Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  Leolo looked at him doubtfully, but deep in her liquid eyes there was a faint glimmer of hope.

  “What can we do to help?” she asked impulsively.

  BRICK FELT a sudden excitement quickening his pulse. As long as spirit like this lived, as long as ideals remained imperishable things, immune to the thought of danger or the ravages of time, liberty and freedom would never be driven from the heart of man.

  Zoru stepped forward taking his daughter’s hand in his own.

  “My daughter speaks without deliberation,” he said quietly. “But words Spoken from the heart are often more beautiful than those spoken from the mind alone. The failure of Atlantis was partly our failure, since it was really the people of our continent that failed themselves. Perhaps we can extenuate ourselves by aiding you in your fight against the same tyranny that we faced so’ many centuries ago. If we can we will consider it a great privilege. We are kin to you Americans.” Pop ran his hand through his scanty hair impatiently.

  “We’re all talking too much,” he said irritably. “Sure we all want to fight, but what’re we goin’ to fight with? How’re we goin’ to get out of here to warn our people about this nest of adders down here? Them’s the things we gotta be thinkin’ about.”

  “Pop’s right,” Brick admitted. “We are helpless as we stand now.”

  Zoru smiled, an expression of faint amusement touching his eyes.

  “Not completely,” he said cryptically.

  CHAPTER VII

  Miracles in Atlantis

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Brick demanded.

  Without speaking Zoru walked to the side of the room and pressed a square panel that was set in the wall about three feet from the ground.

  Noiselessly a large section of the wall, from the ceiling to the floor, swung back, revealing another large room.

  “Come with me,” Zoru said. He entered the newly disclosed room.

  Rather uncertainly Brick and Pop followed the straight figure of the Atlantean. The room was the most practical looking room of all those they had seen outside of the Nazi occupied area of Atlantis.[7]

  The walls were of heavy material that looked like a form of hard asphalt, and in one wall was a huge bronze plate that was hinged on one side and clamped on the other. In the center of the room was a queer contraption that looked surprisingly like a huge, metallic bug. It was about twenty feet long, eight feet high and four feet wide. It had one door as far as they could see, and the top was made of heavy green glass. It rested on six spiked wheels, which were almost as high as the machine itself.

  “This,” Zoru explained, “was a conveyance used in crossing rough, rugged terrain. I think with a few repairs and adjustments we can utilize it in leaving Atlantis. That is, if you’re willing to take a rather long chance.”

  “We’ll take any chance,” Brick said, “but how can this thing get us out of here? We’re hundreds of feet under water you know.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that,” Zoru said, with faint irony. “But,” he pointed to the huge bronze plate, “that clamp opens to a corridor about fifty feet long. With luck we can devise a decompression chamber of sorts. I take it we’ll need something like that. Then we can convert this land machine into a below-surface craft. Our only serious problem will be in bringing it to the surface. But we can face that problem when we come to it. The important thing is to start readying this land transport for our needs.”

  The Atlantean’s quiet confidence in speaking of these Herculean labors was impressive.

  “O. K.” Brick said grimly. “Let’s start to work.”

  In the days that followed the three men worked like horses for sixteen hours out of each twenty-four. Leolo discarded her flowing gown for a pair of loose trousers and a blouse and worked beside the men, handing them tools and doing what work she could.

  She brought them their food, which consisted of the condensed tablets Zoru had stocked in their chamber before taking the opiate.

  In spite of Brick’s realization of Zoru’s scientific wizardry, he was being constantly amazed by the man’s almost supernatural skill in adapting his talents to the creation of things far outside his own experience.

  Oxygen tanks puzzled him for about fifteen minutes, but when Brick got the principle across to him, it was a matter of only days before they were completed.

  The two Americans learned much of the civilization of ancient Atlantis, its people, its ways and customs, but one product of Atlantis that Brick found practically insoluble was the silver-haired Leolo.

  AS EACH day passed her attitude toward him underwent subtle changes. But woman-like the changes were not consistent. One minute, discussing a mechanical problem, she would be all warm, eager friendliness. The next second she would turn, as if he had offended her, and leave him.

  One day while they were resting briefly, she said.

  “You have no thought in your mind but this work, have you?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “It’s the only thing that counts with me.”

  She was silent for an instant, then she rose and left him without a word. He sat up, puzzled, wondering what he had said wrong.

  He sighed and stretched out on the floor again. He wanted her to like him more than he wanted anything, but he didn’t seem to be making much progress.

  At the end of the second week it was obvious that the job ahead of them was bigger than they thought. The crawler, as they had named the machine, was still land-bound. A practical method for permitting it to reach the surface had not been hit upon.

  A fear that Brick had kept to himself was gnawing at him. He knew that the German sub base was preparing to launch a mighty attack—somewhere, sometime. But where? When?

  It was maddening to be so near and yet so far from being able to check their plans. For two rest stretches he tossed sleeplessly. For it was becoming more and more apparent what he must do.

  Pop was the first to notice the tension he was under.

  “What’re you so edgy about?” he asked bluntly.

  Brick ran both hands through his wavy hair nervously.

