The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two

by Barry Reese

  The Nazi gasped and squeezed the nail eagerly. He unwrapped it, his eyes feasting on the rusty object. His fingers caressed it and, slowly, his expression of pleasure began to wane. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “It was a lie,” The Peregrine said. “Nothing more, nothing less. The nail’s just a nail.”

  “But… Randall had it in his safe…”

  “He knew it was valuable… maybe he even believed in its powers. But I held it and nothing happened.” The Peregrine motioned for Fritz to head towards the door. “You got what you wanted, Mueller. Time for us to go.”

  “No,” Mueller said, shaking his head. “This is a lie. A fake!” He pointed an accusing finger at The Peregrine. “You switched it somehow! Give me the real Nail!”

  The Peregrine noticed that the guards in the room were drawing their guns and The Furies had their weapons in hand, too. He bolted, shoving Fritz out the door, even as bullets began to slam into the wall just over his shoulder. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out something that he’d picked up in Randall’s office: a hand grenade that had been amongst the adventurer’s collection of weapons. He yanked the pin and tossed it into the center of the bridge. Several shouts let him know that the weapon had been recognized for what it was.

  “C’mon, Fritz,” The Peregrine yelled, pulling the frightened boy roughly along behind him. He was sprinting towards the airlock, hoping they could make it before the grenade went off. They almost made it, The Peregrine’s fingers on the door handle when the floor rattled beneath their feet and several men began to scream. In a vessel like this, fire was an incredible danger and The Peregrine knew there was a real chance that the entire ship could go down in flames. Yanking open the door, The Peregrine looked down to see ocean below. Mueller had been lying about the wind carrying them to land—there was no land anywhere in sight.

  “We’re trapped!” Fritz screamed, beginning to panic.

  “The hell we are!” The Peregrine grabbed Fritz and shoved him out into open space. The boy screamed, hurtling towards the ocean below. The Peregrine counted to three and then leaped after him, the wind whipping through his hair. “Fritz! Open your chute!” he yelled, his voice nearly lost in the cacophony of noise as another explosion ripped through the zeppelin above them. The Peregrine twisted his head to see flames running along the cloth exterior of the ship, the entire body of the great vessel looking like it was about to bend in half.

  Fritz suddenly shot past him, carried upwards as the wind got under his parachute. The Peregrine pulled his own ripcord and soon the two of them were slowly floating down to the sea. Burning bits of wreckage, along with screaming bodies of crewmen who hadn’t been able to grab parachutes of their own, hurtled past them.

  When they struck the water, The Peregrine quickly yanked out his dagger and cut both himself and Fritz free of the chutes. “Swim with me!” he shouted. “I want to get as far away from this mess as possible!”

  Fritz nodded, sputtering in the water. The boy followed his rescuer, sparing only a single glance at the mighty Valkyrie, which was falling to its watery grave.

  * * *

  A split second before the grenade blew, Käthe turned to face her friends. “We’re going down,” she said in crisp German.

  Akemi stared daggers at Mueller, looking like she was considering killing the man for his stupidity. If he hadn’t insisted on this absurd business with The Fourth Nail, none of this would be happening. She shoved away her anger, however, knowing that the most important thing at present was survival.

  All three women sprinted from the bridge, ignoring Mueller’s shouts for them to stop. They were far enough away from the blast to avoid its immediate effects, though the deck rattled beneath their feet. They saw the open escape hatch and Käthe correctly assumed that The Peregrine and his ‘damsel in distress’ had jumped from there. Without bothering to tell the others what she had planned, she hurled herself out the hatch, not caring that she had no parachute. To their eternal credit, Imelda and Akemi followed suit, trusting that their leader wouldn’t have led them to do this unless she thought they could survive.

  The Valkyrie falls

  They hurtled through the air, smashing into it with enough force to rattle their bones. Imelda came up for air first, gasping and sputtering. She saw Käthe emerge from the choppy seas a few seconds later and together they waited for Akemi to do the same. When her head didn’t appear within a reasonable amount of time, Imelda told Käthe to wait for her and she dove down.

