The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two

by Barry Reese

  The sound of a woman groaning made him hurry behind the couch, which was resting on its side. Finding the Iron Maiden, Max knelt at her side. Her face was mostly hidden beneath her helmet, but Max could see her eyes and the lower portion of her face. Her gaze seemed unfocused and there was a bit of blood dribbling from between her pursed lips.

  “Kirsten… it’s me, Max.” The Peregrine helped her sit up and he noticed that she raised a gauntlet to the side of her head, wincing as she did so. “Move slow. You might have a concussion.”

  “How did you know—?” she stammered, confused by Max’s unexpected appearance.

  “Long story. Did you catch the names of those two women? What did they want?”

  Kirsten pulled off her helmet, shaking out her blonde hair. She looked sweaty and bruised, but otherwise intact. The slightly unfocused look to her eyes was beginning to fade, replaced by a cold anger. “They were with a man dressed in a skeleton mask. He was called the Spook. The girls had codenames too: the Negro was named Mercy. The white girl was Grace.”

  Max assisted her in getting up off the floor. After setting her couch back upright, Max urged her to sit down. “Were they old enemies of yours? Or of Will’s?”

  “No. But they knew who I was. When I heard someone forcing their way through the door, I threw on my Iron Maiden armor… but I should have called Will, I suppose. He’s out on a case, but he could have sent a patrol car. I’m getting out of practice, I’m afraid.” Kirsten saw Max studying the room, obviously trying to see if they had stolen something. “All this damage was done while we were fighting. They wanted knowledge.” She tapped the side of her head and then winced, regretting the move.

  “Tell me,” Max urged. “I had a vision… I have to stop them from accomplishing whatever goal they have.”

  “I thought you didn’t have those any longer.”

  “Neither did I.”

  Kirsten smiled at that, recognizing that Max shared her taste for gallows humor. “When I was still serving the Fuehrer, part of my job was to track mystical artifacts and lands. Hitler has long believed that his rise to power was foretold by ancient legends, and the accumulation of occult artifacts is seen by him as confirmation of his special place in the world. I came across some writings by an Australian named Edgar Allen, who claimed that there was a lost fortress in Peru that was home to a powerful weapon, forged from metals created in lost Atlantis. I sought out Mr. Allen and found him, but he was unwilling to share with me the specifics of his beliefs… until I convinced him that it would be in his best interests to do so.”

  Max said nothing, but his eyes took in the form-fitting armor she wore. Kirsten could be ruthless when necessary and he had no doubt about what form her “convincing” had taken.

  “He claimed to have been part of an expedition that found the fortress—and, more importantly, to have discovered a series of graves alongside a lagoon. There were mummified bodies within and one of them was protected by a stone wall, with various warnings posted not to disturb the grave. Allen and his companions forced a hole into the crypt and Allen himself squeezed inside. He found a perfectly preserved corpse, and the legendary weapon in the mummy’s grip.”

  “Why didn’t he take it with him?” Max wondered.

  “He said it was too awful. That no one should have it. So they sealed the tomb back up and left. He says he wrote about it as a warning, not an enticement.”

  “So you never followed up on it after you met with him? You didn’t go and claim it for the Reich?” Max’s words were tinged with suspicion, and he couldn’t help it. It was unlike Hitler and his agents to let any possible weapon lay unused.

  “I thought that he was crazy, Max. He was jittery and shifty-eyed even before I began beating him. Rather than risk spending Reich funds on a wild goose chase, I informed my superiors that he was dead and left it at that. I never gave him another thought until tonight, when those women and their master broke in, demanding to know where Allen could be found.”

  “And you told them?”

  “Yes. I didn’t see any point in refusing to do so, particularly not after it became clear that I was losing. They must have read the same papers I did and believe that he’s on to something. But he’s not. He’s insane, like I said.”

  Max stood up and took out the small mobile telephone that he always carried with him. Based on experimental technology, the handheld device was somewhat heavy, but could be used to contact allies for hundreds of miles.

  “What are you doing?” Kirsten asked.

