“A physicist resigns. Big deal,” spat Rickey.
Lash thrust a finger at the article. “A physicist who happens to have close ties to Dr. Phillips. The two have been exploring the properties of a very rare, very important substance. In fact, they were on the verge of publishing their findings.”
Lash located another article that confirmed this. It mentioned a third scientist involved in the proposed lecture series.
“You’re sure these eggheads were kidnapped?” Rickey asked.
“I managed to snag the intruder’s jacket. Inside, I found this.” With a flourish, Lash whipped out a piece of paper and passed it to Clara. The student studied it, her mouth falling open in shock.
“This is Dr. Phillips’ handwriting,” the girl said. “It’s a letter of resignation. What was it doing in some criminal’s jacket?”
“Obviously, he was going to plant it in the office during his break-in. I think we’ll find it consistent with Dr. Washington’s note: terse and vague.”
“So… someone is collecting scientists?”
“Yes, Rickey. That’s exactly what’s happening. And that someone is…” Lash paused for effect. “Countess Clementine Cromwell.”
“The Countess?” Casey asked, incredulous. “I thought she was a legend.”
“She’s not. She’s very real, very wealthy and very determined to overthrow the existing government of the United Kingdom and install herself as dictator.”
Casey shook his head. “I don’t understand, Lash. How do you know she’s behind this?”
“The gyrocopter,” he said simply. “I recognized the design. MY design. Which I’d shown to very few people.”
Rickey frowned as if she’d swallowed a lemon. “And you gave it to her?”
Lash shrugged. “She paid quite nicely for it, through a third party. It was only after I’d delivered the plans that I discovered she was the source of the funds.”
“So,” interjected Casey, “what’s her game?”
“A doomsday weapon, Casey. If she can’t take the throne by political or economic means, she’s not above taking it by force. And, if she can’t have Britain, she’ll make sure there’s nothing left for anyone else.”
“And the scientists?” Clara asked meekly.
“The Countess needs their research and, more importantly, their materials. She’ll need to power her weapon, and the only possible source is the substance these women have discovered. The Countess already has Washington and Phillips. Logically, she’ll target the third member of their triumvirate next. Soon, if she suspects we’re onto her.” Lash turned to Casey. “Do you still have the item I handed you in Dr. Phillips’ lab?”
Casey reached into his pocket and retrieved the rag-wrapped object and handed it to the scientific detective. He had forgotten about it completely.
Lash unwrapped the dirty rags, revealing a jewel that gleamed with every color of the rainbow. “This is what Phillips and Washington have been working on – a newly discovered, extremely rare and unstable mineral. If we had shot it, we would have been blown to kingdom come.”
“What is it?” Casey asked.
“It’s the key to the Countess’ doomsday weapon. Phillips and her colleagues dubbed it ‘Mannite.’”
“Mannite?”
“Yes, Casey. It can, if harnessed properly, provide nearly limitless energy, like manna from heaven.”
Casey frowned. He didn’t relish the thought of this material falling into the wrong hands. “What do we do?”
Lash stood. “We fly to England, of course.”
*****
After stashing the sample of Mannite in Lash’s safe, the group was in the air within the hour. Lynn Lash and his most trusted colleagues -- Sam Casey, the boyish Rickey and the intrepid driver Red, plus the lab assistant, Clara -- were headed for the United Kingdom to find one little Oxford University Professor.
Lash thumbed through a thick document, speaking to the assembled group as he did so. “I told you that Phillips and Washington were co-authoring a paper. The third scientist in their group is Dr. Linda Lemm, a former… colleague of mine.” Casey noticed the odd tone that crept into Lash’s voice upon mention of this Dr. Lemm, and made a note to ask Lash about it later. “She possessed the only other sample of Mannite and if the Countess wants to utilize it safely, she’ll need Dr. Lemm’s expertise.”
“After losing the last sample, they’ll try to get scientist and substance in one fell swoop.”
