Doc Savage: The Secret of Satan's Spine (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 15) (27 page)

Firing this into the air produced a ghostly brilliance that sputtered and soon fizzled. Doc awaited developments.

A response was not long in coming.

A shadowy form appeared at the stern rail, lifted a rifle of some type, and squeezed off a single shot that proved to be a clean miss. More slugs came, carefully spaced apart. The bullets skipped along the waves, sounding like flutes. None struck anything.

Taking a supermachine pistol from Ham’s hand, the bronze man latched it into single-shot position, sighted carefully, and fired twice.

The result was immediate. The sniper was driven backward, his rifle falling overboard. No more attempts were undertaken to snipe at the lifeboat, and in the absence of moonlight, they were soon lost from view.

Sitting in the sweltering darkness, Monk Mayfair wondered, “I don’t suppose that was a lead slug you uncorked?”

Doc shook his head. “Mercy bullet.”

“A mercy bullet was too good for that low-down buccaneer.”

No one disputed that, despite Doc Savage’s long-held policy of not taking human life if it could be avoided, not even in wartime.

Chapter XXX

ADRIFT

THE PLAN OF Doc Savage seemed wildly impractical on the face of it.

Permitting himself and his men to be set adrift among the sprawling chain of sandy cays and coral islands that comprised the Bahama group, without an outboard motor, or any means of propulsion, not even an oar, made no sense with the
Northern Star
steaming in the direction of the open Atlantic, her ultimate destination unknown.

The trio sat on the plank benches of the lifeboat, essentially marooned at sea. Perched at the stern sheets, Monk and Ham looked crestfallen. Doc Savage was characteristically stoic of feature.

For several hours, they continued to wear their weird capes that defeated the eye. These garments had not been perfected by Doc Savage, but he had come into possession of them as the result of an escapade in which they had figured largely. The bronze man had brought them along in the event they would be useful. Despite their transparent appearance, the garments were not as effective as they appeared. Worn in broad daylight, they were rather useless. In lesser light, one could navigate without detection, but could at times be dimly perceived. The bronze man had not brought them into play in the early portions of the voyage for that reason. The narrow passages and cramped crew spaces of the refitted former passenger liner made it virtually impossible to operate undetected for very long.

But under cover of darkness, especially the moonless variety, they were nearly perfect camouflage. Doubtless the hooded capes had helped to preserve their lives this eventful evening.

Doc Savage was saying, “The crystal statuette of which I spoke seemed to possess properties reminiscent of these garments.”

More so than Ham, Monk the chemist understood the underlying theory which gave the translucent garments their uncanny properties. But he was having trouble with Doc’s assertion. “I don’t see how any crystalline gimcrack could operate the way these cape gimmicks do,” he grunted.

The homely chemist then went on to elucidate the underlying properties, going into great detail, and explaining why the figurine of crystal could not duplicate the effect of invisibility. His recitation was complicated, but it involved billions of minute crystals being imbedded in the translucent fibers which comprised the plastic cloak. These crystals were specially treated with a sulphide mixture, which possessed the peculiar property of storing light energy and releasing it later.

“There ain’t nothing like that set-up in rock crystal you mine out of the ground,” he concluded.

Listening patiently, Doc said, “The statuette appears to possess the unique property of what I will call super-refractivity.”

Ham, who had appeared somewhat puzzled heretofore, now looked utterly baffled.

“I fail to understand,” he mused.

“Seen from different angles,” explained Doc, “the figurine was either clearly visible or wholly invisible. There existed no intermediate stage. But it is very different from the capes, which can be discerned in certain conditions of light.”

“I wonder where the object originated?” murmured Ham.

Doc replied, “I strongly suspect that the statuette may have something to do with Diamond’s objective. The lodestone that appears to leach chemical iron from the bloodstream in such an uncanny manner also figures into the mystery.”

“It beats me all to hell and gone,” mumbled Monk. “Diamond sure has hold of a fancy bag of tricks for a low-down dirty pirate.”

