by Sax Rohmer
“Gentlemen,” the Japanese assistant announced in his toneless English. “Dr. Otto Hessian.” Dr. Hessian rested one hand on the back of his chair and nodded. “Allow me, Doctor, to introduce your visitors.”
And beginning with Senator Merrick, as chairman of the committee, he named them one by one, finishing with “Mr. Brian Merrick, Junior.”
Dr. Hessian nodded to all of them and sat down. He put some typed pages before him, so that they partly hid the Bronx.
“If you please,” he began in a marked German accent, “of English I have not enough properly to explain myself. So these notes I have had translated from German more clear to make it—what I have to say.”
There was a faint murmur of sympathy. Evidently Dr. Hessian could see quite well through his dark glasses, for he now consulted his notes and went on, speaking better English but with no better accent:
“Sound vibrations, like all others of which we have knowledge, move neither straight up nor straight along, but so…” One black-gloved hand described an arc. “They conform to the shape of the envelope in which the earth is enclosed: our atmosphere. Very well. There are sound vibrations, many of them inaudible to our ears, that can shatter a glass goblet. There are others, fortunately rare under normal conditions, that are even more destructive. Such a vibration I have succeeded in producing.”
He raised his head, looked around. But although one or two of his audience stirred restlessly, no one spoke.
“It is not only inaudible, but no receiver yet invented—except mine—can transmit it. So. It is as simple as this. Very well. Above my target area”—he laid a hand on the plan—“a plane flies at a given altitude. The antenna projecting above this plane carries a special receiver from which this vibration, inaudible to human ears, is cast upon the atmosphere. The plane, although in fact below the denser sound belt, is immunized.”
Another voice broke in. “What do you mean by ‘the denser sound belt’?”
Dr. Hessian looked up from his notes and stared at the questioner. “It is Dr. Jurgenson who speaks? I thought this. No doubt you speak also German? Be so good, Doctor, as your question to repeat in German.”
And then began a heated exchange in that language, which rose to a pitch of violence. At this point Senator Merrick banged his hand on the table.
“Gentlemen! In the first place, many of the committee don’t know what you’re talking about. In the second place, you are delaying the demonstration that we are here to see.”
Dr. Hessian nodded and looked down again at his notes.
“I am far from satisfied,” Dr. Jurgenson muttered.
“The demonstration will explain my words,” Hessian’s guttural voice continued. “My assistant will now lower the objects that you see suspended there.”
These objects which had excited so much interest, were attached to hooks in the ceiling by slender wires. The Japanese assistant lowered the one suspended above the Battery.
“Open please the container,” Dr. Hessian directed.
The halves of the dull metal ball opened on a hinge. The ball contained a large coconut. Everybody laughed, except Dr. Jurgenson.
“Preposterous!” he choked.
But Dr. Hessian, quite unmoved, went on to explain, “This nut, although out of proportion to the scale of the plan, represents an enemy dive bomber that has penetrated the air defenses and will presently swoop down upon lower Manhattan to discharge its load of destruction. The coconut has been drained, so that its center is hollow. These containers are immunized against any sound vibration. Close and return, please.”
The metal ball was reclosed and hoisted back to its place.
“Each of these has a trigger on the top, which releases the contents when a ball is raised to touch the ceiling,” the guttural voice explained. “And now, the guided missile that could destroy the whole city.”
A second metal ball, hanging over midtown New York, was lowered. It was evidently very heavy. The Japanese, leaning over between Admiral Druce and General Rawlins, opened the container. In it, point downward, and carefully held in place by the Japanese, lay what looked like a miniature torpedo.
“Here is a scale model of the latest guided missile, with an atomic warhead, as it would reach our atmosphere with what I may term its outer garments discarded.”
Those farther removed from the center of the table stood up and eagerly grouped themselves behind Admiral Druce and General Rawlins for a close view of the model.
“I completed it in Cairo,” Dr. Hessian told them. “Only externally is it true to type. It weighs nearly eight pounds and has a small charge of high explosive for the purpose of this demonstration. It is so weighted that it will fall nose downward. Close and return, please.”
Looking puzzled and excited, everybody went back to his place as the metal ball was swung up again to the ceiling. Dr. Jurgenson shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
“Exhibits A and B I have shown you,” Dr. Hessian said in his guttural monotone, reading from his notes. “Exhibit C, just above me, represents a sneak raid on the Bronx.”
The metal ball nearly above his head was lowered. He opened it himself, and displayed a Colt .45.
“I shall detach the weapon from its container.” He did so. “Because, in this case, it remains there throughout the experiment. It is set at safety. But, before I return it, the revolver will be ready for fire. I shall request General Rawlins to confirm the fact that the cartridges are live.”
It was passed to the General, who took out several shells, nodded, replaced them, and handed the weapon back to the Doctor. He adjusted it and the metal ball was raised to its place.
