Doc Savage: The Secret of Satan's Spine (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 15) (26 page)

The miraculous cape the bronze man wore permitted him the luxury of not being seen, but that did not mean he could not be felt, nor could he pass through obstacles in his path, as if he were intangible. He was hardly that. Doc Savage was also rather large of frame, and vessels like the
Northern
Star
tended to be cramped, even in their upper decks.

Thus it was that Doc had to work his way through and around numerous obstacles, keeping close to the lifeboats suspended in their cradles, hugging the great ventilator funnels, and more than once nearly collided with an anxious crew member who was struggling to figure out what was going on.

Once, traversing a cross-ship passage, Doc found a Naval Armed Guard going in the wrong direction toward trouble. Without hesitation, the bronze man seized him by the shoulders, spun him around and sent him stumbling back.

“Danger in that direction, sailor,” he warned. “Find other crewmen. Gather weapons. Prepare to fight to take back the ship.”

“What the hell is going on? Is this a damned mutiny?”

“Piracy.”

Only then did the Navy man notice that he was talking to thin air.

“Where are you? I can’t see anything in this blasted darkness.”

“Get moving!” barked Doc, giving the man another encouraging shove.

The sailor took the hint. He disappeared below.

Doc Savage moved on. Had there been time, he would have stopped by his cabin and gathered up all the gadgets he could. He carried a few on his person, but more would be preferable. There was just no time. He had to reach the bridge.

The bronze man did so without further incident, which was a tribute to his stealth and skill. By this time, the pirates had redistributed themselves about the ship and were in the act of rounding up or locking in every crewman that they could find. They were very efficient in this, for Doc stumbled across no more members of the
Northern
Star
crew.

It was beginning to look as if Diamond’s gang was well along in their violent seizing of the gray steamship. Coming upon the radio shack, the bronze man discovered the set in ruins. Someone had taken a hammer to the equipment, disabling it beyond repair. No doubt this had been accomplished before any S.O.S. could be sent. There was no sign of the radioman, other than a spattering of blood indicating that a battle had taken place.

Doc found his way to the bridge, slipped up the stairs and found the door locked.

Hunkering down, he produced his periscope gadget, and lifted it in order to gain a view of the bridge interior. The bronze man was not greatly surprised to discover Diamond standing at the wheel, his nervous confederate by his side.

There was no sign of anyone else, which was very alarming. Manipulating the periscope carefully so as not to draw attention to it, Doc spied Captain McCullum lying in a corner of the bridge, as if flung there. The skipper was bloody and disheveled and looked very much like a broken rag doll that had been cast aside.

Doc studied him for several minutes before he discerned outward signs of respiration in his chest, proving that McCullum was still alive.

Collapsing the folding periscope, Doc considered his options. They were few in number, none of them very satisfactory.

It might be possible to jimmy the bridge door, but chances of discovery were significant. Breaking the door down would probably draw a bullet before it could be accomplished, although the bronze man flexed his knuckles a long time while he considered the odds.

Waiting for reinforcements made the most sense, but the essential problem remained. Reaching the door without being shot at, or worse, risking that Captain McCullum would again be used as a human shield.

After considerable reflection, Doc Savage decided to take an unorthodox approach.

Standing up, he knocked on the door.

This was not so foolhardy as might be imagined. The bronze man’s superb reflexes would allow him to drop down out of sight ahead of any seeking bullet before it could find him. True, some of the other risks remained. The bronze man was reluctant to simply retreat.

So he knocked, simultaneously throwing off his plastic hood, which revealed his metallic features and his uncanny golden eyes.

The heads of Diamond and Weedy turned, and their faces collapsed in a kind of incredulous consternation. For all they could see was Doc Savage’s disembodied head, floating in midair.

The incredible sight held the pair spellbound long enough for the bronze giant to replace the hood before they could get a bead on him. As a further precaution against flying lead, he stepped well to one side.

From the point of view of Diamond and Weedy, Doc’s head vanished as if a hungry fragment of the night loomed up and swallowed it whole, leaving only two disembodied yellow orbs that did not look exactly like human eyes. This was a trick of the suit. No matter who wore them, their eyes showed yellow through the screened eye-holes.