  While Imelda was gone, Käthe scanned the horizon. She spotted The Peregrine and Fritz not too far away but just then the zeppelin overhead split in two, fire racing along the exterior of the hull. Käthe saw bodies begin to fall from the wreckage and she muttered a curse that would have brought a blush to a sailor’s face.

  Imelda returned, her arms wrapped tightly around Akemi’s waist. The beautiful Asian girl was unconscious, blood streaming from her right nostril.

  “She swallowed a lot of water,” Imelda said. “And I think something may have broken when she hit the surface.”

  Käthe pulled open Akemi’s eyes. She saw only the whites as they were rolled up into her skull. “Sling her my shoulder and maybe we can push the water from her lungs. Keep her head elevated, though.”

  Imelda pushed the smaller girl over the German’s shoulder and began applying rhythmic pressure to Akemi’s back. After a moment, Akemi’s mouth opened and a spray of seawater emerged, erupting from her nostrils at the same time. She moaned and Käthe lowered her, keeping an arm around her waist to help her stay afloat.

  Akemi looked up at the sky, where the zeppelin was beginning to fall to pieces. A man’s body—Horst it looked like—landed hard in the water nearby, his scalp ablaze. “I feel like closing my eyes and dying,” she muttered in Japanese.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Käthe said, a strange smile appearing on her lips. She was looking past Imelda, at something off in the distance.

  Imelda turned her head and gasped. The most unusual plane she’d ever seen was streaking through the sky, moving almost soundlessly. The ship appeared to slow as it neared them, unbelievably coming to a steady hover less than fifty feet above them. Air was being shot from beneath the ship, stirring up the water so much that the girls were squinting as sprays of seawater shot into their faces.

  A rope ladder was dropped in their midst and Käthe managed to shield her face enough to see the figure who was dangling out from the airplane, gesturing for them to climb aboard. She’d seen photographs of similar planes and her heart had swelled at the sight of this one. It was Sun Koh, come to rescue her like a knight on a white steed. The idea that she was relishing being rescued embarrassed her as all The Furies prided themselves on being the equal of any man… but this was Sun Koh, the embodiment of the Aryan hero! Surely it was okay to feel the slightest bit… well, girlish… around such a man.

  “Akemi, can you manage?” Käthe asked.

  “Yes. I think so.” Akemi pushed away and grabbed hold of the ladder. She began climbing, a small trickle of blood reappearing at her nose. When she was slightly less than halfway up, Imelda began ascending. Käthe went last and by the time she reached the top, allowing Sun Koh to reach out and help pull her inside, she was shivering with both exhaustion and cold.

  The Heir to Atlantis wrapped a towel around her shoulders and she smiled gratefully, her teeth chattering. She saw that Imelda was drinking from a cup of coffee and that a thin man who had a professorial air about him was examining Akemi. Käthe glanced towards the cockpit, her eyes widening when she saw the slip of a girl seated at the controls.

  “That is Elsa Mayen,” Sun Koh said. “And this is Arthur Grin. They are allies of mine… and I’m hoping the three of you will be, as well.”

  “Of course we are,” Käthe said, accepting a cup of steaming java from the man she idolized. “We would follow you to the gates of hell.”

  “I hope it won’t come to
that,” Sun Koh responded, his eyes boring into hers, reminding her of the hours of physical passion they’d shared. “But I plan to win this war for the Axis. Your Fuehrer considers me a threat to his own power and wants me dead… but I’m not going to allow that to stop me from doing what’s right for our people.”

  Käthe blinked at his words but she didn’t try to argue them. She could believe that Hitler would fear Sun Koh’s return. She’d seen signs of his paranoia before. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I want to destroy Washington, D.C.”

  * * *

  The Peregrine stared at the unusual plane that was now receding into the distance. He’d thought about trying to stop The Furies from boarding it somehow but he was afraid his pistols were too waterlogged to fire and he didn’t dare risk losing the Knife of Elohim by throwing it from that distance.

  “Who was that?” Fritz asked. The poor thing looked like a half-drowned rat. He was too underfed to be able to swim for very long, particularly in such choppy waters.

