The humming instruments of death the men had used were gone.
Only the corpses remained. The gassed man's throat had been cut.
There was only one explanation: the Murder Master must have observed from a place of safety, then had swooped in to collect the evidence left behind when the battle had moved indoors.
If that were the case, then the observer would know by now that Lash had the diamonds. The face of Lynn Lash was well known to the people of New York courtesy of the pieces Al Cord ran regularly in the Times-Dispatch.
Yes, Lynn Lash had escaped the Murder Master. But what about Rickey Dean? She would be the next logical target.
He exploded into a ground-eating, loping run that took him up the alley to the drugstore. Distant sirens could be heard over the thud of his heart but they were too far away, too late.
Lash threw himself into the drugstore phone booth, slammed home a nickel and dialed.
The phone in his office was off the hook.
Cord was in a neighboring booth, phoning in the story.
Lash leaned in. “I'm taking your car!”
Back outside, Lash dove behind the wheel and stood on the gas pedal. The roadster lanced away.
Empty streets late on a Sunday night along with an utter disregard for the rules of the road allowed a frantic Lash to reach the office in record time.
He launched himself through the street doors, cut into the stairwell – there was no time to wait for an elevator – and reached the office door panting and drenched in sweat. He kicked the door off its hinges and lunged across the threshold.
The reception room was a shambles, the desk thrust to one side. He saw the telephone kicked into one corner. Drops of fresh blood dotted the desk blotter.
Of Rickey Dean there was no sign.
She had been taken by the Murder Master.
CHAPTER FIVE
Whiplash
Cursing, Lash snatched up the telephone and righted it on the desk. He cradled the handset as his brain swirled with possibilities and perils.
The telephone rang.
Lash snatched up the receiver and slapped it to his ear.
“What's your offer, Koivu?” he spat.
There was a pause at the other end. “Call me Ham, everyone does.”
“I'm not playing games.”
“Very well. The point. We each have something the other desires. A trade.”
“Agreed.”
“I thought you might. The floating steam rooms. In one hour. Need I tell you to come alone?”
“Let me talk to Dean.”
“Neither of us have time for such foolishness. One hour, Lash.”
The line went dead.
Lash jiggled the drop hook. The operator came on the line.
“Get me the Times-Dispatch!”
Anxious seconds flew by.
A voice crackled over the line. “Times-Dispatch.”
Terse words were exchanged. Al Cord was not at his desk, but was on another line.
“Patch me in,” Lash insisted. “This is an emergency.”
“Cord here.” The reporter sounded out of breath.
“Al, I need you,” Lash said through gritted teeth as he stared at the bloodstains on the blotter. If Koivu or his goons had hurt Dean... “Get hold of Casey. Meet me at the Battery in ten minutes.”
He slammed the receiver down and launched himself out of his seat. His worry for Dean did not dull his intellect. Lash knew Koivu meant to trap him, kill them both after recovering the diamonds and he was not about to go into the lion's den unprepared.
Throwing off his suit coat, he donned a spring-action wrist pistol. It held only one shot and Lash was determined to make it count. Next he hiked up his right pant leg and double-checked the leather container fitted close to his calf, high on the muscle.
The pouch contained a tiny flashlight. Lash ignored this. What held his interest was the three inch, blunt-snouted metal tube, half an inch wide, which held a large bullet with a small case. The bullet contained explosives or a paralyzing chemical, depending on Lash's fancy. With a grim look, he removed the chemical bullet and inserted an explosive cartridge.
He hit the street running, dove into his roadster. The motor growled and the car roared away.
*****
He met Cord and Casey just outside the park, the bathhouse screened by trees.
“The Murder Master?” Casey demanded.
Lash nodded grimly. He went on to explain about the operation he had found at the docks.
“That's queer all right,” Casey replied, considering. “Still doesn't give us anything on this new weapon.
“I've got it figured,” Lash admitted. “They are using water. Water vapor specifically.”
“You can't kill somebody with water – outside of drowning them,” Casey said.
“Think about it, Sam. We've investigated arson jobs. You've seen a fire hose punch through gyprock?”
“Sure. But we're talking about thousands of gallons under high pressure. No man could carry that much in a tank and hope to hop around like these armed robbers Cord has been telling me about.”
“That's the secret of this terrible weapon,” Lash explained. “It doesn't require a tank. It draws water vapor right from the air!”
Lash told them about the hot water-filled dents he found in the furniture warehouse where hot slugs should be. “That's when I put it together,” Lash summarized. “Remember that humming coming from those packs the robbers wore, Al? That was the fan in each unit, drawing moist air in, dragging it across a small refrigerated coil cooled with dry ice.”
“You're out of your tree,” Cord scoffed.
“Let me finish. The collected water vapor condenses on an evaporator coil. The resulting condensate is probably made to drip onto dry ice in a small, titanium chamber, causing the solid carbon dioxide in the ice to immediately sublimate to a gas, resulting in tremendous pressure within the confined space. The pressure would then drive water droplets at incredible speeds through the cored titanium barrel and, ultimately, through the intended victim. That explains the small exit wounds. The droplets cleaved like a hot knife through butter.”
