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HERE.
The Idaho plant of Federal Cybernetics was in the country some miles from Lewiston in the high mountains. In the official staff car sent from the nearest Army base, Brigadier General Rogers sat up front beside the driver who had come with the car to meet them at the airport.
Rogers and Professor Farina had been waiting impatiently when Cranston arrived by jet. Rogers immediately started toward the waiting staff car.
“Let’s move, Cranston,” the General said. “You came alone this time?”
“Speed was essential, General,” Cranston said. “My secretary will follow.”
“Right. Come on, Farina,” Rogers snapped as he strode to the car. The driver jumped out and held open the door. Rogers barely nodded to the driver as he stepped into the car followed by Farina and Cranston.
Farina was obviously disturbed. “I don’t know how I missed that defect of the fuel control the first time around, Cranston. It was small, and not easy to locate, but I shouldn’t have missed it.”
“It happens,” Rogers said from the front seat as they drove.
“We’re all on edge,” Cranston said.
Farina nodded. “I suppose so. It’s the next shot that has me jittery. I suppose I was too anxious to find the trouble in time. At least I’ll know enough to inspect the control more carefully in advance this time.”
“I wouldn’t expect them to sabotage the same part again,” Cranston said. “They’ll try something else. There are so many parts to a rocket, that is one of the difficulties.”
Farina nodded moodily. “Yes, that is the problem.”
Rogers snorted in the front seat. “I’ll stake my next ten years pay that they’ll lay off now that they’ve been warned that we’re on to them. And if they don’t, well maybe we can put an end to any more trouble by catching them red-handed right here in the Federal Cybernetics plant.”
“Let’s hope so,” Farina said.
The staff car drove on into the foothills of the mountains. White rivers leaped down the sides of the craggy hills, flowing in the deep gullies that passed beneath the road under bridges. The thickly wooded forests came down to the road, a great thick mass of green pines and firs that stretched out across the mountain valleys as far as the eye could see. The road wound among the foothills with the great towering peaks of the mountains still in the distance ahead. Just as the road entered the actual mountains, the staff car reached the gate of the Federal Cybernetics plant.
The driver slowed and drove up to the locked gate. Five guards came out. They were armed and in full uniform.
“Stop there!” one of the guards snapped. He was a tall man with rigid military bearing. He wore the rank of a Captain on the shoulder straps of his private guard uniform, and carried a pistol ready in his hand.
The car stopped. The Captain of the guards walked out the opened gate to the car. He approached warily and alert. His four men fanned out behind him in such a way that all the occupants of the car were covered and observed, and at the exactly right places so that no more than one could be attacked at a time from the car. Cranston watched them carefully as the Captain stood off and made Rogers reach out.
“Papers, please!” the Captain snapped.
Rogers glared, but handed out his identity papers and his official pass to visit the plant. The Captain studied them intently. Then he handed them back to Rogers, and saluted.
“Very good, General. Now the other two men, please.”
“Is that necessary, young man?” Rogers said. “I can vouch for …”
“It is necessary, sir,” the Captain said.
Cranston and Professor Farina handed out their identity and their passes. The Captain studied these with equal care. Cranston studied the Captain. He was a tall, muscular man who looked more like an officer in some Army than a plant guard. There was a long scar on his face; the scar of an old wound. He moved with the air of a man accustomed to command, and his eyes were a cold and flat blue. Cranston frowned as he watched the Captain and the other four guards.
“Very good, General, you can pass,” the Captain said as he handed back Cranston and Farina’s papers.
The driver drove the car through and onto the concrete drive that led up to the low, rambling one story plant set against the magnificent backdrop of the high mountain that towered close above the plant. Cranston still frowned and looked back at the guards.
“They are very military, General,” the socialite said slowly. “Very efficient. They are almost too military.”
Rogers looked back thoughtfully. “I noticed that, too. It looks like Federal has hired real ex-soldiers for their guards. Soldiers not long out of service either. They must be worried about something.”
“The sabotage?” Cranston said.
Rogers nodded. “Probably. It’s tight security. I wish all our defense plants had better security.”
“Still,” Cranston mused. “It is unusual to see such a tight military security at a civilian plant.”
“It should be tight.” Farina said. “The work here is ultra top secret. That is why I wonder how anyone could have sabotaged the control here. We may find we have to trace its entire route from here to Utah Base.”
Rogers agreed. “Probably. The weak link, that’s what we have to find. There’s always a weak link in every chain.”
The car drove up to the main entrance and stopped. Cranston recognized the man who came out of the building to greet Rogers and his party. It was Dr. Max Ernest. The Chief of Research for Federal shook hands all around and smiled a greeting. But it was only his mouth that smiled.
