Doc Savage: The Secret of Satan's Spine (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 15) (9 page)

Monk did not appear to be convinced. For that matter, Ham Brooks maintained a skeptical air.

“Why would Miss Lee agree to lure Monk out of town and then turn on Diamond?”

Doc Savage suggested, “She may have gotten cold feet, and was prepared to reveal the truth to Monk. Realizing this, Diamond had no choice but to abduct her.”

Ham frowned. “Perhaps we should split up?” he ventured. “Some of us go to Shreveport, and others to look into the question of this boat.”

“Not practical,” decided Doc. “The ship sails in twenty minutes.”

Monk barked, “Then we’d better work fast, so we can get goin’ south.”

“We are not going south,” said Doc Savage. “For there is nothing there to interest us. The mystery of all these shenanigans seems to center on Monk’s presence on board this boat. Now that we are here, we will follow this through to its conclusion, whatever that may be.”

Astonished, Monk blurted out, “Doc, do you mean that we’re takin’ passage on this ship?”

Doc nodded firmly. “It has all been arranged. The ship is a Merchant Marine vessel, carrying passengers as well as industrial metals destined for British industry. These are important for the war effort, and it suggests that there will be an attempt to seize the cargo.”

“What the heck does that have to do with me—for that matter with Davey Lee?”

“Our investigation so far has proven conclusively that the individual called Diamond misrepresenting himself as Miss Lee’s father was not, in truth, her parent. For that matter, there is no such person as Raymond Lee in that part of Louisiana. Nor is there a Davia or Davey Lee discoverable in that region. Although there are several David Lees.”

Monk’s jaw sagged lower. “What? You mean she’s a phony?”

“At least,” said Doc, “she has been operating under a name that is not her own. Her motives remain uncertain, but the fact that she was abducted from Pennsylvania Station indicates that Davey Lee is in peril. Discovering her whereabouts, and interrogating her, is of paramount importance in our investigation.”

Despite his monkey-like looks, which included a forehead that appeared as if it contained no room for anything other than a spoonful of brains, Monk was not the dull-witted sort. The blow to the back of his head had addled him temporarily, but he was sharp-minded. Not as sharp as normal, but his brain began struggling with the facts at hand.

“If we ship out on this tub, who’s gonna search for Davey?” he demanded.

Doc Savage said calmly, “It is not impossible that she is also on this vessel. Although that remains to be seen.”

“Brothers, this is all making me dizzy.”

“You came into this world in that condition,” snapped Ham.

Monk looked at Ham and seemed about to offer a rude rejoinder when he noticed that Ham’s sword-cane blade was exposed.

“What happened to that pig-sticker?”

“First you broke it, then Diamond and his men finished the job,” fumed Ham.

“Do you reckon that Diamond is the real name of the guy claimin’ to be Davey Lee’s father?”

“Impossible to tell,” admitted Doc. “However, I have obtained the passenger list, as well as the cargo manifest, from the captain of this vessel. It appears that a great many of the people who have booked passage on the
Northern Star
are doing so under assumed names.”

This made both Monk and Ham sit up and take notice, figuratively speaking. Ham accepted the passenger list from Doc Savage, skimmed it, and then Monk grabbed it from his well-manicured hand and devoured it with eager eyes.

The list ran in part:

Bill Hatch

Lee Ward

John Anchor

Ward Wind

Joe Cannon

Homer Sail

C.C. Weed

“These names seem perfectly respectable to me,” muttered Monk, unconvinced.

“They sound legitimate,” agreed Ham.

“Read them again, paying particular attention to the last names,” suggested Doc. “Remember that we discovered Diamond and his crowd holed up at an Old Sailors Home, which was a fabrication. Look at some of these names again. A hatch is found on the ship. So is a cannon. For that matter, an anchor. Ward Wind appears to be a twisted version of the nautical term, windward. Likewise, Lee Ward and leeward.”

A light of understanding came into Ham’s dark eyes and he blurted, “C.C. Weed—seaweed! These so-called passengers have taken on nautical aliases!”

“Which leads me to suspect that they are sailors, or ex-sailors.”

“Something’s sure up,” admitted Monk. “But why don’t we have the ship held in port while we investigate?”

