“How did you find it?”
“Your tip was right. We searched through some of the Asian neighborhoods until we found someone who was willing to talk. They told us where they’d seen the Ten Fingers and we hit the place.”
“You should have called me. I would have helped out.”
“I know you would have… but it was pretty clear from when we arrived that they were gone. But someone left us a clue.”
Max was on his feet now, strapping on his pistols and preparing to leave. “Tell me.”
“A scrap of paper was left under the door—it looks like it was written pretty quickly. It says ‘Neues Museum, alkahest.’ Do you have any clue what that last word means?”
Max was out the door, heading towards the modified roadster that he used when working as the Peregrine. “Not a clue. But I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Will.”
“Hey, Max, you know this could be a trap, right?”
The Peregrine smiled. “Of course. But one way or another it takes me closer to the Warlike Manchu… and when I find him, I’m putting a bullet in his brain.”
CHAPTER V
A Clash of Evil
Albert Speiros stood in the silent Egyptian Hall, staring at the lovely bust of Nefertiti. Despite her mongrel background, the girl must have been quite lovely in life for she had inspired enough depictions of her to keep her visage famous even now. Albert had always loved history, had enjoyed losing himself in the past… growing up, he’d liked to imagine himself as a Teutonic warrior, spreading the glory of the Fatherland far and wide. Unfortunately, a disfiguring accident early in his military career had left him a horrible sight to behold, killing any chance he had of rising in the new German military: the lower half of his face had been blown off in a grenade attack. For a man who had previously used his rugged good looks to bed a bevy of women, the disfigurement was doubly painful.
And then had come a man named Dr. Meer, a short Jewish looking fellow who had somehow managed to become head of something called The Department of Occult Materials, jokingly referred to as D.O.O.M. in military circles. Meer said that Albert fit a certain profile and could still be a vital resource for the Fuehrer. Eager to find a purpose again, Albert had accepted with no questions asked. He had joined a select few in gaining augmentations that made them special top-secret weapons in the Nazi arsenal. Their names had become infamous in time: the Black Zeppelin, the Iron Maiden, the Grim Reaper… and Albert himself, outfitted with a metal jaw that could rip through almost anything, had become Steel Jaw.
Unfortunately, things had not gone well for the elite task force in recent times. The Iron Maiden had turned traitor, abandoning the Reich in favor of an American lawman. The Black Zeppelin and the Grim Reaper had both been defeated by the Peregrine… leaving only Steel Jaw to defend the Fuehrer’s dream. There would be new officers, of course… even now, Dr. Meer was working hard on producing the next generation of occult and super-science soldiers. But Steel Jaw had seen the early warning signs that the war was not going as smoothly as the German leadership had hoped. There were even whispers now that the entrance of America into the war might become a tipping point and that The Reich might actually fall.
Albert sighed, trying to avoid such negative thoughts. He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass, reflected back in various shades of black and grey. He wore an honorary S.S. uniform, a red band around one bicep, proudly displaying the swastika. His sandy brown hair was neatly combed and he had the physique of a well-trained athlete, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered. But it was the metal jaw that caught everyone’s eye. It was sewn on to his face, leaving a horrid red scar around its edges. Albert flexed it with a thought, making it grind together. He hated it and loved it, using it to rip through his victims like they were so much tissue paper. Women no longer coveted his touch but most were too afraid to resist so the end result was the same: he got what he wanted.
Steel Jaw turned away, checking his watch. It was well past midnight and he was beginning to think his time was being wasted. The psychics in the Fuehrer’s employ had warned that something awful was going to happen and that it had to do with this particular bust… but they could see nothing more specific than that.
And so Albert was here, when he could have been home entertaining his latest prizes: Ursula and Penny, two Jew twins that he had rescued from one of the camps and brought home to be his toys, until he tired of them.
Sordid thoughts danced across his mental landscape, keeping him from noticing movement in the shadows. By the time he did detect the presence of the Ten Fingers, they were upon him, using their martial arts skills to drive him back towards the wall. There were five of them, all wearing matching dark bodysuits.
