Doc Savage: The Secret of Satan's Spine (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 15) (35 page)

But neither they, nor the Diamond crew, had any inkling of the new arrival, for he made no sound, nor did any trace of his arrival show.

Diamond was barking roughly, “Grab whatever you can! Sing out when you have a handful!”

The hapless sailor disappeared within, and there came the nervous sounds of him rattling about. This commotion did not last very long.

Finally, the sailor called back, “I got hold of something!” His voice shook as if his teeth were chattering from the unnatural cold.

“Hang on to it!” Diamond ordered. “Two of you go in and get him. Make it fast!”

Two mariners charged in, fumbled about, and soon dragged the unwilling sailor back into the light.

The man was half gone. His face was slack, and he looked as if he had lost some of his ruddy seagoing complexion. It was hard to tell if the fellow was conscious, for his eyes were rolled up in his head until the bloodshot whites showed, and he did not move after they laid him out on the floor. His teeth finally ceased chattering after a while.

Despite this, the fellow clutched a bundle in his arms.

Flashlight beams jumped onto this bundle and disclosed a reddish-gold gleam that brought exclamations of awe from the cutthroat crew who followed Diamond.

Diamond himself leapt upon the man, took hold of one of the gleaming objects, then lifted it high for all to see.

“This alone,” he said with hearty satisfaction, “is probably worth a million bucks easy.”

The avid gleam that came into the eyes of the pirate crew had probably long ago flamed in the greedy orbs of Blackbeard, Barbarossa, and others of that piratical ilk.

Another corsair stooped to lift up a second red-gold bar. For that was what it was—an ingot of some rich metal, suggesting pure gold, but its ruddy color was not that of the valuable yellow metal.

“There’s a lot more where that came from,” boasted Diamond. “And we are going to haul it all out if it takes until the damn war is over.”

A VOICE spoke up. “Mind telling us what this place is?”

None of the
Northern Star
crew recognized the voice, but that did not bother them. They assumed that it was a member of the pirate crew who had not been informed of all the details of their dangerous quest.

His chest puffed out with a mixture of manly pride and avaricious accomplishment, Diamond unloaded just enough information to hold them all spellbound.

“A sea quake hoisted this damn reef up from the bottom. I was living down here, ducking the draft, living the life of a beachcomber. One day, I came across the spot and poked around some. I found the tower that is directly above us and almost ran away. But I knew it was something ancient. That made it something important. So I screwed up my courage and nosed around.”

“And hit the almighty jackpot!” grinned Weedy.

Diamond cracked a crooked smile. “You said it! The jackpot of
all
jackpots. But I almost perished in the process. I found a way in here, explored to this depth, and managed to get out with one of these ingots. And a few other things. I got it and I got out, but I lost consciousness trying to climb the ramp to the surface. When I came to, I knew I couldn’t do it all alone. So I got back to the states and began putting together my crew.”

“And what a crew!” laughed Weedy.

Another man boasted, “Ex-rum runners, stevedores, dock wallopers, deserters and washed-up sailors.”

“In other words, wharf rats,” a mariner spat out distastefully.

“But they got the job done,” said Diamond with satisfaction. “And now we’re going to collect our pensions and live on easy street for the rest of our lives. Don’t think we won’t.”

Again, he lifted the red-gold ingot over his head, and the reflection in his amber orbs was feral. It might have been noticed that the brassy light in his eyes and the gleam of the red-gold ingot were similar in hue.

“Yeah, I combed the waterfront docks and wharves from here to Miami, looking for likely men,” Diamond continued. “When I had picked my crew, I had part of the ingot melted down and made rings for every man jack of them. Rings to remind them of what we were after.”

“Swag,” said one pirate.

“Booty!” crowed another, evidently taking the part of a buccaneer to heart.

“After that,” continued the head pirate, “we had to figure out a way to commandeer a ship to get us here. In war time that was not easy. But one of my boys knew of a gang of foreign sailors who were being sent back to their home countries on a ship passing through the Caribbean. We got them tight, and did away with them, dumping their bodies in the ocean, along with the bloody knives used to do the job. So we took their places, and waited until we got close enough to Satan’s Spine to make our move.”

