Chapter Sixteen
Niles McKenzie and Gregor Shotsky were both waiting at the dock when Bridget brought the Duck in for a landing. The two men had struck up a brief if grudging friendship, especially when Shotsky had shown McKenzie some of his makeshift creations. Even McKenzie had been impressed by both the practicality and the innovativeness of the devices. The fact that they were fairly concealable in their true purposes by their appearance was also impressive.
McKenzie felt a grimness settle over him. It was a familiar sensation, one he had felt many times over the years. He was girding himself for battle with forces that he knew were capable of destroying not only his life but his soul as well. His normally dour demeanor became even more so. McKenzie checked his vest and the pockets sewn into it. The vest was of a special design that he had come up with during the Great War and his time with the Fighting Hawks. Vials of holy water were secured in canvas loops sewn across the chest pockets; other mystical talismans were carried in select pockets as well as both a small prayer book and a book of both offensive and defensive spells. It had been many years since McKenzie had actually practiced magic, but he hoped that it was a skill he hadn’t forgotten.
Fighting Evil during the Great War had been more than just facing the Huns. There had been so many different faces worn by Satan’s agents over the years. Some had been conquered by mortal means, others through spiritual or magical means. Somehow, the Fighting Hawks had managed to defeat them all. But it had come at a great cost, not only physically and mentally, but spiritually as well.
McKenzie himself had fled to darkest Africa to work for the redemption of his own soul. Mad Dog Davis had retreated to the coast of Maine and the North woods, and Captain Dane Hawkins had become an explorer and vanished off the face of the Earth.
McKenzie waited patiently as Bridget taxied the Duck to the dock. He almost smiled at the thought. Duck to the dock, it was amusing. He and the Russian moved quickly to toss ropes from the dock to the plane and quickly had the craft moored almost before the hatch slid back and Bridget and the others got out. Bridget and Hannigan both looked almost way too happy. The Italian, however, looked totally miserable. He actually even looked thinner, his clothing now hanging much more loosely than it had a couple of days before.
“He looks a little worse for wear,” McKenzie nodded, indicating Degiorno.
“He wasn’t really prepared for honest work,” Hannigan replied, his hand finding Bridget’s and their fingers entwined.
“He was pretty tame on the flight from the boat. But then I imagine flying through the air without a plane can have that effect,” Bridget said mischievously
“How did that happen?” McKenzie asked, curious.
“While boarding,” Bridget explained, deliberately being vague.
McKenzie shook his head in wonder. It seemed a lot was going on without his knowledge. Maybe even more than he wanted to know.
“Yeah the Italian got his first flying lesson,” Hannigan deadpanned.
“We have most of the supplies loaded onto the old floatplane, but we need to put a few in the Duck,” McKenzie said.
“Then let’s get moving,” Hardluck Hannigan growled.
*****
The silver zeppelin hung in the air, barely obscured by clouds, waiting and watching like some great predatory bird, searching for some sign of the others seeking its treasure. The Valkyrie was ready to attack, poised and waiting for a sign of the others seeking the treasure that had thus far been denied it.
The waiting was the hardest part for the crew, who were growing more nervous around Ragnarok with each passing minute. It was evident to everyone that Doctor Ragnarok was quickly descending into some sort of strange madness as they waited for some sign of the Italian who had stolen the real map to the temple where The Emerald of Eternity rested.
Hans Wessel hated waiting, especially with a madman loose aboard his ship, and that is what he considered The Valkyrie: his ship. She was the new flagship of the Luftwaffe’s new lighter than air class. He had heard rumors from the men aboard from the famed Condor Squadron that an even larger vessel was being secretly constructed--a true floating airbase that could deliver entire armies to any point on the globe. If the rumors were true, Germany would truly be masters of the skies!
For who would be able to stop the formidable might of the Nazi war machine if they could deliver an entire army anywhere on the globe in two days time? Not the British, and certainly not their poor upstart cousins the Americans. The Americans were too frightened to even join in the war effort! They made a lot of noise, but even the bloody Brits couldn’t talk them into sending men or materials to combat the growing Nazi presence in Europe or their growing conquests.
It would only be a matter of time before Germany ruled the world. And when Germany did, it would be through military might, not through some silly religious hoodoo.
