Max rolled his eyes at that, but said nothing. Instead, he took one step forward, fingers twitching on the triggers of his guns.
“Stay where you are!” the Nazi shouted.
“You’re supposed to bring me in alive, aren’t you?” the Peregrine whispered. “Is that why you haven’t fired yet?”
“We have been given orders to defend ourselves if need be…” the Nazi answered. He seemed to be in no hurry to instigate combat, perhaps because he had heard how ferociously the Peregrine had fought his comrades earlier.
“You’d best do that, then.” The Peregrine sprang into action, firing both pistols while simultaneously jumping to his left. While the Nazis struggled to respond in kind, his bullets ripped into their legs, sending them moaning to the ground and making their own shots go askew.
The Peregrine kicked their weapons away from them, feeling a strange compulsion to end their lives. Earlier in his career, he would have done just that, making sure that they did not live to trouble him another day. But an encounter with the mysterious Mr. Benson had left him with a changed outlook on that: avoid unnecessary murder and Mr. Benson would make sure that the authorities worked with the Peregrine, rather than against him.
Max settled into his car and sped away, leaving the two Nazis writhing in the dirt. He had memorized the path through the jungle and he knew that a plane was waiting for him in a clearing not more than three miles away. The car would fit smoothly into the cargo hold of said plane and then he’d be on his way back to his home in Atlanta. Evelyn was away filming
Return of the Queen of Atlantis
, another in a long line of bodice-ripping adventure yarns, but he was still anxious to return to the States.
Within moments, the Peregrine was onboard his specially built plane and was taking off into the air. After setting the controls to automatic, he pulled the manuscript from his pocket and flipped through it, ignoring everything until he found a drawing of the golden dagger.
Max ran his fingers over the words, memorizing them.
The mystic blade known as the Knife of Elohim is said to have been soaked in the blood of Christ on the day of his crucifixion. It has had many owners, but came into the possession of the Knights in the 11th Century, becoming one of our most potent weapons against evil. The wielder of the blade is able to pierce the hides of animals that are immune to all other weapons and is protected by the grace of our savior.
The Peregrine grunted. He had traveled the world enough to gain a healthy appreciation of all religions, not just Christianity. Nevertheless, there was certainly something powerful about the weapon, leading him to believe that at least some of what he was reading was true.
Max set the manuscript aside, pulling the dagger from the sheath he wore at his waist. The golden blade glimmered in the dim lighting. Holding it seemed to lessen the pain in his left palm and Max sighed to himself, wondering what madness lay waiting for him when he did finally make it home. It seemed more and more like his life was one adventure after another. Truth be told, he sometimes enjoyed it, especially when Evelyn or McKenzie were at his side. But he was also growing older—he would turn 38 later this year, having been born at the turn of the century. How much longer could he withstand the rigors of age? Evelyn was several years younger and had begun broaching the subject of children… would it be fair to bring them into this dangerous lifestyle of his? Could he avoid putting them at risk?
Such thoughts loomed large through the rest of the flight.
CHAPTER IV
Craddock’s Plea
Max Davies had a slightly olive complexion to his skin and wavy black hair, the sort that made women want to run their fingers through it. He favored well-tailored suits and wide-brimmed hats, but was going decidedly casual today, wearing a pair of pressed slacks and a sweater vest over a tan-colored shirt.
The clothing suited his surroundings. William McKenzie’s office was not the sort that you usually associated with a police chief in a major American city, but then again William McKenzie was not your usual police chief. The youngest to hold the position in the entire country, McKenzie had an easy air about him that spoke of endless enthusiasm and a tireless dedication to his duty. Unfortunately, he was not a tidy housekeeper. Huge stacks of papers lay on every available space and a surprising number of medals and awards were stuffed under desks and beneath tables.
“The Peregrine is not for hire,” Max said, sipping from a glass of water. It was hot in Atlanta, with the temperatures dancing around 100 degrees. As such, Max’s fine clothing was plastered against his skin. Somehow, he managed to make it look good.
“I don’t think Mr. Craddock would look at it that way. He contacted Mr. Benson, who in turn sent Craddock to me. And I’m bringing it to you… so it’s not like you’re out selling your services.”