  “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it was a man named Sun Koh. He’s the one I’m after. Have you heard of him?”

  Fritz looked thoughtfully towards the floating wreckage of the Valkyrie. A few screams were coming from that direction, as the dying and wounded voiced their pain. “I think so… I used to read stories about him.”

  “Well, he’s no hero… at least not for people who don’t fit his profile of the perfect Aryan.”

  “I can’t keep going,” Fritz said and The Peregrine turned to face him.

  “I can carry you for awhile.”

  “You shouldn’t put yourself at risk for me.”

  The Peregrine started to reassure him when he felt something strange inside his head, like a tickle. It started off so soft that he almost thought he was imagining it but then it got more intense. He must have looked as confused as he felt because Fritz was staring at him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I think… I think someone’s coming for us. We just have to hang in here.”

  Fritz said nothing, obviously assuming that the masked man was simply trying to give him false hope.

  The Peregrine reached inside his own soaking wet clothing and pulled out the actual Fourth Nail. He handed it to Fritz. “Take this. It’s what Mueller wanted. It’ll give you the strength you need.”

  Fritz took it and moaned as the energy rushed through him. He felt that his sins—both real and imagined—were being swept away. He began to cry, for the joy of being born again, beautiful in the eyes of god. “Thank you,” he stammered. “Thank you so much.”

  The Peregrine treaded water, smiling to himself. “No problem. You hang on to that for awhile, okay?”

  Fritz nodded and held the nail close to his chest. Off in the distance, a vessel could be seen, slowing closing in on their position. It looked like a deep-sea fishing ship and as it got closer, The Peregrine could see that the name of the vessel was painted on the side of its hull: The Ocean Avenger.

  The tickling sensation in The Peregrine’s brain had settled into something more familiar: the telltale mental call of an old, dear friend.

  The Ocean Avenger came towards them, slowing its progress. Several sailors leaned over the railing, throwing down ropes to the two drenched figures below. The handsome face of Ascott Keane joined the sailors in peering down at The Peregrine. Dressed in a dark jacket and well-tailored suit, the detective looked wildly out of place on the fishing vessel.

  “Ascott, I could kiss you,” The Peregrine said, climbing onboard.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Keane replied. “A simple thank you will more than suffice.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Your wife contacted me and from there… well, to put it quite simply, it was magic.”

  * * *

  A few moments later, Fritz was bundled up in a heavy towel. He was sipping some warm chicken soup and looking as content as a fat cat, glad to be in the interior of the fishing vessel.

  The Peregrine stood nearby, running a towel through his dripping hair. Keane was at his side, speaking in hushed tones. “I wish I could drop everything and help you but I’m in the middle of a case. It was all I could do to come and help you today… when I saw a vision that implied you might die unless I came to pull you out of the ocean, I had to put everything else on hold.”

  “It’s okay. That’s one reason why I didn’t call you to begin with. I know how busy you are. Same with Leonid and the others.”

  Keane looked pensive, rubbing his chin with the slender fingers of his right hand. “Still, you shouldn’t continue alone on this. Sun Koh is far too dangerous an enemy… and if he’s allied with those Furies you told me about, he’s doubly dangerous.”

  “I suppose I could ask Evleyn to come with me,” Max said, shaking his head to indicate what he thought of that. “She’s really capable… but I hate to put her at risk like that. Especially now that we have a son.”

  Keane nodded in understanding. He had no family himself but he could well imagine how difficult that would make an ongoing war against crime. “I will do what I can for you. Perhaps I can give you some clue about where Sun Koh can be found… your own vision let you know that Washington, D.C. is a target but that doesn’t mean that you should just camp out there waiting for him.”

  “Anything you could do would be great,” The Peregrine said. He looked around the room, noting that the crew seemed perfectly at ease being around a masked man. “Do you own this ship?”

  “I do. The captain was helped by me a few years ago and as payment, he gave me a share in the ownership of his boat.”

  “If there’s a radio, I’d like to try and get a message to Evelyn. I want to let her know that I’m hale and hearty.”

