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The Terrible Beekeeper
Part Two
By
Arn McConnell & Todd Rutt
Our story so far: Doc Wildman, a huge bronze-skinned crimefighter, is on the trail of the Sp*d*r, a ruthless killer who appears to be on the side of the law. Doc's investigations take him to New York's famous Cobalt Club, which he infiltrates in the guise of Alex Greer, a club member.
Margot Lane approaches Doc in the club, thinking him to be her friend Greer. She catches on to Doc's ruse and falsely tells him her name is Lois. With the help of Harry Vincent, who is working with Margot, they drug Doc and take him away in a taxi.
III
Identities Revealed
The old taxi pulled to a screeching stop outside of a small office building. Harry Vincent, Margot Lane, the big cabdriver and one other man climbed out. The cabbie and the other man carried the unconscious form of a drugged Doc Wildman from the back seat and laid him down on the sidewalk several steps away. Nobody spoke as they all crowded about the prostrate body There was nothing to be said.
If a casual walker had happened by, he would have seen a bizarre sight then. There was a barely audible hum and the section of sidewalk that they were all standing on started to lower. It looked remarkably like an elevator moving down, and indeed, such a comparison would be apt. When the clustered group had gone down a floor, they stepped off of the sidewalk panel and it started up again. Doc's body was carried through the darkness several yards, until they came to a door partitioned with curtains of a curious ebon shade.
Doc started to stir and his captors quickened their pace. They pushed through the curtains and on into the room beyond. It was a small room, made smaller by the dim blue haze that seemed to come from the walls. In the middle of the floor , a flat-backed wooden chair sat with a coil of fibrous jute rope laying on the seat. Harry picked up the rope as the two bigger men sat Doc down, and proceeded to tie it securely about Doc's chest, hands, and feet. By the time he was through, not even a bull gorilla could have broken those ropes.
Margot left the room with a nod to Harry. The sound of her high heels receded down the dark corridor. The men leaned against the walls. They would probably have to wait some time for their employer.
But things were not normal in that subterranean, vault-like room. Just as the three men were settling back, a shadowy, cloaked figure stepped through the door without causing so much as a ripple in the curtains. The men came to attention, suddenly alert.
A low whisper pervaded the room as the cloaked form passed by. "Wait out in the hall," it said. It was an icy voice, and it seemed to echo unnaturally in the small, blue cubicle. Harry and the other two didn't hesitate. They filed out silently, leaving the billowing black wraith alone with his captive.
Doc was coming slowly out of the drug-induced stupor he was caught in. It hadn't been meant to keep him under very long, and Doc's supernormal capacities (coupled with his massive body and high metabolic rate), helped him eliminate the sedative from his system. The mist was just evaporating when he realized that he was bound, head-to-foot.
He looked about the room, not seeing the shadowy figure to his extreme right. Immediately he recognized the fact that the walls, ceiling, and floor were covered with sable, which caused the dim blue sheen. Directly in front of Doc was a desk with a strange clock and a pair of earphones resting on it. Next to the desk was a small coffer, and over on the left-hand wall was a large metal case, shaped rather like a file cabinet.
He was examining the case from a distance when something white flashed to his right. He caught the motion in the corner of his eye, and twisted his head. Although Doc's eyesight was excellent, trained to an above-average level, the darkness of the room was all-enveloping. The only thing visible was the white object he had seen.
It was a single hand, a hand that appeared to float effortlessly, dismembered from its parent body!
It had long, pale, tapering fingers that dipped agilely in the air. The hand drew close to Doc's face, so that he could make out every tendon on the back of the hand under the wrist. But what really stole and transfixed Doc's attention was the eerie ring that adorned the hand. Doc was a superior lapidary, but he found it difficult to place the gem in the ring. An opal, perhaps, but if it was, it was a type of opal that Doc had never seen. Colors eddied in its surface, illuminated by a fiery glow from the core. It was the most beautiful, yet horrible, thing Doc had ever seen.
By the time he realized he was being hypnotized, it was too late. Doc couldn't force his eyes away.
There was the inaudible hint of a mirthless chuckle in the room. It welled into a chilling, frosty laugh that bespoke mad visions and terrible fates. Doc shuddered involuntarily, then tensed his body so as not to let any sign of fear escape. But he knew that the shudder had not gone unnoticed. The humorless laugh stopped abruptly, and formed itself into an equally-horrifying voice. "Alexander Greer," it said slowly, as if savoring its own flavor. "You are looking into my girasol. It controls your heart, your body....your mind.. You are in its power."