Casey sighed. “How did you hit on all that?”
“The attack on Robeson and the armored car occurred during torrential rain, when the air is saturated with water vapor. Chaney was shot from the greenhouse if you recall. Again, humid air. Sam, you got a shock when you touched that doorknob in the plant room. It didn't register at first. Later I realized that could only happen if the water vapor in the humid air of the greenhouse had been reduced when the Murder Master drew moisture from the air to kill Chaney. Look, time is against us. Robeson was killed by a single shooter. Chaney, likewise. The armored car hit came from multiple weapons – all with barrels I saw being mass produced at the tool and die shop.”
“Things are escalating,” Casey finished the thought.
Lash nodded. “And Koivu's people are perfecting the weapon, most likely with the aid of Eckert's brilliance with condensers. Soon, it will need only the small amount of moisture normally present in the air to be fired. Imagine an army with this weapon, armed with a limitless supply of ammunition, drawn directly from the air! Or a stealthy assassin. If Koivu and Eckert continue to fine tune their creation, no one is safe.”
“And what do they plan on doing with all those barrels?” Cord asked.
“My guess is that Koivu plans to follow those titanium barrels to Germany,” Lash said simply.
“He might just be selling them to the krauts.”
“Then why lift the diamonds?” Lash asked. “Robeson was killed for his stash and the attackers of the Gardner car sought more of the rocks. With German business interests backing him and Eckert on board, Koivu means to set up shop with the Nazis who will let him work openly. It's my guess those diamonds are his start-up funds.”
“We can't let him leave the country,” Casey said.
“There's a more pressing problem, gentlemen,
” Lash announced. He yanked the sack of diamonds out of his pocket and showed it to Casey. “Koivu has Dean. He wants to make an exchange; her for the rocks. I'm going in and I need you two to back my play.”
“You got me, Lash,” said Casey while Cord nodded. “Let's get this murdering skunk.”
Lash threw open the rumble seat of his roadster and handed Cord various items while he explained his plan. Slamming the rumble closed. Casey returned to his coupe.
*****
Lash approached the floating sauna alone so that he could convey a semblance of compliance to anyone Koivu had watching. He killed the motor and stepped out of the vehicle. The circular maw of a titanium barrel was jammed into the small of his back. Rough hands frisked him, turning up a .45 which the searcher confiscated.
The man did not think to look for the weapons at Lash's wrist or ankle.
“Where are the rocks?” a gruff voice demanded.
Lash chuckled. “You really think I'm dumb enough to carry them around?”
In fact, the diamonds were concealed behind a false panel in the dash.
“Mr. Koivu said to bring the diamonds!”
“That's between me and your boss,” Lash's tone turned deadly. “Get me?”
He was roughly shoved forward.
“Get moving! And no funny stuff!”
They approached the river's edge, Lash could hear the waves slapping against the pilings. The massive pontoons supporting the wooden structure glistened wetly like the bellies of whales as Lash was propelled across a short bridge to a side entrance on the second floor.
The man did not follow. Stifling heat enveloped Lash, the air was saturated. As he made his way gingerly up the corridor he saw that all of the sauna doors had been propped open, the squat ovens roaring while automatic dippers continually dumped ladles of water onto the hot stones piled atop the stoves. The resulting steam billowing out of the open doors was as thick as a London fog.
A door opened at one end of the hall. Rickey Dean stumbled through the opening. Slightly battered with a mouse under one eye. The shiny, ice cold titanium barrel pressed against her good cheek made her arch away uncomfortably from the contact.
Ham Koivu stood behind her.
“Mr. Lash, how nice of you to come.”
Lash indicated the steam clouds enshrouding them. “I see you've stacked the deck in favor of your new weapon.”
Koivu's eyes registered temporary shock as he realized that Lash had discovered the secret of the weapon in his gloved fists.
“Your intellect does not disappoint. Even in defeat.”
“I also know you're in league with the Nazis. And that you killed Chaney to settle an old score before shipping out.”
Lash inched toward Koivu. His fingers flicked and twitched.
“You all right, Dean?” he asked.
“Better than this lug'll be when I get my hands on 'im!” She struggled and Koivu pressed the barrel deeper into her skin.
“Not if my hands do the job first,” Lash replied.
His fingers continued to contort. Dean had caught Lash's reference to his hands and her gaze lowered to the moving digits.
“Neither one of you is in a position to make threats,” Koivu reminded. “As for my dealings with the Nazis and that fool Chaney, the knowledge will do you no good. Let us conclude our business.”
“Release the girl.” The hands of Lash went still. Dean nodded briefly.
“Show me the diamonds.”
“This after he praises me for my brains,” Lash deadpanned to Dean. Now came the tricky part. “The diamonds are outside. In the car.”
A wicked leer pulled at Koivu's lips. “You get that, Walker?”
“Yes, Boss,” the man still in the doorway behind Lash replied. “On my way.”
“You disappoint me, Lash,” Koivu said. “No matter. It's your last action in this life.”
“Actually the action is just about to begin.”