Lash nodded. “Indeed, Casey. I attempted to get a hold of Dr. Lemm. Her secretary was evasive at first, but when I mentioned my name, she suddenly had a specific message for me from Lemm. The secretary stated that Dr. Lemm is at her country estate in Hampshire.”
Casey could sense Lash’s hesitation. “But?”
“Why would she be there while the semester is in session? And why only reveal that information to me specifically?”
“None of us have jurisdiction in the United Kingdom, Lash, and we have no allies there. We may be in over our heads.”
“Perhaps, Casey. And, considering Clementine Cromwell’s wealth and influence, we wouldn’t know whom to trust. We are indeed on our own.”
“Terrific,” said Rickey.
Chapter Five
The Cottage
The group approached the cottage in a rented car, stopping along the dusty road a mile or so from their destination so as to avoid attention. Lash decreed that Red and Rickey would stay behind to serve as backup. Clara, though, insisted on accompanying Lash and Casey. She and Dr. Phillips had worked closely with Dr. Lemm, and the girl wanted in on the rescue.
Casey was suspicious, but Lash agreed with her. After all, she had been to the cottage before and her knowledge could prove useful.
Lash and Casey readied their weapons, following just behind Clara She’d asked for her own gun, but they didn’t have one to spare.
A single faint light emanated from the cottage as the group approached, and Lash’s stomach dropped. He had little hope that Linda Lemm was actually here, but he knew he had to find out for sure. Unbidden, his mind flashed on the image of the scientist as he had last seen her, when the two had collaborated on a project to locate pockets of natural gas without drilling. Lemm was small but well muscled, having spent most of her life as a swimmer. She had short, straight, dark hair and a cherubic face, looking far younger than her years. But her most striking feature was her flashing green eyes, always full of knowledge, curiosity and mischief.
And, Lash knew, the message she’d left for him at the university had been a clue. She’d anticipated his call, and she was trying to tell him where the last piece of Mannite was hidden. With luck, he would retrieve the mineral before the Countess’ men got located it.
If Lemm was not here, Lash would find her and he would return her safely to her adopted country.
The three arrived at the rear of the cabin, finding the door ajar. Cautiously, Lash grasped the handle and gently opened the door. The group crept into the small kitchen. Then, hearing a pair of voices arguing in the next room, the three froze and listened.
“It’s not here, I tell ya!” The first voice was deep and gravelly, a quaver of frustration pervading its tone.
“Well the Big C ain’t gonna be happy if we come back empty-handed, ya know!” The second voice was higher-pitched and whiny, with a nasally whistle.
“Yeah, I know. If we don’t find what we’re lookin’ fer, ‘Operation: Breakout,’ ain’t gonna get off the ground. I’m startin’ ta think Lemm told us a fib, ya know?”
At the mention of Lemm’s name, Clara, who had been quivering with rage during the entire conversation, gasped involuntarily. Too late, Casey grabbed for her mouth, putting a meaty hand over it in a belated effort to silence her.
“What was dat?” The first voice asked. “Check it out, Clem.”
Lash cursed under his breath and readied his weapon. A moment later, a meaty, well-dressed thug entered the kitchen and Lash fired.
The
bullet struck the man in his flank and he cried out, dropping the oil lantern he’d been holding. It shattered, igniting the tinder-dry thatch that covered the floor; flames sped toward the walls.
Lash swore, shouting for Clara to exit. The girl, panicked, and fled the building as Lash and Casey rose to their feet. The wounded thug fired his weapon blindly in their direction, and the bullet struck the ceiling, sending down a shower of plaster.
Meanwhile, the second thug burst into the room firing his own gun, nearly taking off Casey’s head in the process.
Then, as a fire raged before him and bullets whizzed by his face, Lash hoped that Clara had found her way to the car. She, at least, should live.
Casey returned fire as the goons ducked back into the living room, even as the fire spread with a roar. “This is starting to look like a bad idea, Lash.”
