The New Adventures of the Eagle

by Pro Se Press

  He hoped he would not come to regret that decision.

  As Jeff stood in the cockpit, he saw the problem.

  A Fiat biplane buzzed past them.

  They were in a dogfight.

  The young pilot looked up at Jeff with an expression of fear and dismay.

  “Listen to me, son. You can do this. Just fly the plane. We’re almost there, and I know we’ll – “

  Just then, the plane shuddered and Joan screamed. They had taken a hit.

  “Just take us down as close to the shore as you can. I’ll work the radio.”

  The boy gritted his teeth and nodded. He took the stick in a death grip and pulled hard, arching the plane into a sharp turn.

  “Prometheus, this is The Eagle,” Jeff barked into the radio. He hated to broadcast his code name, for he was potentially tipping his hand, letting the enemy know that he “The Eagle” was in the vicinity, but he needed to get in touch with his contact on the ground… or the water, in this case.

  “Eagle, this is Prometheus. You’re ahead of schedule. What’s your status?” The communication was full of static and the words garbled.

  “We’re coming out of the sky. Be ready.” Another shot smashed against the plane, rocking them violently to one side. The Eagle managed to catch his footing, but the pilot was not so lucky. His head crashed forward into the controls, knocking him unconscious.

  Gritting his teeth, The Eagle gently removed the young man from his seat and took his place. It was up to him to bring them in safely.

  Piece of cake.

  Grabbing the controls, The Eagle turned the plane into a steep dive. They would come down in the Aegean Sea, not elegantly, but alive.

  The Eagle would land, and then the fun would start.

  ***

  The sudden splashdown startled Joan, but she was in better shape than the pilot. The Eagle managed to drag him from the cockpit even as he felt a strafe of machine gun fire rip into the side of the plane. Joan was panicked, but she held herself together as The Eagle kicked out the emergency window.

  Thankfully, his ride was there.

  A small motorboat was pulled up next to the seaplane. Its occupant, rather than steering the craft, was taking aim with an M1. The idea that he could shoot a plane out of the sky with a sniper rifle might have seemed absurd, but The Eagle knew better. The man, Codename Prometheus, let loose with a single shot, piercing the biplane’s windshield and killing the enemy pilot instantly.

  “Welcome to Greece, Mr. Aetos,” the man said, as the plane spiraled out of control, and smashed into the ocean with a roaring explosion, its occupant already dead.

  “Glad to be here, Prometheus,” The Eagle replied, hoisting the unconscious young pilot onto the craft and then gently helping Joan step aboard. “Take us in.”

  Chapter Two

  The Hunt Begins

  “Il Gufo? What kind of a codename is that?”

  The Eagle put a hand on Joan’s thigh, silencing her questions. He needed her present for this briefing, this meeting with Prometheus, a man known as Kurios Nicolaus, a Greek-American OSS member who had been imbedded in his mother country since the rising threat of the Italians had cast their shadow on Athens. Jeff would need this Nico, as he was known, as an ally in the field, for he was a skilled driver and a demolitions expert, as well as an excellent marksman… though he had a reputation for rarely cracking a smile.

  The Eagle knew he also needed someone he trusted to act as his eyes and ears, coordinating actions and information that would be critical to this mission, and Joan was the perfect choice. She was smart, resourceful and trustworthy, and her distance from the spy world would deflect suspicion. After the dogfight incident, he had a feeling that now the fascists had a bead on him, which meant he needed to handle this assignment quickly and efficiently.

  “Please continue, Nico.”

  The swarthy Greek fellow nodded. “Well, Mr. Aetos, Dr. Pappas was here, in this hotel room. I myself was standing guard, right outside that door. But he disappeared under my very nose, and I fear he is in the clutches of Il Gufo.”

  Before Joan could once again comment on the name, The Eagle interjected. “The Owl. I’ve heard of him, a former criminal- a smuggler mostly – of weapons, secrets and even people. He now works as my opposite number in the legions of the Black Shirts. Like an owl, he is cunning and dangerous, and a bad omen for the people of Italy. But not for me.”