Doc found his jaw working without his telling it to do so. "I--am in --its--power."
"You are in its power. It is in my power. You are in my power."
Doc repeated the simple syllogism haltingly.
There was pause before the voice continued. Doc's eyes, still pinned to the ring, could not see the dim outlines of a man's features appear up above. "You," the voice finally whispered after several moments, "are not Alexander Greer." Doc said nothing and the voice went on. "Repeat it You are not Alexander Greer, are you?"
Doc tried biting his lip, but it was to no avail. "I--am not--Alexander Greer."
"Who are you?"
Doc rarely perspired, an abnormal dermatological condition that was none of his doing. But now, under the subversive influence of the girasol, beads of sweat were forming on Doc's forehead. His mouth opened, but only rasping exhalations came out.
The hand flexed. "Who are you?"
Doc said nothing, but his control was going.
"WHO ARE YOU?" The voice was a vocal sword.
"I--" The sound trailed off. "I--I am--" Doc, with his last ounce of willpower, forced his head down. His jaw snapped shut.
The hand dipped into the blackness and the other hand came out. It wore no fire-opal. "Only two men," the voice said, "in New York could possible stand up to the power of my girasol. From your build, I conclude that you are the one and not the other. Dr. James Clarke Wildman,, I presume?"
Doc looked up into the vague, amorphous face. His whole body felt drained, but there was apparently no longer any malice from this dark phantom. "I...am Dr. Wildman." He licked his lips. "And you? The Sh*d*w?"
"Very astute, my dear Doctor. I did not expect you to recall the underworld legend."
There...is your radio program." Doc's strength was slowly coming back as he let himself relax.
"Most people accept it as fiction."
" I...have a knack...of picking out truth from deception." He bent slightly over. "Since you know I'm not a criminal, could I be untied?"
"Certainly." There was a slight turn of the silhouette's head. "Harry! Cliff! In here!" It was still a whisper, but it came out loudly.
Instantly, Harry and the big man who had driven the taxicab came barreling through the drapes. Seeing that the prisoner hadn't made a miraculous escape, they relaxed and approached their employer. The Sh*d*w gestured towards Doc. "Unbind him. You have succeeded in capturing Dr. James Clarke Wildman."
Both men's mouths popped open. Harry spoke. "Dr. James Clar--but we--we didn't realize--"
"I know. This was not to be expected. Unbind him." The big man pulled out a Bowie knife from a belt sheath and severed Doc's ropes. The jute fell away, and Doc stood up.
Since it's no longer needed..." he said, and stripped away the layer of makeup that covered his face. It felt good to have air at this facial pores again. He rubbed his wrists and looked at the Sh*d*w. "You said that two men in New York could stand up to your opal? I'm surprised I managed."
"I am not. Your reputation is well-known to me."
"I'm afraid my reputation is exaggerated. If I were what the press makes me out to be, I would not have been captured by you in the first place. I see that Harry was in on my taking. How about Lois?"
The Sh*d*w laughed again, but it was not the fear-instilling sound of before. "There is no Lois, Dr. Wildman. Her name is Margot Lane."
Doc felt his stomach flip. He hated to be duped in any manner, and this whole night had proven to be extremely embarrassing. "I suppose that this will really throw the reporters for a loop." He let out a slight grin, which quickly faded. "The reporters will never hear about this, correct?"
"I am glad that you are not angered by our mistaken kidnapping of yourself, Doctor.," the Sh*d*w said, ignoring the question (although Doc was sure of the answer, anyway). "I might ask, though, why you were impersonating Alexander Greer. Undercover does not appear to be your usual modus operandi."
"You're right, it is not. But I felt that it was virtually the only way I could handle my present case. You've heard of the Sp*d*r, I assume?" The Sh*d*w nodded, and Doc continued. "Well, it's my belief that the fellow is a crimefighter. I cannot condone his methods, but I have information that his victims were involved in higher-echelon criminal activities. If it turns out that I am correct, and the Sp*d*r is a crimefighter, I shall discontinue my investigations and let him continue to fight crime with his own methodology. As you know, I am primarily involved with international crime, and am therefore ignorant of most New York criminal activity. For all I know, the Sp*d*r may be pursuing the right course. However, " Doc folded his arms, "if the Sp*d*r is not a crimefighter, I shall put a stop to his operations."
The Sh*d*w's hands disappeared into the darkness of his cloak again. "Yes," he whispered, "I recall the time you decided to investigate me. According to my agents, you dropped the investigation quickly without ever seeing me. I've often wondered why."
