Doc Savage: Phantom Lagoon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) (28 page)

Approaching the large cave mouth, Doc slowed, kicked backwards, and moved about, scrutinizing the cavern from different angles preparatory to entering.

This was purely precaution on his part.

What happened next proved that sensible precautions could be prescient.

For out of the cave projected a pair of blood-red feelers. They resembled those of the Caribbean crawfish, a lobster-like sea creature considered a delicacy throughout the many islands.

But these waving stalks were of immense size!

Doc approached with care, calculating the probable size of the crawfish to which those monstrous feelers belonged. It verged on the impossible.

In a swirl of air bubbles, out shot three swimming figures, great muscular arms edged with long spiny fins and capped by claw-tipped talons reaching out and scooping water as they advanced.

Reddish-green, covered in scaly, crablike plates, they were substantially greater than the size of grown men. Two possessed webbed feet and the third boasted a heavily-muscled torso that tapered down to a lean, sleek fishtail. All of these appendages jerked spasmodically. Each of the trio sported blood-red dorsal fins running along their backs. Above jutting lower jaws filled with pointed teeth, their flat, fishy eyes glinted with the queer brilliance of freshly-minted quarters.

Their inhuman gaze was fixed on the bronze man. Suddenly, the approaching forms began convulsing in the violence of their swimming.

The strange creatures were not retreating, rather they were arrowing in Doc Savage’s direction.

Doc had been floating in place, kicking his feet, treading water and using his hands to keep his balance. His weird trilling began to fill the confines of his transparent diving helmet. He stifled it.

Gathering his great muscular body, Doc turned into a human torpedo and swam hard in the direction of the trio, whose faces were hideous with waving fins and gleaming teeth.

This bold action took the approaching creatures by surprise. They broke in three directions. Doc knifed after the one closest to hand.

Legs scissoring, he lunged for the kicking claws that were so much like the feet of wild geese, except for their reddish-green color.

Doc was a powerful swimmer, even if he lacked fins and webbed appendages. He soon overhauled his target. Metallic hands swept out, and grasped an ankle that was slick and metallic to the touch the way fish skin is.

The creature doubled up, thrashed, and from somewhere on its person pulled out a crude dagger that appeared to be made out of obsidian lashed to a spiral seashell handle.

The glassy black blade prove to be viciously sharp. It sliced out, scraping across Doc’s transparent helmet with a thin shriek that pierced his eardrums.

Doc swept out of hand, found the wrist back of the knife, and gave a violent twist.

Fishy fingers released the shell handle, and the blade went sinking out of sight.

Doc next reached out for the creature’s neck, clamped over what felt like thick gill slits. The skin there felt very slick, and the bronze man struggled to locate the nerve centers that, in a human being, could produce unconsciousness when pressed a certain way.

That he failed to find those nerve centers did not entirely surprise him. The anatomy of the grotesque thing diverged from the human in striking ways.

Doc switched tactics. He pressed metallic palms against the merman’s gills, sealing then shut.

Expelling bubbles from its fishy mouth, the creature struggled, but could not shake Doc’s powerful grasp. It reached up with its webbed hands and attempted to rake the bronze man’s face, but to no avail. The thing began a frantic flailing. Its massive claw-tipped hands strove to find skin, scored metallic forearms with the needle-like weapons. Crimson began to billow in long, thready clouds.

As the creature fought to break Doc’s iron grasp, the other two swam around and, obsidian blades thrust forward, came at him.

Three against one would have been no difficult combat for Doc Savage on dry land but, here underwater, a foe could slip up from any direction. Possessing no blade, the bronze man decided that discretion was the better part of courage.

Releasing his foe, Doc kicked away, and dived deeper into the crater pool.

Out came the device that expelled a chemical possessing the properties of octopus ink, along with a few other noxious ingredients. Doc directed a spray upward.

This disturbing cloud rolled and spread in the direction of the three mermen and they reacted as if a barracuda was arrowing toward them, intent upon taking off an arm or a leg.

Swimming madly, they retreated to the surface, leaving Doc Savage to explore their underwater lair unchallenged.