  “When we left the base,” he snapped, “they were preparing to make a big raid somewhere. I know it’s not an ordinary attack because the captain practically implied that it was being directed at the American navy too. The thing is this: We’ve got to get the details on that attack. If we don’t it won’t do us any good to get out of here.”

  “But how’re you going to find out?” Pop demanded. “The only guy’d know would be the captain. And he ain’t been accepting our invitations to tea lately. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he ain’t downright mad at us.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Brick said soberly.

  “I know it ain’t,” Pop retorted, “but the only way you’re goin’ to find out what you want is when the captain drops in on us so you can ask him.”

  “There’s another way,” Brick said quietly.

  “Name it.”

  Brick glanced at Leolo, then Zoru, before answering.

  “I might drop in on him!”

  POP LEAPED to his feet sputtering. “You’re crazy,” he stormed. “Absolutely batty. You wouldn’t have the ghost of a chance.”

  Brick shrugged. With typical abruptness his decision was reached.

  “I’m going to take a crack at it,” he said firmly. “We’ve got to know what the captain is getting ready to pull. The fact that the American navy might be jeopardized is enough to make me disregard the chances. If there was only one in a million I’d have to take it.”

  Pop knew better than to waste his breath arguing.

  “All right, you bull-headed baboon,” he said wearily. “Go ahead, but don’t expect me to feel sorry for you when you get caught.”

  Brick grinned then. Zoru laid a hand on his shoulder and said seriously, “Is this absolutely necessary?”

  “Yep,” Brick said. “You know I wouldn’t do a thing like this for a lark. Since I’ve made up my mind there’s nothing more to wait
for. I’ll leave now and with good luck I’ll be back in two hours.”

  He turned to leave, but Leolo touched his arm gently.

  “If you must go,” she said softly. “I can take you by the shortest route. It will save you time and greatly lessen the chance of detection.”

  “Fine,” Brick said. He waved a salute to Pop and Zoru, then followed Leolo from the room.

  Leolo moved ahead of him with silent, graceful steps. Through a narrow door he followed her, then through the dark mistiness of a labyrinthine passage way that led finally to a large, fairly well-lighted corridor that extended ahead of them for several hundred yards.

  At the end of the corridor Leolo stopped before an almost unnoticeable door.

  “This opens,” she said, “under the archway that connects the two main council rooms.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Brick said awkwardly. He moved slowly toward the door.

  “Aren’t you going to say good-bye?” Leolo asked softly.

  Brick turned suddenly and caught her shoulders in his big hands. His eyes moved over the shining waves of silver hair framing her piquant face and fathomless dark eyes. His heart pounded heavily in his breast as he stared at this girl of unreal loveliness.

  “Not good-bye,” he said huskily, “but hello.”

  He kissed her once, gently, barely touching her lips. He removed the language device from his head and gave it to her, then stepped through the door. He closed it behind him quickly, but not quickly enough to blanket the sound of her sobbing.

  With an effort, he jerked all of his faculties and thoughts from the girl and concentrated every atom of his will on the job before him.

  A glance gave him his location. He was under the archway that connected the mighty halls that had been his first glimpse of Atlantis. The bronze door that led to the occupied section of the continent was to his left, a symbol of the cleavage between one world and another.[8]

  Behind it—somewhere—was the information he must have. He moved toward it silently.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Terrible News

  MINUTES LATER BRICK STOOD just outside the great bronze door that was the barrier between the ancient, still unexplored world of Atlantis and the sections that had been turned into a modern mechanized Nazi underwater fortress.

  He was breathing heavily, and now he stood close against the door, letting the beating of his heart regain normalcy and his lungs resume their steady function. And his ear was pressed close against the cold metal of the door while he listened for sounds from the other side.

  After a moment, Brick was able to catch the sounds. They indicated what he had feared—a sentry was posted there. The sentry’s footsteps came with muffled regularity.

  One-two-three-four-five, (pause) One-two-three-four-five.

  Carefully, Brick listened. The sentry was evidently pacing back and forth before the door. As the sounds increased, then diminished, Brick was soon able to tell which series of five steps took the sentry away from the door, and which brought him back to it. This was going to be important.

  Brick’s hand found the mechanism that would open the great bronze door. And now he held his breath, listening, making certain. Deadly certain. A miscalculation would mean—One-two-three-four-five.

  The steps came close to the door.

  Pause.

  One-two-three—

  The steps were moving away!

  Brick’s hand shoved hard down on the handle, pulled roughly against the cold bronze surface of the door. It swung back from his weight.

  And then the cold glare of arc lamps, the gust of warm oily air inside the Nazi base came to him through the opening.

  He didn’t hesitate. Timing was everything. He wheeled sharply on his left foot, throwing his weight to the left, lunging desperately in the direction of the sentry’s gray-blue figure.

  Timing was everything. Brick’s timing had been perfect.

  The sentry had just started back to the door. Its swift and unexpected opening, the sudden appearance of Brick, the fact that he was in range for a flying tackle—these were the odds against him.

