The New Adventures of the Eagle

By Pro Se Press

From Japan to Berlin, from Paris to Moscow, from London to Washington D.C. and all points between and beyond, his reputation for facing the most dangerous opponents, taking on the most difficult missions is well known. He is the Nation's Ace Troubleshooter, the Country's Amazing Master Spy! Jeff Shannon is The Eagle- America's Ultimate Secret Agent! The Eagle's Mission: To Wage a One Man War Against America's Enemies and those Who Threaten Liberty Across The Globe! From Out of the Past Comes New Tales of One of Pulp's Forgotten Heroes! Pro Se Productions in Conjunction with Altus Press Presents a New Volume in its PULP OBSCURA line! Bringing Adventures and Heroes Lost in Yesterday Blazing to Life in New Pulp Tales Today! Thrill to Six Sensational Tales of High Powered Adventure, Heart Stopping Thrills,and Death Defying Action from Nick Ahlhelm, Teel James Glenn, Lee Houston, Jr., Ashley Mangin, Bobby Nash, and R. P. Steeves! Join Jeff Shannon as he fights against the foes of freedom in fantastic new adventures! PULP OBSCURA PROUDLY PRESENTS THE NEW ADVENTURES OF THE EAGLE! From Pro Se Productions in conjunction with Altus Press! Pro Se Productions- Puttin' The Monthly Back into Pulp!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Jun 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476091907

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

LIGHTS! CAMERA! SABOTAGE

by Bobby Nash

He moved under cover of darkness.

The mysterious stranger was clad from head to toe in black, save for the section of the full head covering that allowed him to see, almost like a reverse domino mask. The eyes that peered out were a cold and piercing blue…completely focused on every detail of the surrounding landscape. The man knelt near a stone wall at the north end of the compound.

Silently, he slipped the backpack from his shoulders and reached carefully inside. He pulled the small hunk of clay from within and pressed it against a predetermined spot on the wall. A few adjustments to the timer that was attached to the clay and he was ready to move. He slipped the backpack on, then flipped the small switch from OFF to ON He moved away once he was sure the timer had begun tick, tick, ticking as it was supposed to.

He repeated the process three more times before effortlessly scaling the wall. At the top, he paused for a moment, just to make certain that he hadn’t been spotted and that no surprises awaited him on the inside. He couldn’t dawdle long, however. Time was of the essence and he had a schedule to keep.

The black clad intruder dropped to the ground, landing in a perfect crouch at the base of the wall. A quick scan of the compound told him that he had not been spotted or tripped an alarm.

He ran for the main house with only the light of the full moon to guide him.

Once he reached the house, he pushed his back flat against the wall and took a moment to catch his breath. A gloved hand wiped away the perspiration beading on his forehead from the hot ski mask he wore. It was not the most comfortable accessory in the heat, but it was a necessary evil.

A light was on at a nearby window. The intruder crouched beneath it and listened as Fernando Martinez, the international weapons dealer he’d been sent to take care of, talked with one of his flunkies.

Everything is on schedule, as ordered, the flunky said.

Excellent, Martinez’s booming voice echoed. We shall proceed with the second phase of my plan as soon as the last of our guests arrive.

They should be here soon, the flunky said.

Excellent, Martinez mumbled around the cigar he was attempting to light. See them to their rooms so they can freshen up after their long journey.

I will see to it, sir.

Then have them in here in one hour.

As you wish, the flunky said before leaving and closing the office door behind him.

The intruder had heard all he needed to hear. His mission would soon near its end. Only a few more preparations were needed and then he would be ready. He placed a lump of the explosive clay under the window seal of Martinez’s office. He flipped the switch and hoped that the man inside would not hear the ticking countdown before it was too late.

The intruder planted several more explosives, checking his watch each time. All of the timers had been synchronized for a certain location and he had to make sure the right ones went in the right place.

As soon as the last explosive was planted, he hightailed it toward the west edge of the compound. This section was not guarded by a tall stone fence like the rest of Martinez’ compound. Instead, ocean waves crashed onto the sands of the arms dealer’s private beach. He pulled the snorkel and fins from the backpack and put them on as he ran across the wet sand toward the water. A pair of plastic swim goggles was the last touch before he dove headfirst into the warm tropical waters and swam with all his might.

He reached the small rubber boat which he had left a safe distance from the compound.

Maria, beautiful Maria with her sparkling smile, was waiting for him there. She was the polar opposite from him. Whereas he was covered completely, she wore a skimpy two-piece bikini with an unbuttoned sheer flower-print top hanging from her shoulders.

The black-clad intruder pulled off his mask and tossed it into the boat with her, but he stayed in the water and leaned against the side. He checked his watch, counting down.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Explosions filled the night as the carefully timed munitions went off in sequence, filling the compound with sparks and flames that rivaled the brightness of the midday sun. Even far out in the water, the man who had planted the explosives had to shield his eyes from the intense glare.

Whoa! he muttered at the intensity of the blast. He had been told it would be big, but this was much more than he expected. Surely, people could hear that blast for miles it was so impressive. A small smile played across his lips. He couldn’t help himself, but he quickly clamped down on the emotion and returned to his usual stone-faced demeanor.