  “Calling Will. He needs to come and check on you. I have to take off after the Spook. Did he speak to you at all during all this?”

  “No. He just stood back and watched. His girls did all the talking. And hitting. They’re well-trained in martial arts.”

  The Peregrine heard Will pick up on the other end of the line and he quickly filled in his friend on what had happened. When he’d gotten a concerned confirmation from Will that he was on the way back, Max ended the connection. “I need to know exactly what you told them. Where are they going?”

  “He left Australia about six years ago and moved to the States. When I found him, he was living under an assumed name—Daniel Creek—in Manhattan. I’m sure they want to find him because the actual location of the crypt is well hidden. You could find all the other mummies without much difficulty, but the one with the weapon isn’t quite so easy.”

  The Peregrine nodded and started to leave, but he paused in the doorway. “Did Allen ever tell you what this weapon actually did?”

  “No… but he made it pretty clear that it wasn’t a power that man was meant to have.”

  CHAPTER III

  The Spook and the Explorer

  Edgar Allen stood facing the bedroom window of his Manhattan apartment, watching as the sun slowly rose in the eastern sky. He wore only a robe, a cup of coffee clutched in one trembling hand. From this cup he took small sips, but he didn’t even notice the flavor. He merely stared out at the city before him, the same fear that had haunted him for years reaching into his heart and holding it firmly in a chilly embrace.

  Behind him, there was a rustle of sheets, and Edgar tore his gaze away from the sunrise. He saw a Hispanic woman lying nude in his bed, one of her breasts having slipped free from the covers. She was beautiful—long and lean, with breasts that begged to be touched.

  She was also a prostitute, as were all the women Allen interacted with these days. Since his expedition to Peru, he’d been plagued by a feeling of impending disaster. By opening up that tomb, he felt like he’d set in motion something that could only end with multiple deaths and extreme bloodshed. It would be his fault… he’d woken something ancient and hungry, and its only sustenance was violence.

  Given that, he felt he couldn’t allow himself the luxury of a relationship. He was a nervous wreck and would never be able to act as a husband or lover truly should. So, when the need overtook him, he paid for companionship.

  The girl—Gina? Allen hadn’t bothered trying to commit it to memory—looked up at him, running a hand through her dark hair. She made no move to cover her breast. “Sweetheart, are you coming back to bed? You paid me enough that you can get seconds if you want.”

  Allen grunted. “You can get dressed now. I’m done with you.”

  Gina pulled an ugly face and slid out from between the sheets. She berated him in Spanish as she got dressed but Allen didn’t care. He’d already turned back to the window. He had no idea when it would happen, but eventually, his mistake was going to cost not only him but so many others. He was certain of it.

  Allen didn’t notice when Gina left, or that she took his wallet with her. It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered, except existing, breathing, eating, sleeping, from one day to the next.

  It was while musing over this that Allen began to notice that his reflection in the window, faint to begin with, had begun to subtly alter. It no longer resembled his face but rather a skull-like monstrosity, set against a blac
k background.

  Allen took a step back as the face began to grow larger, finally peeling out of the window entirely. A body came with it, belonging to an obviously fit man dressed in a black bodysuit, boots, and cloak.

  “Edgar Allen,” the stranger said, his voice sounding impossibly ancient and full of power. “I am the Spook. I have come for the knowledge you possess.”

  Allen started to scream but the sound died in his voice. He continued staggering back until he felt strong hands grip his arms, holding him in place. He looked over his shoulder to see two beautiful women, one black and one white. They were smiling cruelly at him, as if enjoying his terror.

  “Please,” Allen pleaded, finding voice as the Spook came closer. “I know what you want, and it’s too dangerous! Leave it be!”

  The Spook laughed, shaking his head in response. “Let me be the judge of that.” He placed a black gloved hand across Allen’s jaw and mouth. “Nod if you understand what I’m about to say, Mr. Allen. I know that somewhere in the lagoon near Kuelap is a tomb containing a very powerful weapon. You can either tell me specifically where I can find that tomb, and then live. Or you will tell me after we force the knowledge from you… and then leave to a long, lingering death.”

