Pulp Heroes: Khan Dynasty

By Wayne Reinagel

The first and ultimate Steampulp novel, Khan Dynasty features an epic adventure spanning two centuries in time and linking the incredible lives of history's most popular Victorian Age adventurers of the 1800's with the greatest action heroes of the Pulp Era and an assortment of well-known, real-life figures. Beginning in Cairo, Egypt, nearly a century in the past, a series of seemingly random events lead to danger and intrigue, as two generations of heroes race to stop a diabolical duo from unleashing a devastating wave of death and destruction. Is there a dark alliance between the Victorian man-monster Edward Hyde and the insidious devil-doctor Hunan Sun? What is the deadly secret of the mysterious Chimera? In this completely original action-packed story, four champions of justice, Doc Titan - The Ultimate Man, The Darkness - The Master of Shadows, Guardian - Steel and Ice Justice, and The Scorpion - The Deadliest Man Alive, race to unravel a century old mystery, and prevent the destruction of England and America, while the nations of the Earth teeter on the brink of another world war. In addition to the 1930's pulp heroes, Pulp Heroes - Khan Dynasty also features famous fictional characters from Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Around the World in 80 Days, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly's Frankenstein, Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes and Professor Challenger series, Chester Hawks' Captain Hazzard, J.H. Rosny's Ironcastle, John W. Campbell's Who Goes There?/Thing from Another World, H. Rider Haggard's Allan Quatermain, Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Philip Wylie's Savage Gentleman and Gladiator, and many more. This standalone story novel is the prequel to the bestseller Pulp Heroes-More Than Mortal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Reinagel
• Release date: Mar 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9780981531281

Wayne Reinagel

Wayne Reinagel is a short, hairy gnome-like creature who dwells in dimly illuminated Hobbit burrows and cackles madly to himself as he pecks away at his computer keyboard. Raised on a steady diet of paperback novels, Mountain Dew, comic books, Snickers, and adventure movies, he churns out a steady flow of poetry, paintings, novels and other silly stuff. Warning: If sighted, approach with extreme caution!

Book preview

Knightraven Studios presents

Pulp Heroes - Khan Dynasty

By

Wayne Reinagel

Khan Dynasty is an epic adventure spanning two centuries in time and linking the incredible lives of history’s most popular Victorian Age adventurers of the 1800’s with the greatest action heroes of the Pulp Era and an assortment of well-known, real-life figures.

Beginning in Cairo, Egypt, nearly a century in the past, a series of seemingly random events lead to danger and intrigue, as two generations of heroes race to stop the diabolical duo of Edward Hyde and Doctor Hunan Sun from unleashing a devastating wave of death and destruction.

Although Pulp Heroes - Khan Dynasty is a self-contained story, painted in bold sweeping strokes, Pulp Heroes - More Than Mortal and Pulp Heroes - Sanctuary Falls continues and concludes, respectively, this massive three-part trilogy.

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Pulp Heroes - Khan Dynasty

Published by Wayne Reinagel at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Wayne Reinagel

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Pulp Heroes - Khan Dynasty

TM & Copyright © 2010 Knightraven Studios LLC and Wayne Reinagel

All rights reserved.

Doc Titan, Darkness, Scorpion, and Guardian

TM & Copyright © 2010 Knightraven Studios LLC and Wayne Reinagel

All rights reserved.

All of the characters and incidents portrayed in this book and the names used herein are fictitious and are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to names, characters, events or history of any actual persons - living or dead (or zombie), is purely and entirely coincidental and unintentional. Some of the characters may have certain traits and/or mannerisms that may seem to suggest actual persons but we make no claim that these traits exist at all or in this combination in any person, living or dead.

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This story is dedicated to my own mother,

Mary Frances Reinagel

No son could ever ask for a better mother.

We love you, Mom!

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I also wish to personally thank the proofreaders of my novels; Susan Shields, Stacey Reinagel, Alicia Ingram, Martha Hall and Mary Reinagel. Without the efforts of these fine folks, spotting glaring ‘howlers’ (spelling and grammatical errors), storyline omissions, misunderstandings, misinterpretations and random misinformation, these novels would hardly be legible.

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Who is Doc Titan?

A mentally brilliant and physically superior modern marvel, John ‘Doc’ Titan was raised from infancy to achieve the absolute vertex of human development. More than merely a ‘renaissance man.’ To become what his father coined ‘the ultimate human.’ A super man.

After his father’s death, Doc Titan dedicated his life to traveling the world, battling evil-doers and helping those in need. With the aid of his five friends, Doc lives a life of breathtaking action, deadly peril and incredible adventure. This novel recounts one of his greatest, and most exciting, fantastic exploits.

Henry Marmaduke ‘Kong’ Larson - Despite his brutish, apelike appearance, Kong is one of Doc’s most valuable aides. Possessing a nearly photographic memory, he can commit to memory any professional journal, design specification, or technical research and recall every detail. He can memorize the layout of any city at a glance or learn any written language in less than an hour.

Bartholomew ‘Bart’ J. Blackwell - One of America’s leading mathematicians and cryptologists, Bart assisted the Allies in deciphering the supposedly unbreakable secret codes of the Axis Forces and in creating the ‘Windtalkers’ code with the assistance of the American Navajo Indians.

Randolph Garnett ‘Big Tom’ Thompson - At six feet four and 280 pounds, Thompson is what the pulps referred to as a two-fisted brawler. A giant of solid sinew and muscle, Big Tom resembles an immovable granite wall, and he never backs down from a fight. He is also one of the world’s greatest aviators.

Kenneth Xavier ‘Percy’ Percival Pierce - Treasure hunter. Tomb raider. From the perilous mountaintops of Tibet to the savage jungles of South America, from sunken cities to lost civilizations - no ocean is too deep, and no mountain is too high for this man who fearlessly delves into the mysteries of the ancient past.

Gilbert ‘Gibs’ Elliot Maddox - Barely four feet tall, this tiny man possesses a giant intellect, especially in his field of expertise - electricity. Like Edison and Tesla before him, Gibs has an affinity for what he refers to as ‘the juice.’

And last, but certainly not least:

Pamela ‘Pam’ Titan - Doc’s only known living relative. She is extraordinarily beautiful, described by some as a firebrand, a hellcat and an Amazon woman - all rolled into one. Six feet tall and well-rounded, her one true love is the siren call of danger and excitement. Whenever possible, she follows Doc around the globe and into mortal peril, whether he wants her to or not.

Who is the Darkness?