  Joan let out a sigh. The confidence that Jeff exuded, especially when he was in his role as The Eagle, the greatest counterspy at the disposal of the United States, was breathtaking.

  He continued. “This was the room? This very room was his?”

  Nico nodded, a bit sheepishly. But if The Eagle judged him harshly and thought him personally responsible for losing this Doctor, he did not give voice to his belief. He was focused on the business of finding the missing scientist before it was too late.

  The Eagle rose to his feet and walked around the room, pausing briefly at the nightstand where the telephone rested. He reached down and ripped the top sheet off of the notepad that sat next to the phone. Then he walked over and looked closely at the windowsill. Nodding to himself, he turned to Joan.

  “I’m headed to the docks. Stay here with Nico. And be ready for action as soon as you hear from me.”

  ***

  Before leaving the hotel room, The Eagle took a few moments to disguise his appearance. The three-piece navy blue suit he had worn on the plane was a bit too conspicuous for the work he was about to do. Instead, he asked Nico to procure for him a set of heavy boots, trousers, a dark brown woolen sweater, and a navy blue pea coat and woolen hat. The ensemble would be quite warm but would allow him to blend in with the locals on the dock.

  That was where Dr. Pappas had been headed the previous night, when he had disappeared. The Eagle knew as much from the phone message the scientist had received… a message concerning a long lost love.

  The oldest trick in the book.

  To most, the faint message, scribbled on the pad, pressing through to create an impression on the lower sheets, would have seemed quite ordinary. But to The Eagle, versed in code-breaking techniques ranging far and wide, the message had been clear. The woman, the “Doctor’s Agape,” would meet him at the dock at 20:00 sharp.

  That’s where Dr. Pappas had gone, so that is where The Eagle was now. The boot prints on the windowsill had shown The Eagle that the Doctor had been so desperate to see his Agape that he had slipped away from his guard in order to facilitate their meeting.

  And he had been at the designated spot, waiting for quite a while, The Eagle surmised. He found the remnants of a crushed Russian cigarette by the edge of the dock, trampled by foot traffic, yet still recognizable. He also recognized the signs of a struggle. Drag marks. Boot prints. They, too, were evident to a trained eye such as his, even amidst the confusion.

  He noticed one more sign: a curious gaze from a small boy.

  The Eagle saw the little fellow, standing behind his family’s fish stand, peering out with big brown eyes, and he knew.

  Sensing this boy had information he could use, The Eagle called out in fluent Greek (the ability to speak six different languages came in quite handy in the spy craft business, he always felt).

  “Boy! I would speak with you.”

  The child froze in place, clearly not expecting the strange fisherman to speak to him. He cowered back, stepping away from the busy stand and toward a nearby alley. The Eagle had to stop the boy before he fled. He needed to know what the child had seen.

  The Eagle reached into the pocket of his pea coat and took out his lighter. He flicked it on and off, twirling it in his hand. It was a skill he had picked up during his studies, as keeping his hands busy had always helped him focus while learning language and codes.

  It worked. The boy was transfixed. He stared at the whirling pattern as The Eagle played with the lighter. Slowly, the child approached.

  The Eagle handed the lighter to the
child and drew him aside, into the alley.

  “Quickly son, you must tell me. You saw a man taken from this very spot last night, didn’t you?” The Eagle’s Greek was flawless. The boy, mesmerized by the shiny trinket and unable to get it to work the way he had just seen, said nothing. The Eagle reached out and took the lighter from the boy, igniting it with a flick of his thumb. The boy smiled as The Eagle spoke. “Son, tell me what you know. I promise no harm will come to you.”

