The Adventures of Lazarus Gray Volume 4: Satan's Circus

By Barry Reese

Pro Se Productions' first creator imprint, Reese Unlimited, debuts its latest title- THE ADVENTURES OF LAZARUS GRAY VOLUME FOUR: SATAN'S CIRCUS The only clue to his identity was a small medallion with the words 'Lazarus Gray' stamped on it. He took that name and became one of Sovereign City's greatest heroes, forming an alliance with other lost souls like himself. Together, they are Assistance Unlimited... and now they face their greatest threats ever! From Award-winning author Barry Reese comes two pulse-pounding tales of pulp adventure: in the first, Lazarus Gray unites with the mighty Thunder Jim Wade to confront a menace from his past and in the second, the mysterious pair of vigilantes known as The Darkling and Eidolon return in a dark tale that reveals hidden secrets that will shake the world of Lazarus Gray to its very core! Also included is SECRETS OF THE DEAD, a comic-strip origin sequence by Reese and artist George Sellas, also providing cover and illustrations! With formatting and design by Sean Ali, this is sure to be the most popular entry in the series yet!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Mar 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310598555

Book preview

SECRETS OF THE DEAD

AN ILLUSTRATED ADVENTURE STARRING LAZARUS GRAY

LEVIATHAN RISING

AN ADVENTURE STARRING LAZARUS GRAY & ASSISTANCE UNLIMITED

by Barry Reese

Chapter I

Thunder Island

Early 1937

On an island in the South Sea, a large building, hidden from the world, was currently being buffeted by a terrible storm. Rainwater struck the side of the building with great force and tremendous waves slammed against the rocks that lined the island.

Though Mother Nature raged with all her might, within the manmade structure, all was peaceful, the jazzy strains of Duke Ellington’s Creole Rhapsody issuing forth from a radio.

Thunder Jim Wade carefully inserted the pin through an insect’s back, affixing it to the small piece of wood upon which it would be mounted. Satisfied with his work, Wade set the insect – a unique form of beetle known as the Capricorn – in a glass-covered box containing other immaculately preserved creatures.

Wade’s laboratory home was filled with bits of oddity, making it a modern day cabinet of curiosities. Wade was the proud owner of a set of scrolls dating back to the time of Cleopatra, a section of giant squid that had washed up on the shores of Massachusetts, and a life-size iron maiden device.

None of those treasures were as unique as Wade himself, however. Tall and rangy, he at first glance resembled nothing more than a college boy on vacation. He had a young face and dark hair that was so black that it bordered on blue. But it was the eyes that set him apart from other men: they gave him that quality that the old-timers would call an old soul. As cold as glacial ice, those eyes still managed to somehow convey a deep-seated kindness. They were revealing in the sense that one look at those eyes told you that Wade could either be a loyal friend or an implacable, merciless foe.

Raised in a lost civilization hidden from the eyes of the world in the heart of Africa, Wade had been trained in a number of bizarre arts. He had learned muscular control that made him the envy of the world’s greatest gymnasts and the secrets of hypnotism, sleight-of-hand and marksmanship were all second nature to him. But most potent of all was his idealism, honed to a fine point by the priests of the tribe, who had carried on the ancient secrets of the Minoans. Refugees from ancient Crete had established the civilization and its people still worshipped the mighty Minotaur.

Thunder Jim Wade, as most men and women addressed him, was now a troubleshooter by trade. Only certain people, who tended to come into contact with individuals in great danger, knew his phone number. They would, in turn, pass the information along to Wade, who would sometimes set aside his own affairs to make sure that innocent people were safe.

Foremost among his allies were Dirk Marat and Red Argyle. Dirk was an innocent-looking fellow, short with blond hair and black eyebrows, but he was a master of cold steel, be it knives or guns. Red was a thick-necked giant with massive hands and deft fingers. They accompanied Wade on adventures that defied description and were as close to him as brothers. He missed them now, for they were in America, wrapping up a case that Wade had recently solved involving the Knights Templar.

Some sixth sense made Wade pause, his body going rigid. He heard nothing other than the pounding rain against the roof and the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hall… but Wade was positive that something in his environment had changed. He was no longer alone.

