Doc Savage: The Ice Genius (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 12) (24 page)

Cadwiller Olden knew the jig was up. “Guilty,” he admitted.

Captain Kan tossed the dossier aside. “Please understand that you are considered an enemy combatant.”

Cadwiller Olden’s tiny eyes popped. “I—me—” he sputtered. “Since when?”

“Since the air forces of my Heaven-born Emperor descended upon Hawaii and decimated the U.S. Seventh Fleet.”

Olden fluttered his eyelids stupidly. “When did
that
happen?”

“Three days ago. The United States and the Empire of Japan are embroiled in war.”

Cadwilller Olden did not know what to say to that. He swallowed hard.

“I thought we were friends,” Olden said miserably.

The Captain shook his head. “No more. For what you have just done, a firing squad may be convened,” he added.

“May?”

“There is a complication. You are an enemy of Doc Savage. We attempted to eliminate the bronze devil.”

“And failed?” suggested Olden, catching the officer’s drift.

“Temporarily set back,” barked Captain Kan.

“I can get him for you,” Olden said without hesitation.

“You would say that to preserve your chicken neck,” sneered the officer.

“I would. But I can get the bronze man into a position where you can take him.”

“Details, Olden-
kun,
” snapped Kan.

Cadwiller Olden’s tiny eyes narrowed. “I want something for my troubles.”

“I offer you your life,” said the Captain, lighting a cigarette. He extended one to the midget. Olden, who had been seated, now stood up in his chair, the better to meet his interrogator eye-to-eye.

“That goes without saying,” he said.

Olden caught a pewter cigarette lighter, frowned at the cheap military-issue product. Striking the flint wheel, he produced a pale yellow flame and applied it to the cigarette end.

Soon, he was puffing away. The coarse tobacco seemed to imbue the little man with inner fire.

“I want a province of China for my troubles,” he said through a spreading plume of cigarette smoke.

Captain Kensa Kan’s sandstone features froze. “You—what?”

“You heard me. A province of my own.”

“I am not empowered to promise such a concession, Olden-
kun.
”

“In that case,” shrugged the minute man, “you might as well stand me before the next firing squad.”

The Captain’s dark eyes became heavy of lid, like a serpent regarding an interesting ground hole that might or might not harbor a rabbit.

“But you won’t,” added Olden swiftly.

“And why not?”

“Because if you were going to shoot me, you would have done it by now. More to the point, you would be doing it right now, after I butchered your guards. You haven’t. Therefore you can’t. You need me. Admit it.”

Angrily, the Captain slammed a calloused palm against the polished desk top and hissed, “I will personally put a bullet between your eyes for such insolence!”

Nonchalantly, Cadwiller Olden blew out a long stream of bluish smoke.

“How is our boy, Tamerlane, getting along?”

“Why do you ask?” said Kan suspiciously.

Olden shrugged negligently. “Idle curiosity.”

“You have more on your mind than curiosity,” Kan said pointedly.

“True. That chattering human icicle is the key to luring Doc Savage into a trap.”

Leaning back in his chair, the Captain invited, “Continue, Olden-
kun.
”

Cadwiller Olden leaned forward, a crafty gleam coming into his small orbs. He smiled thinly.

“Tamerlane is the reason Doc Savage charged off to Mongolia the way he did. The big bronze guy is a scientist, you know. Unusual things interest him. The more unusual, the better. Tamerlane is one of the most novel items Doc Savage has encountered since that time a few years back when a South Seas volcano coughed up a chunk of rock with peculiar properties. He and I had a battle royal over it. I came out on the short end.” A flicker of distaste crossed the tiny face. “Pardon the expression.” He frowned resolutely. “But not this time.”

The Japanese captain eyed the cool, nervy midget in subdued silence.

“Tamerlane,” said Cadwiller Olden, “is the bait for the trap to snare Doc Savage and his men.”

This time it was the crafty captain’s turn to act cool and unconcerned.

“By now,” he said carefully, “the bronze American and his assistants have flown back to America, to confer with high officials in Washington, D.C. The bronze devil is a very important man in the U.S. He will want to be in on any war planning.”

“Which is why you tried to put him on ice before the attack. Am I right?”