  He looked up at The Eagle and, seeing the warmth and trust in the spy’s eyes, he spoke. “Il Gufo’s men. I know them. We all know them here. My father pays them, and they do us no harm.” The Eagle nodded. It was much the same all over the world. The strong preying on the weak, and taking what little money they had in exchange for protection.

  “Where would they take him son?”

  “The Owl’s Nest of course. The Aviary.”

  The Eagle was about to ask a follow up question, when he heard a noise to his right, at the opening of the alley. He whipped his head around and caught sight of two large, swarthy Greek men dressed entirely in black -- sweaters, gloves and coats --approaching.

  The Eagle saw a glint of gunmetal in the larger man’s hand and instantly he was ready for battle.

  He put his body between the thugs and the young boy. No matter what happened, he would not let harm come to the child. He would keep that promise.

  As the larger thug raised his gun to take aim, The Eagle whipped his arm, sending his lighter sailing into the face of the gunman, throwing off his shot and sending the bullet glancing harmlessly off the ground.

  The second thug, perhaps complacent, thinking his compatriot would take care of this mysterious fisherman with one bullet, reached into his coat, presumably for his own weapon.

  The Eagle would not give him a chance. He leapt into action, crossing the distance between himself and the goons in two lightning quick strides, crashing into the smaller thug like a Princeton linebacker taking down a Yale tailback.

  The two tumbled out of the alley rolling into the fish stand, a pile of iced smelt pouring down on them. The Eagle sprung off his stunned target and sent a fierce kick into the knee of the larger goon, who had turned his aim back toward his quarry, dropping him to the ground with a grunt.

  As his two enemies were briefly stunned, The Eagle called to the young boy, urging him to run. The child nodded and sped off.

  Then, silently promising to pay the fishmonger and his wife for any damage he would cause, The Eagle grabbed the wooden fish cart and, with a heave, tossed it onto his two downed opponents, sending ice and anchovies spilling all over the dock.

  His two enemies immobilized for now, The Eagle vanished into the night. He was on the trail of the Owl, and, after a quick stop back at the hotel, he knew where he was headed next.

  Chapter Three

  The Beaten Path

  The Eagle never came to a mission unprepared. He always did his research.

  Even though Joan probably would have appreciated a little more attention during their long and tiresome journey, Jeff Shannon had spent most of the trip reading all the intelligence he could locate on the situation at hand, the scientist he was tasked with escorting and his destination.

  It was because of this preparation that he knew exactly what the young boy meant when he referred to “The Nest.”

  Aside from fishing, tourism and organized crime, the only other source of income for the denizens of this small Greek island was a tiny vineyard that produced a wine that sported the label “Avian Hill.”

  The vineyard was, according to his sources, likely to be the secret headquarters of the Italian arms dealer known only as Il Gufo.

  So that’s where The Eagle was headed now, to track down Dr. George Pappas, assuming that the nefarious criminals had not already done the unspeakable.

  But no. They needed him or, more likely, whoever was paying them to transport Dr. Pappas needed him alive. He had expertise that few in the world possessed and Jeff Shannon had learned through his study that the Doctor had been recruited by the United States government for a top-secret project that was classified to the highest levels of national security.

  Pappas had been waiting for secure transport to the US of A -- on the wings of The Eagle -- when he had slipped away from his appointed guard. Then, of course, the Owl’s lackeys had nabbed him.

  Now Jeff had to find him before it was too late. To that end, he was headed toward the Avian Hill vineyard.

  Before leaving, he had explained his plan to Joan and Nico. She would stay behind to monitor communications, taking a radio from Nico, who would keep the other. He would also act as driver.

  In addition, The Eagle had undergone another transformation of appearance. He had shed his fisherman’s gear and reverted to his fitted suit. He felt comfortable once again in the finely tailored garment. It was almost like his personal uniform.

  He had an advantage. His enemies did not know who he truly was or even his appearance. They merely knew his name and reputation. They just knew that The Eagle had landed, evading the attack of the biplane the night before and knocking out their goons this morning. They did not know his face.