“This is Doc Savage!”

Diamond could be heard barking, “Go see what he wants!”

Weedy hesitated. “I ain’t lettin’ him in! Are you crazy?”

Diamond lifted his voice and said, “Speak your mind!”

“You can’t get away with this!” As soon as the words left his lips, Doc Savage realized how absurd they must sound. Diamond had control of the ship. And his men had unfettered range over all decks. It could not be denied that he was succeeding in his plans, whatever they were.

Diamond flung back, “I
am
getting away with it. Now beat it, or the skipper gets it. Get me?”

“What do you want, Diamond? If that is your name.”

“I have what I want. This ship.”

“Think you can hold it?” Doc challenged. “Think again.”

“You don’t scare me, Savage,” sneered Diamond. “I’m a guy who got plenty from his ancestors. Maybe you heard of some of them. François l’Olonnois, Captain John Avery, Henry Morgan, Bartholomew Roberts and Edward Teach.”

Doc Savage had heard of all of them. The last named was better known as Blackbeard, who had once all but ruled these same Caribbean waters. They numbered among the bloodiest buccaneers in history, and there was no possible way that Diamond was related to all of them, even if he might conceivably be kin to some of those rogues. But the boast told the bronze man one thing. Diamond was not an enemy agent. He fancied himself a 20th Century corsair. And he had a definite objective.

“I know those names, but have never heard of you before this,” Doc called out.

“I’m well on my way to remedying that,” Diamond barked back. “Now you listen. There’s no need for us to tangle any further. You and your bully boys climb into a lifeboat and take off. Hear me? Just go, and we will have no more trouble. After that, what I’m doing is my business. You can save your skins—or my men will have your hides. Your choice.”

It was an impossible situation and Doc Savage did not answer it directly.

Instead, he said loudly, “You will be hearing from us.”

Without waiting for a response, Doc faded down the stairs and melted into the gloom of the vessel superstructure. No bullets sought him. It would have been futile to expend lead on his fleeting form.

The bronze man moved about the ship and got lucky only once. He came up on one of Diamond’s gang, who had discovered a seaman at liberty.

The mariner proved to be the Negro oiler, Jury Goines. The big fellow looked vaguely dazed. No doubt Goines was still shrugging off the effects of the anesthetic Doc introduced into his system days before.

Seaman Goines had his great hands lifted over his head in abject surrender. The expression on his face held no surrender, however. And the look in his dark eyes held a crafty gleam that said that if the pirate who had the drop on him got too close to those great hands, they were going to sweep down and do damage.

The gang member caught that glint, understood its significance and made a snap decision.

He decided to shoot.

COMING up from behind, Doc Savage recognized the peril of the situation. His gloved hands, entirely invisible, swept up and came together. The bronze giant made the great clapping motion with both hands, capturing the man’s head between them.

The force of Doc’s palms striking the man’s ears all but ruptured his drums, and before the Diamond henchman could find the trigger with his finger, he dropped his gun and commenced thrashing, head feeling as if it was caught in a vise.

Doc Savage flung the man to one side with such force that the latter’s skull rebounded off the bulkhead, and the corsair was immediately laid low.

Observing all this, Seaman Goines looked about, failed to comprehend what he had just witnessed, and various expressions crawled over his dark features.

Doc Savage spoke up. “Seaman Goines.”

Goines blinked, seeing nothing. “Yes, sir?” he responded.

“The ship has been captured by pirates. Find a place to hide and await rescue.”

“Rescue? What about fighting back?”

“Later. The captain is a prisoner. Many of the crew are dead. Those who remain are unarmed. Conceal yourself and wait for word to liberate the ship.”

The big Negro didn’t like what he had heard, but the common sense aspect of it was undeniable.

“How come I can’t see you?” he muttered uneasily.

Doc Savage did not reply. He simply passed into another section of the ship, a softly rustling fragment of shadow.

Moving through the lower decks, the bronze man used all his senses, paying particular attention to what his nose told him. Years of special training had sharpened his olfactory nerves to the point that he could recognize individuals in absolute darkness by their personal scent alone.