  “Feel free. The captain can show you where it’s located.” Keane placed a hand on The Peregrine’s arm as the vigilante started to move away. “May I ask what your plans are for The Fourth Nail?”

  “I’d forgotten about it in the excitement of getting rescued, actually.” The Peregrine pulled out the nail from a pocket. He’d retrieved it from Fritz shortly after they’d been pulled from the sea. “I thought about returning it to Rush Randall… but the guy seemed like an arrogant jerk. I’m not sure he deserves it.”

  “If you’re thinking of keeping it, you should put it someplace very secure. There will be people looking for it. I guarantee that you weren’t the first to trace it to Randall’s headquarters.”

  The Peregrine handed the nail to Keane, who took it with some reluctance. “Would you…?”

  “If you wish. It wouldn’t be the first artifact like this I’ve keep watch over.”

  “Thanks.” The Peregrine clasped Keane on the shoulder and moved towards the captain. Keane watched him go, wondering if Max had any idea about the enormity of the responsibility he’d just placed upon him.

  * * *

  As night fell, Wilhelm Mueller managed to pull himself atop a scrap of metal debris from the Valkyrie. He was shivering from the cold and his eyes burned from the saltwater. He had lost his monocle on the long tumble through the sky but it was the least of his concerns. He had lost his crew, his vessel and his chance at spiritual redemption. Now all he had left was his life… and that was not worth very much at present. A shark’s fin cut through the water, circling the makeshift raft on which Mueller lay sprawled. The sharks had begun appearing hours ago, making quick work of many of the survivors. Mueller himself had stabbed one of the beasts in the eye with his dagger, losing the weapon when the shark swam away, bleeding profusely. From the churning of the water that had followed, Mueller assumed the ocean predator had become food for his brethren, which pleased him somewhat.

  Stretching out on his back, Mueller looked up at the nighttime sky and wondered how long he could survive out here. Would help eventually arrive? And if it did, what was the likelihood that it would be anyone who wouldn’t simply throw him into a dank cell, treating him as a prisoner of war?

  The water to his left suddenly
began stirring and Mueller raised his head to peer into the gloom. He assumed the sharks were on another feeding frenzy but he wasn’t sure what they could be feasting upon.

  What he saw made him sit up quickly and grab his knife. It was a submarine, looking like some horrible metal-encased monster emerging from the depths. There were no markings on the ship, nothing to tell if it were an Allied or Axis vessel. Furthermore, it didn’t quite look like any submarine that Mueller was familiar with. It was a little too long and a bit too curved, giving it the general shape of a French crescent roll. Why anyone would design it in such a fashion was beyond him.

  The hatch on top of the submarine opened with a clang and a man dressed in a plain gray jumpsuit emerged. He was of Oriental descent and large goggles covered his eyes. “If you wish to live, you will come onboard,” the man said in heavily accented but still fluent German.

  “Are you part of the Japanese navy?”

  The man’s lips turned downward into an expression of annoyance. “I am not Japanese. I am Korean.”

  Mueller held his tongue. He thought all Orientals looked alike but given the choices presented him, he thought being polite might serve him better. He scrambled onto the submarine, moving like a crab until he reached the hatch. The man had disappeared within the ship by this time and Mueller threw himself into the opening, climbing down below. It stank to high heaven, as all submarines did. So much time spent in a cramped environment did terrible things to hygiene, Mueller had found.

  Mueller found himself surrounded by a half dozen men, all dressed in identical gray jumpsuits that featured no ornamentation of any kind. The dim lighting did allow Mueller to note that the men appeared to be of all different ethnicities. In fact, one of the men was a Negro, which gave Mueller pause. What kind of ship would allow a black to serve on the crew?

  “Welcome onboard,” a booming voice said from behind Mueller. The Nazi captain turned to see a barrel-chested man watching him closely. The man had a short, bristle-like white salt-and-pepper beard. He was dressed in a dark military-style uniform, though once again it bore no signs of national allegiance. Small black gloves covered the man’s hands but Mueller thought there were something odd about the fellow’s fingers, as if he were missing the small finger from each hand.