He and Maria watched the Martinez compound burn bright for a few moments longer before he pulled himself into the boat and began removing the insulated suit he wore.

He paddled the small boat out to sea where a submarine would be waiting for them, leaving behind only fire and destruction in his wake.

And the camera caught it all.

Cut!

Bright lights came to life all around the Martinez compound, which was actually a beachfront soundstage owned by a motion picture film studio. The fire was quickly extinguished revealing no damage to the actual building or fence. It had all been for show.

In the boat, actors Hamilton James and Isabelle Bennett sipped champagne as grips in wetsuits pulled the rubber boat back to shore to where the film’s director, Curtis Allen, was waiting for them.

Bravo! the director shouted as they approached, clapping his hands. Marvelous job, Ham! You were fantastic! He offered a hand to James and helped him out of the boat.

It wasn’t too much? James asked as he stepped back onto solid ground. I couldn’t help but smile when that fireball lit up.

Not at all, Curtis said as he helped Isabelle out of the boat. You were both wonderful.

The director turned back toward his assistant director, Ed Keller. Check the gate! he shouted even though she was standing close enough that she would have heard him even had he whispered.

On it, the assistant director said as he scribbled notes onto a clipboard that was already covered with hurriedly written messages.

Then let’s set up for the last scene while we’ve still got some darkness left.

We’re already moving the equipment, Palmer said.

Good. Dawn is the enemy. We’ve got to move quickly.

Yes, sir.

As Ed Keller ran off to make sure his directions were followed, Curtis Allen turned his attention back to his actors. We’ll do some pick ups and a few close ups and then I think we can call it a night, he said.

Sounds good, Hamilton James said as he and his leading lady walked along the beach with their director and discussed the next scene under a beautiful full moon.

It had been a perfect night of filming.

Everything had gone according to plan.

***

Meanwhile, four miles away from the movie set, another fire raged.

Unlike the compound where Curtis Allen was shooting his latest cinema masterpiece, the building in question was not abandoned before the blast. This time there were no prearranged fire traps or flame bars, no stuntmen to be thrown through the air, no one quick to respond with fire fighting equipment, and no reset button to put things back together after someone yelled cut.

Here, the deaths were real.

Just like the movie explosion, this one too was captured on film.

The saboteur stood on a nearby hill with a small handheld camera, its lens focused on the yellow-orange flames as they ripped through the heart of the building that had once housed the Palmiotti Pesticide Corporation. For six years, the company had operated out of this particular facility with a perfect safety record. Until today, there had never been so much as an accident.

The saboteur had made sure that the company’s perfect safety record was destroyed along with everything in the lab.

The entire operation had been timed down to the second. It was not an easy task to synchronize one explosion to coincide with another, especially over distance with the sound echoing off the nearby mountains. Yet, they had pulled it off. The authorities and the citizens had been warned about the explosion scene in advance. If anyone had heard anything out of the ordinary and called the police it would no doubt be attributed to the movie being filmed just a few miles away.

It would be morning before anyone realized what had happened. It would be noon before anyone from the FBI or the War Department would arrive on the scene. And then another three hours after that before anyone realized that not everything had been destroyed in the fire. By the time the authorities learned what was missing and what it could be used for, it would be too late. By then they would be long gone.

The saboteurs had gotten in, planted their explosives, stole the information they had been sent to retrieve, and gotten out without a hitch.

All according to plan.

***

Jeff Shannon felt the dirt bike buck beneath him.

Under any other circumstances, he might have enjoyed an afternoon trek through the wide-open spaces that made up the California hills on a motorcycle. There was freedom in flying across uneven terrain at speeds that exceeded not only the laws of traffic enforcement, but also of good common sense. Shannon’s job was constantly fraught with dangerous situations. He faced death on a regular basis. Whether it was jumping out of an airplane to parachute behind enemy lines or breaking into the secret hideout of a criminal hell bent on world domination. Or any of the hundred or so crazy situations he found himself in while going after the bad guys in recent years, death was always waiting for him just around the next corner.

For most men, such knowledge would cause them to cower in terror, afraid of what was to come, but not so for a man like Jeff Shannon. Knowing that he could meet his maker at any time, Shannon decided to live every moment to its fullest. He had learned long ago to use the adrenaline rush that these life or death situations evoked. That knowledge had saved his life on any number of occasions.

He didn’t just use the rush of adrenaline to his advantage.

He thrived on it.

So, when he had downtime, as infrequently as that happened, he usually filled that time with some extreme outing or another, like taking a dirt bike out into the hills so he could open it up and push both himself and the machine to its limit.

Today, however, was not one of those off days.

It was just another day at the office.

He had just finished up a mission in France when he got the call. A plane was waiting for him at the airport and he was to report there for debarkation A.S.A.P. Now, to most civilians, A.S.A.P. meant As Soon As Possible. However, he had been in this line of work long enough to know that A.S.A.P. meant "Now!" when it came from his superiors on high.