Steel Jaw roared like an uncaged lion, grabbing hold of the nearest man and pulling him close. His jaw snapped shut around the fellow’s throat, decapitating him. Steel Jaw grunted as another’s foot slammed into his ribs and Albert backhanded the man in return. He snapped his steel jaw open and closed constantly now, catching whatever limb was closest to him. Blood sprayed across the walls and floors, making them slippery. This gave Steel Jaw an advantage—the Ten Fingers relied on agility and speed, both of which required sure footing. Steel Jaw, on the other hand, was a creature of brute force.
Two more of the Ten Fingers were slain under Steel Jaw’s powerful attacks, their bodies falling to the floor missing significant chunks of flesh.
In the end, only one of the Ten Fingers remained and he was limping badly, blood streaming down the right side of his body.
“Who are you?” Steel Jaw demanded in German. When the man replied in Chinese, Steel Jaw swore under his breath and charged. The servant of the Manchu tried to jump out of the way but he was too slow to succeed. The two men slammed together, driving into the glass case containing the bust of Nefertiti. It shattered under the impact, the bust slamming to the floor and bursting. A strange substance encased in an odd white-colored wrapping spilled out onto the floor.
Steel Jaw was too busy ripping out the throat of the man beneath him to notice the odd material. It was only when he’d straightened up and was shaking the blood and gore from his metal chin that he noticed one last figure in the shadows. The man emerged, bending low at the waist to pluck up the wrapped object. The new arrival wore a green Oriental robe with a rampant dragon emblazoned upon it. A square hat sat atop his head and a long drooping moustache hung down his cheeks. His eyes were slitted, almost like a cat’s, and he regarded Steel Jaw with nothing short of open disdain.
“I will never understand your Fuehrer’s fascination with transforming men and women into comedic mockeries of humanity,” the man said in perfectly spoken German. “Look at you. By all rights, you should have been put down like a broken animal. The fact that you live at all is disgusting.”
Steel Jaw rose to his feet, blood still dripping from his mouth. “Whatever that thing is you’re holding, it belongs to the German people.”
“Actually, it belongs to the Egyptians. Like so much else in your museum, it was stolen and claimed as your own.”
“I am giving you one last chance to surrender.” Steel Jaw laughed hoarsely. “Believe me, it’s fine with me if you choose to fight. I’ll eat you alive.”
The Warlike Manchu arched one eyebrow. “How many people have you killed like that, barbarian?”
“Too many to count.”
“Then it is fitting that you should die in the manner in which you lived.” The Manchu strode forward quickly, opening his mouth wider than Albert would have thought possible. Sharp, elongated canines were quickly buried in Steel Jaw’s neck, spilling more blood—only this time, the blood came from Albert himself.
* * *
It was near dawn before the bodies were discovered. There were two: the night watchmen and Steel Jaw. Of course, there was far too much blood for only the two deaths, but no one really noticed… for most of the attention was focused on the state of Steel Jaw’s body, which had been mostly devoured.
From the shadows, the Peregrine watched in grim silence. He had arrived too late, which meant that whatever it was, the Warlike Manchu already had his prize. Max had studied up on alkahest on the way over to Germany and now knew that his old enemy was seeking the fabled Philosopher’s Stone. Just as trouble, however, was the realization that the Manchu had become something not quite human: he was a cannibal, with unimaginable hungers.
Enjoy your feasts while you can, you monster,
Max thought to himself.
Because I’m coming for you.
CHAPTER VI
To Track the Beast
Six hours later, the Peregrine was in the middle of a Berlin bar, one that catered to a select clientele, even in the middle of the day. There were girls in the back, chained to beds, serving as physical receptacles for the sick desires of men who coveted pain and despair. Out front, there was a small pub that rarely served any alcohol. The Peregrine was thoroughly disgusted by the place and planned to leave it in ruins—after having freed the poor slaves in the back. But before that, he had questions that required answers.
Three men lay groaning on the floor, two of them nursing broken arms. The third had a shattered nose, blood streaming down his face.
