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diff --git a/29053.txt b/29053.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b016a05 --- /dev/null +++ b/29053.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1952 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Raiders Invisible, by Desmond Winter Hall + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Raiders Invisible + +Author: Desmond Winter Hall + +Release Date: June 6, 2009 [EBook #29053] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAIDERS INVISIBLE *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Astounding Stories November 1931. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + [Illustration: _The body went twisting and turning into the + gulf below._] + + + Raiders Invisible + + By D. W. Hall + + * * * * * + + + + +[Sidenote: Alone and unaided, Pilot Travers copes with the invisible +foes who have struck down America's great engine of war.] + + +The muffled, helmeted figure of a pilot climbed down the spider +ladder, nestled into the foremost scout's cockpit and pressed the +starting button. The motor spat out a wisp of smoke, then burst into +its full-throated roar: the automatic clamp above loosened: the scout +dropped plummet-like, bobbed to the flagship below, straightened out +and zoomed six thousand feet up into the morning blue, where it +hovered for a few moments like an eagle on taut wings. Lieutenant +Christopher Travers, the pilot, glanced around. + +Behind and below him was spread a magnificent panorama. Across the +plate of scintillating glass that was the sea moved rows of toy ships, +tipped by the gleaming, one-fifth-mile long shape of a dirigible, of +whose three scout planes Chris's was the leader. As he watched, the +second scout dropped from the plane rack beneath the dirigible's sleek +underside and went streaking away, followed by the third, in response +to the Admiral's order of: "Proceed ahead to locate the enemy's +position." + +A grin relaxed Chris Travers' tanned, boyish face. His narrowed gray +eyes swept the horizon. Below it somewhere lay hidden the ranks of the +Black Fleet, complete with its own destroyers, submarines, cruisers, +battleships, aircraft carriers and the ZX-2, sister dirigible of the +Blue Fleet's ZX-1. Chris spurted the scout ahead and murmured: + +"This war game's goin' to be a big affair--the biggest yet!" + +It was. The Atlantic Fleet of the United States Navy, termed "Blue" +for convenience, had been assigned to guard the Panama Canal; the +Pacific Fleet, "Black," to attack it. The cream of America's sea +forces had been assembled for that week of March, 1935, all the way +from crabby little destroyers to the two newly completed monarchs of +the air, the twin dirigibles, fresh from the hangars at Akron, a +thousand feet each in length and loaded with the latest offensive and +defensive devices developed by Government laboratories. + +[Illustration] + +The war game around the Canal was planned for more than practice, +however. The eyes of the whole world were on that array of America's +ocean might--the eyes of one foreign nation in particular. Washington +knew of the policies of that nation, and wished to impress upon it the +hopelessness of them. More than a game, this concentration of sea and +air-borne fighting power was a gesture for the continued peace of the +world--a gesture strong with the hint of steel. + +Chris Travers was vaguely aware, through the rumors of the mess-room, +of the double meaning of the game he was playing his part in, but this +morning he didn't give a single thought. He was too wrapped up in his +job of spotting the van of the Black Fleet, radio-telephoning latitude +and longitude to the bridge of the Blue Fleet flagship, and getting +home to his dirigible without being declared destroyed by one of the +war game umpires. + +Therefore, half an hour later, his heart thrilled as he glimpsed, +wraith-like on the steely horizon, a wisp of smoke. + + * * * * * + +He catapulted forward, eyes steady on that hint of ships. The smoke +grew to a cloud of black pouring from the funnels of a V-shaped squad +of destroyers, rolling through the lazy swells of the Pacific waters. +Behind them came the bulldogs, larger warships, hazy blurs in the +distance. + +Chris struck fist in palm to the tune of a gleeful chortle. He was +first! He hauled the microphone from its cubby in the dashboard and +spoke the code words. Latitude, longitude and steaming direction of +the Black Fleet he gave rapidly, and the information knifed back to +the bridge of the Blue Fleet flagship, a hundred miles behind, where a +white-haired admiral said: "Ah! Good boy! Get those bombers +up--pronto!" + +Chris commanded a superb view of the ZX-2, whose gleaming shape, +showering rays of sunlight, hung like a thing in a painting over the +Black Fleet. He stared at the far-off dirigible, lost in admiration of +her trim lines, pausing a minute before returning to his own ZX-1. At +that distance, the mammoth craft seemed no more than four inches long, +yet, through his telescopic sight, he could discern her markings, +machine-gun batteries and the airplane rack along her belly plainly. +One plane, he saw, was suspended from the rack; the others were +scouting for the Blue Fleet, even as he had scouted for the Black. He +wondered if something were wrong with the plane left behind. Somehow, +it did not look quite familiar. + +But, even as he watched, it