“Agreed. Let’s get out of here.” Lash rose to his feet and dashed out the back door, secure in the knowledge that Dr. Lemm was not in the house. But he did know that she was an avid fisherwoman, so chances are, she had a boathouse. Not only would it be a good hiding place for her, but it would have been an ideal spot – cool and dark -- to stash the Mannite.
He grabbed Casey and pointed downhill, toward the woods where the river ran.
The two took a few tentative steps, but suddenly gunfire erupted from the edge of the woods. Apparently, the thugs in the house were not alone. As Lash struggled with his decision, wondering whether or not he should risk the crowd and investigate the boathouse, a screaming, frightened Clara came running from the darkness toward them.
It was time to flee and regroup.
Fortunately, Red had heard the shots and came barreling down the road in the rented car, meeting them only a few hundred yards away from the cottage. The driver spun the wheel, whipping the vehicle 180 degrees, and Lash, Casey and Clara clambered into the back. Gunshots slashed the gravel behind them, kicking up rocks and eliciting cries from Clara.
“They must have Dr. Lemm – and the Mannite,” Lash spat. “There’s nothing here for us.”
Red stepped on the accelerator and the car shot forward, careening around the corner, away from the gunfire.
As they merged onto the main road, they faced the oncoming headlights of another vehicle, a truck. Its driver laid on his horn as Red jerked the wheel, narrowly missing a collision with the hulking hunk of metal. Red righted the car and hit the gas again, the engine straining to attain its top speed, as he strove to escape from the apparently well-armed group of thugs behind them.
After a few miles, Lash tapped Red on the shoulder, indicating that he should pull over. Everyone breathed heavily in the nighttime silence for a few moments. Then the boyish woman spoke the thought that occupied all their minds.
“What do we do now?” Rickey asked, a torrent of unladylike language following her question.
“We need a boat,” Lash stated. “I know the Countess’ plan – and exactly where she is.”
Chapter Six
The Climb
“It’s called the ‘No Man’s Land Fort,’” said Lash, “and it’s located approximately one and a half miles off the coast of the Isle of Wight. It was constructed in the late 19th century and I happen to know that The Countess purchased it outright two years ago.”
The group stood assembled on the deck of a rented yacht that Rickey had managed to acquire rather easily with little more than charm. Well, that wasn’t quite all it took. She had, in fact, called the Prince of Monaco on Lash’s behalf. She was accustomed to calling in favors for her boss. It was one of her most common duties. Lash had many powerful people who owed him favors – a nice side effect of having saved the lives of so many visitors to the city of New York. He trusted the man enough to borrow a boat from him, but felt it best not to involve the Prince in the matter any further. Rickey handled the transaction with alacrity, securing the boat for the group with no more questions asked.
“Why did she buy it?” The idea that the Countess was, apparently, a scientific match for Lash, and a ruthless and power-hungry woman with such lofty ambitions fascinated Rickey. She was a bit uneasy on the rocking deck, but was doing her best not to let the seasickness affect her.
“Experiments. The Countess has been conducting seismic and weather experiments there for the better part of the past two years.” Lash pulled out a series of clippings he had culled from the books he’d made Rickey bring along. Idly, Casey wondered how on earth Lash had the time to read so many newspapers in between his own experiments and his work with the New York City Police Department.
The scientific detective passed along a selection of articles culled from London and Hampshire newspapers. The pieces reported odd weather patterns and strange rumblings of the earth. Casey would have dismissed them as mere aberrations of climate and land, but Lash’s mind had connected the dots and the pattern he saw was suspicious.
“If you knew about this, why didn’t we go there first?” Casey asked.
Lash gave a thin smile. “Our first goal was to warn Dr. Lemm before she was taken, though we were too late for that. Regardless, a woman like the Countess has any number of clandestine fortresses like this one. It wasn’t until I heard the goon mention ‘Operation: Breakaway,’ that I could pinpoint the most logical location.”