Moving with purpose but without panic, Wade crossed to a painting of a bullfight that hung on the wall. He lifted it off the nail and set it on the floor, revealing a small safe recessed into the wall. A few twists of the dial opened the safe, revealing several rolled scrolls, maps and papers. Lying in front of those things was a handgun and Wade grabbed this, checking to make sure it was loaded, and then crept toward the door. He quietly turned the knob and opened it, peering outwards.

At first he saw nothing but the driving rain. Then a jagged bolt of lighting cut across the sky, illuminating the landscape. It was then that he saw them – three men on the shore, stripping off scuba gear. Behind them, a fourth man was climbing from the choppy seas.

Wade stared out into the sea, spotting what appeared to be a darkened vessel several miles from the island. It vanished from sight as the lightning’s brightness faded.

Wade started to move out into the darkness, hoping to take the invaders by surprise, but then he spotted more motion to his left. There were a half dozen more men, all armed with pistols, approaching his lair. Wade now knew that he was not facing simply a small group of attackers, but rather a large force of them.

Their mere presence on the island was shocking enough – the island was found on very few maps, hidden as it was behind a natural fog bank that had kept its existence a secret for centuries before Wade claimed it as his own. Thunder Island’s existence was whispered in some circles but the number of men who knew its precise location could be counted on one hand – at least as far as Wade was aware.

Slinking back inside his lab, Wade locked the door and pushed the pistol into the waistband of his slacks. How these men had found Thunder Island was less important than how to stop them. Once they were neutralized, he could question them in depth.

Wade smiled as he went to work, taking the time to light a cigarette before turning off all the lights in the building. He knew the interior so well that he didn’t need illumination to find his way around.

He moved to an interior room and sat down at an unusual desk. A typewriter was recessed into the top of the unit and alongside it were a television monitor and a number of strange controls. Wade flipped a small red switch on the side of the monitor and the screen flared to life, showing four different views on the television surface. Recently, high definition television had been shown to the public at the International Exposition in Paris – and Thunder Jim Wade had been present. He’d immediately acquired some of the equipment for use at his base. Now he had a crystal clear image of the lab’s four entrances.

The invaders had split into two groups – the half dozen men that Wade had spotted along the left side of the building were now outside the exit that led to the island’s green house. From the way one of them was crouched low, Wade assumed they were planting some sort of explosive to force their way in. The four men from the beach were now at the exit that Wade had himself used only a few moments earlier. One of them was in the midst of reaching for the door’s handle.

With a grim smile, Wade pressed another button on the controls before him. As soon as the man’s hand touched the handle, electricity flooded through him. It was enough volts to throw the man back a good ten feet, taking one of his fellows with him.

Another quick depression of buttons caused a bright floodlight to turn on above the man planting the explosives. From all around the light bulb, tiny nozzles began to spray out a fine green-tinted mist. The men, already blinded and confused, now began coughing as the gas seared their lungs. It wasn’t fatal but only the stoutest of men would still be conscious when its work was done.

A quick glance back at the other door showed that the remaining men were ignoring the thrashings of their electrocuted comrade. One of them was cautiously reaching out for the door handle. Wade wished he’d wired the device for more than one burst but since he hadn’t, the man was able to grip the handle and give it a turn. It was locked but the men were obviously prepared for that. One of them pointed his pistol against the knob and fired, blowing apart the locking mechanism.

As the men streamed inside, Wade coolly took one last drag on his cigarette before stamping it out in an ashtray. He stood up, letting his well-toned body relax. With a wry grin, he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and strode out to meet the men who had invaded his home.

***

The three men moved slowly through the crowded lab, trying to stay quiet. They had all seen the lights go dark upon their approach and the information they possessed indicated that Wade was here… which meant that he was lying in wait for them.

Their leader, a stocky fellow with straw-blond hair, gestured for the other two to take up positions on either side of the door leading into Wade’s office. Once they were in place, he moved to the door, intending to kick it in.

Unfortunately for him, Thunder Jim Wade chose that moment to strike. Using the amazing gymnastic abilities he’d honed in the lost city of his youth, Wade was bent over double beneath one of the lab tables. It was an impossible position for most men but Wade unfolded himself without a sound and sprang toward the group’s leader.

The impact was enough to slam the man into the wall, his head cracking the plaster. Wade tossed the unconscious man at one of the other gunmen before moving to the third assailant.

Grabbing hold of the man’s wrist, Wade yanked him close and pointed the villain’s pistol at his remaining compatriot.

A strong grip caused the muzzle to flare as the bullet fired and the other man cried out as the bullet struck him in the throat.