"It didn't take much investigating to see that you were straight, Sh*d*w. I learned that you had been instrumental in the conviction of 'Diamond' Bert Farwell, although Weston won't admit it, and dropped the investigation."
Harry Vincent laughed. "Farwell! That was my first case!"
The Sh*d*w gave him a withering glance, and turned back to Doc. "Thank you for indulging my curiosity."
"Would you care to indulge mine? Why were you after Greer? Last I heard, Greer seemed square enough, save for his propensity for becoming intoxicated. I've heard he is an excellent lobbyist in Washington."
"Greer is a criminal of the worst sort. I take it that you know where he is, since you took his place. Did you take him prisoner?"
"No. It just so happened that he was going to Washington quietly on a lobbying mission, and I heard of it. Since I've deduced that the Sp*d*r is probably active in the social circles, as is Greer, I took his place and made the rounds. Why? Is he a criminal?"
"Greer is an agent for the National Socialist Party. You may have heard of them."
"Yes. Didn't they have some sort of altercation in Madison Square Garden lately? What of it? I do not care for the fascisti philosophy, but a person should be allowed to make a choice when it comes to political persuasion."
"Yes, but Greer's work for the National Socialists is not a mere matter of political persuasion. You are not sufficiently acquainted with these 'Nazis,' as they are called."
"That sounds like Russian Communist propaganda. They're against the Nazis too, last I heard."
The Sh*d*w visibly stiffened. "I am not in any manner associated with the Russian Communists, Doctor, and I shall resent any such insinuation in the future."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it as an insult."
"I know that you did not, but I am temperamental concerning the Bolshevik government. At any rate, my information on the Nazis is not propaganda of any sort. It is fact. The Nazis, through men like Greer, are as of this moment pervading our Congress. Their evil influence is being made more and more obvious. I have taken it upon myself to see that the Nazis enter our government through the election process only. With my Washington and New York agents, I have been fairly successful to date. However, the problem of Greer has now arisen, and I have decided to undertake it. Greer's case, I am afraid, goes far beyond mere bribery and subversion." He looked at Harry. "Explain it," he said, and stepped aside.
Harry turned a palm over. "We've been following Greer off and on for about a month now. Apparently, he's involved in something big and nasty. He now has Senator Darvin Barrows in his control, and the two of them are working towards a legislative movement that could ultimately spell the defeat of the free world. Do you know any of the National Socialist history?"
"Beyond the fact that it comes from Germany, and that it pretty much controls the government there, very little."
"That's all you need. See, Greer and Barrows are working on a legislative motion to give U.S. backing to the anti-Versailles Treaty people. That would effectively end all controls on German arms-manufacturing. As it is, a lot of people in Washington feel that the Germans have already started rebuilding their army, which is material for military action. I haven't heard that America wants to get involved in another war, though, so nobody's moved. The pacifists and isolationists are pretty strong this year. So we're working on Greer while some of our people--"
"Give him names, Harry," the Sh*d*w interrupted.
"Well, Vic Marquand of the Secret Service and Senator Ross Releston have given the matter their attention in the Capitol. They have more dirt on Barrows now than they can use, but none of it applies to his Nazi ties, which is what we're after."
Doc looked determined. "And all of this is true? You're sure of your information?"
"Yeah, the stuff's all jake."
Doc turned squarely to the Sh*d*w. " I would like to work with you in this matter."
"I am a loner by nature, Doctor."
"I realize that, but this is a major undertaking, and I believe the two of us together might stand a better chance than alone."
"Please, Doctor, I--"
"The Sp*d*r can wait. I am called by patriotism to offer my aid in unmasking this political crime. Remember, I have some connections in Washington."
"As do I. If it were merely a matter of political weight-pushing, I would have to refuse your offer, Doctor. But something tells me that this is only the forward to a tome of hideous implications. Very well. As I now know that Greer is in our capital, perhaps we'd best be on our way. Niles!" the third man from the taxicab entered the room. "Prepare the autogyro. Dr. Wildman and myself are leaving forthwith."
The man ran back out of the room, and the Sh*d*w took another step backwards. "I will meet you on the roof, Doctor. Harry will show you the way."
With that the cloaked crimefighter had disappeared into the darkness.
To Part Three of The Terrible Beekeeper
Return to the Wold Newton Chronicles
All rights reserved. The text of this story is copyright 2000 by the authors, Arn McConnell and Todd Rutt. No copying or reproduction of this story or any portions thereof in any form whatsoever is permitted without prior written permission and consent of the authors.