ron Goulart - Challengers of the Unknown (2 page)

Rocky's face wasn't there the second time the fist came whizzing. He'd gone rolling away, leaking raspberry yogurt.

Jumping to his feet, legs widespread, he glowered at the man who'd jumped him. "You can only get that brand of yogurt here in Frisco," he said, snarling.

"Tough titty," was all the big man offered by way of apology. He charged at Rocky.

Rocky sidestepped him, becoming aware of the other cyclists.

There were two more of them, as big as the first jumper and both dressed in similar dark jeans and ski sweaters. One of them was hefting a length of pipe. Together, as a team, they pounced on Rocky.

"Get it over with, get it over with," urged the one without the hunk of pipe.

Rocky grunted. One guy had his arms pinned in a bear hug and the other one, the pipe carrier, had an arm around his throat from behind and was raising the pipe for an initial smack.

Then Rooky's ear buzzed. A tiny buzz which only the ex-wrestler heard. It came from the minute chip implanted in his ear. "Kee-rist," he said aloud, "a summons from headquarters."

Ducking suddenly, he flipped the pipe guy all the way over him. When he was in the ring, that had been one of his best tricks. Straightening swiftly, he expanded his huge chest. This caused the other goon to let go.

Goon number one, the guy who'd started this whole fracas, was up and around again. Head down in bull fashion, he was in the midst of another charge at Rocky's midsection.

"Got no more time for fooling around, fella." Rocky swiveled, brought up a knee and connected with the charger's chin.

"Unk," the man said.

Rocky crouched, turned to take care of the others. But they were fleeing.

"Hey, fella, you forgot your damn bike," he called after the one who'd brought the chunk of plumbing.

The guy was getting out of there on foot, very fast.

Rocky crossed to the abandoned cycle. It was from the bike rental shop at the edge of the park. He leaned it against a handy tree.

When that was done, Rocky discovered that the third assailant had slipped away into the woods. "No time for him anyhow." Rocky shrugged, causing the spilled yogurt in his rucksack to slurp. "Kee-rist, I probably won't even have time to get back to that health food store in North Beach."

Forlornly he started jogging back in the direction from which he'd come.

You take yourself out of the everyday humdrum life and you must expect surprises. Red Ryan accepted that notion.

Even so, it was an entire and complete surprise to him when the rope of the trapeze snapped and he started dropping toward the distant sawdust far below.

A rugged, red-haired young man, Red twisted as he fell. He arranged his body into a better attitude for landing.

He hit the safety net in a cannonball position. Unfolding, he flipped over to the ground.

Red stood staring up into the shadowy heights of the old circus tent. "Mighty peculiar."

"Hey, young fellow, I wouldn't have let you work out with Colonel Bimm's Circus and Unparalleled Freak Show if I'd known you were going to be so rough on my equipment." A thin old man in a venerable black suit was standing at an entrance to the empty tent. "That was a brand-new, or nearly so, trapeze."

"I know." Red walked over to the old man, put an arm around his shoulders. "It shouldn't have snapped, should it, Colonel?"

Bimm replied, "Not unless some young lout who doesn't know his own strength got to fooling around. Ever since you left a respectable trade like the circus and joined those Challengers of the Unknown, you've been too wild and rough."

"It's not an act, you know, Colonel. It's an organization that—•"

"Yep, I'm aware. Bunch of do-gooders, sticking their noses where they don't belong." The old circus owner sighed. "Ruined a dam good acrobat and aerialist, that bunch."

"Maybe so." Red ran across the sawdust. "Going to check that trapeze out." "Don't go wrecking any more of my equipment; times are tough enough without that."

Red was halfway up the ladder when the small buzzing began in his ear. That meant he'd have to contact Ace back at the central hangout in Colorado light away.

First, though, he'd find out what had been done to

the trapeze.

"Exploded? What do you mean, exploded?"

"Exploded. Went boom."