A corsair clucked, “It would have gone off much smoother if a famous Doc Savage aide named Monk Mayfair had not booked passage on the
Northern Star
. That meant getting him shanghaied elsewhere.”

“Yeah,” muttered another Diamond henchman. “That part could have gone a hell of a lot smoother.”

A blindfolded Merchant Marine wondered aloud, “Is Doc Savage mixed up in this mess?”

“Not anymore,” the cutthroat shot back. “He’s out of the picture. Adrift somewhere.”

Snapping out of his trance of greed, Diamond turned to his men and ordered, “Send in another sailor. We ain’t got all night.”

Another mariner was selected, his blindfold removed and he was propelled through the aperture, only to disappear into the frigid gloom.

The suddenness with which he had been picked had unnerved the man. As soon as he got inside, he floundered about, tripped over something and fell. In his blind panic, he began yelling for help.

“We’ll help you, all right,” snorted Diamond. “Just grab hold of something. If we drag you out empty-handed, it’s a bullet in the brain for you. Don’t think we won’t do it.”

The man careened about in the dark, and finally said, “I got two things!”

Two Merchant Marines were sent in, stumbled around some, finally laid hands on their shipmate. They dragged the panicky fellow back as rapidly as human muscles could perform the task.

When the first sailor was brought into the light, there was an immediate panic.

For he was clutching something that looked like a black basalt stone, except that it was marked by an cloven eye and a pair of jutting curving devil horns. Its resemblance to the iron-depleting stone discovered by Doc Savage back on the
Northern Star
was striking.

Seeing this, the pirates scrambled to get away from the man clutching the dark object. Evidently, they understood its significance.

“Somebody get rid of that damned thing!” Diamond rapped out.

No one made an immediate move. Flashlights darted about, stabbing into frightened eyes, making them blink and stagger.

In the momentary confusion, something that could not be seen floated through the underground chamber, stooped invisibly, and pitched the object back into the adjoining vault.

That the space beyond the tipped-quarter-moon aperture was a vault seemed undeniable. Making no apparent sound, Doc Savage strode into the next chamber.

Not a man had suspected the bronze giant’s presence, nor did anyone hear or see his passing, for he was entirely invisible. Moreover, far above their heads, an eerie sound began to make itself heard.

Penetrating far below for the first time, the sound had a quality of moaning but altered frequently, dropping to a dismal doglike whine then rising into an unnerving keening.

Hearing this, one of the pirates remarked nervously, “Sounds like a gale building.”

“Must be that hurricane that was coming our way,” muttered Diamond. “Hell, it can’t touch us way down here. We’ll keep working ’til it passes. Let’s get this work gang organized. We’ve just begun to skim the cream.”

Chapter XLVI

TEMPEST

A SCRAGGLY PALM frond sailed by. Followed by another.

There were no palms on the sandy spot called Satan Cay, never mind on the barren reef dubbed Satan’s Spine. The fronds had no doubt been swept from the Queer Cays, or some other island. A fierce wind was bringing them in the direction of the aground merchantman,
Northern
Star
.

At the signal blinker, Boatswain Donald Worth was furiously flashing at the unknown submarine to the ship’s stern.

A.A., he flashed. A.A., over and over.

Abruptly, something smashed into the blinker’s face, shattering the glass, producing long hissing sparks of blue electricity. Sizzling, the blinker went dead.

Seaman Dexter shouted, “Who shot at us?”

“Not the submarine!” Tucker called out. “She ain’t fired yet!”

That much was true. The wind was whipping at the gunnery crew on the wallowing submarine. Sailors were clutching at their flying caps while struggling to keep their footing on the wet deck. They were having a tough time of it, for the submersible was rocking hard.

All the while, Seaman Goines was climbing vigorously up their port side. The big oiler had not yet been noticed in the churning chop.

