“You’re wrong about that. The second you set foot into my city and hurt my friends, you made a fight with me.”
The Iron Maiden sighed, losing patience with the American’s bravado. With the briefest of gestures to her men, she whispered “Kill him.”
The museum was suddenly filled with the cacophony of gunfire. The bullets tore through priceless works of art, though the Peregrine had convinced the curator to move some of the rarest pieces from the main hall.
The Peregrine dropped to the floor, fluidly avoiding the first round of bullets. As the gunmen moved their barrels to track the vigilante, the Peregrine struck back. First he threw the Knife of Elohim, which whistled through the air, slashing through the throat of the nearest man. With a telekinetic nudge from the Peregrine, the blade continued on to the next man and then one more, taking out three of them in a second attack.
The Peregrine’s own gunfire then joined the din. As the vigilante scrambled to his feet and ran towards a large table, hoping to use it as cover, he laid down return gunfire that removed two more of his enemies from the fray. As Max threw himself behind the table, he counted only two henchmen left. He overturned the table and crouched behind it.
Unfortunately, he had seen no trace of the Iron Maiden or of the sword. Cursing under his breath, the Peregrine waited for a pause in the gunfire that was tearing through his wooden shelter. Then he sprang up and returned fire, killing one of the men with a well-placed bullet through the eye. The other figure was already turning to flee but the Peregrine took him down with a shot to each leg.
The vigilante noted that his wife was beginning to stir and he telepathically sent her a nudge of concern. Outwardly, he betrayed no emotion towards the fallen woman, however, for there were now policemen arriving at the scene and it wouldn’t do for the Peregrine to show more tenderness than normal to her.
The Peregrine knelt at the side of the groaning gunmen. The fellow’s mask had fallen off and his brutish features, unremarkable to the vigilante, were now showing. “The woman you work for… where can I find her?”
The man answered in German, which the Peregrine understood quite well. “Stupid American. Go to Hell.”
In the man’s native tongue, the Peregrine responded. “Why does she want McKenzie? Why does she want the sword? Tell me before I hurt you again.” The Peregrine pulled the glove from over his shining crimson signet ring and held it close enough to the man’s forehead that he could feel the heat. “Tell me!”
The man stared in fear at the Peregrine. Something that he saw in Max’s eyes seemed to greatly unnerve him and he began babbling quickly. “The Iron Maiden plans to use the sword to open a doorway to the underworld. She’s going to unleash the goddess known as Hel… and in return Hel will help the Fuehrer end the war and bring about the Reich!”
The Peregrine brought the ring ever closer, gritting his teeth as he did so. “Where… is she?”
“I
will
tell you,” the man whimpered, closing his eyes tightly. “But only because there is nothing you can do to stop her! She will return to Germany now that she has the sword.” The gunman then proceeded to give an address that was north of the city.
The Peregrine drove the ring against the man’s flesh, causing it to sizzle as the imprint of a bird in flight was seared into his skin. The famous words that had become synonymous with his symbol passed his lips:
When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his Mark!
The police officers standing around jumped forward to pull the vigilante off the screaming criminal but it was unnecessary. Max stood up and spoke directly to the highest ranking officer. “Take him into custody. And I’m going to get your police chief back—or die trying.”
A few feet away, Evelyn was receiving treatment for the blow she’d taken. She forgot all about her pain when she heard the determination in her husband’s voice. After the death of his friend, he was obviously taking this assault against McKenzie very seriously.
Heaven help that armored woman if she hurts McKenzie. I’m not sure I’d be able to stand in Max’s way if she does…
* * *
Ten minutes later, Evelyn was free of the police’s questioning. She met up with her husband at their pre-arranged place and immediately gave him a tight embrace. His modified roadster was waiting with the car doors open, the radio band picking up the police chatter.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Max whispered in her ear. “I shouldn’t have asked you to be down there.”
“Don’t be silly… or insulting,” she answered tartly, pulling away. The spot on her cheek looked awful and she knew it. “It’s nothing a bit of makeup won’t cover up. Besides, it’ll heal. And I managed to accomplish our goal.”
