The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (97 page)

CHAPTER VI

Tortures, Great and Small

Max Davies was accustomed to unusual dreams. While most of his visions of the future came during his waking hours, his nocturnal excursions of the mind were typically more symbolic, reflecting those things that were troubling him.

As he sat tied to a chair, his vision blurred and his consciousness slipping in and out of reality, he dreamed of things that had never happened, could never happen… but which were nonetheless disturbing:

Men and women in fancy dress sat behind a chain link fence that ran the length of the arena. They wore Mardi Gras style masks over their faces, many of them adorned by glitter, feathers and gaudy colors. The masks did little to hide their identities but it was part of the game, part of the glamour. Here in the arena, you cast aside your public face and became someone new, someone more primal in his or her desires. Here you came to indulge in that most ancient of human pleasures: the sadomasochist urges that even centuries of so-called civilization had failed to eliminate.

The Peregrine crouched with one hand raised behind him and the other held straight out before his well chiseled body. He moved in a semi-circle, sweat running down his lean torso. He wore only a pair of loose pants while his opponent was dressed in sandals, corduroy pants and a vest. The man had been wearing a bead necklace when the battle had begun but The Peregrine had quickly turned the jewelry into a weapon, nearly strangling the man with it before it had snapped. The beads had tumbled to the floor, becoming a perpetual hazard ever since. Twice even the nimble footed Peregrine had nearly slipped on the beads, which rolled about the floor at the slightest contact.

The Peregrine sensed that his opponent was tensing to strike and a dozen ways of incapacitating him sprang to mind. In truth, The Peregrine could have ended this battle long ago but something had prevented him doing so. He realized that some part of him craved this, the excitement and violence. As his eyes briefly scanned the cheering crowd, he found himself recognizing many of those in the audience. Even with their masks in place, he knew who they were: his wife, Evelyn; their housekeeper Nettie and her nephew Joshua; Max’s best friend, police chief William McKenzie; and Warren Davies, Max’s dead father. They were all pumping their air with their fists, cheering him on to ever-greater acts of violence.

The attack finally came, accompanied by an animalistic roar. The Peregrine heard the reaction of the crowd but he ignored them, throwing up a block that knocked the man’s charge off course. The man stumbled and fell to the ground, where he was unable to evade The Peregrine’s next attack: a sharp kick with his heel to the neck. If he had so wished, The Peregrine could have snapped the man’s neck like kindling. But Max was no deliverer of death, not if he could help it. The Peregrine had killed dozens, if not hundreds of men, but he never killed them when they were helpless.

The Peregrine relaxed, letting his arms fall by his sides. He slowly turned to acknowledge the crowd, who screamed their appreciation. Some of them demanded that the fallen man be finished but he silently refused, giving a brief shake of his head. He glanced towards the private viewing booth that overlooked the arena. There, his Sensei, the one who had trained him during his years in the Far East, sat watching impassively. The Warlike Manchu had groomed Max to be his heir, the one who would assume command of his vast criminal empire. Max had not known of the Manchu’s true nature when he’d tracked the man down and asked to be taken in as a student… once he’d discovered the truth, he’d refused the honor that had been laid out for him. This had infuriated The Warlike Manchu and had begun a war of life-and-death that continued to this day. Max saw a look of resigned disgust settle on The Manchu’s face.

That same look of disappointment was repeated on the faces of Max’s father, wife and friends. It hit him then, in a way that it had never done before: he was a failure to both his birth father and his surrogate one. Neither of them was satisfied with what he had turned out to be. He was neither the perfectly forged weapon against evil nor was he was dark enough to lead the Manchu’s empire of crime.

And then cold water splashed into his face, forcing Max out of his dream and back into cold, hard reality. He spluttered, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it of the cloud of pain that ensnared it. He looked up to see The Furies watching him with expressions of amusement. The Italian held a dripping metal container in one hand. A man wearing the uniform of a Nazi zeppelin commander stood in the shadows, hands clasped behind his back. The hum of engines beneath The Peregrine’s feet confirmed his suspicion that he was now an airborne prisoner of war.

“Welcome onboard The Valkyrie,” the captain said in broken English.

