In the ornate office of J. Wesley Bryan, the small man in the wheelchair waited expectantly.
The door opened and Dr. Max Ernest entered. The Research Chief of Federal hurried across the office to where his boss waited. He handed Bryan the envelope.
“There it is, CYPHER’s full plan for subsequent operations.”
“Good,” the crippled scientific genius said, and he wheeled his chair around in a circle and waved his small hands toward the left wall of the office.
The entire wall had slid back to reveal a giant television screen. The television was on, and the picture was a large-screen picture of the giant rocket in the hidden valley on the far side of the mountain! Even as Max Ernest turned to look, vehicles moved away from the mammoth launching pad and the rocket stood alone with its umbilical attached to the tall gantry. J. Wesley Bryan’s eyes were bright with a kind of fever as he stared at the picture on the giant screen.
“There, Max! There it is! Almost the end—or the beginning! Yes, the beginning of our glory!
Only minutes, Max! Think of it! All our work, the years, the plans, the schemes and now only minutes and we will be the first men on the Moon!”
Max Ernest stared at the screen with his boss. The Research Chief licked his lips as he watched. J. Wesley Bryan almost cackled with his excitement.
“Absolute certainty! The Moon will be ours!”
“Yes,” Max Ernest said. “It cannot fail. We have made it foolproof—with the help of our unsuspecting friends.”
Ernest laughed. Bryan cackled with joy. A voice suddenly spoke from the screen.
“Fifteen minutes and holding. Final communication check. All systems ‘go’ for on-time launch.”
Suddenly, in the silent office where the two men stared at the screen and the giant rocket solitary on its night launching pad on the far side of the mountain, there was a sharp buzzing sound. Bryan jerked alert. The electronic genius pressed a button on his desk. Instantly the door became transparent and Bryan and Ernest saw the figure of a man standing alone just outside the door. The man wore the uniform of a CYPHER soldier. But Bryan peered and swore harshly.
“Cranston! How did he get here?”
“I’ll get him,” Ernest said drawing a pistol.
“No,” Bryan said. “Let him in. Open the door and cover him.”
Ernest went silently to the door and flung it open. His pistol aimed at the heart of Lamont Cranston. The socialite, wearing the uniform he had stolen from the CYPHER soldier, pretended surprise. He pretended to be both angry and scared. He stepped into the office as if Ernest had him totally powerless.
“What the devil is going on, Bryan? Some men in these black uniforms capture me! They were going to shoot me! I managed to overpower one, steal his clothes, and escape! Now I come here for help, and Ernest has a gun!”
Bryan smiled. “Sit down, Cranston.”
Cranston sat, his hooded eyes still pretending to know nothing. But he had seen the screen.
Bryan saw him glance at the picture of the rocket.
“Yes, now you know about the sabotage,” Bryan said, and the small crippled man snarled.
“You don’t fool me any longer, Cranston! I have the report of the Commandant! I don’t know how you escaped, CYPHER will have to answer for that, but I do know that you are not the innocent amateur and simple businessman that you pretend to be. No, you are much more, and you guessed about me or you would not be here!”
Max Ernest covered Cranston with his pistol. Bryan’s eyes glittered, and he cackled with insane laughter. “So you came to stop me, eh!? You fool! No one can stop me! I have planned far too well! Me! A poor cripple! I will own the Moon!”
Cranston stared at the crippled man in the wheelchair. “You’re insane, Bryan.” The socialite said quietly, but he was watching the screen where the rocket towered and a voice droned.
“Fifteen minutes and holding. Communications check almost completed. Weapons check completed, all A-okay.” Bryan cackled again. “Insane? No, Cranston, you don’t get out of it that easily. I’m not insane. I know exactly and precisely what I am doing. Could an insane man conceive, plan and execute such a project as this?” And the small man in the wheelchair waved his hand again to indicate the gigantic rocket standing on its launching pad in the TV picture.
“Clever, Bryan, but insane,” Cranston said. The socialite looked at Dr. Max Ernest who held the gun pointed at him. “Bryan is insane, Dr. Ernest, but you are not. No, you are only a greedy and stupid fool! You are one of those men who do what someone else tells them will make them rich and great. A fool to be led to destruction by a madman!”
