The New Adventures of Lynn Lash

by Andrew Salmon

  He looked up at Rickey and flashed a quick smile to the boyish girl that she returned. “Nothing that can’t wait,” she said. Without being asked she pulled a long thin banded cigar from the humidor on her desk, bit off the end, lit it, and gave it a single puff before holding it up for her employer. “I’ll have lunch sent up so I’ll be here by the phone.”

  “Good girl,” the lanky criminologist said. He took the cigar from her and took a long puff on it. Before he opened the outer door he paused. Next to the door was a small photograph of Lash receiving the key to the city. Lynn slid the picture aside to reveal the one-way glass behind it that revealed the hall outside. “I’ll let you know what-“He began, then saw the elevator at the end of the hall open to reveal two strange figures.

  They were two men dressed head to foot in long rubber raincoats and rubber boots, which in itself was odd considering the mild weather, but they were also holding long metal rods that were connected to some strange backpacks. As Lynn watched, the two stopped to put on chainmail hoods and the criminologist noticed that they wore chainmail gloves as well. One of the men pointed his metal rod at the reinforced steel door of the office.

  “Quick, Rickey,” Lash ordered. “Turn that table over and get behind it.”

  “What?”

  “Now!” He didn’t wait for her to react but raced across the room to grab the petite girl up and fling her over behind the table he upended just as the hall door exploded inward.

  The air suddenly smelled metallic and acrid, and tingled with static electricity.

  The two masked men burst through the doorframe with their rods held before them. “Come on out, Lash and we’ll make it quick!” One of them called out. “Don’t make us hunt you or it’ll go worse for you.”

  “I’m right here, boys!” Lash yelled as he popped up from behind the overturned oak table with a .38 in each hand. Before either man could react he fired two shots from each revolver, but his shots missed the two men, passing them to shatter the reservoir of the water cooler.

  There was a strange whine from the packs on the men’s backs and Lynn ducked behind the thick table just as the two men discharged their weapons at him.

  The table actually moved back as the sizzling charge of blinding electricity leapt from the rods into the surface of the table. The table erupted into flame immediately.

  Rickey screamed and huddled into a ball beside Lash.

  The criminologist sprang up again but this time his four shots were not aimed at the bodies of the men. He shot them in their feet!

  The men screamed in pain, almost doubling over but still managed to point their rods at the criminologist again.

  Lash’s next act seemed insane; he kicked the table that had shielded he and Rickey over onto its top, extinguishing the flames, so that the legs stuck straight up, then grabbed the girl and jumped onto it.

  The two intruders depressed the triggers to discharge their lightning weapons. Instantly they screamed and jumped in place, their heads violently whipping about. The room was full of a sizzling sound and the air smelled like burnt bacon.

  Both intruders made strange, inhuman moans then abruptly stopped moving and collapsed in the pool of water from the cooler.

  “You can open your eyes now, Rickey,” Lash said. “These fellows won’t be destroying any more doors.”

  The girl sat up and looked at the chaos of the office. The two hooded men were motionless with the water around their bodies hissing and bubbling.

  “Are they-?”

  “Quite dead,” the criminologist said.

  “How?” The boyish girl said as she started to standup and step off the inverted wooden table, but Lash yelled to stop her .

  “Wait a few minutes until the water from the cooler drains completely,” He said. The water was already seeping into the parquet wooden floor of the office.

  “What happened?” Rickey sniffed at the acrid air and made a face.

  “When I saw them in the hall with those rods and backpacks- which are some sort of high voltage dynamos or storage batteries,” Lash said, “I knew right away what the nature of the attack would be.”

  While talking, Lash spryly jumped from the overturned table to Rickey’s desk without touching the water on the floor. He lifted her chair and moved it to the front of the desk where he used it to climb to a space between the two fallen men.