“Why doesn’t he go to the local authorities? Why turn to a vigilante for help?”
“He doesn’t think the police there can catch this Moon Man character. I know a guy there—Gil McEwen. He’s a grade-A cop, but he’s been made a fool of by the Moon Man, over and over again. Heck, one of their officers was in attendance at the party where the crook made off with Craddock’s loot!”
“What kind of man shows off his cash at a party?” Max wondered.
“An arrogant S.O.B.,” McKenzie admitted. “Look, all I’m asking is that you drop by and see the guy—he’s staying at the Manzini Hotel.”
Max stared into his water, feeling a vague sense of unease. He’d heard about the Moon Man, but only in passing. It sounded like the sort of thing that Benson himself might be interested in… but instead the mysterious figure had elected to pass the case on to another. The entire affair made him remember the events of a few months past, when Benson had paid him an unexpected visit, informing him that he knew about Max’s dual identity and offering a deal: Benson would smooth over the Peregrine’s problems with law enforcement in exchange for Max’s vow to avoid taking lives if possible. In addition, Benson’s organization would aid the Peregrine in other fashions, in return for the Peregrine assisting them on certain cases.
Like this one, apparently.
“I’ll stop by and see him,” Max said, finishing off the last of the water and standing up.
“When’s Evelyn due back?” McKenzie asked, rising to walk Max to the door.
“Not sure. I heard from her last evening and she said the director had called for another week’s worth of filming. Apparently he didn’t like the original ending and wants to rework it.”
“Well, enjoy your temporary return to bachelorhood while you can,” McKenzie joked. His youthful face grew serious. “Do you think we’ll get caught up in that mess in Europe?”
“Hitler, you mean?” Max paused before answering. He’d clashed with enough Nazis in recent times to know their capacity for violence was extremely high. And Hitler’s growing interest in the occult spelled certain trouble. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Not at all.”
* * *
The Peregrine crept in through a partially open window, stepping into Craddock’s darkened hotel room. The millionaire was sleeping soundly, his snores echoing off the walls. Max noticed a finely made suit tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. It was enough to make Max wince—the clothing must have cost a small fortune but Craddock seemed to treat it like an old rag.
Creeping near the bed, Max retrieved a small flashlight from his cloak and turned its burn on, shining it full force into Craddock’s face. The man jumped up, blinking in alarm. “What the hell—?”
A playing card flew through the air, landing atop Craddock’s sheets. It sported a white background, upon which a black bird was captured in flight. “You can call me the Peregrine,” Max whispered, keeping his voice low. “I understand you need my help.”
Craddock clutched at the playing card like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. “Did the police chief tell you…? About that damned Moon Man?”
“I know he’s a costumed criminal… and that he made off with a small fortune from your party.”
“You’ve got that straight.” Craddock raised a hand to ward off the harsh glare of the flashlight. “Could you lower that thing?”
“No,” the Peregrine answered. He’d read up on Craddock on the way over and he knew about the man’s techniques in earning his fortune. He’d follow the letter of the law in this affair, but he wouldn’t seek out the man’s friendship. “What does the Moon Man spend his loot on?”
“How the hell should I know?” Craddock replied testily. “I’d imagine he’s living it up. Probably has six cars and a harem of women.”
“Over the past few years, he’s made quite a haul, stealing money from the idle rich. But he keeps coming back for more… that makes me think he’s either got some very expensive habits or he’s driven by something more than mere greed. A compulsion, perhaps… or the thrill of the chase.”
“I could care less why he does it or what he spends the cash on. The point is it’s my cash he’s spending!”
The Peregrine abruptly turned off the flashlight, sending the room into pitch-black darkness. “I’ll be in Great City by tomorrow night, Mr. Craddock, and I’ll deal with your Moon Man problem… but I’m doing this only because I owe someone else a favor. From what I know of you, you’re scum… and probably more than deserving of what’s happened to you.”
“You’re gonna plug him?” Craddock asked, a dangerous sort of glee in his voice.