dropped from the automatic rack, then +straightened and soared dizzily up. And, from one of the airplane +carriers' broad decks, he saw two pursuit craft begin to rise. He +grinned. They'd seen him, were coming after him! + +He gripped the stick, prepared to swerve around. He had already raised +a spread-fingered hand for a derisive parting gesture, when suddenly +he stiffened. The hand dropped as if paralyzed. + +"Good Lord!" he gasped. "What--" + +The mighty thousand-foot dirigible ZX-2, pride of the Navy and all +America, had wobbled drunkenly in her path. She stuck her nose down, +and then her whole vast frame shivered like a wind-whipped leaf as the +dull roar of an explosion rolled over the sea. A huge sliver of hide +was stripped from her as if by magic, revealing the skeleton of +girders inside--revealing a tongue of crimson that licked out and +welled into a hell of flame. + +Chris's blood froze. He watched the ZX-2 wallow in her death throes, +writhe in the fiery doom that had struck her in seconds, that was +devouring her with awful rapidity while thousands of men, blanched and +trembling, gazed on helplessly. He saw her plunge, a blazing inferno, +into the sea beneath.... + +There were old pals on her--buddies, gone in a flash of time! + +This wasn't a war game. This was tragedy, stark before his eyes. + + * * * * * + +The Black Fleet forgot its mimic battle. Radio telephone messages +winged over the horizon to the approaching Blue Fleet. The Black +dreadnoughts hove to; launches with ashen-faced men in white manning +them dropped overboard; a dozen destroyers rolled in the swells around +a crumbled, charred egg-shell that but minutes before had been an +omnipotent giant of the sky. + +Chris Travers, aloft in sunlight suddenly bereft of its beauty, jammed +the stick of the scout full over. He could do nothing, he knew. He +could only return to the ZX-1 and tell the story of its sister as he +had seen it. + +But why, he wondered as he flew almost blindly, had the ZX-2 so +quickly flamed to oblivion? The helium of its inner bags had been +uninflammable, as had the heavy oil of its fuel tanks; the ten engines +were Diesels, and hence without the ordinary ignition system and +gasoline. Safety devices by the score had been installed on board; +nothing had been overlooked. And the weather, perfect. + +It was uncanny. It seemed totally unexplainable. + +Swarms of planes droned between sea and sky, all speeding in the one +direction, west, to where the crumpled remnants of a dirigible were +slipping quickly beneath the billows, beyond the sight of man. Planes +of war game umpires, of officials, of newspaper correspondents and +photographers. And soon a spectral, gleaming wisp of silver nosed out +of the east, and the lone scout flying east dropped in altitude to +meet its mother. + +Mechanically, his mind elsewhere, Chris shoved the button which reared +the automatic clamp behind the cockpit in preparation for affixing the +scout to the plane rack beneath the ZX-1. The dirigible, far in +advance of the Blue Fleet, was roaring along at its full one hundred +and fifty to hover over the grave of its sister. Chris eyed its course +and changed his. To jockey into the rack, he had to pass the dirigible +and come up underneath from its rear. + + * * * * * + +The air giant roared closer. As the distance between then loosened, +Chris's brow wrinkled and he swore softly in puzzlement. + +"Now, just what's wrong with them?" he exclaimed, "The darned zep +isn't flying straight! She's wobbling in her course!" + +It was hardly apparent, but true. Ever so slightly, the snub nose of +the ZX-1 was swaying from side to side as it sped through the air; +ever so slightly, her massive stern directional-rudders were wavering. + +She was less than a mile away now. At that time, there were no other +planes in sight; none flying in that vicinity save Chris's. He glued +his eyes to the telescopic sight. A moment later, sheer horror swept +his face. + +"_Good God!_" + +The scout leaped as its throttle rammed down. The gleaming, +thousand-foot shell of the ZX-1 roared by it at equal altitude, making +it a puny fly-speck in the sky. But the fly-speck was faster. It +turned in a screaming bank; it straightened; it lunged back after the +swaying, retreating mammoth like a whippet, lower, now, than its +quarry. It maneuvered expertly as it gained, for one of the best +pilots of the service was at its controls, and there were deep lines +graven in his face, lines of anguish and intolerable suspense. + +Through the telescopic sight, Chris had not seen a single white-clad +figure standing beside the glass ports of the dirigible's control car. +But he had seen, slung from the rack along her belly, a single +plane--the same rather peculiar-looking plane he had seen hanging +beneath the rack of the ZX-2 a few minutes before she had gone down in +flames! + +And in that plane, he knew surely, was the answer to the mystery. + + * * * * * + +Speed cut to just a trifle more than the dirigible's. Chris passed a +few feet underneath the huge expanse of her lower directional rudder. +From so close, its uncontrolled wavering was terrifying. + +His faculties were concentrated on the task of sliding the scout's +clamp into the groove of the plane rack, but he was also surveying the +lone airplane hanging from it. A powerful machine, painted in Navy +colors, a peculiar knob on the upper side of each half of the top wing +gave