Lash seemed unwilling to elaborate on that comment, so Casey spoke the words on his mind. “So we need to infiltrate this massive fort, figure out exactly what the Countess is doing, stop her plans and, while we’re at it, rescue a trio of the greatest scientific minds of the 20th century? Does that about cover it?”
Lash nodded. “More or less. Though, since the Countess presumably has everything she needs to enact her diabolical plan, I assume we have a very short window of time in which to achieve our goals.”
Casey looked at Rickey, and she nodded her assent.
“Terrific,” said the cop.
*****
“Ready, Lash,” Red said as he dropped anchor. It was a good thing that Red was so accomplished -- as a driver, a pilot and a seaman. He had come in quite handy on this expedition, and Lash was grateful to have such a versatile individual on his team.
That was how he was starting to think of this group: his team. He’d always had the notion of assembling an elite group of specialists who could, if necessary, handle cases and crimes of an international nature, travelling the globe to right wrongs. Lash was happy to help the New York City police department deal with strange scientific crimes, but he also knew that his unique skills could be of use around the world.
If they survived this case, he’d be sure to add that initiative to his agenda.
For now, though, he had to guide a small motorboat toward the Fortress – in pitch darkness, no less.
The same threesome as before, Lash, Casey and the girl, Clara, were crammed into a small rowboat headed toward the fortress. Once again, Red and Rickey were left behind, anchoring the rented yacht a safe distance from the lair, ready to act when needed, or to radio for the British Navy if it came to that.
Clara had insisted on accompanying the two men, though Casey had protested loudly. He wouldn’t be responsible for watching her back in the inevitable firefight, he’d said, but the girl wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. She claimed responsibility for the disappearance of Dr. Phillips, and she would do everything possible to bring the scientist home safe.
Lash wished he had a gyrocopter of his own. He imagined the Countess had landing pads on the roof of this complex, but, unfortunately, Lash didn’t have access to such a vehicle at the moment.
Of course, that small detail wouldn’t stop Lynn Lash, scientific detective. He was always prepared for any eventuality.
Lash guided the small boat by feel alone, sensing its speed through the water and calculating the distance to the edge of the fortress, where a series of ladders and walkways ran along the outside of the oval structure.
He cut the engine and let the boat drift on momentum until it gently dinged against the w
ater-worn wall. Soundlessly, he retrieved a coil of rope from the bottom of the boat, reaching up to tie it to the lowest rung of the ladder above him. Lash didn’t know the security protocols of the fortress – he hadn’t had time to investigate it to his usual standards – but he moved with urgency.
Lash grabbed the ladder and hoisted himself up onto the walkway. Casey quickly followed, then reached down to help the thin wisp of a girl clamber up to join them. Once again, Casey felt a pang of regret at bringing her along, but it was far too late now.
“Where to, Lash?” Casey whispered. He was in far over his head, just a New York City cop who had become embroiled in a few stranger-than-fiction cases, investigating Sinister Rays that blinded civilians and dealing with mysterious, mummified remains.
Now Casey found himself on a rusty, rickety walkway on the outside of a larger-than-life fortress in the middle of the English Channel, trying to stop a self-styled Countess from holding the United Kingdom hostage for her own nefarious desires. Such was life with Lynn Lash.
“Lash!” Casey called again. The scientist was deep in thought, which was usually a good sign. It meant he had a plan.
“Follow me,” Lash said, suddenly alert. He retrieved his gun from his jacket pocket. “We need to get to the highest point on this monstrosity. That’s where the launch will take place.”
With that, Lash sped down the walkway toward a narrow staircase, leaving Casey to ask the obvious question.
“Launch?”
But Lash did not answer, so Casey and the girl had no choice but to follow him up into the starry night.
*****
Sneaking into the giant fortress by climbing through an empty gun turret would not have been Casey’s first choice for infiltration. Then again, no part of this plan suited him. He’d much rather be busting a numbers racket in the bowery or fighting gangsters with tommy guns.
The New Adventures of Lynn Lash Page 16