  “They wore rubber boots to avoid being grounded,” he continued. “ I assumed they had body armor under those coats so I took the indirect route to get them. I shot the cooler with my first barrage and then opened their boots to the water with my second. That destroyed their grounding and allowed the electricity to complete the circuit through their bodies. To put it bluntly they fried themselves.”

  “That’s disgusting, Boss.”

  “Not pleasant, for sure,” the criminologist said. Using a wooden ruler he had taken from Rickey’s desk, Lash poked the backpacks of the two would-be assassins and was rewarded with a click, turning them off.

  “It’s safe to step off the table now,” he said.

  “How come we weren’t killed like they were?” The girl asked as she took a tentative step from the charred table.

  “You can thank our liking for traditional furniture,” Lash answered. “I’m glad we kept that old table when we redecorated last year; Red was all for modern chrome and steel but I think that nice nonconductive wood was just the thing to keep us alive.”

  Lash pulled the hoods off the men but did not recognize either of them.

  “Better call Casey and have him come over here to deal with this,” Lash said as he picked up his suitcase. “And lock yourself inside that lab until Sam himself shows up; we can’t be sure that these are the only two.”

  “Where are you going?” Rickey asked as she went into the lab.

  “I still have a boat to catch,” Lash said. “And these two have already made me late to meet Al.”

  Chapter Two

  The Staten Island Mummy

  “Are you sure Rickey is alright?” Al asked Lash as the Coast Guard speedboat pulled up to the shore of the ferry dock on Staten Island.

  “For the fifth time, Al,” Lash said with a wry smile on his handsome face, “I spoke to her on the radio phone just before I met you. Casey and a squad were with her. She says Hi, by the way.”

  The statement made the stocky, dark haired reporter smile back. “So you think these human sparklers were connected to some case you’re working on?”

  “I don’t know,” the lanky criminologist admitted. “I have nothing active at the moment. And I can’t imagine it has to do with-“ Lash was stuck speechless by the site of the Grant Stockbridge as it came into view.

  Disaster was not nearly a strong enough word to describe the chaos and horror of the crash site. Fire and rescue units from all over Staten Island, the other five boroughs of New York and nearby New Jersey towns were arriving but could not begin to control the mass confusion or terror of the survivors.

  The ferry itself was a twisted wreck, half sunk at the slip with oil and debris from the shattered craft creating a wide umbra around it. The wounded were laid out on the shore where the army of aid workers tended to them.

  Local residents who had seen or heard the disaster had swarmed the St. George docks and the police were so overwhelmed that they gladly accepted the help from the civilian populace.

  Lynn Lash stood, his keen calculator-like mind taking in the entire scene.

  “It looks like a bomb went off,” Al whispered.

  Lash shook his head in disagreement. “For this level of destruction the ferry had to strike at full speed,” he said with disgust. “So I would venture to guess this is no accident.”

  “We know it wasn’t,” a deep voice caused the criminologist to turn. The figure that spoke was square jawed and dressed in a well-tailored suit somewhat askew from the obvious relief efforts.

  “One or more of your G-men were onboard, Rex?”

  “You are well inf
ormed, as usual, Lynn,” the Federal man said. He shrugged.

  “I have my source right here.” Lash said, “Al Cord, meet Rex Bennet, regional supervisor for the United States Secret Service. Al is a reporter, Rex.”

  The stocky newsman and the tall government man shook hands.

  The Federal man looked meaningfully at Lash. “I’m sure Mister Cord will excuse us for a few minutes?”

  The reporter took the hint and saluted the two men. He darted off into the maelstrom to begin getting the story.

  “He can be trusted, Rex,” Lash said.

  “I’m sure, Lynn, but you’ll see why things are a bit touchy in a minute. Come with me I have someone you should talk to.”

  “I understand Professor Alters was also on board?” Lash asked. “Under guard?

  “For all the good it did,” Bennet said with annoyance and a little anger in his voice “The professor was taken.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  “Yes,” Bennet said. “It seems all this horror was just to take him.”

  Lash worked to keep his own emotions in check. “What exactly did your men do to protect him?”