“Correct.”

Cadwiller Olden gathered up his features into a tiny knot. “If I know Doc Savage, he won’t just wing back to Washington for a round of stuffy meetings. He will want to get into the action. Now. And if you give him an excuse, he will come charging in your direction like a maddened bull at a red cape.”

Captain Kensa Kan considered this speech for several minutes. His eyes went to the ceiling and he exhaled three long jets of cigarette smoke which rose and banked against the plaster above his head.

“Your thinking appears to be sound—on both scores,” he allowed. “But how do you propose to lure the bronze devil into a trap, Olden-
kun?”

“By offering him the three things he most desires. Tamerlane, and a chance to strike back at Japan.”

Captain Kan waited for the amazing midget to voice the third item, and when he did not, demanded, “What is this third thing?”

Cadwiller Olden jerked a miniature thumb, stabbing his own chest.

“Me. Doc Savage wants me. He wants me very badly.”

And the cool little man offered a chilly smile that was like a baby shark showing its new, white teeth.

Only then did Captain Kensa Kan understand that he would have to keep this irritating little man alive until he had accomplished his objectives. He made his sand-colored features stiff to conceal his inward distaste. There was something about Cadwiller Olden he did not like.

“Have we a deal?” demanded Olden.

“We have an understanding,” returned Kan. “Subject to the approval of my superiors.”

The midget smiled. “Just so I get mine.”

Chapter XXXI

THE BAIT

DOC SAVAGE SPENT the three days following the news of the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor attempting to repair the crippled third engine of his flying boat.

The bronze man appeared to be taking his time doing so. Of course, replacement parts were not available in Inner Mongolia, so the bronze man prevailed upon the Commissar to permit him to use a local machine shop to fabricate his own replacements. This naturally took considerable time.

Renny assisted in this toil, while Monk and Ham monitored the aircraft’s all-wave transceiver.

Thus did Doc Savage receive timely reports of every incident that followed the attack.

Ham Brooks carried the news that the Congress had officially declared war on Japan. This was followed shortly by notification that Italy and Germany—Japan’s closest allies—had in turn declared war on the United States.

“We’re at war with half of Europe!” he concluded.

The bronze man heard all of this in a grim, contained silence. He maintained that attitude over the following days. It was difficult to discover if the bronze man’s silence was due to shock, or if he was calculating future moves.

ON the third day, Doc fitted the last replacement part in the crippled motor, closing an inspection port in the cowling.

Renny grunted, “Let’s fire her up and see if she’ll turn.”

Monk Mayfair did the honors. Clambering into the pilot seat, he snapped switches, and got the engine going. It belched a great deal of evil smoke, but the propeller spun until it was a gleaming transparent disc in the blustery Mongolian air.

Saying their farewells to Commissar Ganzorig—for the Red official had revealed to them his name now that they were allies—Doc and his men buttoned up the big flying boat and took their customary seats preparatory to taking off.

Everyone regarded Doc Savage as he revved all four motors to bellowing life.

Monk asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Where to?”

Doc Savage was a long time in replying. “We are obliged to return home.”

There was a reluctance in the bronze man’s tone as he spoke these words.

“We could take the long way around,” Monk suggested hopefully.

“Long way around!” barked Ham. “Why, what do you mean?”

Renny grunted, “I think he means the Pacific skyway. It will take us over the Japanese islands.”

Doc Savage asked, “What would we do over Japan? We have no bombs or weapons sufficient to take on the Japanese Imperial Air Force.”

No one had an answer to that, but the suggestion was not a serious one. Frustrated by the wait for repairs, they itched to lash out at someone. Everyone understood that they were neither equipped for, nor prepared to launch a counterattack.

Without another word, Doc Savage advanced the throttles and the big bird began gathering momentum, its wheels rumbling along the uneven tarmac until it gained airspeed. The tail lifted.

The leviathan plane lumbered skyward, found a comfortable altitude and leveled off.

Doc Savage pointed the bawling motors west, trimmed the ship, and flew on steadily.

A pent silence seized the cockpit. Each man understood that they were flying home, yet every one in the soundproof cabin ached to swing into action against anyone or anything connected with the Empire of Japan.