The Darkness is the Master of Shadows, a mysterious, haunting avenger of destruction. This merciless creature of the night appears to be able to travel from shadow to shadow, across great distances. Using an invisible network of dedicated undercover agents as his eyes and ears in the underworld of crime, Darkness attacks ruthlessly and vanishes back into the shadows. A faceless apparition, visible only as two terrible and unearthly crimson eyes, his very name strikes terror in even the bravest of evildoers. His hellish stare unlocks their deepest, most hidden secrets. His mocking laughter bores through their craven souls. His blazing twin .45’s stops their evil plans forever. Beware, the Darkness comes …

Luthor Gibson - Millionaire, philanthropist, amateur criminologist and civilian disguise for the creature known as Darkness. Gibson wears dark-lensed glasses to hide the scars burned into his flesh, marking where his eyes used to be. Although completely blind, he often discovers hidden clues that the police have overlooked.

Max Grant - World War I master aviator, adventurer, explorer, a haunted man. After the war ended, Grant aimlessly traveled the outskirts of civilization, isolating himself from the seemingly indifferent world around him. Mongolia, Russia, Turkey, India, he became a man searching for the one thing he felt he lost during the war, his soul.

Megan Meriwether - a funny, intelligent, quick-witted young woman. Luthor Gibson recognized her talent for blending in with high society and the fast-paced nightclub set. She is his eyes and ears, socializing and befriending both sides of the law. Megan is his only confidante in a very dangerous and lonely profession.

James Chan - a simple, pleasant-appearing young man of Asian descent. Like Megan, James uses this boyish charm to infiltrate both the upholders of law and the underworld of crime.

Sylvester ‘Sly’ Montgomery - A large, heavy-set black man, rarely seen outside of his limousine. An ex-cab driver, he knows every street, short cut and back alley. He manages the Montgomery Limousine Service, but the town-cars and the company are actually owned by Luthor Gibson.

Nick Drago - Tough, no-nonsense lone wolf of the underworld. Big, tough, with hard, chiseled features, Nick is the Darkness’ spy in the badlands. He has a reputation as a deadly hired gun and a ruthless killer.

Valentine - One of the Darkness’ first and most mysterious agents. Or is he merely another alias of the man known as Darkness? Except his single name, very little else is known about this inigmatic man.

Who is the Scorpion?

Crime has an enemy. Unstoppable. Relentless. Bringing death and destruction to those who prey on society. A ruthless creature of the night, dispensing justice with his twin pistols. He leaves his scarlet mark, the deadly scorpion, on the foreheads of those he has stopped. He is the scourge of crime and the defender of the innocent. Evil beware of … the Scorpion!

Preston Stockbridge II - A man shrouded in mystery. Men told of his courageous deeds during the Great War, but his life before that time has been lost in the distant past. He came to New York City with his faithful mute friend, Rav Chandra, and an enormous fortune. Preston played the part of the millionaire playboy philanthropist until he met the wealthy debutante, Whitney Van Pelt. She stole his heart and discovered his greatest secret. Stockbridge is the deadly Scorpion!

Whitney Van Pelt - Preston Stockbridge’s fiancé and closest confidant. Fearlessly addicted to mortal danger and breathtaking action, Whitney is an important ally against the forces of evil. She has even donned the Scorpion outfit to assist him with his battle against crime.

Allen Coleman - An ex-soldier of fortune and a deadly marksman, Allen fought beside Preston during the Great War and several other conflicts afterwards. To throw Police Commissioner Jack Lockhart off the trail, the quick-thinking Coleman has donned the Scorpion outfit several times and even faked his own death.

‘Rav Chandra’ - After the Great War, a haunted Preston Stockbridge wandered aimlessly through Europe and upper Africa. At the border of Afghanistan, he was witness to a silent warrior single-handedly battling seven armed men. Christened Ghoshdashtidar Raviprakash Chandramouleeswaran Dakkar, this proud giant was forever banished from his native homeland. Upon returning to the United States, Stockbridge revealed to Rav his plan to pursue justice as the masked vigilante, the Scorpion. The faithful mute swore his allegiance to his friend and master.

Police Commissioner Jack Lockhart - A no-nonsense law enforcement officer and leader of the task force - Project Scorpion. His assignment is simple, arrest Scorpion on sight for dispensing vigilante justice. Or, failing that, stop him by whatever other means deemed necessary. The problem is, Lockhart believes that Scorpion could be the son of his late wife. His stepson. If he ever proves that Stockbridge is the Scorpion, how can he bring himself to arrest the greatest force of justice ever known?

Friends and comrades, willing to sacrifice nearly everything in their lives, to see justice done.

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Act I: Signs and Portents (Past, Present, Future)

Chapter One - A Strange Thing Happened One Day at the Insane Asylum

Chapter Two - Incident at Isla Picton

Chapter Three - Sole Survivor

Chapter Four - Birthrights and Legacies

Chapter Five - The Ancient One

Chapter Six - Spies Like Us

Chapter Seven - The Little Shop of Death

Chapter Eight - House of the Rising Sun

Chapter Nine - The Man from the Diogenes Club

Chapter Ten - The Quest for Kaine

Chapter Eleven - Cabin Fever

Chapter Twelve - Doomsday Scenarios

Act II: Sons of Africa

Chapter Thirteen - This Band of Brothers

Chapter Fourteen - Casual Acquaintances

Chapter Fifteen - A Quiet Day in Cairo

Chapter Sixteen - The Journey to Deir al-Balah

Chapter Seventeen - Captain Nemo and the Nautilus

Chapter Eighteen - Sun Waits for No Man

Chapter Nineteen - Sky Castles and Sand Devils

Chapter Twenty - Isma’il Pasha, the Magnificent

Chapter Twenty-One - Nocturnal Pleasures

Chapter Twenty-Two - Banished Forever

Chapter Twenty-Three - Hyde to the Rescue

Chapter Twenty-Four - Angels of Death and Chastity

Chapter Twenty-Five - The Black Queen

Chapter Twenty-Six - One Step Closer to the Abyss

Act III: History in the Making

Chapter Twenty-Seven - House of Khan

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Keepers of the Secrets

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Bad Ticket on the Midnight Express

Chapter Thirty - Descent into the Mouth of Madness

Chapter Thirty-One - Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter Thirty-Two - Big Trouble in Little China

Chapter Thirty-Three - Gaining Momentum

Chapter Thirty-Four - Lost Memories and Dead Ends

Chapter Thirty-Five - Calling Doctor Karl Ness

Chapter Thirty-Six - Myths, Legends and Abominable Snowmen

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Of Insects and Demons/Night Terrors

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Who Watches the Watchmen?

