by Joseph Silva
His call was answered on the second ring by a subdued voice. “Ja?”
The man in the booth identified himself, using a combination of words and numbers.
The man on the other end asked, “Status of your report?”
“Priority One.”
An audible swallowing. “Then you wish to speak to . . .”
“Yes, I must.”
“Very well. Stand by.”
A gust of wind came swooping down the fireplace chimney, making the dregs of the fire sparkle orange.
“Very well. What do you have to report?” rasped a voice from the chalet.
Unconsciously, the man in the booth straightened, almost coming to attention. “Sir, he has arrived here.”
“Gut. Exactly as I anticipated. Where is he?”
“He found the girl, brought her here to town, to a doctor.”
The metallic laugh shook the earpiece of the phone. “Marvelous! This is going even better than I had planned. I thought it would take longer to lure him here. That is what the girl was meant to do. You have given me good news indeed.”
“Yes, mein Herr.”
“The girl will no doubt tell Captain America where her father is being held. Then my hated foe will make an attempt to save the professor.”
“He is still with the girl, at the doctor’s house.”
“Captain America won’t stay there much longer. I know him; he’s a very impatient and impulsive man. We can expect him here soon.” Another unsettling laugh. “We will be ready for him.”
“I have to.”
“No, what you have to do is remain here. You’re in no condition to—”
“But my father. I have to help you—”
“No.” Captain America put his gloved hand on the girl’s shoulder. “At the risk of stating the obvious, Caroline,” he said, “let me point out that you’ve been through a very rough night. You trekked miles in a near blizzard, after having been attacked by a vicious guard dog. You nearly froze, and it’s a miracle that your frostbite isn’t any worse. Dr. Bensen says that unless you get a lot of rest right now you’re running the risk of lots more complications.”
“So long as my father’s a prisoner there, I don’t care what—”
“Trust me, Caroline. Let me run the risks.”
She looked into his tanned face, into the determined blue eyes behind the mask. “It’s just . . . I don’t want to let him down . . .”
“You’ve done more than most people would have,” he told her. “I’ll take over from here.”
She sank back against the pillows of the narrow bed in the small spare bedroom. It was a simple room, but to the girl it seemed a great deal more pleasant than almost any room she’d ever been in. “Okay,” she said. “I know something about you. If anyone can save my father from . . . from that murderous crew at the chalet . . . it’s you.”
“Any idea who’s running the operation?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I . . . I’ve never seen him . . . but my father has . . . many times. He’s . . . a terrible man. They call him . . . the Red Skull.”
Cap’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Yes, that’s who I thought was behind this business,” he said grimly.
“You know him then?”
A bitter smile touched Captain America’s lips. “All too well, Caroline,” he said. “He and I have been opponents many times over the years. He’s the most ruthless man I’ve ever met. Yet he’s clever. There’ve been times when I was sure I’d defeated him, even times when I was convinced he was dead. He always manages to come back, to strike again.”
“He . . . from what I could learn from my father . . . the Red Skull is planning something truly terrible this time,” she said. “You do know what sort of weapons my father has been working on, don’t you?”
“Yes. Those weapons, Caroline, have been used over the last few months to destroy entire cities.”
The girl raised a hand to her face and pressed her fingertips into her cheekbone. “My fault in a way,” she said, on the edge of tears. “All that death and ruin. Father let that man use him . . . because he was afraid for me. I told him it didn’t matter, that we shouldn’t let those weapons be used.” She shook her head from side to side. “I don’t know . . . I wish he hadn’t even developed them at all. There doesn’t seem to be any decent way to employ weapons like that.”
“It’s better a man like your father unlocked such secrets, Caroline, than a man like the Red Skull.”
“Yes, but now the Red Skull has control of them anyway. He’s going to . . . I’m afraid . . . he’s going to keep on destroying and destroying,” she said. “Not cities . . . but whole countries. Until he establishes control over the entire world.”
“The same old dream,” observed Cap. “The one he inherited from his old mentor, Adolf Hitler.”
“If Hitler had had weapons like the ones my father has invented I don’t think anyone could have stopped him.”
Captain America’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll stop the Red Skull. Don’t you worry.” He bent his head closer to hers. “Now tell me everything you can remember about the chalet and the people in it.”
Eighteen
Nick Fury gritted his teeth as the gigantic robot came charging at him.
The murderous-looking mechanism was almost eight feet high, and it was equipped with four long metal arms. Two of the arms ended in powerful fists, one had a pistol instead of fingers, and the fourth was tipped with a gleaming six-inch blade.
The robot lunged at Fury with the knife arm, moving with impressive agility.
But Fury moved faster. Pivoting clear of the charge, he got a grip on the robot’s arm and levered the mechanism into the nearest wall. “How ya like that, ya bag of bolts?”
The robot smacked the wall with an impressive wham. Scant seconds later, though, it had regained its balance and was galloping at him. Its pistol arm swung upward.
Fury ducked and the shot missed his grizzled head by inches. The SHIELD chief went charging into the robot, using his skull as a battering ram.