“Wessel,” he heard his name spoken in long sibilant snake-like fashion. Hans Wessel turned to see Doctor Ragnarok standing in the doorway of his command room.
“What do you want, Herr Doktor?” Wessel asked sternly, much more sternly than he felt, because the madman before him still frightened him intensely. He had felt the man’s power and could sense what sort of evil he was capable of.
“They are coming, Wessel. Soon they will be within our grasp, and when they are, we will force them to lead us to our prize! They shall lead us to The Emerald of Eternity. Once we have it, no one will stand in our way!” Ragnarok cackled madly, rubbing his gloved hands together.
“How do you know this?” Wessel asked, humoring the mad creature.
“I can feel them, drawing nearer. And He is with them. One I have faced before. This time he shall pay for what he did to me, and he shall pay as no other has by dancing naked in the flames of Hell!” Ragnarok raged.
“Let me know when they are close enough, Herr Doktor, and I will make sure we capture them this time so they will have no choice but to lead us to your precious emerald,” Wessel replied with a smile that never touched his eyes.
“Yesssss!” Ragnarok hissed as he moved away from the doorway. Wessel felt a shudder of revulsion pass through him. He almost pitied Ragnarok, who had slid from being a terrifying being to a jabbering madman in just a few hours.
Wessel found himself wondering if the doctor might not just die and save him the trouble of having to kill him once the silly jewel was recovered.
*****
Hardluck Hannigan checked the magazine for the MAS 36 Carbine and slapped it into place. He was surprised to find that the good Padre had a couple of the French bolt action rifles at the Mission. They had only been adopted by the French Military the year before, so it was only natural that the Belgians would have them, but for someone as anti-violence as the Padre to have acquired a couple had come as a real shock.
There were a good many layers to the priest’s character, Hannigan had discovered, and he was sure he had yet to see them all. He could also sense darkness within the man that few others apparently could see, and it troubled him. McKenzie was a priest, a man of the cloth. Yet there was darkness in his soul that Hannigan found very troubling. Hannigan shook the thought away and went back to examining the rifle.
The MAS 36 carbine fired a 7.5x54mm cartridge and could hold up to 5 rounds in the magazine. It wasn’t a Thompson submachine gun by any means, but it had a lot more range to it! He had a feeling that it would come in pretty handy in the area they were heading into.
Hannigan heard the soft scrape of boot leather on gravel behind him and he spun drawing the rifle to his shoulder and flipped off the safety as his finger found the trigger. He found himself looking over the sights at Bridget’s suddenly pale face. Hannigan lowered the rifle and blew out a long breath.
“Sneaking up on people isn’t a real smart move,” Hannigan whispered, his whole body shaking at how close a call it had been.
“I see that, now,” Bridget replied, a slight quiver audible in her voice.
“I’m still surprised that your daddy had something like this around. Isn’t he afraid it might tempt the natives?” Hannigan asked, abruptly changing the subject. He did not want to think about how close he had come to almost blowing her brains out through the back of her pretty red head.
“I just came to tell you it’s time to go. Dad wants you to fly with him; I’ll have Gregor and the Italian with me,” Bridget spoke quietly. “Besides, if the tribes get restless, we need to be able to defend ourselves as well.”
“I guess,” was all Hannigan could think to say as Bridget spun on her heel and ran towards the Duck.
Hannigan mentally cursed himself as he followed along more slowly. Bridget was already in the Duck and had the engines going by the time he reached the older smaller Great War edition bi-plane. This one just happened to have floats instead of wheels.
“You ready?” McKenzie asked, as taciturn as ever.
“As much as I’ll ever be,” Hannigan replied.
Moments later both planes were climbing up into the blue African sky. Hannigan wondered if the journey would be worth what he had been put through so far.
*****
Claude DuChamps climbed out of the airplane and was thankful to be back on the ground once more. Antoine Gerrard and Paul Fontaine followed him from the aircraft. They had come in search of a man, a man worth one hundred thousand dollars American. His name was Mike Hannigan. There had been three other men who had gone looking to collect the price on the American’s head, but they had vanished.
Now it was Claude’s turn. He would find where the man had gone once he had disembarked from The African Queen. He already had the name of a man to look for, the local center for criminal activity: Francisco Degiorno.