  Brick didn’t muff those odds. His shoulder drove hard into the pit of the startled sentry’s stomach. His arms wrapped ferociously around the stocky legs of the guard, pulling in sharply, viciously, as his legs churned with piston-like power, driving the fellow back and down.

  The shoulder in the pit of the stomach cut off the fellow’s wind. He had no breath, no time, to cry out. Brick’s aim was as excellent as the tackle. He’d smashed him straight back against the corridor wall.

  A sickening sound as they went down together indicated that the sentry’s head had cracked hard. Brick felt the body go limp in his arms.

  The sentry was out cold.

  Brick untangled himself and rose swiftly to his feet. He gave one quick glance at his victim’s open mouth, closed eyes, and limply rolling head. Then, satisfied, he got to work.

  The second part of his plan was as important as the first had been. Without it, he’d never be able to get through those corridors.

  MINUTES LATER Brick stood back and adjusted his tightly fitting blue-gray uniform coat. He grinned for an instant at the still inert body of the now denuded sentry. Then, quickly, Brick tore his own discarded clothing into long strips. Swiftly, he gagged and bound his victim so that the fellow would be helpless when he came around.

  The fellow had been carrying a rifle. It lay in a corner by the bronze door. Brick hesitated for an instant, then left it where it was. It would be excess baggage. If things got to the point where he’d have to use it, he’d be a goner anyway.

  There were two corridors leading off from the passageway in which Brick now stood. He looked at each of them dubiously. He wasn’t certain where the captain’s quarters were, and a wrong turn might mean failure.

  Brick took a deep breath, then started down the right passageway. He’d have to take his chances on its being the one. There was no sign of other sentries along the way as Brick moved onward. Nevertheless he pulled his cap down slightly over his forehead and hunched his chin into the stiff collar of his uniform coat, keeping his features hidden as well as he could.

  Several hundred yards ahead there was another corridor branching off to the left. It was wider, better illuminated than the first. Brick turned off into it. Suddenly, when he had gone perhaps a hundred feet, a gray-blue uniformed figure stepped from an almost concealed doorway on the side of the corridor. Brick kept his head lowered and forced himself to walk evenly, calmly, as the fellow passed.

  There was the temptation to run, or look back. But Brick did neither, and the clack of the uniformed sailor’s heavy boots was steady as he went on in the opposite direction. Brick breathed a deep sigh of relief. And suddenly he was aware that the warm air was thickening, getting oilier.

  He was on the right track. He was getting closer to the mechanical operations quarters. And in the same vicinity with those quarters, Brick knew, was the office of the captain!

  Now Brick could hear the faint humming of the huge dynamoes that were also part of the mechanical operations quarters. His heart quickened.

  There were more sailors, four of them, who passed Brick without so much as a glance. He walked onward. An officer was the next to pass him, and Brick came to a smart attention, clicking his heels and saluting promptly. His nerves screamed tensely as he gazed rigidly straight forward at the officer. But the fellow merely touched his visored cap, not even looking at Brick, apparently preoccupied with other matters.

  Then, a hundred yards later, Brick found it. A black metallic door, emblazoned with a silver swastika underneath which was the German naval insignia of a captain!

  Von Herrman’s quarters!

  Brick turned for an instant, looking up and down the corridor. There was no one in sight. His hand trembled ever so slightly as it sought the knob on the thick black door. He turned it softly, the door going in against his weight.

  The room—about fifteen feet square, wi
th a desk, a chair, files, and a liquor cabinet—was deserted.

  BRICK CLOSED the door softly behind him. His heart pounded like a trip hammer. He gazed swiftly at the desk, trying to discover from the state it was in if it had been left hastily. No. Everything was in order.

  Closing the door a little more firmly—it hadn’t quite closed—Brick heard a sharp click! His luck, he knew, had held. The door hadn’t been quite closed when he’d first entered. That was why he’d had such easy access to it. But now it was locked—as the one who’d left the room last had intended it to be—and there was no chance of a suspicious seaman entering from the outside.

  Brick stepped quickly across the room, and in another instant was rifling through the drawers of Von Herrman’s desk. There were dispatches, papers of all description, carefully and methodically placed in folders. They were all in German, and Brick cursed his lack of knowledge of the language.

  Minutes crept by. Brick gave up his search through the desk. He went over to the files. They were locked. A letter opener, inserted at the edges, opened the first file.

  Brick’s fingers found heavy, waterproofed paper. It was rolled. He dragged it forth. A map. Brick’s lips tightened in satisfaction. Here was a language he could understand.

  He stepped back to Von Herrman’s desk and spread the map out on its polished top. A map of the Atlantic ocean.

  Brick gasped. The map indicated precisely, by longitude and latitude, the location of the sunken submarine base at Atlantis! Furthermore, it was decorated with a series of lines and small drawings of battlecraft. Brick peered closely at this. Then his heart leaped to his throat. The battlecraft, the lines indicated, were leaving the shores of the United States.

  And what was more important, they were decorated, variously, with American and British flags!

  And now it became even more hideously clear to Brick. There were other, smaller, ships sketched in on the map. These carried no flags and were obviously supposed to represent merchant craft. And a staggering number of merchant craft!