Chapter XXVII

THE MERMEN

DOC SAVAGE PLUNGED for the large underwater cave entrance. He moved with incredible speed, even burdened as he was by his diving helmet and equipment belt.

The bronze giant had his powerful flashlight out, and was using it to spray intense illumination ahead of him.

All caution seemed to have departed. Doc slipped into the cave, sweeping the flashlight’s penetrating beam all around, noticing that the natural formation was largely hardened lava, interspersed with colorful coral formations that might have belonged to another world. This did not surprise him, for a great number of these Caribbean islands were composed of coral built up over the centuries.

Pushing along with rapid kicks of his bare feet, Doc gave special attention to the roof of the tunnel. Twisting about, he maneuvered himself until he was swimming upside down, the better to play his flash ray on the tunnel roof.

Doc Savage proceeded along in this fashion. His light disclosed a cleft in the roof, evidently excavated by hand. A faint light shone down. It had not the fresh quality of sunlight, but was dull and dingy looking.

Doc kicked upward, and began exploring this phenomenon.

Before long, his head broke the surface of an underground grotto in which a steady artificial illumination predominated.

The light came from bare light bulbs strung along the cavern wall. This revealed a rocky ledge which showed signs of having been smoothed by stone-working tools. A great deal of effort had been invested in the task, Doc saw.

There were strange designs carved into the rear wall. They depicted a civilization that was remindful of the Mayan race, with whom Doc Savage had long acquaintance. But there were differences, too, in the style of clothing and architecture. The latter resembled the ruin of a temple sitting broken and forgotten in the mangrove swamp not very far from this queer spot. It was abundantly clear to the bronze man that this chamber had been excavated for ceremonial purposes very long ago. This despite the profusion of swastikas carved into the design.

Doc directed his attention toward the solitary inhabitant of this grotto, which was wide but not very deep.

Seated on the floor of the ledge was one of the mermen. He presented a remarkable sight, inasmuch as he was crouched before what appeared to be a radio transmitting set, with a pair of fully modern headphones clamped over his finny ears.

The grotesque creature was so intent upon listening to what was coming from the cans that he failed to notice Doc Savage ease out of the water and distribute himself on the ledge unseen.

Doc paused for several moments in a prone position, listening. The metallic helmet of hair capping his head began drying, a quality that it possessed.

The merman did not speak once. Instead, he listened intently. His reddish-green skin, speckled by silvery scales, was very slick from a recent immersion.

Carefully, Doc got to his feet and padded up behind the creature, whose sharp-finned back faced him.

No matter how stealthy a man might be, he has no certain defense against being seen. This was especially true for Doc Savage, who stood well over six feet tall—closer to seven with the addition of the transparent diving helmet encasing his head.

Suddenly, the merman jerked its hideous face around and, sweeping off the headphones, leaped to his splayed feet.

There was a huge monkey wrench nearby and the creature picked it up in both finny paws.

Charging, he came at Doc full force, his webbed feet making strange flopping sounds against the smooth stone floor.

Doc Savage moved in to intercept the raised weapon. Blocking the downward sweep with one wrist, the bronze giant seized one of the creature’s forearms and attempted to yank the wrench out of its grip.

Instead, an awful ripping sound was heard—
and the entire hand and forearm peeled off the merman!

The wrench came along with it. Doc snapped fingers around the handle, and flung it backward into the water, where it was no longer a threat. The ease with which the metallic giant handled the heavy tool spoke volumes of his prodigious strength.

He examined the reddish-green hide that he had inadvertently harvested.

A glance told that it was very thick, the inner side coated with an insulating substance resembling blubber. Doc had no more time for study, however.

Strange guttural sounds came from the merman’s distended jaws. It was apparently startled. Its thick, blubbery lips disclosed a horrible basket of pointed teeth.

These teeth began snapping like thin bone needles. The mouth lunged for Doc’s arms.

Doc Savage applied a set of bronze knuckles to the scaly jaw. A satisfying crunch of a noise resulted, and the merman went flailing backwards.