Ernest’s eyes flickered toward Bryan, and then steadied again on Cranston. But there was a small fear in the Research Chief’s eyes behind the pistol. Bryan snarled now at Cranston.
“Madman, eh? Ernest is a fool, eh? Why you stupid poor weakling! Look at that rocket! Have you ever seen such a rocket? No, and neither has anyone else! That is MY rocket! With that rocket I will own the Moon! My men will be on the Moon first, and I will claim it and hold it!”
Bryan roared with maniacal laughter. The small man rocked in his wheelchair as his mad eyes glittered and looked at the picture of his rocket waiting to blast-off for the Moon. “Crazy, eh?
Was I crazy to use the United States and Russia like the stupid fools they are?” The crippled genius laughed and leaned forward in his wheelchair. “Listen, Cranston! Listen to how crazy I am! I developed the fuel control and a special super fuel that could lift more than man ever dreamed could be lifted into space. But no single man has the money or facilities to do the testing work necessary for such a project. So I gave my control to the United States and the Soviet Union! Yes, I gave it to them— so that they could do all my testing for me!”
Bryan rocked in his wheelchair with hysterical laughter. Cranston watched the crippled genius. There it was—the reason! Bryan had cleverly allowed the United States and the Soviet Union to do his testing work for him! So that he could beat them both to the Moon!
Bryan cackled. “With what I learned from the work of NASA and the Soviet Space Authority I improved my fuel control and my fuel—without telling anyone of my continuing work! I made them do the testing, and sabotaged their projects to make sure that my rocket would be the first to go—and it will be! In fifteen minutes my rocket will blast-off and nothing can ever stop me! I have the fuel control and the fuel to send more to the Moon than ever dreamed of. There are five men in that space capsule, Cranston! Five men with arms and food for years! ! Years, do you hear me? Not a few days, not weeks, but years they can live up there! The Moon will be mine and CYPHER’s!”
Cranston shrugged. “So you send five men to the Moon. What then? Of what importance … “
Bryan roared with laughter. “You fool! Five men on the Moon! Armed! Able to exist for years! With a permanent base developed by me! Supplied by smaller rockets which I have ready, or which I can steal! Armed with rocket weapons that can reach the Earth easily! Remember, Cranston, the Moon’s gravity is so little! A simple Earth rocket, properly fired and orbited around the Earth, can be fired from the Moon with ease and deadly aim! The Moon will be a weapon against the entire world! I will own the Earth! I will rule! Everyone will have to pay me to exist!
I will be rich, powerful, and with my wealth I will, send more men to the Moon! With the Moon I will control the world!”
There was a sudden silence in the office of the crippled genius as the echo of his mad voice died away. Max Ernest held the pistol steady on Cranston. The giant rocket stood on its pad in the TV picture. All was silent and still. Bryan, his eyes blazing with the vision of his power over the entire world, sat staring at nothing, into space, into the twisted recesses of his own hopes and schemes and ambitions.
Then a clipped voice spoke from the TV screen.
“Fifteen minutes and counting. All systems ‘go’!”
Bryan moved, shifted in his wheelchair, his small and crippled body anxious to leave the confines of the chair but held there forever. The small genius suddenly scowled and looked at Cranston.
“I have no more time to waste. This is my night of triumph!
I don’t know how you escaped CYPHER, Cranston, but now I will end it once and for all. Max, kill him!”
Max Ernest hesitated. The Research Chief looked uneasily at his employer. Cranston realized that Dr. Ernest had never shot anyone. It was one thing to threaten, to plan to rule the world, but another to shoot a man who sat in front of you. Max Ernest licked his lips.
“Twelve minutes and counting … . .” “Max!” Bryan snapped.
Cranston went over the desk in a single motion. With his amazing muscular control, the socialite alter-ego of The Shadow flipped forward from his seat, deftly pulled the single lamp from the desk, somersaulted, and landed on his feet behind the desk.
The room went dark except for the bright blue-white light of the TV screen.
“Shoot!” Bryan screamed.