The robot slid backward.
Fury closed in on it, caught hold of another of its arms, and swung the thing into the wall again. “Want more, ya tin-plated jerk?”
The robot started whirling around, all four of its metal arms stretched out rigidly. It came flying at Fury like a buzzsaw on legs.
Three feet away from him, it stopped dead.
“Huh?” Fury’s lone eye blinked.
“Hate to interrupt you when you’re exercising, Nick,” said the lean black girl who came into the SHIELD gymnasium, “except there’s an important message waiting for you.”
“Something happen to Cap?”
“This isn’t about Captain America, but it’s related to what he’s working on.”
Grabbing up a towel, Fury swabbed his face and the back of his thick neck. Then he picked up the cigar butt he’d left balanced on one of the exercise bars. “Okay, Velma, let’s go back to work.”
Starting for the doorway, Velma said, “You’re defeating the purpose of a workout with those vile cigars.”
“Nuts! My Uncle Rollo smoked fourteen stogies a day from the time he was three. The old geezer didn’t kick off until he was one hundred and six years old.”
“Rollo Fury? Never heard of him.”
“He mighta made it into the record books as the oldest guy alive if he hadn’t gone on a health-food kick. After he quit smoking, he died in less than three months from an overdose of carrots.” Fury blew smoke out through his flattened nose.
The girl led him to one of their communications rooms. “You can take it on talkscreen six, Nick.”
“Thanks, kid.” He strode quickly across the large metal-walled room and dropped into a chair facing one of the screens in the wall. “It’s yer nickel, buddy. Blab away.”
A young, crew-cut SHIELD agent showed on the screen. “Picked up something interesting in New Haven, Nick.”
“Hope it ain’t a soc
ial disease, Braff.”
“Seriously, Nick. I feel stupid about not having unearthed this a lot earlier.”
“Feel stupid on yer own time, Braff. Just give me the poop.”
“There have been a couple of investigative reporters here in New Haven, digging into the disappearance of Dr. Crandell.”
“What sheet they with?”
“They’re with Newsmag,” answered Braff. “Point is, Nick, I got alerted to their arrival and decided to tag along in their wake. They came up with some sources we missed.”
“What the heck’s wrong with you birds, letting a couple saps from a cheesy rag like that scoop you?”
“It is disheartening,” admitted Braff. “At any rate, they were able to dig up the fact that Crandell, and possibly his daughter, were very likely taken to Vermont. Somewhere near a town named—”
“Mottsville,” growled Fury, exhaling smoke.
“Mottsville, yes. How’d you know?”
“I read it in my gosh darn tea leaves!” He was already pushing back in his chair. “Okay, Braff, thanks. See if you can shape up a little. Bye.”
“Listen, I didn’t do such a bad job of—”
Fury didn’t hear the rest of it. He was already out of the room, stomping along the corridor and bellowing, “Get the helicarrier ready, gang! We’re gonna give Captain America a little support.”
Nineteen
Captain America came gliding down the steeply slanting hillside, cutting through the heavy snow. An expert skier, he moved swiftly down across the snowy slope that led to the woods at the back of the chalet.
In the distance now he could just make out its rooftops, the chimneys sending up streamers of sooty smoke which were torn to shreds by the storm winds. Dr. Crandell was in that house. And so was the Red Skull.
A grim smile touched Cap’s face as he thought of his longtime enemy. He’d first encountered the Red Skull decades ago, very soon after Dr. Erskine had been killed. He and that scarlet scourge had been battling ever since.
For a time, though, both he and the rest of the world had believed the Skull was dead.
. . . it had been near the end of the Second World War. The Nazi regime was in its final days; Berlin was crumbling under the Allied bombing.
And beneath that collapsing city, deep in a hidden Nazi bunker, Captain America and the Red Skull were locked in hand-to-hand combat.
Cap had trailed his foe to the hideout and engaged him in a brutal all-out fight—and both of them were aware that it was a battle to the death. Always a formidable opponent, on that day the Skull had fought with even more amazing strength than usual. The contest pounded on and on, one staggering punch followed by another. Yet both men kept at it.
Often, in later years, Captain America had reflected on that conflict beneath the streets of war-torn Berlin. He was fairly certain he would have won, and yet . . .
But it was destined to be a fight without a decision. For suddenly a blockbuster came screaming down to explode with earth-shattering force directly above the hidden bunker. The roof collapsed. Beams, block of concrete, twists of metal, sputtering wires—it all came raining down.
Captain America was knocked completely across the room and thrown into what was left of a corridor. When he looked back, there was only a huge mound of smoldering debris where the Skull had been.
It didn’t seem possible that he could have survived. So Captain America worked his way out of there and made it to the ruined street above.
But inside the bunker some rather unusual canisters had been smashed—they contained an experimental gas, a gas designed to induce a deep hypnosis. And now the chemical came seeping out of them, sweeping through the rubble. There, where two shattered roof beams had formed an arch over the Red Skull, saving him from being crushed, the gas gradually filled his dazed lungs. It flowed through his system, and it had a strange effect on him.