The Peregrine was barely breathing fast, his eyes narrowed behind his bird-like mask. Both gloved hands were clenched into fists, speckles of red on the knuckles. “I’m only going to ask you gentlemen nicely one more time: the Warlike Manchu is in town. He pulled off the heist at the museum last night. If my sources are correct, no one comes in or out of Berlin without passing through the checkpoints without paying off the three of you, who in turn pay off the border patrol. Am I right so far?”
The one with the broken nose, Dieter, looked up at the American vigilante and nodded. Poor Dieter’s face would probably never be quite as handsome again, not after that nose healed up. “We don’t know where he’s staying,” Dieter whispered. “I swear it!”
“You’d know if he left the country, though, wouldn’t you? Which means he’s still here.” The Peregrine strode over to Dieter, crouching beside him. The German flinched at his approach, fearful of another assault. “So if you know he’s still here, I’m betting you can help me locate where he’s staying.”
“I… might be able to find out for you.” Dieter struggled to his feet, still eyeing the Peregrine warily. “But it will take time. This man… he is crafty. If he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found.”
“Then that’s very bad news for you,” the Peregrine said with a cold gleam in his eye. “Because the more time it takes to find him, the angrier I’m going to become… and I’m going to take out my rage on your face.”
Dieter nodded, believing that to be absolutely true. “I will need to leave. If you want me to put out feelers on the Warlike Manchu’s whereabouts, I can’t do that from here.”
Max gestured to the door. “Then go. But don’t try and jerk me around. You won’t like what happens if you do.”
Dieter bolted towards freedom, having momentarily forgotten about his damaged nose. Max watched him go, cast one glance at Dieter’s companions, and then left the building himself.
* * *
The Peregrine stuck to the shadows, avoiding notice both from the armed Nazi guards who patrolled the streets and, most importantly, from Dieter. The career criminal had rushed down the street, moving so quickly that it was obvious he had no plan other than escape from the Peregrine for the first few moments. Once he was confident that the American was not behind him, he’d slowed his pace and stopped next to a public telephone.
Max took out a small device which he secreted in one ear. He then unfolded a triangular-shaped unit which he pointed towards Dieter. The Peregrine was hidden from view in an alleyway across the street but the directional microphone allowed him to hear Dieter as if he were standing right next to the man.
“Jian? This is Dieter. We have a problem. The Peregrine is here in Berlin. He nearly killed me!”
Through the transceiver, Max heard the tinny voice of an Oriental man responding. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him I’d have to call in a few favors to find out where the Manchu is… but I told him I might come up empty. He said I’d regret it if I didn’t give him what he wants.” Dieter looked around, eyes wild. “The Manchu has to help me, Jian! I gave you a good one in getting you into the country, now do me one back!”
“Please be patient,” Jian replied. Dieter waited while Jian apparently went to speak with the Manchu. Dieter licked his lips, unable to keep still. When Jian returned to the line, the German turned his back to Max, who continued listening in. “The Warlike Manchu wishes you to bring him to 17 Belarus. He will lay a trap for the Peregrine. You are to accompany him if he insists.”
“Done,” Dieter said, hanging up the phone. When Max saw him step back onto the street, he could tell that the German wasn’t completely happy about the situation. No doubt he was hoping to be left out of any further plans…
The Peregrine watched him for a moment, trying to decide if he should head back to the bar and wait for him. In the end, he decided that Dieter’s role in the affair was over for now. There would hopefully be time later on to punish the crook for his litany of sins.
The Peregrine picked up a small telephonic device and punched in a code. Seconds later, McKenzie answered. “Will, are you still across the street from the pub?”
“Yep. Right where you left me.”
Max smiled. He’d convinced his friend to accompany him to Berlin, hoping that McKenzie could serve as the sort of back-up that Evelyn used to do before her pregnancy. “Go on in, gun in hand, and let those girls out. Dieter is on his way back.”
“What then?”
“Get out of there. Head back to the plane and wait for me there.”
“What will you be doing?”
“Settling old scores.” Max cut the connection before McKenzie could press him further. He knew that his friend would want to tag along and Max didn’t want that: McKenzie needed to remain safe, so he could return to the States and help watch over Evelyn and the baby… if something did go wrong, Max wanted as many friends as possible for Evelyn to lean upon.