazi was seemingly not harmed at all. Indeed, the Reaper began laughing as he saw the expression of shocked horror on Armstrong’s face. “You’re a fool, Armstrong. And now you’ll be a dead man, to boot.”
Diana screamed as the Reaper brought his scythe down, cutting through skin and bone. He neatly bisected Armstrong’s body, the two halves falling wetly to the floor, blood spewing like a geyser.
The Reaper then turned towards Diana, who had dropped her weapon and brought both hands to her face. She screamed again and again, even as the Reaper gripped her neck with one gloved hand and forced her back against the wall.
“The skull,” he hissed into her ear. “Do you know where it is?” When the girl continued to howl in terror, the Reaper brought his blade up against her cheek, allowing her lover’s blood to drip down her skin. “Tell me,” he warned.
“I think he keeps everything downstairs… in his basement.”
The Reaper tossed her aside, striding away. He cast a warning over his shoulder: “Stay here. If you try and escape, I promise you that your death will be amazingly painful.”
Werner Richter walked through the expansive home until he found a locked door that led down below. After forcing it open, he descended the stairs and found himself in a museum-quality display area, filled with odds and ends. The Reaper saw a human hand preserved in some sort of greenish fluid, a stuffed Yeti, and a blood-caked knife held in a large glass case. But none of these things held his attention the way the crystal skull, resting atop a red pillow in the center of the room, did at the moment. The Reaper moved towards it, feeling a sense of extreme satisfaction.
He had won.
There would no stopping the Reich now.
* * *
The Peregrine set his nearly silent aircraft down at a private airfield, one that he had paid several thousand dollars for absolute secrecy. After landing, the Peregrine opened a large hatch located at the rear of the plane and drove an unmarked black roadster straight off the plane. The vehicle then cruised through the streets of Toronto, carrying the Peregrine to the home of Alan Armstrong.
A nagging feeling that he’d taken too long in reaching the site kept Max on edge. He wished that Evelyn were with him but with little William getting older, it was best that one of them stay with him as much as possible.
Doubts gnawed away at the fringes of his mind, as he remembered the awful visions of the future he’d once received from the chaotic Nyarlathotep. The demonic entity had pushed them into Max’s mind as a punishment for opposing him and they’d certainly succeeded in ruining Max’s mood for months on end. The thought of outliving William, Evelyn, McKenzie and all their friends… it
was frightening, to say the least.
“The future isn’t written in stone,” he reminded himself as he parked the car just outside Armstrong’s home. “I’ve had visions that didn’t come true too many times to count.”
With those words of self-assurance, the Peregrine left his car and moved towards the rear of the house, using his knowledge of the home’s layout as a guide. He carried the Knife of Elohim in his right hand, the blade glowing brightly in the darkness.
As soon as he reached the back entrance, however, the Peregrine knew that something awful had occurred. The bisected form of Armstrong had been strung up there, a sign hanging around his neck that read: IT’S TIME TO END THIS SEARCH, PEREGRINE. THE HUNT IS OVER.
Max cursed under his breath, moving carefully around the poor man’s corpse and entering the house. He could hear sobbing from one of the interior rooms and he quickly found Diana huddled in a corner, arms over her head. Blood and gore lay all around her.
“Are you hurt?” the Peregrine asked, taking careful steps into the room.
Diana looked up at him in fear and shrank away.
“It’s okay. I’m trying to catch the man who was here… the one in the hood with the skull mask. Do you know how long ago he left?”
“I don’t know… maybe half an hour?”
The Peregrine knelt at her side and put away his knife. “I’m going to call for help. You’re going to be safe.”
“Alan…”
“I know. I’m sorry.” The Peregrine closed his eyes for a moment, calling upon his mental abilities. They were still a mystery to him but they could sometimes prove most useful. He nudged her mind into a relaxed state, letting her exhaustion win out. She slumped into a much needed slumber.
When the Peregrine opened his eyes, they blazed with a fury that was matched only by his thirst for justice. He silently swore that this would be the last murder committed by the Grim Reaper.