Max Ernest shot. The shot went wild. Cranston hurled a heavy ashtray into the giant TV screen. It shattered with a loud explosion of vacuum, and the room was black.
There was a sudden silence.
In the dark Cranston saw them clearly. Max Ernest still held his pistol and tried to see into the blackness of the room. He stood not far from the door, his pistol swinging back and forth as he searched for Cranston. Bryan sat in his wheelchair. The crippled genius reached into a compartment of his wheelchair and produced a pair of glasses. Bryan touched a switch on his chair. The crippled man pointed straight at Cranston.
“There, Max, two feet to the left of the TV screen!” Ernest shot.
The bullet missed Cranston by inches.
The socialite dove for the cover of the desk. He was aware of what Bryan had done. The electronic genius had switched on an infra-red light and put on special glasses that could see in infra-red light. It was a device for seeing in the dark when no one else could see. Bryan had no way of knowing that Cranston could see in the dark with the powers of The Shadow! But unarmed as he was, Cranston was now pinned down by the pistol in the hand of Dr. Ernest, The alter-ego of The Shadow bent close to his ring radio.
“Margo,” he whispered. “Margo, come in Margo.”
The voice of the beautiful agent whispered back. “Margo here.”
“Where are you?”
“With General Rogers and Professor Farina just outside the main building of Federal Cybernetics.”
“Make noise, anything! Create a diversion!”
“Roger,” Margo said.
The ring radio went silent. Bryan nodded in the dark office toward Max Ernest. “Move around to the left, Max, he’s behind the desk. Hurry! The rocket will blast any moment and I must be there to see it!”
Max Ernest started around the room toward the desk. To do this he had to pass the window that overlooked the grounds of the plant. Suddenly there was shooting outside and a wild commotion. Ernest jumped to the window. The Research Director shouted in the dark room.
“Something’s wrong down there! I see Farina and that Margo woman of Cranston’s! And General Rogers! Someone’s shooting!”
“Why?” Bryan cried. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Ernest shouted. “Quick then! Forget Cranston! Hurry!”
The crippled genius whirled his motorized chair toward the wall. Max Ernest jumped after him. Cranston was up behind the desk. The wall slid open. Bryan’s chair darted through with Max Ernest close behind. Cranston raced across the room as the wall slid closed. He hurled himself at the opening, but he was too late. The wall slid closed just as his fingers clutched to stop the panel.
Cranston stood alone in the office. Outside in the plant yard there was firing where Margo and the others were battling the CYPHER men disguised as security guards. Cranston did not have the power of The Shadow for opening the wall! Quickly he removed the black garb from beneath the stolen CYPHER uniform and put it on. He placed the fire-opal girasol ring on his finger. The slouch hat on his head, the cloak blending into the dark of the office, The Shadow now stood with his blazing eyes concentrated on the wall. His powers focused. The electronic controls activated, and the wall slid open. The Shadow slid through the opening.
But he had lost precious time. His fiery eyes saw the narrow passage and the ramp leading down. He knew where Bryan and Ernest were going, and he bounded down the steep ramp like a great bird of prey with his black wings flying out. He reached the bottom of the ramp and came to an open door. He raced through the door and found himself in the dim cellar where the jet monorail began. The place, where the torpedo-shaped car had been was empty. Far down the tunnel he could hear the high-pitched scream of the engine as it raced back toward the hidden rocket base. The Shadow bent over his ring radio.
“Come in Harry!”
The radio responded instantly. “Harry here!” “Jet car coming back. Two men. Stop them!”
“Will do,” Harry’s voice said.
The Shadow clicked off and turned in the cellar. His keen eyes saw what he wanted—a large door at the end of the single track. He reached the door and tore it open. Inside were two other torpedo-shaped jet cars. With super-human strength The Shadow pushed one car out onto the track and jumped in. It was a matter of seconds for the Avenger to study the controls. He touched a button, pulled a lever, and the engine whined into life.
Seconds later the jet car was racing down the single track with the black shape of The Shadow bent over the controls in the cockpit.
To Be Continued on Friday at...
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by James Patterson and Brian Sitts