Lunging in, Doc reached down and seized the frilly set of gills that ran along the jawline of the strange being. The result was astonishing.

The ugly green head came away, disclosing that it was composed of some substance resembling formed rubber.

Doc Savage found himself looking down at a perfectly human head atop the grotesque reddish-green physique. Ordinary gray eyes glared hate. The man began cursing at him in a guttural foreign language.

Doc shot back sharp words in the same tongue, with the result that the man in the elaborate merman suit lost all composure.

Hot words were spat. But before the bronze man could press for information, out from the shadows stepped another individual.

Doc turned—discovered himself facing no less than the aristocratic Count Runo von Elmz once more. The debonair one had emerged from a separate chamber, which had been concealed by the deep shadows of a cleft in the natural stone.

The courtly aristocrat was attired in his usual splendid fashion, right down to the Tyrolean hat and snappy sword stick cane which was carved so that a spiral groove ran from cap to ferrule.

The Count directed the tip of this cane at the bronze man and remarked, “You seem to get around, my good fellow.”

Doc Savage touched a stud on the breastplate of his diving helmet. This permitted him to speak and be heard through a miniature microphone and reproducer imbedded in the contrivance.

“You have shaved your beard, but it is clear that you are Count Runo von Elmz.”

The Count bowed, saying, “At your service. How do you like my lair? It appears as if the ancient race who once inhabited this place is smiling upon my cause.”

Doc ignored the obvious reference to the carved swastikas, said levelly, “Such an elaborate subterfuge must mask a powerful purpose.”

“Ah,” returned the Count. “No doubt you are referring to the Great Objective.”

“Objective?”

“I see you have met one of my U-Men,” remarked the Count, changing the subject. “They are very handy fellows, especially for scaring away interlopers and eavesdroppers.”

Doc said, “Is that what you are doing here? Eavesdropping?”

Count von Elmz inclined his head. “Yes, this is a listening post. All that was said during your island respite was overheard, you see. It was necessary to learn how much you knew of our plan. It appears, however, that you know very little.”

“That is why we were conveyed here and allowed to live,” suggested Doc, golden gaze growing animated.

The Count smiled gallantly. “Very astute of you. But you do have the reputation of an
übermencsh,
no?
Der Mann aus Bronze.
A modern Sherlock Holmes. Yet more physically formidable than Tarzan of the Apes. Yes, we could have killed you, but we needed to know what you knew. Murder is messy and time-consuming. This method was much more efficient, not to mention considerably less bloody.”

Doc Savage began advancing on the man.

Up came the Count’s tricky sword stick. Before he could press the trigger and squirt a dose of vapor, he stopped. Frowned. The nobleman hesitated. It was obvious that the transparent diving helmet made the bronze man impervious to any gas.

Lowering the cane, Count von Elmz extracted a double-barreled derringer pistol from his immaculate jacket, and snapped off a quick shot.

Doc dodged to one side, causing the round to go wide. The bullet, however, managed to graze the side of his clear diving helmet.

Doc Savage’s head was knocked sideways. The helmet did not shatter. It was all but bulletproof. But the bronze man was momentarily staggered.

Recovering, Doc resumed his advance.

Redirecting his aim, Count von Elmz attempted to place his remaining bullet in the bronze man’s unprotected chest.

Bronze fingers dipped into his equipment belt, and produced a device that flew in the other man’s direction.

This proved to be a flash bomb, which exploded harmlessly in midair. This device produced no shrapnel or gas, but instead made a blinding glare. It stunned the Count’s optic nerves. Doc swept in and harvested the small pistol from his hand.

Flinging the derringer away, Doc next stripped the helpless man of his cane. The bronze man studied the thing for a moment while the Count made mewling sounds and pawed at his paralyzed eyes.

Finding the lever that released the gas, Doc pointed the cane nozzle at the Count’s face and pressed it once.

The spurt of whitish vapor enveloped the man’s head. He immediately began laughing, and then laughing much more heartily, as if his entire body were being shaken by an irresistible hilarity.