Cranston saw that behind the smile the eyes of Dr. Ernest showed that he was worried about something. Ernest was not pleased to see Rogers and the others. But the Doctor covered it well and led them into the building and back through a maze of corridors to the private office of J. Wesley Bryan. Cranston was surprised to see the number of corridors, the extent of the plant, and realized that the low plant was set back into the base of the mountain. It was far larger than it seemed to be.
“Ah, gentlemen!”
J. Wesley Bryan was seated in his wheel chair behind his mammoth desk. The tiny crippled man smiled and waved them all to seats as he greeted them. Rogers watched the small man carefully. Farina appeared nervous to Cranston. The socialite himself assumed his most impassive face. Bryan seemed most interested in Cranston.
“So, Cranston, you’ve come to look at the competition, eh?” the small man said from his wheelchair. “I’ve admired your work for some time. Perhaps you can admire some of mine.”
“Everyone admires your work, Mr. Bryan,” Cranston said quietly. “Few people have done as much in rocketry. The fuel control alone is a triumph of achievement.”
Bryan nodded with satisfaction. “It was a breakthrough, wasn’t it? Yes, I might say I am proud of our work there. But we will do more, much more! Eh, Ernest?”
The Research Director nodded agreement. Dr. Ernest was still standing just inside the door of Bryan’s private office. Cranston saw that for some reason Max Ernest still seemed highly uneasy.
Was the Research Director worried for himself, worried about some discovery being made if anyone looked too closely?
“Yes!” Bryan said eagerly. “We are doing work that will make the whole world sit up and notice!” And the small man laughed. “But enough of my work, what brings you gentlemen here?
The next Moon shot is only days away. I’m surprised that you could find the time, especially Professor Farina.”
“If there is a shot,” General Rogers said.
Bryan arched an eyebrow. ” If, General?”
“Sabotage,” Rogers said.
Bryan was silent for a moment. The small crippled man seemed to be thinking. Then he frowned.
“I still cannot understand how anyone could get on the Utah Base to sabotage the project,”
Bryan said. “I would have said that it was impossible. Still, there is no denying that something has been going wrong. I have, of course, checked the control completely. I cannot find any reason for failure.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t necessary for anyone to get on the Utah Base,” Rogers said bluntly. “I’m convinced that our troubles are sabotage, not accident, but I am also sure that no one could have gotten onto the Base.”
Bryan’s eyes snapped. “You are implying that the sabotage was done somewhere else—
perhaps here? !”
“Perhaps,” Rogers said.
“Ridiculous! You’ve seen our security, General! How could anyone get on our property to sabotage anything?”
“We’ve located the cause of the last failure,” Farina said. “It was in the fuel control system. A small change in valving. It could have been done almost anywhere.”
“But not here!” Bryan thundered. “Not only do we have strong plant security, the actual production and test facilities for the components of the control are completely secure. We test each component completely before we let it out!”
“Perhaps,” General Rogers said, “But the unit was sabotaged. There is no doubt now.
Somewhere between here and Utah Base the fuel control valving was altered! That is sabotage not an accident. And the trail must begin here. Now if the sabotage was not done here in the plant itself, then we must track it all the way. On the road, at shipping depots and transfer points if any! We… .”
Rogers was talking hard and fast. At each point in his tirade the General emphasized his point with a pound of his fist against the mammoth desk of J. Wesley Bryan. Cranston watched and listened. The General, for all his emphatic tirade, was being circumspect with Bryan. Cranston was not entirely convinced by the protests of Bryan, but, then, he knew more about the secret work and strangely hidden amounts of material. He could not reveal this knowledge without revealing the presence of The Shadow. But he knew it, and he listened carefully. There was still one great fact on the side of Bryan—Cranston could think of no reason for the crippled genius to sabotage his own fuel control system! The socialite looked toward Max Ernest. The Research Director was another matter—could it be some kind of jealousy? Men had killed for less, and Cranston decided to watch Ernest very closely while they were …
Cranston stopped thinking. J. Wesley Bryan had suddenly held up his hand. General Rogers seemed annoyed. Farina seemed afraid. Cranston leaned forward.
“Professor Morgan!” Bryan said, snapped. “I wonder.” The small man turned in his wheel chair to face Dr. Max Ernest. “Has the clearance come for Morgan, Max?”
“Not yet,” Max Ernest said.
General Rogers narrowed his sharp eyes. “Professor Morgan? Who is this Morgan? What clearance?”
Bryan leaned forward grimly. “Professor Frederick Morgan. He came with credentials to observe. But some of his papers were old so we have not allowed him access to anything secret pending the receipt of proper papers. It is not unusual, papers get out of date very quickly, so we had no reason to really suspect him. However, in this case the papers in question were very old, so we have restricted him to unclassified work.” Bryan again looked at Max Ernest. “The clearance is taking a long time, Max.”
“Yes, Ernest said. “Too long.”
“He wants to study classified material?” Rogers snapped.
“Yes,” Ernest said.
“Where is he now?”