Chapter Thirty-Nine - The Great War Ends

Chapter Forty - Tabula Rasa

Chapter Forty-One - Man of Science, Man of Faith

Chapter Forty-Two - Paintings and Images of the Past

Chapter Forty-Three - Brainwashed

Chapter Forty-Four - A Journey of 1000 Miles Begins with a Single Step

Chapter Forty-Five - And Behold, a Pale Horse

Chapter Forty-Six - Forever May Not be Long Enough

Chapter Forty-Seven - Funeral March For a Titan

Chapter Forty-Eight - Some Tasks Require Properly Motivated Heroes

Chapter Forty-Nine - Of Bats and Men

Chapter Fifty - The Search for Captain Wuzzles

Chapter Fifty-One - Concerning Endurance

Chapter Fifty-Two - Alone at the Bottom of the World

Chapter Fifty-Three - Alas, Alas, To Die Alone

Chapter Fifty-Four - Wilderness Rendezvous

Act IV: The Path of the Righteous

Chapter Fifty-Five - Through the Looking Glass

Chapter Fifty-Six - Blood, Blades and Shadow Assassins

Chapter Fifty-Seven - Simon Blake - Agent of the FBI

Chapter Fifty-Eight - Deus Ex Machina

Chapter Fifty-Nine - Family Secrets & Legacies

Chapter Sixty - Remnants of the Ancient Past

Chapter Sixty-One - Between the Darkness and the Light

Chapter Sixty-Two - The Seventh Coin

Chapter Sixty-Three - A Conflict of Interests

Chapter Sixty-Four - Beware the Chimera

Chapter Sixty-Five - The Tomb of Genghis Khan

Act V: Machiavellian Mysteries

Chapter Sixty-Six - Epilogues One through Seven

Epilogue One: The Fabulous Five - Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

Epilogue Two: Scorpion - A Quiet Night in New York City

Epilogue Three: Darkness/Luthor Gibson - Lost in the Shadows

Epilogue Four: Pam Titan & Cassie Greyson - The Stuff of Silly Legends

Epilogue Five: Dr. Jekyll - Patient Number 7

Epilogue Six: Doc Titan - The Quiet Reflections of a Titan

Epilogue Seven: Sherlock Holmes - Welcome to Sanctuary

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Act I: Signs and Portents (Past, Present, Future)

Chapter One

A Strange Thing Happened One Day at the Insane Asylum

November 13, 1850

England

Henry Jekyll felt the cold, rough plaster against his back and knew he could retreat no further. The cackling and howling inmates slowly approached him as he clamped his eyes tightly shut. The stench of feces, urine and vomit assaulted his senses as they crept closer. The filthy clothing of the lunatics was torn and tattered, as if they had ripped at themselves and their fellow inmates. Henry prayed and begged God for absolution for his sin of vanity. He had believed the only way to truly understand the minds of raving lunatics, was to be interred with them. When the boys attending the private school had dared him to spend an hour in one of the cells of the mental asylum, Henry had boldly accepted the challenge. He was no coward. Besides, he was curious. Stealing a key from his father’s ring, he had stealthily entered the hospital wing, where the mental patients were interred in the spacious attic.

Now, he regretted the brash action and wished he could be back in his own bedroom, safe and secure, away from the various sounds and smells that nearly forced him to wretch. Opening his light blue eyes, he saw six, eight, perhaps even twelve men, advance toward him from the deep shadows of the large room.

The first inmate was completely bald and bore a long, jagged scar down one side of his filthy face. Saliva dripped from his lower lip as bizarre, inhuman noises, issued forth from his mouth, containing less than half a dozen dirty teeth. The man behind him appeared as though he had used his long, filthy hair to mop the floors of the sanitarium. His rheumy eyes reflected the large dosage of drugs he had been prescribed. Henry couldn’t tell whether the numerous scratches painting his face and neck were self-inflicted or caused by another inmate as they defended themselves from his violent advances. A third face belonged to a man with only one yellow-hued eye. The reverse half of his features contained a sunken, barren void. His jaws were working up and down as if he were chewing a steak and his yellow-brown teeth made a chattering sound as his jaw closed.

The first prisoner extended a clawed hand and brushed Jekyll’s leg, as gently as Henry would have stroked his pet cat. When the inhuman paw had reached his thigh, however, the grip tightened and the young man winced in pain. Henry made a mental note that in the future all patients should have their nails trimmed on a weekly basis. Although he was only twelve, Henry Jekyll knew that someday he wished to follow in his father’s footsteps and enter the field of psychiatric medicine. This was one of the main reasons he had accepted the challenge from the other boys. Even at this young age, he knew that only so much could be learned from books and classrooms. For true knowledge, one must be willing to do field research.

An involuntary whimper escaped Henry’s lips, despite his vain attempts to control his base urges. As the other inmates touched and pinched him, they joined in with their own orchestra of mewlings, hisses and cries. The obscene chorus of sounds filled the young man’s ears as he forced his eyes to open once more. All five of his senses were violated and assaulted by the sights, sounds, and smells of the throng of mental patients. They seemed drawn to Henry, as if they could sense the sanity that dwelt within his slight frame, like moths drawn to the light and warmth of a candle flame. When removed from the sanctity of this room to be cleaned and observed, many patients curled into a fetal position, hid their faces, or merely held themselves, rocking back and forth. Right now, however, in their own safe environment, amidst their fellow maniacs, the inmates appeared to be trying to communicate with him.

From beyond the group of lunatics came the low, almost inhuman growl of a predator. The other men appeared worried and turned to Henry, as if they were now seeking his protection. One clutched Jekyll’s sleeve and desperately attempted to conceal himself behind the thin material. Then Henry understood. They weren’t concerned for themselves, for their own safety. They feared for him. A ponderous, shadowy figure approached, his heavy footsteps made the wooden floor tremble and creak. A massive hand shoved one of the inmates aside and the others cried, whimpered and moaned. They tore at their hair, clothes and skin. Into the poor illumination, stepped a towering ogre.

Henry had overheard stories about this man from the guards and orderlies. Walter was a convicted mass murderer, found guilty of the crime of manslaughter. Apparently, his own family was ashamed of the deformed, retarded giant and had kept him locked in the basement of their farmhouse. His father was a drunkard and beat the misshapen man nearly every night, blaming him for the family’s misfortunes.

One night Walter had struck back and tore his father into very small pieces. Mercilessly, he proceeded to slay the other members of his entire family, one by one. During the trial, newspaper headlines screamed that the man should be put to death for his brutal crimes. The liberal courts, however, decided that he didn’t comprehend the nature of his destruction and condemned him to serve a life sentence in a sanitarium.

Why was he in the general population, Henry wondered? The answer was obvious, because the institution was overcrowded and no concern was given for the lives or safety of the inmates confined therein. Once they were off the streets, the general public gave the matter no more thought. Even as the towering figure approached, young Jekyll realized this must change. One day he would force the institutes to treat the inmates with more respect, as all human beings deserve to be treated. If, indeed, he lived through the night.