Wade then drove an elbow into his captive’s face, breaking his nose. He grabbed the man by the hair and drove him hard into the side of a nearby table.

That quickly, it was over.

After stabilizing the injured man’s condition, Wade trussed them all up with extra-strength wire. A few moments later, he’d done the same to those who had been gassed. The fellow who’d taken the electrical burst was soaking wet but still alive. He, too, was placed in bondage.

By the time the first of the men began to revive, Wade had already searched their pockets. None of them carried any identification but the equipment they carried was German military-issue. Given how much trouble Wade had proven for the Nazi regime, he wasn’t entirely surprised… though he was very distressed to think that the safety of his base had been compromised. He liked it here and didn’t enjoy the idea that he might have to move.

The most distressing thing was the amazing amount of explosives they were carrying. Each man had enough on him to blow up a large-sized building.

A low groan told Wade that one of the men was waking up and he pulled a chair close, pushing the man’s head back so they could look into each other’s eyes.

Without preamble, Wade began the interrogation. Whom do you work for?

Go to hell, the man answered in heavily accented English.

Wade gripped the man by the chin, squeezing painfully hard. Talk to me. Who’s on that boat out there? If you don’t have a radio on you, how were you going to contact them?

The man hesitated before smiling. We’re not meant to go back to the boat. Our orders were clear: kill you, and then blow up your lab. Our suicides after would be a sign of our loyalty.

Wade couldn’t hide the shock that passed through him. This was a suicide mission?

Yes. Leviathan wanted no loose ends. Everyone involved in this expedition knew what was being asked.

Who’s Leviathan?

You’d better hope you never get to find out.

Wade noticed that more of the men were starting to stir. He was running a number of things through his mind: Who or what was Leviathan? What was the point of this attack? And why would they need to kill themselves if it proved successful?

Auf wiedersehen, Herr Wade, the first man said. He bit down hard, grinding his molars together. Wade recognized what he thought was a cyanide capsule but he quickly realized that this particular death was far more insidious. The man’s body began to shake and a strange cloud emanated from between his clenched teeth. The smell of almonds filled the air and as Wade covered his nose and mouth, he saw that the other men also began to convulse. Something was being released from the capsule that was activating something in the other men’s bloodstream.

There was to be no chickening out of the suicide game, Wade realized – all of them were assured of death when their leader thought it appropriate.

Hurrying outside once more, Wade stared off over the ocean. Despite the men’s claims that they were never meant to contact the ship again, the vessel was still in its same place. Perhaps, he mused, the ferocity of the storm made their escape inadvisable. Even now, the ship rocked violently back and forth.

Wade shut the door behind him, walking toward the large garage attached to the base. He had already put the ten corpses still in his home out of his mind – there would be time enough to deal with them later.

Once he’d entered the garage, a series of lights came on automatically, activated by the pressure of his footsteps on the floor.

In the center of the room was what appeared to be a large black plane. The truth was far greater than that, however. This was the Thunderbug, a super-convertible craft that had left the world’s greatest engineers dumbfounded by its very existence.

The Thunderbug could instantly transform into a lightweight, maneuverable tank. Thanks to its airtight nature, it could even function as a submarine, one propelled by a powerful screw.

Wade took great pride in the vehicle and he lovingly ran a hand along its exterior. Let’s go get those bastards, he whispered aloud.

***

Though the storm raged intensely above the waves, there was little sign of its elemental fury underwater. The Thunderbug pushed forward, the large screw at the back turning and churning up the waters and propelling it onward. The enemy ship was sighted easily enough and Wade piloted the unusual craft, breaking the water just off its forward bow. The ship was the size of a standard commercial fishing vessel, which meant that quarters had been tight with whatever crew it carried and the men who had gone to the beach – unless those were one and the same. If so, that could explain why the ship had never departed.

Wade opened the hatch on the Thunderbug and climbed out, carefully steadying himself before leaping toward the fishing vessel. He caught hold with his powerful hands and pulled himself up with barely a grunt, accomplishing the herculean task of climbing up the rain-slicked exterior of the ship and dropping down on the deck.

It was a ghost vessel, that much he understood immediately. There were no men to be seen and the only sounds were the creaking of wood and grinding of metal, as the boat rocked under the force of the storm.