“I won’t kill him, if that’s what you mean. I don’t do that anymore.”
“If you turn him over to the cops in Great City, he’ll be free before morning. They can’t handle him!”
Craddock waited in the dark for a response, but heard none. When he finally worked up the nerve to turn on the small lamp on the nightstand next to his bed, he found that the Peregrine was gone.
CHAPTER V
Invisible Death
“I can’t believe it! The nerve of him!”
Stephen Thatcher stood in the corner of his father’s office, watching as his immediate supervisor, Gil McEwen, vented his frustrations to Steve’s father, the chief of police. Two days had passed since Craddock had returned to the city, his return trumpeted in the newspapers as an indictment of the local police. It was well known that the millionaire had gone in search of help, having abandoned hope that the Great City police force would assist him.
“Calm down, Gil,” the elder Thatcher was advising. With a stern expression, the old man was generally feared around the department. But his expression often softened when he gazed upon his son, whom he loved more than life itself. “Steve told you there was nothing that anybody could do. The Moon Man was in and out of there so fast, it wouldn’t have mattered if we’d had a dozen officers on the scene!”
Gil chewed on the end of an unlit cigar. He was a thirty-year veteran of the force and widely regarded as the finest detective in Great City, but his inability to capture the Moon Man ate away at him. “He’s making us all look like fools, Chief! And now we’ve got Craddock saying he’s bringing some vigilante with him from down South! We can’t let it happen!” Gil leaned forward in his seat. “Let me organize a full task force, Chief. Let Steve handle my usual duties—if I focus every bit of my attention on this case, I can catch him! I know I can!”
“We need you on other cases,” the elder Thatcher cautioned. “I understand your position but I’ve got to look out for the entire city, not just focus on one thief—even one as notable as the Moon Man.”
Gil harrumphed but didn’t argue any further. He recognized the look in the chief’s eyes and knew there was no hope of persuading him.
“Steve, did you find out anything related to where that money was taken?”
Steve stood up straight when his father addressed him, nodding quickly. “Sure did. Stacks of it have shown up all over town, all wrapped up in silver bands of foil. The Moon Man dispersed the money to a local orphanage and to old man Wilkinson, the one who lost his wife last fall and just had a heart attack.”
Gil rubbed his chin. “I just don’t get it. Why does he do it? I’m not even sure he keeps anything for himself!”
“Maybe he’s doing what he thinks is right,” Steve offered.
Gil considered the notion and quickly dismissed it. “Nah. There’s an angle he’s got. We just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
Steve nodded, as if in agreement, though the man’s words gnawed away at him. How would Gil react if he knew his daughter was dating the Moon Man? Would it make any difference in how Gil viewed the Moon Man’s actions?
“So are we gonna get the money back from those folks?”
Gil’s words brought Steve’s attention back to the conversation. Without thinking, he blurted out “Why would we do that?”
“Because it’s not their money,” Gil replied, staring at him. “That cash belongs to Craddock.”
“But he doesn’t deserve it,” Steve said, his voice quavering. “And those poor people that got the money need it.”
“Sounds to me like you’re forgetting what your job is,” Gil pointed out. “We’re agents of the law. We don’t make those kinds of decisions. It’s Craddock’s money.”
Steve stood his ground, wondering if he’d made a serious miscalculation in revealing where the money had ended up. “We can’t take that money away from them, Gil. It’s not their fault that the cash was stolen from someone else.”
“Yeah, but—”
The conversation came to a halt when the office door flew open, revealing the young face of a rookie cop. “Sorry for interrupting, Chief… but you better turn on the radio!”
Steve saw a nod from his father and did so, turning on a small desktop radio near the window. The voice that came through the air was muffled, like someone was speaking through a mask of some sort.
“It’s been repeating for the past five minutes,” the rookie cop said. “It’s on every station, too!”
“That’s enough, son.” The chief waved the young man out of the office, rising from his seat so that he could join his son and Gil in crowding around the radio. “I bet it’s related to that strange robbery-murder that took place at the bank, Gil. We’ve been waiting for the mastermind behind that to make an appearance ever since that guard told us what happened”