Despite his brave demeanor, Jekyll’s heart was beating like a trip-hammer, pounding in his chest and ears. He shivered uncontrollably, as though battling a sudden fever. For a brief second, Henry thought that he had passed out. Rather abruptly, the shadowy room had become strangely silent. The inmates stopped their howling and gnashing of teeth. Their eyes grew large with fear and respect. Several drew back away from the young boy, their fingertips lightly caressing his trembling body. Even the man-giant Walter retreated back to his dark corner without a sound. Something had scared them. And whatever it was, it was now standing directly behind Henry. He turned his head to peer over his shoulder, curious what would cause even the man-giant to back away. Truthfully, what he saw was not at all what he expected.

The stranger standing behind Henry was nicely dressed, well-groomed and clean-looking. White gloves, spotless lapels and a shiny top hat graced his dome. Jekyll estimated the young man was only slighter older, and not much taller, than himself. Removing his gloves and dropping them into his hat, the newcomer smiled broadly and held out his well-manicured hand. His coal-black hair was longer than currently fashionable and he possessed a white lock of hair that hung down over one eye. His appearance reminded Henry of the stories of Sweeney Todd, the barber of Fleet Street. Henry enjoyed reading the penny-dreadfuls but his father believed they were trash that would rot young minds.

Edward Hyde, at your service. And you must be young Henry Jekyll.

Y-y-you know my n-n-name? Henry stuttered, as an uncontrollable shutter racked his chilled frame, goosebumps rising on his flesh. He noticed as one of the inmates grunted and covered his eyes, in an effort to hide from the newcomer. Another shook his head violently, his rheumy eyes warning Henry not to accept the offered appendage.

Oh, yes. Of course I do. I’ve been waiting for a long time to meet you, my young friend. Edward remained with his hand extended, politely waiting, and a sly smile on his features. I won’t bite, you know. Not hard, anyway. Henry chuckled at the last comment, his own voice sounding distant. Even as he accepted the other man’s open hand, Henry thought of the romantic-horror novelette he had read entitled The Vampyre, by Doctor John Polidori. Edward Hyde’s appearance and dress was just as the gothic vampire was described in the book.

W-w-what are you d-d-doing here? You d-d-don’t appear to be an inmate. He stammered. Henry hated the stutter he displayed when he was nervous or scared.

Hyde stepped into the dim light. His eyes showed no color, the irises were large and completely black. Henry shivered again.

I assure you, I don’t belong here any more than you do. One moment there was a clerical error, the next I’m in this intriguing place. Truth be told, I’m as sane as you are, Henry.

Hyde waved his arm, resembling a freak show carnival barker, proudly presenting his next display. He frowned and brushed at an imaginary fleck of dust on his coat sleeve. He raised an eyebrow at Jekyll and gave a light chuckle. Filthy place. Don’t know why anyone would want to stay here.

Anxious to exit the overwhelming stench of the confined quarters, Henry took two steps toward the thick, steel-plated door. His claustrophobia was making him extremely uncomfortable. At this very moment, he wanted nothing more than to flee the close confines of the attic prison.

W-w-we can leave here. I have a key to the d-d-door. My f-f-father is a physician at the h-h-h-ospital.

Edward stepped toward one of the inmates and patted an open palm on the man’s shaved scalp. The inmate cringed as Edward caressed the man’s filthy cranium with his fingertips, in the cold, unfeeling manner a person might stroke the lifeless, unfeeling surface of a marble bust. He sniffed his fingertips, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and offered Henry a sly smile.

Just as I thought. This brain is rotten, rank, spoiled, tainted, and disgusting. It’s abnormal, offensive, revolting and loathsome. We should remove it immediately and place it in a jar of formaldehyde, before it infects the other inmates in this room. Hyde glanced about the room at the other patients. He winked and whispered to Jekyll, hiding his mouth with the back of his hand. Actually, I do believe it’s too late. He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes, mocking the other lunatics.

Despite himself, young Henry smiled at the antics of his newest companion. Edward Hyde seemed to be one of those friendly, intelligent people that everyone wanted to know, exuding an incredible amount of charisma. Although there were a few boys like that at his school, Henry was not close friends with any of them. Or rather, they were not friendly toward him. Truthfully, Henry was sort of a social outcast in school. Which explained why he was here now, hoping to win favor among his peers.

Why are you so anxious to leave? I thought you wanted to experience the world of insanity first hand. To understand the complex workings of the minds of men. And madmen. The lesson isn’t finished already, is it? Don’t you want to know what demons live in here? He tapped the shaved skull of another lunatic, who frowned, cringed and mumbled incoherently, but did not move away.

I b-b-believe I’ve seen enough for one n-n-night. Don’t you w-w-want to leave? Henry asked nervously.

Hyde laughed loudly, startling several prisoners with the sound.

Oh, yes, I do wish to be liberated. More than anything. Free to experience everything life has to offer. Edward leapt to his feet and spun in a great circle on the floor, arms outstretched. I wish to embrace the entire world and suckle from its ample bosom. And I, nay, rather we shall do exactly that, my friend. Hyde stopped pirouetting and suddenly knelt down next to Henry. But we’re not quite finished here. Not yet.

F-f-friend? Henry questioned softly.

Mind my words, Jekyll. We’re going to be the best of friends, closer than brothers. Virtually inseparable, for the rest of our lives. Hyde exclaimed loudly, his black eyes twinkling. How old are you, young Henry?

T-t-twelve. Today is m-m-my b-b-birthday.

Fancy that. It’s my birthday, as well. And birth can be such a violent, dramatic event. I believe we should celebrate in grand fashion, with overflowing goblets of liquor, wicked women and a multitude of carnal festivities. And, of course, you’re all invited. He added with a broad smile, waving his open arms toward the other patients, who gave the overly exuberant Edward a cautionary wide berth.

I t-t-think they’re afraid of y-y-you. Jekyll appraised the quiet reactions of the other inmates.

Hyde’s dark eyes flashed an eerie glance toward Henry and the young man felt a chill as Edward whispered. And rightfully so. Let the whole world cringe in fear at the knowledge of our arrival. The sly grin regraced his lips as he blew at the errant lock of white hair that dangled down over his features. He leaned close, his handsome face within inches of Jekyll’s. But first, dear Henry, let’s do something about that annoying stutter of yours, shall we?

Several days later, after an exhaustive search of the asylum grounds and nearby neighborhoods, Henry Jekyll was finally discovered in the attic rooms of Saint Vincent’s mental ward. The male orderly didn’t recognize the young man at first. Like the other inmates, he was half-clothed, his bloodied clothing torn and ripped in several places. He was curled into a fetal position and at first glance, the nurse believed the boy was dead. The other prisoners must have attacked him, because there were hundreds of claw marks on his body, too numerous and vicious to be self-inflicted. In all of his years at the hospital, the orderly had never witnessed anything like it. Henry’s brown hair was matted and several patches had been torn out. He smelled horribly of blood, feces, urine and vomit.