The handsome, dark-haired man in the sun chair sat up. "Blazes! Anybody hurt?" he asked the phone he was holding.

"Fortunately, no. The stunt man had to go to the John and the supersub picked that moment to blow up," said the voice from Hollywood.

Prof Haley shook his head, turned so he could watch both the afternoon Pacific and the girl who was .sitting near the railing of the vast redwood sun deck. "Look, Norm, old sport, I guarantee you that prop sub was designed with the usual Haley integrity. So I—"

"I'm not blaming you, Prof," said Norm Lancer. "We found pieces of the bomb."

Prof stood up. "A bomb?"

"You're in a very doubting mood today," observed I he girl, who was very tan, very lovely, quite blonde and wearing a very scant swimsuit.

In nearby Hollywood, Lancer said, "We can't quite figure who'd want to sabotage
Sea Monster 2002."

Frowning, Prof said, "Didn't one of your nimble-witted publicity persons, the one with the backside identical to Jean Harlow's in her prime, send some kind of release to the press? Something to the effect that Prof Haley, who out of the goodness of his wide heart was acting as technical adviser to your aquatic epic, was going to do some stunt work on your flicker?"

"Yeah, I think she did. You figure—"

"I come from a long line of paranoids, Norm," admitted Prof, gesturing to the reclining blonde to fetch him a glass of orange juice. "Which is why I'm pausing to wonder if your damn bomb wasn't intended for me."

"Could be, I suppose," acknowledged the movie producer. "But sort of sloppy, isn't it? Blowing up the sub while you're over there in Malibu taking a day
off."

"All assassins aren't efficient."

"Okay, if it was you they were after, Prof, take care, huh? Meanwhile, can you get back to the studio, out of the kindness of your heart, to help my people whip up a new supersub?"

"Tomorrow," promised Prof.

"For sure? This guy I got playing the sea monster is very quirky. He complains all the time if he has to sit around with all that makeup on and—"

"Tomorrow, trust me. Shoot around the sub. I'll see you bright and early, as bright as the smog allows, in Burbank tomorrow. Bye." He hung up the receiver, placed the phone on the redwood planking near his chair.

"I sense a yarn," said the girl.

"Where's my orange juice?" Prof walked over to her.

"Everybody's equal now. Hadn't you heard?" She remained reclining.

"You talking about that thing Lincoln signed?" Giving her a mock scowl, he wandered back into the rented beach house. When he was opening the kitchen refrigerator, he heard the patter of bare feet on the parquet behind him.

"You're very droll today," said the blonde.

"Gallows humor." Prof poured himself a full glass of orange juice. "Somebody tried to blow me up."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Let us rephrase that, sunshine. That prop sub I lent Norman Lancer a hand on was blown up this morn-ing."

"Since some people thought you'd be inside it today, you suspect—"

"Not sure what I suspect, Hildy. This being my vacation I think I'll turn off the fabled Haley brain and—"

"Famed Challenger's Near Miss with Death," Hildy Niven said. "I see another fast three hundred dollars from the
National Intelligencer
coming my way."

"No, nix." He shook a hand at her in a negative gesture. "No more yarns about me or the Challengers of the Unknown. As it is, I shouldn't have—"

"Prof, are you expecting company?"

"Not at all. Why?"

"I hear footsteps on the roof."

Prof glanced upward. "So do I, along with the familiar chuff of a helicopter." He touched her smooth bare shoulder. "Stay here, gumdrop, and be prepared to duck at a moment's notice."

"Challenger Defies Death in Own Home," Hildy said as he left her. "That's another three hundred bucks."

"Rented home. And I've got to shake this terrible habit of getting romantically entangled with scandal sheet reporters." Silently he padded down the hall toward the sun deck.

The footsteps had ceased to sound on the slanting shingle roof overhead.

Prof eased a .32 revolver out of the holster at the back of his belt.

"No wonder you felt so lumpy the last time I hugged you," remarked Hildy.