Lynn Lash flexed his right arm and the small pistol at his wrist ratcheted into his hand. He raised the weapon and fired all in one motion. There was no clear shot at Koivu but Lash had chosen a different target.
The fire extinguisher behind Koivu erupted with the bullet hit. Foam spewed out, coating the weapon pack on Koivu's back. Without air, the weapon could not fire. The fan would clear the pack but that would take time.
At the same instant, Dean stomped on Koivu's instep and the man howled. Free from his clutches, she snatched up an ash stand and hurled it through the closest window. The glass shattered and she followed the stand through the opening down to the black waves below. Lash had conveyed instructions to her to do this using sign language.
So far so good, Lash mused. He could only hope Casey and Cord did their parts.
Aware of the open door at his back, Lash got moving just as Koivu bellowed.
“Men! Get in here and kill this bastard!”
With that the fan cleared his weapon and Koivu unleashed a series of shots in the direction of Lash. Wood splintered as holes were punched in the walls.
But Lash was gone.
Koivu heard Lash's footsteps thudding their way downstairs and he gave chase.
Lash reached the lower levels. He was actually below the waterline of the floating structure. He paused to retrieve the odd single shot gun strapped to his calf. Squinting in the dim lighting at the door signs, he barreled on.
Furious, Koivu fired shot after shot as he clambered down the stairs in pursuit. The air was filled with shards of flying wood.
Lash meanwhile had found his destination. He fired his explosive bullet and the door was blown off its hinges.
“What do you think of my intellect now?” he prodded Koivu. He entered the room.
Koivu heard the taunt and doubled his efforts. In his rage, he rattled into the room, the vapor weapon poised to fire.
The bitter cold stopped him dead after four steps.
Lash had led Koivu into the ice room. Dry ice used to chill the bathing pools sauna users cooled off in after taking too much steam was piled up all around them.
“What do I think of your intellect now?” Koivu repeated as his breath plumed out in front of him. “Not much.”
He raised the barrel and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
“Low temperatures dry out the air,” Lash explained. “Your weapon cannot collect enough water vapor to fire. You're through.”
“That's where you're wrong! There is still moisture in the air. In a minute it will have collected enough.”
Come on, Cord, Lash thought, but he said, “Sure, let's stand here and wait.”
A moment later a series of loud bangs split the night as the pontoons keeping the bathhouse afloat were blown apart. The structure began to list immediately and a great groan from strained wooden beams could be heard.
Stinking river water poured in through the windows racing down the stairs and washing over Koivu from behind, soaking him. The water hit the dry ice and roiling fog crept across the floor.
Lash charged and dove, striking Koivu at waist level. The two men tumbled out into the corridor. They grappled wildly, then separated.
The water swirled around their knees, then thighs. The floor dipped and loud cracking noises came from all around them. Only seconds remained before they were drowned.
Koivu raised the weapon.
“Don't do it!” Lash cautioned. “Its system is overloaded with moisture now! It won't stand the strain!”
“You've ruined everything!” Koivu spat. “Die!”
Lash submerged quickly, a hair's breadth before the vapor weapon on Koivu's back exploded, taking the Finn with it. The shock of the blast batted Lash around under the water as body parts rained down over his head.
Lash swam for the stairs, clambered up and kept going through a window free of glass. Desperate to put as much distance between himself and the collapsing structure as possible, he kicked frantically for shore and flopped onto the rocks.
Lash spit out some river debris. “You took your time with those charges.”
“Sue me!” Cord replied, but he was smiling. “Next time you try planting charges on pontoons in the dark with a building as big as a battleship over your head.”
Casey trotted up to join them. “We collared the last of Koivu's men as they abandoned ship – so to speak. I've got my best men guarding their weapons until we can turn them over to the State Department. And we've still got to take down that tool and die operation.”
Rickey Dean, wrapped in a blanket, dashed up to where Lash sprawled and stuck a finger in his face. She was so angry her damp bangs quivered. “You signed that we would both go out that window! Liar!”
“Would you have gone otherwise?” Lash asked.
“Not on your life!”
Lash spread his hands expansively. “I rest my case.”
“What happened to the Murder Master?” Casey asked.
“Went down with the ship,” Cord replied.
“Actually he went up in smoke,” Lash corrected.
The two men helped Lash up.
Lynn Lash led his comrades away from the sunken building toward the waiting policemen.
There was work to do.
END
KILLERS FROM SPACE
by Chuck Miller
Chapter 1
THE COMING OF THE CYLINDER
“No one would have believed,” said Professor Everard Trent, “in the early years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinized and studied...”
"Yes, yes," interrupted Lynn Lash, the celebrated criminologist. "I've read The War of the Worlds. You're assuming quite a bit, don't you think? You're going on record that this thing came from Mars?"
It was much too early and much too cold out, as far as Lash was concerned, to be trudging through these dark woods. Lash had never heard of Grover's Mill-- a little village in the West Windsor township of New Jersey-- until just over an hour ago. Trent-- an old college chum of Lash's-- had sounded extremely excited on the phone. That alone had prompted Lash to venture out at this ungodly hour.
The New Adventures of Lynn Lash Page 4