Don Worth stepped back, examined the front of the signal blinker, and spotted the problem. An ancient bone-gray husk of a coconut, about half the size of a cannonball, was lodged in the steel shutters. The building wind had plucked it from somewhere and thrown it with impressive force against the lamp.

It was a regrettable coincidence for two reasons. One, Donald Worth needed the blinker to ascertain the identity of the mystery submarine. Two, the unfortunate arrival of the coconut almost initiated hostilities.

It was not yet clear that hostilities were called for. That was the worrisome part.

Don rushed back to the anti-aircraft gun, and regained control of it. His clean-cut features were tense, for the young boatswain knew that the next few seconds would tell the tale.

To add to their sense of impending danger, the tower at the far end of Satan’s Spine continued to emit the most unearthly wailing. That was what it was—a wailing. It was as if the very earth herself was crying out in some indescribable agony.

Loose objects were being thrown about the afterdeck. The sky was filled with debris carried along by the mounting hurricane. Palm fronds choked the air like frightened green birds. Dirt, sand and other airborne grit got into their eyes.

A great white loose thing went flapping by, looking like a seagull being tossed about. But it was no seagull. This was the mainsail of the schooner,
Albatross
, ripped free of its mast and contorting in flight.

Squeezing their eyelids shut, the four fast friends turned their faces away from the punishing storm, and while they were struggling, the anti-aircraft gun got away from them. The wind pushed it, knocking the barrel to port.

Struggling, Don Worth muscled it back into firing position.

In the increasingly dirty air, the gunnery crew of the submersible mistook that sudden shift for a hostile act. They were on the point of firing when a great dark form finished clambering up the side of the submarine and appeared in their midst, unobserved and undetected.

Unstoppable as well. For Jury Goines took hold of a man and pitched him bodily into the churning sea. The hapless one was not immediately missed. So the big black sailor grabbed another and gave him the same rough treatment.

From the aft deck of the
Northern Star
, in the blustery hurricane, this activity could not be clearly seen. To the eyes of the four young Merchant Mariners, it looked as if the deck crew of the submarine were hastily abandoning ship in the face of the increasing gale.

One by one, the gun crew were deposited in the drink until only Seaman Goines stood behind the deck gun. Moving quickly, he removed the ammunition box and tossed it over the side.

Then, flashing a huge semaphore-like grin, he gave the four young men the V for victory sign.

That grin of triumph proved to be short-lived. For the force of the blow was increasing by the second.

A sudden surge almost precipitated Jury Goines into the same waters into which he had consigned his unsuspecting opponents. He was forced to take hold of the deck gun with both hands to keep from going over the slippery side.

From the deck of the
Northern Star,
Donald Worth and his shipmates shouted for the big oiler to seek shelter. There was no shelter. Not unless he dived down the hatch of the submarine and delivered himself into the hands of its unknown crew.

From the changing expressions on Seaman Goines’ broad face, it was evident that the realization of grave peril came swiftly. He looked about wildly, recognized his predicament, and took a long chance.

Jumping forward off the prow of the submarine, he dived into the water and began doing a strenuous breaststroke in the direction of the
Northern
Star
.

Battling the swells no doubt seemed like the least risky thing to be done. But Oiler Goines had not fully realized the power of the storm that was turning their surroundings upside down.

They shouted to him to turn back and hang onto the lee side of the submersible. But the noise of the storm, combined with the wailing of the uncanny tower, drowned out their frantic voices.

Jury Goines did not hear a word. Very quickly however, it did not matter. It was better that he had not.

For the hard wind was pushing the submarine inexorably along. It was that strong.

Mental Byron was the first to notice this phenomenon. The others were too busy grabbing hold of anything solid to keep from being blown off the back deck.

“The wind is pushing that sub to starboard!” Mental bellowed.

“What?” demanded Don, who could not hear over the roar.

“I said, That sub is being pushed around by the storm!”

His screeching words were lost in the cacophony. For the very same elemental forces started urging the
Northern
Star
higher and higher onto the reef.

This did not happen all at once, but the grinding of the hull plates, along with the tortured sound of the submerged screw being mangled as it was forced onto the weird black formation told the four sailors of their own peril.