Doc Savage said, “We have no proof of anything. According to the War Shipping Administration, it is vital that the
Northern Star
leave on time in order to rendezvous with its designated convoy. From the cryptic things I overheard the gang saying, they seem to have an interest that has nothing to do with the European destination of the ship.”

“What do you mean, Doc?” asked Monk.

“Members of the Diamond gang spoke of a mysterious thing they called ‘Satan’s Spine.’ There were other strange references. Mention of a reef. And a place or structure they called the watch tower.”

“None of that makes any sense to me,” muttered Monk.

“Nevertheless,” stated Doc, “I have had some of our graduates bring several cases of equipment on board. We are going to sail with this vessel, surreptitiously, in the hope that we can uncover whatever mischief is developing.”

Ham said, “We are sure to be recognized if any of Diamond’s gang are aboard.”

“Sufficient materials to disguise ourselves are packed in the equipment cases that were brought on board. We will take on other identities, lie low during the day, and do our investigating by night. The
Northern Star
is bound for Nassau in the Bahamas, from there steaming to its assigned convoy rendezvous in the Atlantic.”

Monk said, “Yeah, I remember that part of it now. She’s detouring to the Caribbean to pick up some British bigwigs down there. If German raiders don’t happen across her first, this tub will be well protected once she links up with her convoy.”

Ham shivered, thinking of German U-boats, “Nasty business, that.”

Doc Savage addressed his men. “Every man will have his own cabin. We will repair to them until dusk. Monk, remain here. Stay out of sight. We will contact you when we are ready to begin patrolling the ship.”

Monk looked uneasy, shifted his feet. “I still don’t like this.”

“Look at this way, you hairy mistake,” stated Ham. “Before you met that blond vixen, you intended to sail on this very vessel. Well, now you are. Why don’t you simply accept the fact?”

“Don’t ride me, shyster,” yelled Monk. “I’ve been through a lot of disappointments in the last couple of days. I ain’t feelin’ myself. I’m liable to rear up and unscrew your head and toss it over the rail just to teach you a lesson.”

“You’re just angry that I figured out Davey Lee was not what she seemed,” sneered Ham.

“We’ll see about that,” Monk growled.

“Get some rest, Monk,” advised Doc, taking his leave. Ham followed, and the door was closed.

Muttering to himself, the hairy chemist went over to the bunk, and sat down holding his head, complaining to no one present.

“Why do these things always happen to me?” was among his utterances.

Half an hour later, the deck became busy and lines were cast off. The
throb
-
throb
-
throb
of the steam turbine engines could be felt. It was broad daylight, but Monk had only an inkling of that, since the solitary porthole was blacked out. Additionally, a heavy curtain was affixed to the inside of the door. Both were calculated to mask any leakage of light when the vessel was steaming along at night, merchant ships being notorious submarine bait.

By that time, Monk was pacing the cabin in an agitated state, fretting over the fate of the missing blonde, Davey Lee.

Possibly Monk decided that he wanted no part of this voyage. Lunging out the door, he mounted the companionway steps and raced toward the gangplank—which was still in place—and attempted to disembark from the boat.

He did not get very far.

In the pell-mell commotion of busy sailors on deck, something stole up behind him and robbed the homely chemist of all consciousness. Monk did not get a glimpse of the thing that waylaid him, only that suddenly something like a powerful vise arrested his forward momentum, and both his vision and his consciousness evaporated like so much boiling water.

Chapter VIII

GATHERING STORM

THE CONVERTED LINER
Northern Star
departed New York City just before noon.

After being guided out through the submarine nets by snorting and tooting tugboats, she pushed out into the open Atlantic, and turned southeast in the direction of Bermuda, en route to the Bahama Banks. The weather was clear, the wind brisk, as the ship—a three-stacker—built up a head of steam, propelled by her laboring engines.

Those who watched her passage from coastal towns would have recognized her great smokestacks and sleek lines for, under her original name, the
Northern Star
had been one of the glamorous queens among passenger ocean liners, conveying tourists to England and Europe on regular Atlantic crossings. Since war had broken out in Europe, there was no longer any tourist trade and vessels such as this one had been remade into troop and cargo ships to augment the Liberty Ships being turned out by shipyards all over the nation at an astounding rate.