Even so, Wade spared no precautions. He drew his pistol, brandishing it in one hand as he crept into the bowels of the ship. Every room was void of life, save for one. In the captain’s quarters, Wade heard movement and the tell-tale signs of human habitation.

Eager to find out who was behind this cowardly assault on his home, Wade kicked in the door and stepped inside, pistol at the ready.

What he saw brought him up short, however.

Seated on the floor, in the middle of a pentagram drawn in red paint – or was it blood? – was a man wearing a loose-fitting black shirt, dark slacks and a pig’s head.

That it was an actual porcine skull, hollowed out and placed over the man’s head, was undeniable. The smell of the thing was awful and the skin held the sallow looseness that came with the dead.

Wade made sure that the barrel of the gun was leveled directly that the man’s head. Are you Leviathan?

The muffled voice sounded amused but distant. I am but a mere servant named Cambion. I cannot say that I am surprised to see you, however. The Master told me that it was possible that our men would fail in this mission.

Then why try it?

The ship lurched to the side as a wave crashed into it. If we were to succeed, great honor would fall upon our spirits. If we were to fail, it was in service to our dread lord. Both are acceptable outcomes.

Wade grunted and strode toward Cambion, grabbing hold of the horrible mask and yanking it free. When he saw the slickened face of the man beneath, he wrinkled his nose. Cambion was covered in blood and sweat, his eyes wide with mad devotion.

Wade placed the barrel of the gun against Cambion’s head. Leviathan. Where can I find him?

In Hell. Cambion’s eyes flickered toward something on the wall. Soon, you and I can join him there.

Wade followed his gaze, seeing a wall clock. It was two minutes to midnight.

The Witching Hour.

Cambion began laughing and Wade knew that this man was another suicidal fool.

With a muttered oath, Wade burst from the room, leaving behind the mocking laughter of Cambion. He sprinted to the deck, well aware of the meaning behind Cambion’s bizarre behavior.

At midnight, the last evidence of this assault was going to be blown sky high.

Wade threw himself over the railing, landing hard on Thunderbug’s left wing. He scrambled toward the hatch and had barely ducked inside when Leviathan’s ship exploded. The force of the blast knocked Thunderbug under the waves and Wade yanked the hatch shut, cutting off the flood of water that had begun to sink inside.

Panting from exertion, Wade found his way to the cockpit and sat down heavily. He was facing a terrible foe, one that placed little value on the lives of his followers. Worse still, Leviathan knew secrets that no one save for Wade and his closest cohorts should know.

A grim expression took hold of Wade’s features. He had to warn Dirk and Red before they, too, fell victim to Leviathan’s schemes.

Chapter II

Target: Lazarus!

Lazarus Gray walked through the quiet halls of 6196 Robeson Avenue, enjoying the sound of rainfall striking the building’s rooftop. The rest of Assistance Unlimited were out, dealing with the aftereffects of their most recent case: a madman named The Golden Vulture had unleashed several dozen trained birds on the city, using them in a bizarre scheme to commit murder and extortion. It had been a strange job, one that had been brought to their collective attention by one of the would-be extortion victims. In the end, The Golden Vulture had been thrown in jail and his birds turned over to the proper authorities. Now the team was busy filling out paperwork with the police, a necessary but tedious process. Lazarus had done his portion as quickly as possible and his reward had been a solitary evening alone, which was his goal all along.

Lazarus stopped outside the apartment that had once belonged to Abigail Cross. Next door was where Eidolon – Jakob Sporrenberg, he mentally corrected himself – had resided. Both were now gone, their rooms having been left exactly as they had been. Abby was missing, presumed dead, after vanishing into a strange vortex with The Darkling. Jakob was still out there, stories in the papers revealing that in his new identity of Eidolon, he was waging a very bloody war on the underworld. Eidolon had so far stayed far from Sovereign, which was fine with Lazarus.

In his left hand, Lazarus was idly playing with the gold medallion he’d carried with him from his old life into the new. He’d woken up on the shores of Sovereign City with it on his person, the only clue to his past. With the words ‘Lazarus Gray’ carved on one side and an image of a nude man with the head of a roaring lion on the other, it had seemed like a peculiar relic at the time… later on, he’d come to realize its importance, both of its own peculiar occult power and for the history it symbolized. Lazarus dropped the medallion into a pocket, trying in vain to push away the shroud of melancholy that was surrounding him.

Lazarus withdrew a skeleton key and unlocked the