“This fracas has been comin’ on a while,” Monk muttered, apparently addressing Habeas Corpus, who had climbed onto his lap and was looking out the cockpit window, ears extended as if imagining himself to be flying under his own power.

“Those Sons of Nippon may have started it,” rumbled Renny, “but we’ll finish it!”

“I’ll tell a man!” added Monk.

LESS than an hour later, Long Tom at the radio broke into excited speech.

“Doc! Listen to this!” the puny electrical wizard cut the radio transmission into the cockpit loudspeaker so everyone could hear it.

“Emergency! Calling Doc Savage or any of his men within radio range. This is an emergency. Attention, Doc Savage. Calling Doc Savage.”

Doc Savage keyed his throat microphone and spoke.

“This is Doc Savage speaking.”

“You know who I am,”
came the familiar hound-dog baying of Cadwiller Olden.

“I do,” responded the bronze man.

“I just escaped from that Japanese captain who hates you so much.”

Doc Savage asked sharply, “Which Japanese captain?”

“Kensa Kan. Do you remember him?”

“As well as I remember you.”

From the back, Renny boomed, “Holy cow! Wasn’t that the name of the Japanese naval captain we tangled with in the South China Sea that time we got on the trail of the Buddha of Ice?”

Ham barked, “Jove, I believe it is!”

Doc Savage said, “Those Japanese pilots reported to a Captain Kan. It appears to be the same man.”

Monk puckered up his simian face. “This is gettin’ kinda interestin’.”

The voice of Cadwiller Olden cut in, demanding,
“Are you still there, Savage?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Listen—I know about the attack on Hawaii. It made my blood boil when I found out. I wriggled myself out of a military cell and snuck into this radio shack. I don’t have a lot of time. The Captain’s training Chinua and his bandits to fight under Timur to invade Mongolia and take it over. The first border raid takes place tonight. It’s at a place called Mukden. Know where it is?”

Doc Savage said, “It is on the map.”

“That’s where you have to go. That’s where you can find Tamerlane before he conquers the first piece of Mongolia for the Japanese.”

“How do we know you are telling the truth and this is not a trap?” demanded Doc.

“You don’t,”
retorted the midget.
“Do you think I’m in cahoots with the Japanese? That’s not my style! You know that. Besides, I’m a loyal American. I don’t like what those Jap rats did to my country. And since we are at war, I know what side I’m fighting on. And so do you.”

“What about you, Olden?“ Doc Savage demanded. “Where do we find you?”

“I’m going to make a break for it and try for Mongolia. But never mind that now. I’ll look out for myself. I’ve been doing it all my life. You run down Tamerlane.”

The radio went dead. The carrier hiss was all that remained of the unsettling transmission.

An uneasy silence followed. Ham Brooks shattered it. “I do not trust that little devil,” he said testily.

“Betcha boots,” growled Monk. “This smells like a trap.”

Johnny Littlejohn had been silent throughout. Excitement caused his voice to quiver.

“It is worth considering, and weighing the risks of action versus inaction.”

Long Tom said sourly, “You just want to get your hands on that infernal ice genius.”

“Censurable as indicted,” admitted Johnny.

“Eh?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Doc Savage pondered all this, then said firmly, “Trap or not, it is worth the risk to intercept this planned incursion, and seize control of Tamerlane, if that is possible.”

“If in fact that ice genius is the actual historical Tamerlane,” noted Ham.

Without another word, Doc Savage sent the big plane winging south—south in the direction of Manchuria.

His men fell to checking their supermachine pistols and girding themselves for what they expected to be serious battle. Faces grew grim, but there was in their attitudes an eager anticipation.

Monk put their feelings into words. “Brothers, we first got together during the last world war. Now, it’s time to take a hand in this one.”

Chapter XXXII

SNARE

OUTSIDE THE DESOLATE town of Mukden, Cadwiller Olden sat astride a small dun pony that was nevertheless too large for him.

The little man looked out over the vast Manchurian plain on which numerous circular tents had been erected. Here and there stood standards comprised of tall willow-tree poles fixed up with horsetails that fluttered in the breeze like pennants.