it its unfamiliar appearance. Its pilot was obviously aboard the +dirigible, working.... + +Closer and closer the scout crept, quarter-way now along from the +stern of the massive bulk that loomed above it, and within fifty feet +of the third clamp in the rack. Touchy work, maneuvering into it, with +the ZX-1 yawing as she was, and the need for haste desperate. Chris's +hands were glued to the stick: his nerves were as tight as violin +strings. Then, when only ten feet from the rack clamp, he gave a +startled jump of uncomprehending amazement. + +The propeller of the mysterious plane ahead had roared over. Its clamp +had left the rack; it had dropped down in a perfectly controlled dive +and flattened out as if a master pilot were at its controls. + +But the plane's cockpit was still empty, Chris could see; nor had he +seen any figure pass down the ladder from the dirigible into it! + +Devoid of all emotion save bewilderment, he sat stupidly in the scout. +A moment later, so well had he aimed it, its clamp nestled snugly into +the groove of the rack, and the regular automatic action took place. A +tiny door slid open directly above in the dirigible's hull: a thin +ladder craned down--and Chris's nostrils caught a faint whiff of +something that cleared his mind of its confusion instantly. + +Just a whiff, but it registered. Gas, with an odor resembling carbon +monoxide. + +He stared up. Over the edge of the automatic trap-door above, a +white, contorted face was hanging. The dirigible swung; white-clad +shoulders and body slumped into view. Then, with a rush, the body +slipped through, jarred against the connecting ladder, slithered off +and went twisting and turning into the gulf below. + +"God!" + +Gassed! How, by what, Chris had no idea. A moment before he had been +about to follow the uncannily piloted plane; but now his duty was +plain. He knew with awful certainty that in minutes, seconds perhaps, +the giant ZX-1 was scheduled to roar into flames like its sister and +plunge into the Pacific. + +He jerked out a gas mask. He was fitting it on with one hand as, with +the other, he hauled himself up the spider ladder into the hull of the +thundering, yawing dirigible. + +He did not see, hovering a few hundred yards behind the ZX-1, the +mystery plane; he did not see it now begin to approach the rack once +more. + + * * * * * + +The crew of that dirigible of death, Chris discovered, had not had a +chance. White-clad bodies lay sprawled throughout the cabin which +contained the mechanism of the plane rack, stricken down silently at +their posts. There was no life, no sound save the booming of the +motors and the whip of the wind screaming past the uncontrolled air +titan. + +But he did not pause there. He did not know what he was grappling +with--it seemed black magic--but he darted to a ladder which angled up +from the lowermost entrance cabin to the cat-walk that stretched from +the nose to the stern of the ship. If any infernal contrivance had +been planted aboard, it would be in the most vital spot. + +Heart pumping from the artificial air he was breathing and from the +consciousness that each second might well be his last, he sprinted +along the interior gangway. Above was the vasty gloom of the gas bags +and the interweaving latticework of the supporting girders; the drum +of power-car motors and the strained creakings of cables and supports +echoed weirdly throughout. Outside was the sun and the sea and the +clean air, but this realm of mammoth shapes and dimness seemed apart +from the world. Once he stumbled against something soft and +yielding--a body flung down there in death, fingers at its throat. And +there were other white-clad figures, grimly marking off the length of +the cat-walk.... + +Chris's nerves were raw and his face sopping with sweat beneath its +mask when suddenly he stopped at sight of something that lay on the +cat-walk, with the main fuel tanks on the girders just above it and +the entrance to the control car just below. + + * * * * * + +It was a black box, perhaps two feet square and a foot in depth, made +of dull metal that did not reflect the rays of the light bulb placed +at the head of the ladder leading down in the control car. There were +three curious little dials on its face, and the trembling finger of +each one was mounting. + +It had been strategically placed. An explosion at that point would rip +open the fuel tanks, split the largest gas bag, wreak havoc on an +intricate cluster of main girders, and destroy the control car with +its mechanism. + +"No wonder the ZX-2 crashed!" Chris muttered. + +Then his hands swept down. The next instant he was hugging the thing +tight to his chest and stumbling down into the control car, hearing +only a high-pitched, impatient whine that was coming from the box as +the fingers of its dials crept slowly upward. + +The ZX-1 was wavering wildly as her rudders flopped from side to side, +and with every swing the bodies that lay in her control car, strangled +by gas, stirred slightly. The gray-haired commander was stretched +there, one arm limply rolling as his ship, which had gone so suddenly +from him, rolled. Subordinate officers were tumbled around him. Death +rode the control car. + +But down to it and through it now came one who was alive, a figure +made grotesque by the mask it wore and the pack of the parachute +strapped to it, who threaded past the littered bodies, an ever-rising +whine wailing from