As the attendants carried him from the crowded attic, the other inmates gave them wide berth, avoiding contact with Jekyll at all costs. The most unsettling thing about the young man was his face. The entire time the orderlies scrubbed him clean and bandaged his wounds, his expression remained completely unchanged. He smiled broadly during the entire ordeal, his dark eyes twinkling.

He was free.

Chapter Two

Incident at Isla Picton

December 8, 1914

Isla Picton, Chile

Commissioner Darian Neville Smythe cleared his throat as he approached the small group of men. Smythe was still a young officer, barely past thirty, and held an important position of authority in the British Secret Intelligence Bureau. He was a bit on the thin side, weighing about one hundred sixty pounds and nearly six feet tall, yet solid as a rock and tough as nails. His stride was straight and confident, making it immediately obvious that he had spent his entire life in the military services. His thick, sandy-colored curly hair was cropped close to the skull and his thin moustache was neatly trimmed.

Ten years ago, Neville Smythe had been one of the youngest officers in His Majesty’s Admiralty. He served in the war offices that controlled secret intelligence operations. The fact that he was the nephew of the great detective Sherlock Holmes had certainly not harmed his career or reputation. Naturally, he had never explained to his superiors that his uncle’s uncanny skills of deduction were not hereditary. His first military posting, as Special Agent Smythe, had been in Cairo, Egypt in 1903. At that time, Smythe was a young, and very ambitious man, working under Captain Sir George Mansfield Smith-Cumming in the British Secret Service Bureau. In 1909, he was transferred to the newly formed British Secret Intelligence Bureau.

For the last several years, as a collaborative effort between the Americans and the English, Smythe had labored alongside the Ukrainian-born Sidney George Reilly, the so-called ‘ace of spies’, and the two American Secret Service agents, Max Grant and Preston Stockbridge II. They were covert adventurers, secret agents, or undercover spies, depending on who was providing the description. To the intelligence community, they had been codenamed the Four Horsemen, because death and mayhem usually followed in their wake. The four men answered directly to only two authorities; the United States Attorney General, George Wickersham (who reported to the American President William Howard Taft) and Captain Sir George Mansfield Smith-Cumming (who reported to King George V of the United Kingdom).

During the night, Smythe and Stockbridge had led a small contingent of men, rowing inflatable boats, to Isla Picton, a tiny island roughly four miles wide and twelve miles long, near the southernmost headland of the Tierra del Fuego archipelago of southern Chile. On this supposedly uninhabited isle was located one of the last known citadels belonging to the illustrious Doctor Hunan Sun, a temporary ally of the Germans. The British Secret Intelligence Bureau had been alerted that Sun was developing a deadly weapon for his allies, one that could destroy its enemies from hundreds of miles away. Smythe had been trying to bring Sun to justice since 1911, when they first crossed paths in Egypt.

After the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, Germany had quickly declared war on France, Great Britain and Russia. Several major clashes had already been fought between these military giants. The Germans had been flexing their military muscles for several years, merely awaiting an excuse to declare war against its neighboring European countries. Thus far, after four months of bloody battles, the German Navy had been victorious. However, four hundred miles to the northeast, at the crack of dawn, a battle would be fought in the Falkland Islands, between the naval forces of Germany and England. And this time, the English were far better prepared.

After giving the group of men a quick inspection, Neville Smythe addressed their commanding officer. Sergeant Juan was a short, stocky, dusky-skinned man, and was very highly recommended by Juan’s superior officer, Chief Inspector Cay Van Nash. Smythe was taller than the Chilean sergeant by more than a foot.

Are we ready, Sergeant Juan?

The soldier saluted Neville and replied curtly, Yessir. I have my best twenty-five men at your disposal, all combat veterans and the very best of our secret military police force. We are armed with silenced firearms and heavy body armor, as you requested.

Smythe nodded. Very good. You will be following my lead. Special Agent Scorpion is my second in command.

Smythe motioned with his open hand, indicating a tall, lean man, clad in dark clothing and a large brimmed slouch hat. Smythe had wanted him to wear a mask to conceal his features, but Preston Stockbridge refused, experiencing feelings of claustrophobia when forced to wear one. Stockbridge was two inches taller than Smythe and towered over the sergeant and his men, all natives of Chile. If only three words were to be used to describe the American, they would be rich, blond and handsome. He had two blackened .45 single-action, semi-automatic handguns holstered, one under each arm. He also had the air of a man who knew how to use them.

Scorpion, sir? Sergeant Juan questioned Smythe, frowning at the tall American.

He is an American special agent. Smythe explained. His true identity will remain a secret. In fact, he was never here.

The sergeant saluted. Understood, sir. Juan walked away to give his men last minute instructions.

Preston whispered to Darian, low enough that the others couldn’t overhear them. Twenty-five men, Smythe? Personally, I wish we had one hundred. We are definitely going to be in harm’s way.

Smythe stroked his pencil-thin mustache. Agreed. But the South American branch of the British Secret Intelligence Bureau is new and understaffed. I have six agents arriving within the hour. But we can’t wait. Admiral von Spree’s attempt to invade the Falklands will commence in the next hour. When he discovers seven English cruisers are waiting for him, he will certainly warn his allies, including Doctor Hunan Sun.

I suppose we’ll have to make do with what we have. Scorpion acknowledged tensely.

A bedraggled beggar approached the gathering of men, holding a small cup in his trembling outstretched hand. In his native Chilean tongue, he implored the soldiers to share whatever they could afford. The fellow was thin as a rail and his back was bent almost double from age, his overall appearance resembling a question mark. His filthy clothes were tattered and frayed, little more than discarded rags. His hair was long, grayed and matted together, covering most of his dusky face beneath the oversized hat. His thick, grizzled beard hid much of the rest, exposing only the blue-gray eyes, which were sunken deeply in the man’s skull. Several soldiers had shooed the foul-smelling man away, before Preston advanced. He dug a small bundle of bills from his pants pocket and stuffed the beggar’s metal cup to overflowing. He motioned for Juan to translate for him, to warn the old man to leave the area as soon as possible. That it was dangerous to remain.

As the twisted old man bowed in appreciation, Preston noticed the horrible burn scars on the man’s gnarled fingers, wrist and arm of his left side. Rage welled up inside, as Stockbridge remembered stories of how Doctor Sun had experimented on local peasants before. Was this one of his unfortunate victims? The decrepit, emaciated man slowly walked away, leaning heavily on his twisted walking stick for support. Scorpion had already turned away when the man offered the group a final glance, the light blue eyes twinkling.