“This exhibit is so adjusted,” Dr. Hessian explained, “that whenever the trigger of the revolver is brought in contact with the ceiling, the revolver fires a shot at the Bronx. And now, my final exhibit: the small box that you see suspended roughly above the center of Manhattan. Time prohibited the preparation of a model of an airplane resembling the one I have described. Therefore, if you please, imagine that this is such a plane. Its height above, the city is out of proportion to the scale plan. An altitude of three miles would be enough. But I have set it much higher purely in the interest of your safety. I beg, from, the moment contact is made—watch for the red light—that you will all remain seated. On no account stand up.”
Brian experienced a wave of almost uncontrollable excitement. He noted that Nayland Smith’s hands were clenched below the table. Every face he looked at registered high nervous tension.
The Japanese moved to a small side table and opened a cabinet that stood there.
“A very ordinary transmitter, gentlemen,” Dr. Hessian said, “Such as any amateur can make. But a mechanism is attached which no one but myself could make: it transmits the lethal note that can throw a protective umbrella over the whole of New York City. Proceed.”
Brian held his breath. Looking upward, he saw a speck of red light glow in the suspended “receiver.” There was no sound.
“Contact is established,” Dr. Hessian declared. “The enemy approaches.”
The unemotional Japanese returned to the center table.
“Hold out your hands, Senator Merrick,” the now commanding voice ordered. “Prepare to catch the debris of the dive bomber.”
Brian saw his father’s color change slightly; but he stretched out his hands, looking up.
The metal ball opened. The big coconut fell.
While it was still well above the heads of the seated committee, it disintegrated into bits. Fragments of shell and pulp shot, miraculously across space to be piled against the walls.
A concerted gasp told of the reactions of the committee.
“And now, if you please, the guided missile.” Dr. Hessian looked up from his notes. “You will note, Dr. Jurgenson, that any hollow object is burst instantly on contact with my sound belt. Had you so indiscreet been as to stand up, imagine what happens to your head!”
Before Dr. Jurgenson could think of a sui
table reply, the second ball was opened. The miniature projectile fell swiftly. Several heads were ducked, protective arms raised.
There was a shattering explosion. Fragments of metal spurted across the room as the shell of the coconut had done. Plaster fell from walls as they became spattered with this shrapnel, yet not one particle fell on the table or on the surrounding carpet.
“The guided missile is dispersed.” Dr. Hessian spoke calmly. “In practice the inaudible sound would be greatly amplified. There would be a thunderstorm far above New York of a violence that no man has ever heard. But nothing more. The protective belt would also be relayed to outlying points. I could throw up a ceiling of sound over the whole of New York City at a cost below that of maintaining a fighter squadron for a month. And now, gentlemen, the sneak raid on the Bronx.”
As Dr. Hessian laid his hand on that section of the plan, the Japanese, standing beside him, head carefully lowered, stretched forward and grasped the suspended ring.
“Proceed.”
The ring was jerked sharply. A spurt of flame spat down out of the opening in the container. A dull impact… a cloud of gray vapor spread like smoke across the air, and a flattened bullet rebounded nearly to the ceiling and finally came to rest against an indentation in the wall made by shrapnel from the “guided missile.”
Two more shots were fired, with similar results. The spectacle was bewildering, for the effect, as the visitors looked upward, was as though a sheet of miraculously impenetrable glass extended horizontally across the room.
But there was nothing—nothing visible…
“Let no one stir,” Dr. Hessian warned. “Cover everything up.”
The Japanese went out and returned with several large sheets. One he spread over the table. Others were laid on the surrounding carpet.
“Disconnect.”
A switch was moved in the nearby cabinet, and as if a palpable obstacle had been drawn aside, down showered debris of all the experiments.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At the conclusion of that amazing demonstration in the penthouse, Dr. Hessian had excused himself and retired. He had been at work day and night, he explained, ever since his arrival, and was far too weary for debate. He referred members of the committee to his assistant, Dr. Yukio Tani, who was qualified to answer all their questions. Dr. Jurgenson had tried to detain him, but Hessian had merely nodded and gone out.
Then the imperturbable Japanese scientist had been made the target of a verbal bombardment. But he had never faltered, never changed the tone of his voice, even when others were shouting. Nayland Smith had tapped Brian on the shoulder and nodded toward the door.
When they were back again in their own quarters, Sir Denis said, “We’re out of our depth up there. But words can’t alter facts.” He poured out two liberal shots of Scotch. “Otto Hessian has solved the problem of protection from all forms of air attack. You agree?”
“I can’t doubt it. The thing’s a miracle. It’s magic.”
“There’s no difficulty whatever in throwing up this sound-ceiling over a wide area. Strong feature is the low cost. Everybody’s convinced, of course. But old Jurgenson is boiling with professional jealousy. Your father has tried to persuade the Japanese to get Hessian to set up his apparatus in Washington for the President’s O.K. But Hessian blankly declines. Genius has its privileges. It’s a case of Mohammed and the mountain. The President will come.”
“Here?” Brian jerked out, startled by such a proposal.
“Here, Merrick, and soon. You saw the vacant chair at the table? That’s for your father. The place he occupied tonight will be reserved for the President.”
When presently the members of the committee reassembled, it was clear that their opinion was unanimous. Even Dr. Jurgenson was forced to admit that Otto Hessian had broken new ground in the problem of air defense, opening up a prospect of complete immunity on a remarkably low budget.