Both Monk and Ham were addicted to expensive colognes they were convinced appealed to the opposite sex. When Doc Savage caught a whiff of the mingling of both of those scents, he glided in that general direction.

Before long, he found Monk and Ham, leading Don Worth and his companions through twisting corridors that smelled of oil and grease.

They were only recognizable because their supermachine pistols floated before them. The pair displayed two sets of yellow eyes that were not natural.

Hastily, the bronze man undid the hood portion of the electrical cape, revealing his bronzed features and active flake-gold eyes.

“Doc!” Monk and Ham cried in unison.

Monk grinned from ear to ear. “Whoeee! Now we can go to town on these dang buccaneers.”

Doc Savage shook his head firmly. “Diamond has control of the ship. And Captain McCullum is his prisoner. No doubt most of the crew are in similar straits.”

Expression ferocious, Monk growled, “So we take the blasted ship back!”

“No. Diamond has offered a deal. If we leave in a lifeboat, he will spare the skipper.”

Ham looked doubtful. “Can we believe that cutthroat?”

“Ordinarily, I would not. But for the moment Diamond has the upper hand. If we play along, we might be able to turn the tables on him.”

“From a lifeboat in the middle of the Bahamas?” Ham countered.

Doc said earnestly, “Diamond does not know about Don Worth and his friends here. I have also encountered Seaman Goines and instructed him to secrete himself until rescue comes. Altogether, that makes eight of us, with possibly an equal number of the Diamond gang surviving.”

“Not much of a plan,” muttered Monk.

“Have either of you a better one?” demanded Doc.

Monk made a fighting gesture with his machine pistol, indicating he simply wanted to charge about, unleashing violent hell and mowing down all opposition. Ham Brooks looked more thoughtful.

In the end, they had nothing much to offer. The situation aboard the
Northern Star
was beyond bleak. Conceivably, they might lurk about the ship indefinitely, a trio of virtually invisible men, picking off the enemy at will. But they could not conceal the fact that Diamond’s gang were being whittled down during such a dangerous operation. Such losses, when Diamond became aware of them, would doubtless provoke him to murder the captain.

There also remained the mystery of Diamond’s objectives. This was wartime, and discovering the pirate’s plan might be of greater importance than regaining the ship in the short run.

So it was settled.

TURNING to Seaman Worth and his friends, Doc said, “Conceal yourselves. Await developments.” He handed Don Worth a small steel object.

The young boatswain accepted it, regarding the object curiously.

“A whistle?”

The bronze man nodded. “A so-called silent whistle. Let’s hear how well you blow it.”

Placing the stainless steel tube in his mouth, Don began blowing. No discernible sound emerged, however.

But as Don continued his efforts, excited lights came into Doc Savage’s flake-gold eyes.

“You have just the right touch for this,” the bronze man told Don.

Don blinked, startled. “You can hear it?”

“Clearly. Apparently, the manner in which the whistle is blown makes a difference in the pitch. In the future, use the whistle exactly as you just did. No one will be able to hear it except me. If Diamond reaches his objective, or stops the ship anywhere, blow the silent whistle as many times as practical. Pass it among yourselves, and keep blowing until you receive a signal from me.”

A light of understanding dawned in the young men’s eyes.

“Can you imitate a whippoorwill?” Don asked Doc.

In response, the bronze man’s throat pulsed, producing an excellent imitation of that nightjar’s lonesome call.

Don brightened. “Perfect! That’s the agreed-upon signal, then.”

The matter settled, Doc Savage drew on the hood that caused his head to all but vanish from view. Moving quickly and softly, the bronze man led his men to the upper deck.

They picked a lifeboat sufficiently far from the bridge as not to invite a sniping bullet. The canvas cover came off swiftly. Working the thing out until it was dangling over the water, they climbed aboard and lowered themselves by the manila rope falls.

Once in the brine, they detached the lifting rings and pushed off. The bronze man waited until they were a fair distance behind the steaming ship, which was running with its masthead, stern and sidelights illuminated. Then he produced a flare pistol from the lifeboat’s meager emergency stores.