“No need to butcher my native tongue. I can speak German,” The Peregrine answered, flawlessly replying in the other man’s language.

Akemi lashed out, catching The Peregrine with a vicious backhand. Max blinked, blood dripping from his split lip. “Remember, American, that the only reason you’re currently alive is because we choose to let you live.”

The Peregrine held Akemi’s gaze, projecting such loathing that the Japanese woman took a step back. “Enjoy yourself, ladies,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Because when I get out of here, I’m going to kick your behinds so hard you’re going to sport a permanent boot print.”

“Let’s just kill him,” Imelda said, shaking her head. “I really dislike American tough talk.”

Mueller ignored her, staring intently at The Peregrine. He cleared his throat, drawing the hero’s attention back to him. “Herr Peregrine. You do realize that you are one of the foremost enemies of the Reich. If I were to present you the Fuehrer, dead or alive, I would soon be wearing so many medals that I could barely move under the weight of them.”

“So why don’t you do what the ugly girl says? Just kill me.”

Imelda’s eyes opened wide at the insult and she took a step towards him menacingly. Käthe caught her by the arm and shook her head. “Don’t let him bait you,” she whispered.

The Peregrine smirked at the exchange. Imelda was gorgeous, of course. Each of The Furies was the embodiment of male fantasy but it was obvious at a glance that the Italian had a short fuse.

Mueller, for his part, seemed dead-set on pretending The Furies were not even present. “I don’t want you dead. I want you to help me and, in return, I will help you.”

Käthe looked sharply at Mueller, wondering where he was going with all this. They had talked only briefly before waking up The Peregrine. She had told him of her desire to question The Peregrine about his knowledge of Sun Koh and he had expressed an interest in finding out if The Peregrine knew anything about other occult objects that might appeal to The Fuehrer. She had thought that to be an acceptable line of inquiry, given the interest that The Reich had displayed in such things.

The Peregrine seemed equally perplexed. “What do you have in mind?”

“Are you familiar with the story of The Fourth Nail?”

“Yes.”

Käthe stepped between Mueller and The Peregrine. She looked into the face of the zeppelin commander, keeping her voice low. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Please move aside.”

“Not without an explanation.”

Mueller leaned close, his lips almost brushing Käthe’s ear. “Please trust me. I promise that I will tell you everything but I need to do this now.”

Käthe pulled back, chewing her bottom lip. She didn’t know Mueller very well but she considered him to be an honorable man. She decided that she would allow this to continue—for now.

After Käthe had rejoined the other Furies, answering their questioning stares with a shrug of her shoulders, Mueller looked back at The Peregrine.

“Please tell me what you know,” the German said.

The Peregrine didn’t bother hiding his confusion. “According to legend, there were four nails to be used in the crucifixion of Christ. The first and second nails were for Christ’s hands while the third was for his feet. The Fourth Nail was for his heart.”

“But the Fourth Nail was never used,” Mueller said, a faint smile on his lips.

“Right. Supposedly, a gypsy stole the nail and used it to repair his wagon. According to the story, God was pleased that the gypsy had stolen the object that would have brought instant death to his son. In return for the gypsy’s unwitting service, he blessed the nail and those who held it. The possessor of the nail would be forgiven for his trespasses and would always be protected from harm.”

Mueller was nodding now, pleased at what he was hearing. “And do you believe in the Nail’s existence?”

“It’s possible. I’ve certainly seen stranger things.”

“Your own dagger was dipped in the blood of Jesus,” Mueller pointed out. “What if I told you that I knew the location of The Fourth Nail?”

“I’d say you have too much time on your hands. Have you forgotten that God blessed the Fourth Nail? I doubt it would work for a damned Nazi.”

“If it would work for a mongrel Gypsy, it would work for an Aryan,” Mueller responded hotly. He composed himself quickly, his smile returning. “Regardless, I would like you to locate this item and claim it for me. In exchange, you will be allowed to go free.”

The Peregrine noticed that the three women in the room did not seem pleased with this promise. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “First of all, why do you think I’d work for you at all? I like to think I’m plenty capable of getting free myself eventually and if not… I’d rather die than help a Nazi.”