“Secrecy and speed are vital,” he declared. “Dr. Hessian, whom I know only by name, has vilely bad manners, but he clearly knows his subject.”
“I’ll see the President tonight,” Senator Merrick promised. “He’s expecting me to report to him, however late I get back. Dr. Hessian is certainly a most irascible character, and I must persuade the President to come here, incognito, without delay, not later than tomorrow or Friday. Not a word of this must leak out. There will be no press conference, gentlemen.”
“Every conceivable precaution has been taken,” Nayland Smith assured him. “You all entered the hotel by a door not normally in use and came up in a reserved elevator.”
“I thought the man on duty looked hard at me,” Dr. Jurgenson complained.
“Quite likely. He’s an FBI agent.”
* * *
In a hotel bedroom a stockily built Asiatic, with thick, sensual features and fierce eyes, was listening to a voice that came out of an open suitcase standing on a trestle.
It was a sinister, sibilant voice, its curious quality enhanced by the language in which it spoke—Hindustani.
“You understand that this is the emergency called Project Zero?”
“I understand, Master.”
“Is Nogai with you?”
“He is downstairs, Master.”
“Order him to avoid the public rooms. He has attracted attention. Because he is registered as a raja’s son he must not act like one. Both remain in your apartment until further orders. Take your meals there. Now, repeat your emergency instructions.”
“Yes, Master. At the signal—”
“Repeat the signal.”
‘Three raps on the door.”
“Continue.”
“The door will be locked on the other side and I will unlock it on this side. I put all lights out. I open the door enough to see in, and wait for the man to come. The first time he has his back to me, I act.”
“You must make no mistake.”
“I never make mistakes, Master. Nogai and I open the big box and drag him in. We close the door and wait for further orders.”
“And if he is not alone?”
“Nogai goes to the front door and rings. Whichever one answers, I deal with the other. Nogai deals with the man at the door.”
“Silently!”
“Nogai’s method is as silent as mine, Master.”
A few minutes later, a woman seated manicuring her fingernails was addressed by the same strange voice, speaking in French, from a cream leather toilet case on the table beside her. She started nervously, staring across the empty room with a haunted look in her eyes.
“I am here, Excellency,” she replied, also in French—apparently her native tongue.
“A general emergency has arisen. You have maintained your contacts with personnel at the airport?”
“I have.”
“Make your own plans, provided I have no occasion to direct otherwise. You know already the information I must have. It is vital that this reaches me at once. When you notify me of the expected arrival, you will be directed how to proceed. You understand?”
“I understand, Excellency.”
“No orders, other than those preceded by the codeword Si-Fan, are to be accepted. You understand?”
“I understand perfectly.”
“I count upon unremitting vigilance. Keep in constant touch wherever you are. Report hourly from the time you set out.”
Dr. Fu Manchu leaned back in his chair, his ascetic face lined with anxiety. For more than an hour he had been assembling his forces for some secret purpose that might mean world chaos. He stood up wearily and crossed the small room without a window, which he seemed to use as a remote-control base. Even now it was only dimly lighted by a lamp on a buffet where there were no homely decanters but only an array of chemical equipment and a large medicine chest containing many bottles and phials.
He took a measuring glass and prepared a draught composed of one part of a greenish liquid, two of amber, and one of red. He emptied this carefully into a larger glass an
d filled it with distilled water. The contents bubbled slightly, became cloudy and then still. Dr. Fu Manchu began to drink when a faint ring sounded. He turned. A speck of blue light had sprung up in the radio cabinet.
Returning to his chair, he moved a switch and spoke: “What have you to report?”
A woman’s voice answered. “Earlier information of the disaster in Cairo is confirmed, Doctor. The person responsible for it I have been unable to trace, for all have left for Mecca, including the girl Zobeida.”
“The absence of any publicity, of any official reaction is disturbing.”
“But understandable. The President is expected tonight.”
“I am aware of this, and have spread my net; for the hour of danger is earlier. I am staking everything upon my knowledge of the man. He never does the obvious.”
“You judge wisely, Doctor, I have information from a reliable, source that ‘the obvious’ was proposed, but rejected. What you have foreseen will happen.”
“If I could be as sure of one other thing I would trust to Routine Five and cancel all other orders.”
“What is this one other thing, Doctor?” The woman’s voice remained soft but revealed tension.
Dr. Fu Manchu clenched his hands; his features became convulsed, and then calm again.
“His being alone at the crucial moment.”
“If I undertake to arrange this one thing, Doctor, will you give me carte blanche to deal with it?”
“You have never yet failed me—not once. And no, one ever failed me twice. It is a gambler’s choice—but I have always been a gambler…”
* * *
Brian had great difficulty getting to sleep that night. The astounding experiment in the penthouse had left him in a state of high excitement. He would seriously have doubted the evidence of his senses if the wonders he had seen hadn’t been confirmed by other witnesses.
Then, at some remote hour, just as he was dozing off at last, the phone in the living room rang and he heard Nayland Smith’s voice. The conversation was a brief one and a moment later Sir Denis burst in.