Smythe addressed the twenty-five special services soldiers. Okay, men. We are about to infiltrate a stronghold of the diabolical madman known as Doctor Sun. There will be hidden dangers around every corner. Stay focused and be alert at all times. Under his breath, he added, And maybe you’ll live to see the dawn.

The group of men approached the property and silently scaled over the top of the ancient stone wall surrounding the palatial estate. Dressed from head to toe in black material, faces darkened with camouflage paint, they were silent shadows moving in the twilight. Military hand signals were passed along, warning of possible traps and dangers.

Two warriors, dressed in Jade Fist garments and each sporting an emerald tattoos on his arm, stood guard at the top of a flight of stone steps. The Jade Fist were soldiers in the army of Doctor Hunan Sun. The assassins were well-trained with knives, swords, garrotes, and in hand-to-hand combat. Smythe silently signaled Juan and two of his men crept forward. Knife blades flashed in the moonlight and the slain guards were lowered silently to the ground. Juan’s men were quite good.

All twenty-eight men, including Smythe, Juan and the Scorpion, moved forward and started down the wide steps. Eight steps down, they walked out onto a stone patio landing, twenty feet across, surrounded by a rock wall four feet high. The patio began narrowing as they walked forward and stone walls rose on either side. Soon the walls were higher than a tall man could reach and only eight feet apart. Thirty feet ahead, there were a dozen steps, this time going up.

Scorpion held up one fisted hand, motioning for everyone to remain still. All his senses were tingling, warning him that something was wrong. He strained his eyes and ears to ascertain the reason for the rising hair on the back of his neck. All he could detect was the innocent rustling of dried leaves blowing in the breeze. Suddenly it became obvious what was amiss. The yard and patio areas were swept clean. There were no leaves. He whispered his warning and began running for the stairs.

Everyone run. Get to the top of those steps. He instructed.

Neville Smythe and Juan were tight on his heels. Unfortunately, several men did not move quickly enough. There was an exclamation of surprise and pain from the last man in the column as he went down. Another man also screamed, following his example. The sound of crunching leaves underfoot could be heard as the men ran. Another man fell. One of the soldiers flipped on his flashlight and played it on the narrow stone walkway behind him. Where the three men had fallen were now large, black mounds that glistened and pulsated in the light. The stone patio was a mass of shiny, oily-looking black movement. It undulated like rapidly flowing water, the edge of the surface moving forward like ebony waves. One last man tripped and fell beneath the dark, progressing mass, before the others leapt up the stairs to safety and out of the recessed pit. The wave of glistening black stopped its forward movement at the lowest step.

Sergeant Juan panted. What the bloody hell …?

Black scorpions. Preston explained. Millions of them. Deadly poisonous. The garden was designed to lead intruders to that walkway. It’s actually a pit with steps at each end. I should have noticed the trap.

Smythe warned Juan. We’re infiltrating the lair of an evil madman. We have to be ready for anything. There are certain to be more and deadlier traps ahead.

The soldier was playing his light across the bodies in the pit, now completely covered in the ebony scorpions. Their deadly claws clacked menacingly at the light beam. Smythe barked a harsh whisper at the soldier.

Turn off that torch, man. Everyone, back to the task at hand. Agent Scorpion, take the lead.

Cautiously, the men continued slowly crossing the grounds of the estate, watching for possible hidden dangers. A gateway opened into the next courtyard. A beautiful fountain, surrounded by wooden benches and marble statues filled the enclosed area. Scorpion stepped forward and crouched down behind a small, flowering bush. A light evening breeze blew through the branches of the orchid tree; the smell of honey was strong. A minute passed. Finally, he felt the way was safe and motioned for the waiting men to advance. They all started across the courtyard when he witnessed a slight movement in his peripheral vision. Simultaneously, his sense of smell detected a foul, pungent odor. He spun on the ball of his foot, suddenly lunging at Smythe and Juan, who were standing directly behind him. They all tumbled to the ground together as a gigantic, clawed hand passed inches overhead. The fourth man in line was seized by the appendage and physically lifted from the ground. As Scorpion rolled onto his back, he saw the owner of the deadly hand, and unconsciously drew in a startled breath.

From the center of the only tree in the garden had emerged a creature of monstrous proportions. Covered in thick, long white hair, the creature must have stood nearly eight feet tall. Its drooling mouth opened, baring six inch long fangs. A deep growl of madness emerged from deep in its throat. Doctor Hunan Sun had experimented on, drugged, tortured, starved and manipulated many creatures. This poor, mutated gorilla was one of his many victims. In one distorted palm, it still held the unfortunate man. Almost effortlessly, the beast raised him overhead and dashed the soldier to the ground. Bones cracked and splintered. As the body was tossed away, like a child’s broken rag doll, the man’s head lolled side to side. One massive, hairy arm was raised and brought down on the head of another soldier, crushing his skull. A third was lifted into the air, the cavernous mouth clamping down on his middle as the powerful arms ripped him in half. Another man felt a gigantic paw cover his face, before his head was torn from its torso.

As his heart surged with adrenalin, Neville Smythe sprang to a kneeling position and began firing at the leathery chest. Round after round struck the lumbering beast, driving it back. He quickly expended all eight rounds and the clicking sound, as the automatic’s hammer hit empty space, seemed deafeningly loud in Smythe’s ears. There would be no time to reload.

The horrible face of the crazed behemoth was frightening to behold. Its slobbering mouth opened wide to issue a deafening roar, as it prepared to charge this strange man who had caused it pain. However, before the beast could bellow and alert Doctor Sun of the intruders, Scorpion aimed carefully and deftly placed two bullets between the eyes of the monstrously deformed gorilla. The beast’s eyes rolled back in its skull as it fell to the ground with a thunderous crash. It took several bloody gurgling breaths and then lay motionless.

Scorpion scolded Smythe. I keep telling you, Wizard, when in doubt, always take the head shot. Looking down at the slain brute, he shook his head. Poor dumb creature. I hate killing animals. What did Doctor Sun do to this ape, to create such a monstrosity?

Smythe looked at Scorpion with gratitude. Thanks. I thought I was about to meet my maker. He then added, And you can call me Smythe these days. I’m no longer an undercover agent.

When abroad on undercover missions, Wizard was Smythe’s designated codename. Sidney Reilly was known as the Ace, Max Grant was Midnight, and Preston was, of course, the Scorpion.

We’re not out of the proverbial woods, yet. Scorpion warned.

Eight men, highly trained, experienced soldiers, had lost their lives in mere minutes. The remaining men were starting to wonder what kind of Dante’s Inferno they had entered. Stockbridge continued on, leading the way. A thick wall, nearly twenty feet high, blocked their path. Gnarled, thorny vines covered the entire wall and scarlet flowers, with golden-yellow tongues, silently witnessed the gathering of men.

Smythe cautioned the soldiers. I’ve seen these plants before. Do not touch the thorns or smell the flowers. They are both toxic and deadly poisonous.