The gas put the Red Skull to sleep, into a state of suspended animation. His breathing and his heartbeat slowed down to an incredible pace. Yet he lived. Buried beneath the street, he lived on and on, year after year, while a new Berlin grew up over him. The new Germany was trying to turn its back on the past, on Hitler and the concentration camps and the Third Reich.
There were some men, however, who didn’t want to forget. After a time these men began to hear rumors that the infamous Red Skull had survived. And then they proved the rumors to be true, for they searched and found the Skull.
Carefully, they excavated at the site of the old bunker, working, under the cover of night, like archaeologists seeking to find the lost treasures of the past. They unearthed the body and discovered that the Red Skull’s heart was still beating. They revived him, and set him lose once more in an unsuspecting world.
Like a disease everyone believed had been wiped out, he returned to surprise nations, to plague his enemies, to kill again, to waste and destroy . . .
Maybe this time, though, thought Captain America as he whizzed closer to the chalet, I’ll succeed in destroying him for good and all.
His skis carried him to the forest behind the Red Skull’s stronghold. Expertly he made his way over the snow between the straight-standing trees.
Then he realized he was no longer alone.
Three dark figures were hissing after him across the snow.
Cap sensed at once that they were minions of the Red Skull.
And when the lead skier produced a pistol and fired at him, his suspicion was confirmed.
The slug thunked into a tree trunk a few feet ahead of him. Lumps of crusty snow came flickering down off the branches.
Only the most experienced of skiers could do what Captain America attempted next. Zigzagging deftly around the sturdy trees, he twisted around on his skis until he half faced his trio of pursuers. Then he used his red, white, and blue shield to ward off the pistol shots that came zinging at him.
Perhaps inspired by the ease with which Cap skied around obstacles, or by the way his colleague could handle his pistol, another of the Skull’s guards began to try to shoot at Cap. He tugged out his .45 automatic from beneath his parka and aimed it.
He was not, however, quite deft enough. Ten seconds after producing the gun he smashed right into a wide tree trunk.
That left two men still on Cap’s trail.
Captain America now did something even more unexpected—he tensed, leaped up in the air and caught at a low-hanging branch. Kicking off his skis, he went spinning upward until he was standing on the branch, then he unslung his shield and sent it zipping down.
It cut through the storm, connected with the throat of the foremost skier, and sent him cartwheeling off across the snow.
The man behind couldn’t stop in time. His skies hit the spread-eagled body of his cohort. Yelling, he flipped over and landed in a great whoosh of snow.
Cap was on the ground an instant later. He stood wide-legged beside the two sprawled men. Retrieving his shield, he scrutinzed the pair.
“Both out cold,” he said aloud. “Wonder if they’re always on guard or if the Red Skull is expecting me.”
“Oh, yes,” said a voice behind him, “I’m expecting you.”
Twenty
The Red Skull was not alone.
Standing in front of him, clad only in the nightdress the doctor had loaned her, was Caroline. The Skull was using her as a shield, and he held one of her arms twisted up behind her slim back. In his other gloved hand was a pistol that was pressed to her temple.
The girl was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.
“Damn you!” said Captain America.
The Red Skull laughed. “Won’t you ever learn?” he said. “So eager to rush here to save the noble Dr. Crandell, you leave this frail young creature alone with a feeble old physician.”
“What did you—”
“You never even realized, my dear champion of democracy, that I only allowed her to escape so she might tell you I was here. You see, I wanted you here.”
“Now y
ou’ve got me, Skull! And I’m going to—”
“You’re going to do nothing at all,” mocked the Red Skull.
Caroline was sobbing more violently now. “Let me . . . go . . .”
Glancing from side to side, Cap saw that many men were approaching through the stormy woods. “Let the girl go,” he said. “Face me man to man.”
The Skull increased the pressure on the girl’s arm, and she cried out in pain. He chuckled. “Don’t you yet realize,” he rasped, “that there is absolutely no sense in fighting fair.”
“You rotten—”
Then they were upon him. Six of them, and then six more.
Even for Captain America, the odds were too great. He fell down and succumbed to their blows.
Red death.
He saw a thousand faces of death, spinning around him, all blazing crimson.
Captain America came more fully awake, attempting to sit up.
A gust of roaring flame shot past him, ripping across his cheek.
He fell back to the floor of the cell he’d awakened in.
About two feet above him was a jet of flaming gas. It sent out a stripe of fire that reached all the way across the narrow metal room.
And it was not the only one. There were six more ribbons of searing flame cutting across the room at various intervals. Above those, two feet higher up the wall, were six more.
These jets of flame were so spaced that if he stood up at all, his body would be lashed with fire. He was inside a giant incinerator.
Stretched out on the metal floor as he was, he couldn’t be touched by the crackling spears of flame. But neither could he remain in that position much longer. Already the metal plates underneath him were growing hot. And the air swirling around him was like a desert wind.
He moved, inching along on his back.
The metal floor was growing hotter and hotter. He was perspiring profusely, and every breath of the superheated air was rasping at his lungs.