“He may be a common corsair,” admitted Doc Savage, “but there is nothing commonplace about his manner of operating. He is very clever and, and more importantly, supremely ruthless.”

“I’ll tell a man!” growled Monk. “He must’a wiped out a third of the
Northern
Star’
s crew.”

“And he will pay for it,” promised Doc Savage with a low vehemence.

They were silent after that, contemplating the carnage that they had failed to forestall. It weighed heavily on them all.

Hours passed in which they drifted, and the oppressive heat made wearing the translucent garments unbearable. When they felt it was safe to do so, they doffed and folded them, feeling relief immediately.

Monk removed most of his outer clothing and took a dip in the water in order to cool off. A grim gray passing shark motivated him to clamber back aboard.

“Glad I didn’t bring Habeas along on this cruise,” he admitted.

Ham said nothing to that. He was too discouraged to comment. He still lacked his sword cane, which was as dear to him as his right arm.

“Wonder where we are,” muttered Monk, looking around in the impenetrable murk.

Doc Savage surprised both Monk and Ham by stating calmly, “Based upon the last position of the
Northern Star
, the period of time during which we drifted, and prevailing ocean currents at this time of year, I would judge that we are approaching the passageway between Big Queer Cay and Little Queer Cay, the former a true island and the latter a mere hump of sand and coral. We will raise Big Queer Cay to our port in another hour or so. Both are uninhabited.”

Since there was no help there, Monk and Ham’s spirits were not lifted.

Doc unearthed the flare pistol he had previously discharged, broke it open and loaded the clumsy thing. Pointing it straight up into the night, he squeezed the trigger.

The weapon coughed violently, released a hissing star shell, which exploded over their heads with a magnesium intensity that illuminated the boat, but not much else. It was discouraging, that black emptiness through which they sailed.

There was nothing to do but sit and sulk, and occasionally glance back to study the phosphorescence swirling in the lifeboat’s wake like a myriad of sparks poured out of a silent rocket.

ANOTHER dull interval passed. Doc Savage seemed unconcerned by their predicament. He was ever thus. The bronze man appeared to have a plan, but even when he failed to formulate one, his foresightedness and preparedness often won the day.

Here, it seemed, luck played a role. Before long, a marine motor came chugging in their direction, and Monk and Ham began calling out.

In the darkness, the pilot shouted back, “Was that you fellows who fired off those flares?”

“It was,” called back Doc Savage. “We have been cast adrift.”

The schooner chugged alongside. It was a Chesapeake Bay bugeye, only thirty-six feet long at the waterline, a picturesque little sailing vessel with two raking masts and a clipper bow. The boat was sixty years old, as sound as the day they drifted her bottom of five great logs together with Swedish iron, and a honey of a hooker. She could make four points into the wind, with the centerboard up, in three feet of water. The shallow draft made her a sweet hooker for cruising the shoals of the Bahama cays.

The trio climbed aboard the boat, whose stern bore the name,
Albatross
.

Doc Savage identified himself, which impressed the owner of the schooner, a nut-brown individual of advanced years who looked like a professional beachcomber, if there is such a creature.

“We would appreciate the loan of your boat,” he said. “Urgent war business.” He produced his Naval credentials, which were examined by flashlight.

The amiable fellow proved agreeable after the fashion of one who dwelled among these scattered cays of the Caribbean. No doubt he was a “conch”—one of the white natives of the Bahamas, so-called due to their their diet of sea snails such as conch. “You fellows can drop me off on one of the islands and be about your official business. I’m a little too old to get into a shooting war.” He chuckled in a funny sort of way. “Besides, I went tropical back during the last big fracas.”

“Will Big Queer Cay suffice?” asked Doc.

“That will do,” assured the other. “Hurricane coming, you know.”

“Good. Big Queer is in the general direction we are heading.”

“Where are you boys bound?”

“Satan Cay,” replied Doc.

Monk and Ham swapped semi-astonished glances.

“I missed that turn in the trail,” remarked Ham.

“Me, too, come to think of it,” added Monk, scratching his bristled head.