Mueller’s lips twitched in silent amusement. “You are friends with police chief William McKenzie, are you not?” The Peregrine said nothing, though the slight shift in his features was enough to confirm that Mueller’s information was correct. “He and a former agent of the OFP are currently lovers, I believe. Efforts have been made to forgive her past transgressions in exchange for her assistance to your government but the fact remains that she is, as you would call her, a damned Nazi.”

“She’s turned over a new leaf.”

“Yes. Well, perhaps her lover would be less inclined to believe so if he saw certain photographs that showed her in various activities that, shall we say, would diminish her modesty?”

The Peregrine could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Are you trying to blackmail me into finding the Nail for you?”

“I’m trying to make a deal with you,” Mueller corrected. “Find the Nail and I do not release the photos.”

“And how do I know you have them? You could be making it up.”

“I can produce them for you. But I give you my word of honor that they do exist and they are quite shocking.”

“Great. The blackmailer gives me his word of honor.”

Mueller grunted, losing all semblance of good humor. “Think it over, Herr Peregrine. It may be the only thing that saves your life.” Turning to Käthe, he said, “Question him as you wish but leave him in one piece in case he reconsiders my offer.”

Mueller exited the room, leaving The Peregrine alone with three of the most beautiful, and deadly, women in the world.

“What the hell?” Imelda asked, looking from Käthe to Akemi. “I’ve never heard anything about The Reich looking for some nail.”

“I think it’s for him,” Akemi answered. She looked pensive as she spoke. “I think we should send a message back to OFP leadership and let them know what’s going on.”

Käthe shook her head thoughtfully. “Not yet. Soon, if things keep going the way they are.” She began to uncoil her bullwhip, snapping it loudly against the floor. “We have things to do first.”

Akemi glanced back at The Peregrine, a flush coming to her features. “You shot me, you bastard,” she said.

“To be fair,” The Peregrine said, “The Italian girl was holding the gun.”

Käthe sighed, having lost her patience. “Hit him.” Her orders were somewhat imprecise, however, and both Imelda and Akemi struck him. The Italian girl punched him in the side of his face while Akemi raised a boot and drove it hard between his legs.

The Peregrine cried out in pain, his mind suddenly awash in pure sensation. Akemi followed her kick with a series of open-handed blows to his head and Max nearly blacked out. Imelda yanked his head back with a handful of his hair in her fingers.

“Say something smart again, American,” she begged. “Say something else that I can hit you for.”

The Peregrine spat out a bit of blood with each word. “You hit like a girl,” he murmured.

Imelda drew her fist back and slammed it hard into The Peregrine’s right eye. The blow knocked his head back so hard that he momentarily lost his bearings. He wasn’t sure where he was or what was happening, but things cleared up quickly when he saw Käthe step past the other two women. She leaned over, providing him with a clear look at her ample cleavage. Under other, less painful, circumstances, he would have enjoyed the view.

“We can be much more subtle about this,” she warned. “We can make your pain last for days, until you’re crying like a little child. I’ll personally pull out your fingernails one by one and feed them to you. Akemi knows places she can stab you that will be pure agony. And Imelda… well, Imelda would love to borrow my whip and flay you alive.”

“What do you want from me?” Max asked. “You didn’t act like you knew anything about The Nail…”

“I want to know why you came to the island and what you know about Sun Koh.”

The Peregrine panted for a moment, trying to regain his sense of composure. His entire head ached and the pain in his groin was making him nauseous. “I have visions… of things that are in the future. I saw Sun Koh and I saw the three of you, beating the hell out of me.” He shook his head. “Guess I should have been able to avoid this one, huh? Anyway, I also saw Washington, D.C. under attack from kind of super-weapon. I think Sun Koh’s related to that… and so I need to stop him.”

“How did you find the island?”

The Peregrine hesitated, not wanting to get Glumm into any kind of trouble. But he realized that he would probably talk at some point or another—maybe if he went ahead and told them the truth, they’d lay off for a while and he could regain his strength. “I went to see a man named Glumm. He knew some of the stories about Sun Koh. He’d read some magazines featuring the guy.”