  So he took advantage of his trusty make up kit, applying a bit to his face, giving him a swarthier complexion. Adding a false moustache completed his cover. The Eagle relied more on body language and speech patterns to sink into new identities than he did fancy disguises.

  Finally, he climbed into the passenger seat of Nico’s FIAT 15 TER truck. The Greek drove partway up the hill that gave the vineyard its name, dropping The Eagle off so he could walk the rest of the way. Nico would be ready to serve as backup when the time came.

  ***

  His plan was to be direct. Jeff Shannon would approach the cottage at the top of the hill, introduce himself as an importer/exporter from Athens using his flawless Greek accent, and then, once inside the inner sanctum of the Owl’s lair, he would locate and rescue Dr. George Pappas.

  That was the plan. But in the spy business, frequently, all did not go according to plan.

  The Eagle never reached the front door of the cottage. Along the way, an armed guard -- dressed entirely in black and carrying a battered old M1 --who was patrolling along the perimeter of the hill called for him to halt.

  “State your business,” the small, stoutly built man called out in Greek, raising his weapon and pointing it at The Eagle.

  “My friend,” The Eagle answered in the same tongue with nary a stumble. Many men had aimed a gun at The Eagle and none yet had succeeded in ending his mission. “Why do you point your weapon at me? I am merely enjoying a pleasant walk, hoping to visit your lovely vineyard, yet you stand between me and the fruit, holding a gun?”

  “I am asking the questions here, stranger. I said, state your business.”

  The Eagle decided not to correct the armed man, explaining that his statement was a command, not a question.

  “I seek an audience with,” he was tempted, at this moment, to use the nom de guerre of the Italian arch-criminal but fought that urge, “the master of this place. I wish to speak to him of wine and drachmas.”

  The eyes of the guard flicked up and down The Eagle’s form, judging him. The spy held his ground, using his body language to convey confidence with nary a hint of his true, deadly nature.

  “You will come back tomorrow,” the guard said brusquely.

  It was The Eagle’s turn to size up his opponent. The fact that the area was patrolled and that the coast would be clear the next day gave him an important clue. Whatever Il Gufo was hiding would be moved sometime in the next 24 hours.

  This meant that The Eagle had to act fast.

  He took a step forward and the guard jolted, raising his weapon and pointing it directly at The Eagle’s heart. The spy put up his hands, palms out, indicating that he was not a threat.

  “Pardon, sir. I mean no harm. But if I am to be on my way, perhaps you could give me directions. If you permit me to get my map?” He
gestured toward the breast pocket of his suit jacket. There was no evident bulge, so surely there could be no weapon present, hidden as it was in his rear waistband, securely out of sight.

  Hesitating, the guard nodded and waved his gun, indicating that The Eagle should proceed.

  Returning the nod, The Eagle looked down at his pocket, as if searching for the map, stepping slowly and carefully toward the guard. When he was close enough, he struck.

  He dropped into a crouch, lashing out with his foot, spinning and sweeping the startled guard’s legs out from under him. The man pitched forward, wind milling his arms in an attempt to regain his balance.

  Before he could cry out, The Eagle struck, landing a rabbit punch on the man’s Adam’s apple with his right hand and wresting the startled man’s gun from his grasp with his left. Then, without hesitation, he knocked the sentry cold.

  The Eagle dragged the guard off to the side of the path, hiding his inert form behind a bush. An inelegant solution, but effective in the short term.

  A solitary guard monitoring the perimeter of the cottage told The Eagle that Il Gufo was being cautious but smart. He did not wish to draw unnecessary attention to the cottage. The Eagle would use that to his advantage.

  He moved off the beaten path, deciding to forgo the head-on approach. If Dr. Pappas was indeed in that building, The Eagle would rescue him now and end this matter quickly, transferring the scientist to the waiting arms of the United States military.

  And if he was not there, then The Eagle would surely track him down. He was on the scent and nothing would stand in his way.