  Allen narrowed his eyes, knowing that he couldn’t allow the weapon to fall into this madman’s grip. He bit down hard on the Spook’s fingers but his teeth passed through the flesh and glove, clenching hard against one another.

  The Spook drew his hand away and chuckled. “You can’t harm me like that, Mr. Allen. I’m not at all the sort of man who can be hurt by biting and scratching.”

  Allen screamed as one of the girls bent his arm painfully behind his back.

  “Now,” the Spook continued, in an almost conversational tone of voice. “Tell me all about this tomb.”

  Allen tried to resist, but he had never been a strong man, neither physically or spiritually. He began to babble almost incoherently, but the Spook nodded sagely, drinking in every word.

  “Very nice, Mr. Allen,” he said when the spiel was concluded. “I think you’ve done very well today. A pity that you know far too much about our plans for us to allow you to live, however. Though you haven’t seen my face, you have heard my voice and might be able to place it later, when you’re a bit calmer. I can’t run that risk.”

  The white girl, Grace, grinned. “I want to do it. I want to kill him.”

  The Spook nodded. “Enjoy yourself, my pet. I—”

  The sound of breaking glass made everyone in the room jump. The Spook whirled about in time to see a masked figure crouching on the floor, a long black cape lying about his shoulders.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the stranger deadpanned, “but a friend of mine from Atlanta asked me to stop by and keep things in order until he could get here himself.”

  The Spook straightened, regarding the newcomer with skepticism. “And you are?”

  The masked man jumped towards the Spook, looking graceful and dangerous all at the same time. “Men call me the Black Bat!”

  CHAPTER IV

  In Battle Joined!

  The man in the dark mask and costume was known to law enforcement and to the underworld as the Black Bat, but his true identity was that of attorney Anthony “Tony” Quinn. The attorney’s face had been badly scarred by a criminal, leaving him with horrific scratches across both eyes, as if a large jungle cat had taken a swipe to him. In the aftermath of this, the suddenly-blind Quinn thought his pursuit of justice would come to an end… until a secret operation changed everything. Receiving a double eye transplant from a murdered police officer, Quinn found that not only had his normal vision been restored, but he now possessed perfect night vision. His other senses had been enhanced as well, giving him uncanny hearing, pinpoint accurate smell, and acute touch.

  With those talents added to his brilliant mind, Tony Quinn adopted a double life. During the day, he pretended to be blind, operating as best he could within the legal system. But at night, he donned a black bodysuit equipped with crepe-sole shoes and thin nylon gloves with rubber tips for better gripping ability. Strapped in holsters under his armpits were two large .45 automatics, and around his waist was a utility belt containing a wide variety of tools and gasses. A black hood hid his identity, though his strangely penetrating eyes remained visible.

  The Black Bat had become a scourge to criminals throughout the city, though his often lethal methods had left him wanted by law enforcement. Approximately two years ago, the Black Bat had found himself in an alliance with the mystic detective Ascott Keane and the Peregrine, a partnership which had led to a harrowing victory over Doctor Satan and the Bleeding Hells. Since then, the three men—along with other vigilantes like Leonid Kaslov and the Domino Lady—had called upon each other as needed.

  The Black Bat’s flight towards the Spook was interrupted by the quick action of the woman called Grace. She threw herself in front of her master and absorbed the impact, allowing her body to roll to the ground. She shifted her weight immediately, moving about until she was on top of the Bat. To Quinn’s astonishment, she was able to evade his attempted blows with ease, answering with a hard chop to the side of his head that left his ears ringing.

  Mercy, took advantage of the Black Bat’s situation, grabbing hold of one of his wrists and bending it back until it threatened to snap. Quinn howled in pain but refused to back down.

  The Bat twisted his hips, successfully dislodging Grace from atop him. As she tried to catch herself, the Black Bat shoved his twisted wrist towards Mercy, driving her chin up and back. He then yanked his arm free and drove his fist into Grace’s nose, shattering it. Blood spurted from the pale woman’s face and she growled in anger.