Her new name was not visible on her stern and bows, for no Allied ship crossing the Atlantic in these perilous times bore hull identification. Although her profile was the same, gun stations had been added to the port and starboard rails, as well as at the stern. These steel tubs held Browning machine guns. There was another set in the bow. All were manned by Naval Armed Guards under the command of a Navy ensign, a lieutenant (j.g.).

Fore and aft, a naval gunnery crew manned an Oerlikon 20 mm. anti-aircraft autocannon. They were situated on deck, steel stop posts mounted behind them to prevent overeager gunners from shooting up the ship’s superstructure in their zeal to fling hell at diving enemy warplanes.

The
Northern Star
hugged the shore, taking the ten-fathom depth course as a precaution against lurking subs, but soon pushed further out, as if to taunt any prowling enemy vessel. After only a few hours out, the skies became strange, and the atmosphere turned uneasy.

“Looks like a storm brewing,” said Ham Brooks, who was visiting Doc Savage’s cabin.

“Tropical storm possibly,” said Doc. “This will complicate matters. We are in the season for hurricanes.”

“Monk will be boiling mad when he wakes up,” Ham commented. “But what you did had to be done.”

“Monk can be headstrong where his heart is involved,” agreed Doc Savage. “It was fortunate that I anticipated that he might disobey orders and loitered by the gangplank in order to intercept him, should he bolt.”

Ham chuckled. “He probably never knew what hit him.”

Doc Savage changed the subject. “I have conferred with the Captain. This ship is crewed by the Merchant Marines, naturally, along with a contingent of Naval Armed Guard. The individuals who comprise the passenger list are all displaced foreign sailors—seamen whose vessels have been confiscated by the United States for the duration of the war, and who, when given the opportunity to continue serving on board their ships, elected instead to be sent back to their home countries. Since many of them hailed from conquered countries that have since been liberated, they are sailing under assumed names, lest this vessel fall into enemy hands and they be subjected to reprisals.”

“What nationalities?”

“Dutch. Danes. Norwegians. Some Free French. And a sprinkling of Poles,” replied Doc.

Ham made thinking faces. “So their names are not as suspicious as they first seemed.”

“No. But remember that the circumstances that brought us on board remain exceedingly suspicious. Diamond—whoever he may be—did not want Monk on board.”

Ham mused, “A tabloid had reported the big ape’s planned voyage. Monk denied it, of course, but the cat was out of the bag. Anyone reading that squib would suspect the truth. No doubt Diamond acted upon his suspicions.”

Doc nodded. “So something underhanded is in the offing. It is our task to determine what it is and forestall it, if necessary.”

Ham’s eyes darkened. “What can it possibly be?”

“Recall that the gang spoke of a mysterious thing they called ‘Satan’s Spine,’ ” reminded Doc.

“Could it be a landmark?”

“If it is, I have never heard of it. North of Eleuthera in the Caribbean, there is a dangerous reef called the Devil’s Backbone, so-called because its half-submerged coral heads have snagged many an unwary ship’s hull. But the shoal is not on the present route of this ship.”

Ham frowned. “Then it must be something else. But what?”

“There is another possibility,” said Doc. “In a remote portion of the Caribbean lies a speck of sand known to mariners as Satan Cay. But insofar as I know, it possesses no feature called Satan’s Spine.”

“Drat. We are groping in the dark then.”

“On the contrary,” said Doc. “It is in the dark that we can expect to make our best progress, since all things are equally concealed in darkness, including ourselves.”

Ham looked at his watch, an expensive platinum gadget. “It will be a few hours until nightfall. What shall we do in the meanwhile?”

Reaching into his pocket, Doc Savage removed a long stainless steel object. It was the dog whistle with which he had been experimenting on the previous day.

“A whistle?” muttered Ham.

“A Galton or so-called ‘silent’ whistle,” corrected Doc. “One that emits a sound on an ultrasonic frequency only dogs and a few other animals can hear. I have been endeavoring to train my hearing to detect these higher frequencies. But I cannot manage to hear this one. I thought if someone else blew on the whistle, it might aid my efforts.”