An hour after he received the message he was in a cargo plane cruising at twenty-two thousand feet on his way back to the United States for his next assignment. The plane was all but empty of cargo and crew so there was very little conversation during the flight. Shannon used the opportunity to get in some shuteye. He had been awake for nearly forty-eight hours by the time the plane took off and he was exhausted. Plus, something told him that he was going to hit the ground running on this one.

He was right.

His plane had touched down at a military air base an hour ago and now Jeff Shannon, code name: the Eagle- was burning across the desert without anyone having verified his ID, checked his passport, or without him speaking to anyone who wasn’t already on the plane with him. Upon landing, he was given a map, a compass, and a note with a set of coordinates.

Those coordinates led him here.

To the middle of nowhere.

He saw a limousine parked in the middle of the desert. Not very conspicuous, he thought. It looked out of place among the rocks and dry brush, but there probably weren’t more than a handful of people within a hundred miles of the meeting coordinates. The only deviation he had made from the orders that he’d been given was that he took a circuitous route around the car to come in from above instead of following in what was laughingly referred to as a road, for lack of a better word.

High ground gave him a distinct advantage just in case it was a trap.

The Eagle watched for a few minutes, careful to make sure that he wasn’t walking into a trap. Jeff Shannon was widely known around the world by his code name, The Eagle. His primary specialty was counter-espionage and he was quite good at his job. In service to his country, the Eagle had made more than his fair share of enemies, many of whom would love nothing more than to see him dead or rotting in a desert prison somewhere unpleasant.

He had no intention of giving any of his enemies the satisfaction.

The Eagle made sure a round was chambered in his trusty .45 and slipped it back into his waistband for easy access before covering it with the tail of his jacket. He gunned the engine and headed down the hill toward the car.

Shannon cut the engine halfway down the hill and coasted the rest of the way before pulling to a stop next to the car. He rapped on the passenger side rear window with his left knuckle, but kept his right hand on the gun in his waistband. If this was a trap then he was ready for it.

The window rolled down.

Jeff Shannon? the man inside asked.

You know the password?

Eagle, the man said as he opened the door.

Slide over. Shannon lowered the kickstand and dismounted. He patted at the dust on his clothes before stepping inside the limousine. Inside was cooler as filtered air conditioning blew from the vents. The man who sat across from him was unfamiliar, but Shannon was used to being briefed by new people. A blacked out glass window blocked the driver from view. Shannon crossed his legs and spread his arms out along the back of the seat. If the man had any issue with the dust that he was getting all over the backseat, he gave no sign.

Agent Palmer, the man said by way of greeting as he stamped out the butt of his cigarette into the armrest ashtray.

A pleasure.

Sorry to drag you out here on such short notice, Palmer said.

It’s okay, The Eagle replied. I’m used to it.

I imagine so.

You have something for me, I take it, the Eagle said.

I do, Palmer said as he handed over a manila envelope. The Eagle hadn’t been expecting him to introduce himself, but once the brief pleasantries were out of the way he wasn’t disappointed that his contact was the straight to business sort. In espionage, names were power. His contact only had his name because someone higher up the food chain had decided that he needed to know it for this briefing. Now he had the agent’s name so balance was restored.

The Eagle took the envelope and pulled out a file. He flipped it open on his lap and began to read the intelligence report it contained. The details of the brief were shocking, to say the least. As a spy-buster, the Eagle had broken up espionage and sabotage rings all around the globe. The one place he had never expected to find need of his services was on his home soil. It was hard to fathom that his skills would be needed stateside.

This is current? he asked after a few moments of silence.

Yes. We have been investigating a ring of saboteurs operating with impunity within the United States, the contact said, his voice monotone as if he had simply ordered a meal instead of openly admitting that there were enemy agents running loose within the United States of America.

The Eagle found that situation untenable.

A task force has been assembled to track them, Agent Palmer continued. But as yet they have been unable to catch them in the act.

He decided to let the admission of their failure pass without comment. What else can you tell me? he asked instead.

The strikes are well planned, the contact said plainly, giving only the facts without commentary. The saboteurs have hit five different U.S. installations in the past two weeks. You will find a list in the briefing. Whoever they are, the saboteurs are well-trained, well-financed, and determined.

I take it since I’m here that you have a suspect in mind?

We do, Palmer said and tapped the edge of the envelope with his finger.

The Eagle removed a stack of photos from the file.

That man there is Curtis Allen. He is a motion picture director of some renown.

I’ve heard of him, the Eagle said before Palmer could continue. I caught one of his pictures while I was in France. I took the sweetest girl to see it. She worked a flower stand and...

The agent shot him a disapproving look.

Not important, the Eagle said when he noticed the man’s demeanor shift. Continue.

Our best intelligence puts him and his film crew at or near the site of each of the sabotaged installations at the time of the attacks, Agent Palmer said. Either Curtis Allen, or someone working on his movie, is helping the saboteurs.

What project have they targeted?

It’s called Project Ragnarok, Palmer said.

Sounds sinister.

We hope so, Palmer said. At least to our enemies.

So what does Project Ragnarok do?

"The project is classified top secret so I can’t go into specifics, but Research and Development has developed a new weapon system for use against the Axis Powers. As per protocol, the components have been farmed out to