Max reached up and removed his mask. He leaned forward and kissed his wife on the lips. “You are simply amazing.”
“Hmph,” she replied, smiling a bit. “Well, I knew that but it’s a good thing you’re finally noticing.”
The Peregrine turned and leaned into his car, coming back out with a small handheld device that looked like a cross between a Geiger counter and a radio. “The tracer you placed on the Iron Maiden should have a range of up to a hundred miles.”
Evelyn leaned close to look at the tiny screen, which flashed to life, revealing a series of lines and dots. It was a rough map of the local area with a small triangle moving across it. “Is that her?”
Max nodded, staring at the image. “Yes. As long as we have this, we’ll be able to follow her wherever she goes.”
* * *
The Iron Maiden sat in the back of a black sedan, speeding away from the scene of the theft. She thought nothing of the men she had lost, for they were nothing more than fodder for the Germanic war machine and could be easily replaced. Across her lap lay the sword that she had coveted for so long. She let her fingers dance across its surface and smiled as she pictured the Fuehrer holding it aloft.
So engrossed was she in her spoils of victory that she did not notice that her driver was not who it should have been. For years, her chauffeur had been a stocky fellow named Hans. But his lifeless body had been tossed out into an alleyway while the Iron Maiden had been inside the museum.
“You realize that the sword is only part of the prizes you could have won, don’t you?” the man driving her car said.
The Iron Maiden’s head snapped up in alarm. “Who are you? Where is Hans?” she demanded.
The men looked at her in the rear view mirror, giving her a glimpse of dark eyes. The man was slender in build and from what she could see of him seemed to be a bit taller than most. “They call me the Eel. It’s as good a name as any.”
Kirsten frowned, recognizing the name. He was a crime lord of some repute, given his pseudonym by those impressed with his ability to avoid capture. “The newspapers say that the Peregrine took the sword from you. How did you acquire it?”
“I stole it from William McKenzie and left him in a coma. You know, the cop you killed, remember?”
The Iron Maiden didn’t answer that, instead choosing to pursue her own line of questioning. “What did you mean about the sword and the prizes I could have?” Kirsten glanced out the window and saw that the Eel was driving slowly out of the city. He had chosen by coincidence the general direction of her lair but didn’t seem to have any direct knowledge of its location.
The Eel reached over to the passenger seat and held up a battered old scroll. Kirsten could see the ancient writing on its surface and recognized it immediately as a Norse script. “That sword was part of a larger box. Inside it were some scrolls and pieces of pottery. The pot can be put back together. It’s called the Bowl of Forever Night. When the scrolls are read and blood shed with the sword is put in the Bowl, the gateway to Hel can be opened. The dark goddess will return to Earth—and she’ll be really grateful to whoever frees her.”
The Iron Maiden considered the notion, finding it distasteful. She’d desired the sword because of its power… but unleashing Hel seemed to be a decidedly more dangerous prospect. Still, she reasoned, the Fuehrer would probably wish to have all the artifacts. Even if they went unused, Hitler could put them on display.
Her full lips curving upwards in a smile, the Iron Maiden leaned over the seat, her face close to the Eel’s. “Did McKenzie know you? Or did you attack him randomly?”
“I’d say he knew me, all right,” the Eel said with a laugh. “I offed his old man and his brother!”
Kirsten nodded, remembering that McKenzie had lost both of his family members to criminals who had escaped prosecution… escaped in very “slippery” fashion. “You brought the relics with you?” she asked, glancing down to the box full of broken pieces of pottery.
“Yeah, I did. Look, you need to understand something… when you hold the sword and you start to read the papers, you end up talking to the goddess herself. She starts pleading with you to free her. And if that doesn’t work, she starts threatening you…”
“Pull over.”
The Eel glanced back at her. “Here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Do it. If you want me to trust you, you’re going to have to play things my way.”
The Eel hesitated but he finally pulled off the road, bringing the car to a stop. “Okay… I’ll let you call the shots for now. But let’s get one thing straight: I’m used to being the top dog and I plan to keep it that way. So you and your Fuehrer better learn to play it by my rules.”