"Back in the kitchen," he ordered without turning.

"I'll do no—"

An upside down red head was visible dangling over the edge of the roof and grinning at them through the sliding-glass deck doors. "Everybody decent?"

"Once a circus clown, always a circus clown." Prof stowed his gun. "Splendid seeing you again, Red."

"Same here." Legs flashed and Red Ryan somersaulted backward off the beach house roof to land upright on the deck. "Pleasant setup you have here. Afternoon, miss."

Prof came, frowning some, out into the sunlight. "Who's up in the autogiro?"

"Rocky."

Profs left cheek puckered. "Tell him to park it," he suggested. "Then we'll all sit out here soaking up the proverbial sun. When dusk spreads along Malibu's golden shores, we can go clamming or perhaps you can stick around long enough for the next run of grunion. Or perhaps you can take—"

"Easy, Prof, whoa," said Red with a grin. "We wouldn't barge in on your vacation unless it was important." He glanced at Profs ear. "Um . . . been having any trouble with your hearing?"

"I turned it off. Red Ryan, this is Hildy Niven. Hildy, Red. She knows about the little summoning bug."

"Sorry," the girl said to Red, "I stumbled on it the last time I fondled his ear."

"Not supposed to be able to shut it off," said Red. "Your man-in-the-street electronics whiz couldn't,

but to Prof Haley," said Prof, "such a simple problem is—

"We have to go," interrupted Red. "That we includes me, too?" Prof asked. "Right. Ace wants us back . . . back home soonest." "Okay, I'll gather my gear together." Prof patted Hildy's elbow on his way into the house.

The blonde girl watched Red. "You wouldn't want to tell me where the next challenge is going to take you?"

"That's right," answered Red, "I wouldn't."

"Kee-rist!" Rocky came rumbling into the chill meeting room, waving a tabloid newspaper aloft. "Have you guys seen this rag?"

Slouching farther in his place at the oval conference table, Prof cupped a hand to his ear. "Eh? What say?"

"They got a whole lot of baloney about us in this here
National Intelligencer."
The wide wrestler slapped the offending newspaper down on the table-top, poked a thick forefinger at it. "What kind of pea-brained nitwits read this tripe, anyhow?" He dropped into his chair with the force of a felled tree.

When the table ceased shaking, Red said, "I haven't seen the annoying item, Rock. Read it, will you?"

Prof slouched still farther. "Why don't you wait till your subscription copy arrives, old man?"

"Ain't Ace here?" Rocky had realized the leader of the Challengers was not in evidence.

Prof said, "Expected momentarily."

The pages of the tabloid got ripped as Rocky turned them. "Okay now, listen to this bilge. 'Living on Borrowed Time, They Dedicate Lives to Fight Evil.'

That's your here now headline. Which is right next to an ad for an Egyptian amulet that can both increase and decrease your fertility."

"Don't scoff," put in Prof. "My Uncle Rufus had one of those and he ended up fathering sixteen children, many of them with his wife. The brood included two sets of identical twins, three sets of triplets, six sturdy—"

"Whoa," said Red. "That's nineteen already."

"Gosh, he was even more fertile than we realized."

"Come on, you guys," protested Rocky, giving the newspaper article a few more pokes with his finger. "This broad goes on to say that—"

"Which broad?" inquired Red.

"I don't know, some dippy broad named Hildy Niven. Probably got a face like a bulldog and a build like the wrong end of a truck."

"Could that be the same Hildy Niven I met recently in Southern California," said Red.

Prof asked, "Did she have a face like a bulldog and a build like the wrong end of a truck?"

"Nope, this girl was terrific-looking, sparsely clad and with a very tiny appendix scar right along—-"

"Ha!" Rocky rose up, snapped his fingers. "I see the handwriting on the wall."

"If you spot any good phone numbers," said Prof, "let—"

"That dame you was dallying with there in Malibu, Prof. Ha!"

"I'll have you know, old man, I never dallied in my life."