  “One of my men is dead,” Bennet said with an edge to his tone. “Killed with three strokes of a fire axe off the wall of the ship. Then the killer used the axe to cut off Agent Fortier’s hand to take the briefcase holding Alters’ papers.”

  The last statement shook the normally cool and collected Lynn Lash. The criminologist’s handsome features took on a dark cast. “What is it that he had in the case?”

  The federal man set his jaw. “If it was anyone but you, Lash I’d have to give an evasive answer. But, as it is-and mind you it is only as I understand it- it was something to do with a communication breakthrough. You know he was a brilliant radio specialist. I actually came up here as an advance man for the President’s visit and really wasn’t the agent in charge of the professor’s case. That was Fortier. He was our best, the original strong silent type.”

  “I collaborated with Alters several years ago,” Lash said. “His ideas were revolutionary. He was a good, simple man and a good friend, who suffered quite a shock last year when his wife Hannah passed away after a long illness.”

  “We’ve had men with him twenty four /seven for weeks because his colleagues in the field, Doctor Johnson and Professor Hulse, both died in the last few months. We suspected but couldn’t prove foul play,” the Federal man continued. “Hulse was electrocuted-by accident we thought at first- and Johnson tossed himself off a building after some sort of fit. Now I am convinced they were no accidents.”

  Lash told Bennet of the two men with the lightning weapons. “That tears it, Lynn,” Bennet said. “I’m officially asking you in on this.”

  “Couldn’t keep me out if you tried,” Lash smiled. “Someone has attacked my friend and I suspect, tried to kill me; it seems too much a coincidence for both things to happen at once.” Then he added ominously, “I will see this through to its finish.”

  The two men moved through the turbulent mass of rescuers and victims to where an aid station had been set up. The surviving Secret Service agents including the one that had been with the scientist were recovering.

  “It’s the darndest thing,” the doctor on duty said when Lash questioned him. “Everyone said they experienced horrid burning sensations but not a single person is actually burned.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “There are a number of scratches where many of the victims actually clawed at their skin to the point of mutilation, but no actual burns on anyone.”

  “He’s right,” Agent Hancock said from a stretcher. He was bandaged on one arm and had cold compresses on his eyes and forehead. “It was like somebody held a blowtorch to my skin. Even my eyes.” His voice was choked with emotion. “I’m sorry, Mister Bennet, I feel like such a fool-but even when that mummy came after Ron with the fire axe I just couldn’t move—the pain—“ He went on to describe in detail what had occurred and the scientist’s exclamation about his invention, “The Exciter” being used. When he finished he sobbed like a boy. His boss put a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly.

  “It’s alright, son,” Bennet said. “No one could have done more.”

  Lash and the federal man walked back toward the shattered ferry. “What was this mummy business your man spoke about?” Lash asked.

  “I can answer that,” Al Cord said. He joined the two men with a notebook in his hand and continued to furiously write while he spoke. “According to several witnesses a man who was heavily bandaged emerged from an ambulance on the car deck just as a dark cloud passed over the ship. One witness particularly remembered because she thought – and I quote “That poor man, I wondered if the rain from such a dark cloud might wet his bandages. Just then the burning effect struck everyone.” But of course, it did not rain. That same bandaged man was later seen leaving the boat on foot after it crashed with an older grey haired man in his company.”

  “That has to be Arron,” Lash said.

  “We have our people trying to get a line on who rented that ambulance,” Bennet said. “Do any of your witnesses say which way this mummy went?”

  “In a black car up Richmond Avenue,” Cord said. He looked up at the Federal man with an expectant expression and then at the criminologist. “So what’s the verdict? Do I get an exclusive?”

  “I will vouch for him, Rex,” Lash said. “He is responsible and will divulge nothing to compromise national safety.”

  “Just run whatever you uncover by me.” The Federal man handed a card to Cord.

  “Well, then let me run this by you-“ he showed Bennet a set of numbers in his notebook. “A witness gave me a partial plate on that black sedan.”