  The Black Bat barely dodged a kick from Mercy, which would have caught him in his mouth. He threw himself back to his feet, wincing as the pain from his injured wrist threatened to overwhelm him.

  Quinn drew his pistols, evading another blow from Mercy. He directed the barrel of his gun towards her and fired, the bullets tearing through her upper chest and through her neck. The woman staggered back and fell to the ground.

  The Black Bat sighed, regretting having to kill her—he didn’t enjoy murder, whether it was of a man or a woman, but somehow the loss of life seemed worse when it was a female.

  Grace hissed like a she-cat as she came in for another go at the masked vigilante, and Quinn could only assume that seeing her friend gunned down had pushed her over the edge. With blood streaming down her chin, Grace jumped into the air, spinning around in an attempt to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick to the Black Bat’s head. Quinn threw an arm up to knock her askew and he successfully drove her past his head and into the wall. She screamed as her leg broke upon impact and she landed hard, writhing on the floor.

  “Such a beast you are,” the Spook said, mockery lacing his words. “Striking ladies like that. And all to save the life of a man who’s already dead.”

  The Black Bat’s eyes drifted over to the prone form of Mr. Allen, who lay with an obviously broken neck. Quinn’s heart fell at the sight—while he’d been sparring with the girls, the villain had completed his work.

  “You bastard,” Quinn hissed, pointing his pistol at the Spook’s chest. “Raise your hands. Now.”

  “You don’t seem to understand the true situation,” the Spook said, his head tilting to the side. “I am not like the petty criminals you normally face. And neither are my girls.”

  A strange sound made the Black Bat glance down to see that Mercy was twitching, her body impossibly starting to rise. The wounds on her neck and chest were closing up with wet sounds, the bullets being squeezed out. They appeared like silver embryos ready to be birthed, dropping to the ground with a clink.

  “What the hell are you people?” the Black Bat asked, wondering just what the Peregrine had gotten him into.

  The Spook seemed to cross the distance between them in a heartbeat, his cloak billowing out behind him as a cloud of smoke envel
oped his lower legs. “I am the Spook!” he bellowed, before laughing maniacally. The sound echoed in the bedroom and out into the streets below.

  CHAPTER V

  Allies, Reunited

  Tony Quinn opened his eyes, surprised to find himself still amongst the living. The last thing he remembered was seeing the Spook looming over him, his black cloak seeming to grow so large that it seemed like the nighttime sky.

  The first thing Tony saw was the face of his friend, Max Davies. Max was sitting on the edge of Quinn’s own bed, dressed in the regalia of the Peregrine.

  “Max…? How did I end up back at home?”

  “After I made it to the city, I went to check on how you were doing. I found the mess at Allen’s apartment and you inside. I thought you were dead, at first.”

  The Black Bat reached up and pulled off his mask, revealing the odd scars that marred his handsome face. “I don’t get it. They could have killed me easily. Why didn’t they? It’s not like they’re soft when it comes to murder—not after the way treated poor old Mr. Allen.”

  The Peregrine pursed his lips thoughtfully before speaking. “I don’t really know. When they fought Kirsten in Atlanta, they had the same opportunity but didn’t take it. They left her alive, even though she was able to give me information about them.”

  The Black Bat got up off the bed, swaying slightly from the pounding in his head. He led the Peregrine into his study, where he poured himself a stiff drink. After Max declined one of his own, Quinn downed his alcohol and shook his head. “You didn’t tell me they weren’t going to be human.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I shot one of those girls point-blank, opened up enough holes in her that she looked like a sieve. But then she got right back up, healing on the spot. And the Spook…! There’s something really odd about him.”

  “I should say so,” another familiar voice stated.

  Quinn looked around to see that Ascott Keane was standing in the doorway. He looked dapper as usual, his right hand resting atop a walking stick. The thin psychic detective had made his fame by engaging in a series of cat-and-mouse battles with the vile Doctor Satan, but he had been instrumental in a wide variety of other conflicts, as well.