They followed the wall for nearly one hundred yards before discovering an arched opening. Resembling a stone cave, the half-round drain tunnel bored through the wall and far beyond. The opening at the other end could be seen a mere thirty feet away.

Scorpion studied the man-made channel. Well, what do you think? We can’t climb over with those vines covering the wall and there’s no other opening around.

The three men looked down the length of the tunnel. It appeared unused and ancient webs hung scattered along its length. The half moon opening, with three sides of stone and a wide, flat floor, appeared quite innocent. Scorpion waited for Smythe and Juan to voice their opinions.

Almost too good to be true. Juan offered. Could be a trap.

Agreed. Neville Smythe echoed the sergeant’s assessment. It gives every appearance of being unused. There are even cobwebs in the tunnel.

Scorpion smiled. Well, I’m not afraid of a few little spiders. And it’s the only place without the deadly thorns and flowers. I’ll volunteer to go first and make sure the way is safe.

Without waiting for a response, Stockbridge proceeded ahead, clawing the hanging webs from his path. A moment later, he emerged, none the worse for wear, at the far end. This garden was as empty and quiet as a deserted graveyard. The grass was short and well kept. Trees were small, almost dwarves. The word Bonsai came to mind. There were areas of white sand and fist-sized rocks, neatly combed and tended. Of course, he thought to himself, a miniature tranquility garden. He cautiously studied his surroundings, but detected nothing dangerous. Not a graveyard, he thought. A golf course. He briefly smiled at the thought of the evil Doctor Hunan Sun playing golf. The smile quickly faded when he imagined the doctor would be using a human foot as a golf club and shrunken human skulls as balls. And a giant, mutated gorilla as his caddy. Suppressing a shudder, he finally waved at the next group to come through. His hand signals suggested five men at a time, in case there was another trap.

Sergeant Juan and three of his men followed Commissioner Neville Smythe closely. They arrived without incident, waited briefly, and then signaled to the next five. The men spread out and maintained silent vigilance in the quiet garden. Still no threat had materialized. Sergeant Juan motioned for the remaining nine men to join them. The full moon cleared the clouds and visibility became clearer for a minute.

The last man entered the tunnel and noticed something on the ground, glistening in the moonlight. A golden coin. He smiled broadly. A nice little reward, for tonight’s dangerous work. The instant he touched the treasure, a thick iron barred grille slammed down behind him. The men in front turned at the loud noise, saw the barred entrance, and instantly realized they were in mortal danger. As they rushed for the far exit in a panic, another iron barrier fell at that end. They were trapped in the stone tunnel.

On all sides, small openings appeared in the rock face. Hundreds of leaping spiders, larger than a man’s open hand, attacked the terrified soldiers. Like the trapdoor spider, they had been concealed behind hinged flaps of webbing. Their huge green and yellow bloated bodies were covered in razor-sharp, course hairs that cut and stabbed when the men attempted to defend themselves. Fangs bit deeply, ejecting their deadly poison into warm flesh. One man, with a mutated spider perched on his shoulder; fangs buried deeply, grabbed the iron bars and looked to his companions for help. The spider’s eight scarlet eyes were fixed on the men on the other side of the grate. Half a second later the soldier dropped to the ground, his swollen face etched with horror and fear. The deadly neurotoxins in the slobbering fangs had killed him in mere seconds.

Scorpion had already drawn his gun and would have shot the man out of mercy, if he hadn’t died so quickly. The other eight men were already lying dead in the tunnel. The surviving eleven men slowly backed away from the terrifying sight they had just endured. One man grabbed his middle and became sick to his stomach.

What a horrible way to die. Juan breathed, his voice a whisper.

Neville Smythe began to order the man to muster his courage, when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His head turned and his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. One of the spiders was in mid-flight, leaping toward the startled commissioner. Neville could see his own mortified features reflected in the bulging crimson eyes as the swollen green and yellow creature sailed toward him. It was less than an inch from his nose when a single shot rang out and the bloated body exploded. Mucilaginous residue splashed Smythe’s face and the long hairy legs touched him so lightly in passing that it could have been a lover’s caress. A shiver ran down Smythe’s spine and he breathed a sigh of relief. Scorpion was reholstering his smoking automatic.

Smythe wiped the thick, clinging slime from his face. Thank you. That’s twice you saved my life tonight.

Scorpion smiled beneath his hat brim. Let’s not try for three, Commissioner. Try to stay out of harms way. Cumming will never forgive me if I allow you to get yourself killed.

Sergeant Juan approached. It appears we’ve made it through the gardens. I see an opening to the building over there.

He turned to his men, assuring them they would each receive his highest accommodations for this tour of duty. They made it to the entrance without incident and entered a large vestibule. The room was twenty-five feet wide, with a ceiling nearly as high. On either side of the vaulted corridor were two carved warriors. Each of these four gigantic marble statues towered nearly twelve feet in height. To increase the sense of mass, they each stood on a six-foot high marble column base. They were depictions of great ancient Chinese warriors carved in grand detail, complete with battle armor and swords. The blades were longer than the height of a full-grown man. One of the towering behemoths held his sword high overhead, as if preparing to attack an unseen enemy.

At the far end of the entrance was an elegantly decorated room. Beautifully painted enormous vases lined one wall. Boldly colored tapestries, depicting battles long forgotten, hung on the walls. The aromatic smell of tobacco, laced with narcotics, drifted in the thick air. Thick rugs lined the cold, stone floor. Amidst all of this luxury and decadence was an intricately carved wooden throne with gold gilding, inlaid with a rainbow of gems and jewels. A tall, gaunt man sat on the elaborate throne, facing the armed intruders, but did not react to their presence. His thin face was hidden in the dim shadows caused by the flickering candles.

Sergeant Juan spoke almost reverently. He appears to be asleep.

Scorpion snickered. Or perhaps he’s so scared of us, he’s soiled himself. But I doubt it.

The ground behind Stockbridge shook with the force of one of the heavy sword blades striking the stone floor. There had been no warning this time. One of the colossal warriors had come to life, the sword held above his head plunging downward. Scorpion turned in time to witness the soldier behind him fall to the earth in two pieces. The large blade had cleanly sliced through him, from head to crotch. The other three gargantuan warriors stepped down from their pedestals and advanced on the soldiers.

Scorpion stared in disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding me. Deadly black scorpions I can handle. Giant crazed gorillas, no problem. Nasty leaping spiders with red eyes, I’m still okay. But I draw the line at twelve foot tall, butt-ugly, mutated humans.