  “I’ll get it out on the airwaves.” Bennet said and took the numbers down and handed them off to one of his men who stood near by.

  “What’s next, Lynn?” Cord asked the criminologist.

  Lash looked at the scene of the cataclysm and shook his head. “There is not much more we can do here and the police are better equipped to follow up your clue, Al. Perhaps we can find some clue at Arron’s laboratory.”

  “Good idea, Lynn,” Bennet said. “I have to stay here to supervise.” He called to one of his men. “Gibson! This is Lynn Lash- drive him where he needs to go and assist him in any way you can.”

  A blonde haired, corn fed Federal man in a now grimy suit came at his commander’s call. He had small round-lens glasses and was freckled.

  “The car is over here, Sir,” the agent said as he indicated a dull grey coupe up the street.

  “Where to, Sir?” Gibson asked once the three of them were in the car.

  “Sailor Snug Harbor along the Kill Van Kull on the north shore,” Lash said. “Professor Alters has his laboratory in one of the out buildings.”

  Sailors' Snug Harbor was a collection of massive 19th-century buildings set in a park along the Kill Van Kull on the north shore of Staten Island. It was a home for aged sailors and was 83 acres. Opened in 1833, it was the country's first home for retired merchant seamen.

  The Secret Service agent drove the sedan though the open front gate of the complex. It had a main ‘street’ but had something of the feel of a campus or of a small-town square. The main buildings were rows of pseudo-classical temple fronts, set side-by-side with tiny connecting structures recessed behind the grand facades set in the landscape of a park.

  “Arron’s lab is that far building,” Lash said pointing to a two story building separate from the rest by some twenty yards. Beyond it was New York Harbor only two hundred feet away on the other side of Richmond Terrace.

  “Would the professor have left the lights on?” Al noted as they pulled up outside the building.

  “Not likely,” Lash said. “He has been at that conference in Washington for a full week.” He drew a gun from his holster and said, “Let’s go hunting, gents!”

  Chapter Three

  A Drive in the Country

  Agent Gibson a
nd Al Cord approached the house from the front while Lynn Lash circled the building. “Just in case things go bad, Mister Cord, “ the government man said, “I’m deputizing you, Here-“ he offered a ‘spare’ gun to the newspaperman who gladly accepted it. The two approached with their guns drawn.

  Gibson shouldered into the door and immediately whoever was in the building unleashed a fusillade of gunshots. The two lawmen dove aside and returned fire.

  Lash debated heading back to help his friends but decided he could do more by getting behind the intruders. He raced to the back of the house and was about to head in when he saw a dark sedan parked just beyond some shrubs on Richmond Terrace. The failing light was just enough to see the license plate on the car. It was the same one on the suspect car that had kidnapped Alters.

  The tall crimefighter changed strategies and moved up behind the empty vehicle. He reached inside his jacket and produced a small leather case that had a magnetic back. He placed the case under the back bumper, pulled a small stopper and then rose to head back toward the house.

  The sound of gunfire within the house stopped. Lash just managed to throw himself into some concealing greenery, when two figures darted from the laboratory, rounded the far corner, and raced for the car.

  Lash held back and watched as the two dark suited gunmen jumped into the car and sent it speeding up Richmond Terrace. .

  Agent Gibson charged out of the house with his pistol blazing but made it to the curb too late to stop the intruders. He almost shot Lynn Lash when the criminologist emerged from the brush.

  “Save your ammunition, Mister Gibson,” Lash said. “That car is armored.”

  “You could have stopped them, Mister Lash,” the Secret Service man said.

  “Yes, I could have,” Lash said, “But then we couldn’t have followed them. Come on, let’s get moving.” Then he noticed that the reporter had not emerged from the house. “Where is Al? Is he alright?”

  The Fed was about to speak when the newsman came out of the laboratory building accompanied by an attractive blonde woman. She appeared flustered and was leaning on the husky reporter for support.