“We put him up in our visitor’s quarters,” Bryan explained. “We’re a long way out of town, and there is nowhere else to stay. Of course, at the moment, he is probably in one of our unclassified labs.”
“But he’s on the grounds?” Rogers said.
“Yes,” Max Ernest said.
“Get him up here,” Rogers snapped. “Is this kind of thing usual, Bryan?”
Bryan nodded. Max Ernest was on the telephone ordering the guards to bring Professor Morgan to the office. Bryan explained.
“We are a research company, you know. We get a lot of visitors. As a matter of fact, it is part of our Government work to allow access to our facilities to qualified scientists, the Government insists. Of course, we do a complete security check. We never let a visitor get close to classified material until he has been completely cleared.”
“But you have a lot of visitors?” Cranston said.
“Yes,” Bryan said.
“Can you be absolutely certain none of them get near anything classified?” Rogers snapped.
“Well … . .” Bryan began, and then shrugged. “As far as is possible we are sure.”
“But not absolutely?” Rogers said.
Bryan shrugged again. “Nothing in this world is absolute, General. Perhaps a very clever spy could have fooled us. I …”
The outer door opened and Bryan stopped whatever he was going to say. All eyes in the office turned to look at the door and the man who came through the door into the office. He was flanked by two of the military-looking security guards. Their guns were slung now, but the guards looked ready to instantly unsling them and go into action. The man they brought into the office was furious.
“What is the meaning of this, Bryan? !”
Professor Morgan was a tall, thin man. Cranston looked at him and his impassive face almost showed surprise. There was something familiar about Professor Morgan. The tall man stood with a stiff and rigid carriage. His hands were long and sinuous, like small snakes where they moved angrily now. His thin body was as erect as steel. He moved like a snake, sinuously, and his voice was cold. Cranston tried to place the man. He could not. It was the face. Morgan’s face was not the same, that was the trouble. Whoever he reminded Cranston of had a different face. Morgan had a thick face, too thick for his tall body. A bulbous nose and a heavy mustache. It did not fit.
Cranston stared.
“Are you Professor Morgan?” General Rogers snapped.
“I am,” the tall man said. “Who the devil are you?”
“My name is Rogers, General Calvin Rogers. May I ask what seems to be holding up your credentials?” Rogers said coldly.
Morgan laughed. “Is that it? One simple paper? You people are very nervous, eh? Have no fear, my clearance will be… .”
The tall man got no farther. Cranston saw it—the nose was false! It was clear to his sharp eyes. He stood, but Rogers beat him. The General had apparently seen, and guessed, the same thing at the same instant. Rogers stepped quickly to Morgan and pulled the nose. It came off in his hand. Morgan’s hand snaked toward his coat. The two guards jumped. Morgan was fast as lightning, and had the gun almost out when the two guards grappled with him. They held him.
“So?” Rogers said, and pulled off the fake mustache. The General touched the man’s cheeks, nodded, and scraped hard. The cheeks, too, came away, revealing the thin, cobra-like face of the tall, thin man.
“Colonel Derian!” Cranston snapped. It came out without thinking. Cranston railed at himself inside. He was not supposed to know the Soviet Colonel, but his face showed nothing and he quickly covered. “Colonel Derian of the Soviet Secret Police! Commissioner Weston has shown me his picture many times.”
“Derian?” Rogers said, and his face split with a grin. “The big chief of the Secret Cell himself? Well, well! We have a real catch, eh? So now we know! Came to do your own dirty work this time, Derian? I warned Misygyn!”
“Did you, General?” Colonel Derian said with a sneer.
“He should have listened to me!” Rogers thundered. “Now it is too late. We’ve stopped the sabotage, and we have you too. The whole world will be told. Take him out and lock him up!”
The guards took Derian out. Cranston frowned behind his hooded eyes. Rogers turned to Bryan.
“It looks like we arrived just in time, Bryan. I suggest you send for the State Police at once, and alert the FBI. The police can turn him over to the FBI in Lewiston. He’s much too big a fish to keep around.”
Cranston wondered. It was all very sudden, very lucky! Was it just a coincidence, or was Derian only a trick to convince Farina, Rogers and himself that Derian was the saboteur? There was only one way to be sure—The Shadow would have to appear to Colonel Derian!
“I suggest we all wait for the police,” Cranston said. “In the meantime, I would like to wash up, perhaps rest.”
“Good idea, Cranston,” Rogers agreed. “Can you lend us some quarters, Bryan?”
“I’ll check the control security,” Professor Farina said.
They agreed, and Cranston and Rogers were conducted to quarters in the visitors rooms of the plant. In his room Cranston listened for a moment. All was quiet.
Five minutes later, had there been anyone to see, they might have seen the door to Cranston’s room open and close. They might have blinked and rubbed their eyes as a black shadow seemed to slip out into the corridor and vanish.To Be Continued on Friday at...
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by James Patterson and Brian Sitts