The soldiers repeatedly fired at the mute, mammoth warriors, seemingly without effect. Two soldiers were sliced in half at the waist with the same sword stroke by one of the giants. Another attempted to dodge but lost his head and a shoulder to a swinging blade. Smythe and Scorpion emptied their guns into one of the monstrosities. It finally fell, crushing one of the military men. Another armored warrior grabbed one of the soldiers, dashing him against the wall, before it was also shot down. The last three men met equally horrible deaths at the gigantic hands of the last two lumbering behemoths. Scorpion, pulling the pins on two powerful grenades, tossed them at the approaching giants. Commissioner Smythe, Agent Scorpion and Sergeant Juan threw themselves to the floor, as the explosion rocked the entire building. One of the giants lay dead on the floor but the last surviving colossus staggered forward through the billowing clouds of dust. Scorpion quickly placed a bullet between its eyes and it dropped with a thunderous ‘thoom.’

Neville was quickly up on his unsteady feet, walking toward the throne, with his gun leveled at the unmoving figure in the chair. The features hidden in the shadows evidenced no emotion. Smythe had waited years for this moment. The doctor had long evaded the justice of an English court. Neville had witnessed many men suffer and die at the hands of this inhuman mastermind. And too many friends. For a brief second, he was tempted to dispense vigilante justice as judge, jury and executioner and save the courts the expense of a trial. And to avenge the deaths of his friends.

But Captain Sir George Mansfield Smith-Cumming, Smythe’s superior commander, gave strict instructions that the British Secret Intelligence Bureau wanted Doctor Sun taken alive. And Commissioner Darian Neville Smythe would be the man to bring Sun to justice.

Doctor Hunan Sun, you are under arrest by the authority of Her Majesty’s … Smythe began.

He stopped talking when he saw the carved knife handle protruding from the dead man’s lifeless chest. Scorpion and Juan had taken positions on either side of Smythe, as he approached the pale-faced cadaver. Now that he was closer, he recognized the man as Chief Inspector Cay Van Nash, Sergeant Juan’s immediate supervisor. That was impossible. They had left him at his office only one hour earlier. But here he was, with a knife protruding from his chest. Juan stepped onto the wooden platform, where the body rested in the finely carved chair and Stockbridge heard a faint click. A piece of paper lay on the inspector’s lap. A short message was written on the paper in fine script. The note simply read. ‘Goodbye, Neville Smythe.’

Get down!

Neville Smythe shouted the warning, as he turned and leapt away. The explosion was deafening and Neville felt tongues of flame dance across his back. He was thrown a dozen feet through the air, landing roughly on one of the thick carpets adorning the floor. His ears were pounding as he slowly got to his feet. The coppery taste of blood was in his mouth and he spat. Scorpion was already up on one knee, rubbing a dislocated shoulder, a trickle of blood oozing down the side of his face from a wound near the hairline. Sergeant Juan lay face down on the pale tile floor and wasn’t moving. A thick piece of the wooden throne protruded from his back and his blood slowly oozed outward from beneath his impaled chest. He had joined his men in the halls of fallen heroes.

Smythe growled, Curse you, Hunan Sun. Another death for which you shall pay.

Scorpion removed his hat and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. He sat down next to Commissioner Smythe.

So, Commissioner Darian Neville Smythe of His Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Bureau, I have a question for you. If it was this hard to get into Hunan Sun’s stronghold, only to discover your illustrious villain has flown the proverbial coop, how the heck do we get out of here alive?

Smythe patted Scorpion on the shoulder and chuckled humorlessly. Well, Preston Stockbridge, my old friend, I was hoping you would lead the way.

A barrel-chested man stepped over the dead giant at the entrance. He sported an oversized walrus moustache and talked with a thick English brogue. He was as tall as Stockbridge, but carried more mass on his frame, especially in the broad shoulders.

Sarsfield reporting, Commissioner.

Oh, good. Splendid. You found us. Smythe nodded at the newly arrived agent.

Sarsfield smiled slightly. With all due respect, sir, we merely followed your trail of destruction. Five more men entered the large room. These are Rohmer, Ward, Henry, Sax and Arthur, the other backup agents you requested. We have one hundred soldiers of the Chilean National Guard with us.

Very well, commander. Tell your men to spread out and search the entire compound. And commander, use utmost precaution during the search. There are deadly traps.

While Smythe gave Sarsfield his instructions, Rohmer assisted Stockbridge in setting his dislocated shoulder.

Preston added to Smythe’s instructions. One of the prisoners will be an American professor and he is not to be harmed under any circumstances. Understood?

Smythe gave Preston a smile. "If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all these years with the Bureau, always have an ace up your sleeve. Or as you American’s say, ‘keep the cavalry on alert.’

Ward bolted into the room and shouted a warning.

Sir, through here, I hear a strange noise. Before he finished the sentence, they could all hear the low, hissing sound.

Gas? Smythe guessed.

No, something worse. Stockbridge offered grimly.

Preston bolted through the balcony doors that led to the gardens below, with Smythe close at his heels. A metallic track ran along the ground and suddenly arched high into the air toward the right, pointing south. From the left, a loud hissing noise filled the dawning skies.

It’s a rocket plane, using the track as a launch platform. Even as these words left Scorpion’s lips, Smythe could see the distant silvery craft jetting down the twin rails. One of the soldiers approached, holding a rifle. Preston snatched it from the startled man’s grip, as Smythe shouted to the others. Fire at will, gentlemen! I want that craft stopped before it can leave the ground.

Stockbridge lined up the target and hoped the sights weren’t too far off. He was able to fire three times in rapid succession before the vehicle passed his position. A deafening barrage of ammunition filled the air as a dozen men followed Scorpion’s lead. Dozens of the small projectiles sparked and ricocheted off the slick, silvery surface. Many more punctured holes through the front window and through the plane’s thick sheathing. Rocket engines blazed brightly, painting a fiery trail, mercilessly scorching the soft morning air. The craft left the tracks, arching high into the stratosphere, and was out of sight within seconds.

The first one struck metal, but I think I killed the pilot. Scorpion told Smythe, as he returned the rifle to the soldier. I couldn’t make out features, but I saw him … He stopped speaking when he noticed the commissioner’s surprised features.

Smythe lowered the binoculars that he had borrowed from a soldier and turned to his friend. I saw, Preston. Doctor Sun was piloting the rocket. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was shot several times. Smythe seemed stunned. He had begun to believe that the so-called ‘devil doctor’ was indestructible.

Are you certain, Smythe? Do you really think Doctor Sun is dead? Preston asked, not quite believing it himself.

Smythe stared at the dawning skies and the sun rising at the horizon. I think I’m a cynic to say Sun might have survived, but I’d be a fool to say for certain that he’s dead. He’s come back from the brink of death too many times before. He patted Preston on the shoulder.

Stockbridge added, "At least, we’ll have kept the rocket sled from the German’s. On its current course, it should either drop into the ocean or crash somewhere in