Doc Savage waited until the motorboat man had stepped off at a decrepit old landing stage at one end of Big Queer Cay, a green streak of an island boasting moderate proportions, a handful of clustered coconut palms that stuck up like dark clenched fists, and a cream beach. Casting off, the bronze man steered out past the markers to open water, powered only by the muttering engine. All sails remained reefed. Their white wings would stand out should there be moonlight.

Only then did Doc Savage commence his explanation.

“You will recall that Diamond was overheard speaking of a spot he called Satan’s Spine.”

Monk snapped his fingers. “That’s right. I clean forgot!”

“The
Northern
Star
was headed on a dead reckoning course for Satan Cay, and it stands to reason that Satan’s Spine would be associated with that island.”

“That’s a bit of a reach,” suggested Ham. “Given the profusion of islands in this part of the Caribbean Sea.”

Doc nodded in agreement. “But it is the best lead that we have, and we are going to follow it.”

There was no argument on that score. They now had possession of a capable boat, a pair of supermachine pistols and the marvelous plastic garments that conferred the power of invisibility under appropriate conditions. It might not have seemed sufficient to take on a large ship equipped with a skeleton crew of buccaneers. But the bronze man and his aides had overcome greater odds in the past, and they were bound and determined to bring Diamond and his gang of cutthroats to justice before everything was concluded.

Chapter XXXI

AGROUND

THERE WAS ONE thing that could be said of the food freezer in the kitchen galley of the
Northern
Star
. It was pleasantly cold, especially when compared to the tropical heat outside its frigid interior.

There was also plenty of food, even if it was for the most part uncooked and therefore unappetizing.

Boatswain Donald Worth, along with Seamen B. Elmer Dexter, Leander Tucker and Morris Byron sat on the stainless steel floor, in total darkness, considering the situation.

Tuck remarked, “Come breakfast time, they’re going to open this food locker for grub.”

Donald Worth said reasonably, “That’s a ways off. Right now, we’re safe here.”

Seaman Dexter had found a tomato and was methodically eating it in the dark, at one point spitting out the leafy stem he had by accident discovered with his teeth.

Morris Byron had been sitting with his back to a wall, but the chill was getting to his bony spine, so he shifted about trying to find a comfortable spot. There was none to be had. But the alternative was to be at risk of capture by Diamond’s bloodthirsty crew.

Seaman Tucker asked, “Don, that dog whistle Doc Savage gave you. The sound of it couldn’t possibly penetrate this icebox, could it?”

“No, it could not,” admitted Don. “But until something breaks, that is nothing to worry about.”

Dex finished his tomato, including a small green leaf off the stem, which he had inadvertently consumed in the absence of illumination.

“I wonder where Oiler Goines got to?” he ruminated. “Doc Savage wanted us to tie up with him, but wherever he hid himself, he did a very good job.”

There was no point in speculating about the whereabouts of the missing Goines, so no one wasted breath on the subject.

Instead, they sat in contemplation, listening to the
throb-throb-throb
of the steam turbine engines. Although the converted liner was only about a decade old, its engines were obsolete by the standards of today. But it had been cheap and easy to refit for military purposes, and the rapidity with which cargo ships were being sunk in the Atlantic necessitated efficiency of production.

The engines pushed the
Northern Star
along at a meager fourteen knots. At that speed, she would not clear the Bahamas until well into the following day.

What transpired next caught all four shivering shipmates entirely by surprise.

The engines slowed, abruptly going into reverse. The ship shuddered its entire length, then she ground to an unexpected halt. The throbbing engines went ominously silent.

“We’ve stopped!” blurted out Tuck.

“Quiet!” admonished Don Worth.

Ears tingling, they listened with all of their might.Next came a grinding groan, and the entire ship shuddered. This was immediately followed by an interval of silence.

“We’re aground!” exclaimed Dex.

Not a great deal of noise made its way into the cold-storage locker, but before long a commotion they associated with the lowering of the great steel anchor confirmed what they had started to suspect, but deeply doubted.

“They dropped the hook!” Leander Tucker blurted.