The Iron Maiden’s only reply was to bring the sword up quickly, lopping off the Eel’s head. Blood spurted all over the front seat and the car’s ceiling but Kirsten barely noticed. She reached forward and grasped the Eel’s head by the hair and held it aloft. “I hope McKenzie appreciates the present I’m bringing him,” she said aloud.
CHAPTER VIII
McKenzie’s Escape
William McKenzie felt the time was right. The Iron Maiden had been away for a couple of hours now, leaving behind only a trio of her men. The Nazis obviously expected their mistress to return victorious for McKenzie could hear them packing up for a quick exit back to Germany. What McKenzie wasn’t sure of was what was intended for him.
The reason for his capture was obvious enough: the Iron Maiden thought he might have information leading her to the missing box. But once she’d accepted the fact that he was useless to her, she’d still kept him around… and had, in fact, made things much less unpleasant for him. He was no longer strapped down but was rather given freedom of movement, albeit in a very small windowless room.
The attraction between them was undeniable, though it was equally confusing. The woman was a Nazi and had tortured him… and yet McKenzie found her quite alluring. There was so much loneliness in those blue eyes of hers that he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. What kind of awful upbringing could twist a pretty girl into running around in a suit of armor?
Was that the reason she’d left McKenzie alive? Did she find him as intriguing as he did her? It made sense—she had, after all, offered to let him become one of her party. She’d even offered to take him back to Germany…
No matter, he decided. As attractive as she was, she was obviously crazy as a loon and twice as dangerous. The sooner he was free, the sooner he could contact Max and let the Peregrine handle the situation from here.
McKenzie had listened intently, making sure he knew exactly how many men were outside his door. He’d also stretched his muscles as much as possible, trying to work out the kinks put into them by the Iron Maiden’s beatings.
When he felt like he was loosened enough for what was to come, he began beating wildly on the door, coughing and screaming. “Please! Help me! I’m bleeding again!”
There was a sudden silence from outside, during which McKenzie kept up his noisemaking. He was gambling that the Iron Maiden had left instructions for him to be protected; otherwise he would have been surely assaulted by now. Within seconds, McKenzie heard heavy footsteps approach the door and a gruff voice shouting to him:
“What is wrong with you?” the man asked in broken English.
McKenzie made another series of dramatic coughs before answering. “I think something’s broken inside me. I’m spitting up blood…”
There was a muffled discussion outside and then McKenzie heard the door being unlocked. He took a step back and girded himself for action. The men would probably be armed, which meant there was a good chance that he would be shot during the conflict. Still, he had to take the chance. To stay here as a prisoner was not in his nature; he was a man who preferred to die with his fists clenched.
As soon as the door was cracked open enough for McKenzie to see the German’s face, the police chief threw himself forward. The impact knocked the door back into the face of his captor, shattering his nose. A stream of bright red blood began to pour from the wound and the German went down quickly, covering his face with his hands.
The remaining two men stood momentarily stunned. One of them wore a dark green jacket over a turtleneck sweater and he brandished a pistol in his right hand. The other fellow was shorter and stockier, with straw-colored hair and beady eyes. He had brass knuckles on his hand and looked like he’d had a lot of practice with them.
McKenzie lunged for the gun-wielding fellow first. He drove a fist into the man’s chin but missed a direct hit as his opponent recovered enough to dodge out of the way. As the stocky man approached McKenzie from the rear, the police chief swung around and caught the man with a powerful backhanded blow.
The gunman was now fully recovered and busily training his weapon on McKenzie. William let out a cry as a bullet whistled past his ear. He dove to the ground for the next one, which managed to strike the stocky German in the shoulder.
With the chaos that was now ensuing, McKenzie had the definite advantage. Years of fighting crime both on his own and alongside the Peregrine had given him the ability to narrow his concentration down to a pinpoint level, avoiding all unnecessary distractions. While the gunman was concerned about his fallen friend, McKenzie grabbed hold of his ankle and yanked.
The German toppled down and McKenzie sprang upon him, driving blow after blow into the man’s face until he stopped resisting. McKenzie then turned to see that the other two men were still writhing about in pain.