the box clasped in his arms. + +With a leap, he was at one of the car's port-holes, fingers fumbling +at the heavy bolts. The seconds seemed eternal, and the box's whine +had become a shattering, sinister scream when at last the bolts +loosened. The round pane of glass teetered back, swung open--and the +masked man slung his metal burden out, out from the ZX-1 into the gulf +between sea and sky. + +It arced through the sunlight, went spinning down, became a dot, its +screaming faded. Then something synchronized within it, and it was +gone--in a burst of weird, bluish light, whose fangs forked upwards +for a second, their unearthly flash dimming even the sunlight, and +then were gone, too.... + + * * * * * + +Chris found that his whole body was shaking. For a moment he stood +there with his masked face through the port. + +"Damn close," he muttered. "But what was it that left the box here?" + +Then he jarred against the side of the car as the ship swung and came +back to realization of what was needed to be done, and done at once. +He shifted his gaze, drew his head back, and thrust it forth again, +staring. + +"Good Lord!" he cried. "That plane's come back!" + +His own craft was not alone under the rack. The same mysterious +machine hung there again, its cockpit empty, and the automatic spider +ladder was stretched down to it from the trap-door in the dirigible +above. + +"Whatever flies it is aboard now." Chris thought aloud. "But it got +back too late to stop me. Well, this time--" + +He felt uneasy, however, almost powerless. What was this thing that +had wiped out the crews of two dirigibles with deadly gas, and wrecked +one of them? He spun around. The control car looked the same. But what +might be moving in it?... + +Chris carried no gun; but he extracted the service repeater from the +holster of a body at his feet. Gripping it, he leaped to the helm of +the dirigible. It was the work of a moment to clamp on the mechanical +"iron mike," which steadied the ZX-1's mad swaying and leveled her +ahead in a dead straight course. He could not cut down her speed, +unless he went to each one of the hull-enclosed engine stations, and +more urgent work awaited before he could afford to do that--work of +sending out an S.O.S. before the weird, unseen killer and wrecker came +to grips with him. + +Though seeming hours, only minutes had passed since he had tooled his +scout into the rack. Ahead, he could see the smudge of the Black +Fleet's smoke on the horizon. Not so very far away, but a lot could +happen in the distance still separating dirigible and surface craft. + + * * * * * + +He ran back into the radio-telephone cubby, which was a division of +the control car. The operator was sprawled there, limp in his seat +before the shining, switch-studded panel. Chris removed the head-gear +of ear-phones: then he hauled one of the cubby's port-holes open, +letting in a rush of cleansing air. His fingers sped quickly over the +panel; a row of tubes glowed; the machinery hummed. Chris jerked off +his mask. + +A last faint odor was present, but he hardly noticed it, for his lips +were at the mouthpiece and he was thrusting out a call for help. + +"ZX-1 calling ... ZX-1 calling ... ZX-1--Hello!" + +An answer from the flagship of the Black Fleet ahead had sounded. + +"This is Travers, pilot on the ZX-1, speaking. We're coming dead for +you; full speed; you'll see us in minutes. Get some planes with men +capable of handling the dirigible up here immediately. The whole +crew's been laid out by gas; there was a contrivance planted aboard to +blow up the ship and send it down in flames as the ZX-2 was. The thing +that did it--" + +_Crack!_ + +A gun barked out from behind; something crashed and splintered on the +radio panel. Chris felt a white-hot needle sear along the side of his +head. His brain reeled; with everything dancing queerly before him in +splotches of gray and black he toppled down off the seat, knowing the +radio-telephone had been put out of commission by the cessation of +sound in the ear-phones clamped to him. + +He gripped his consciousness hard. It was like a delirium: he was +lying sprawled beside the seat, twisted round so that he saw, hanging +in the cubby's entrance door, an automatic, dribbling a wisp of +smoke--the automatic that had just fired, but hanging there by itself, +held by something he could not see! + +He was only half conscious, for the scorching pain along his head was +throbbing his brain dizzily, but he realized that the service repeater +he had taken from the control car lay by his side, within easy reach. +But, while on the verge of risking a wild grab for it, he heard a +voice, speaking very softly and with a slight thickness of accent. + +"Do not move," it said. "I fire if you do. Now, listen: What did you +do with the box that you found? Tell me quick, or die." + +It was fantastic, unreal. There was--nothing, and yet a man, living, +breathing, but invisible, was speaking! Chris could not understand; +but it was at least a little relief to know he had a human to deal +with. For with humans, strategy can be used.... + + * * * * * + +He groaned. He saw plainly that the unseen marauder had been aboard +when he had thrown the box over, and thus had not seen it explode in +midair: did not know whether it had been tossed out or merely rendered +harmless by being tampered with. If only the latter, it could be +quickly repaired and set again. That must be the invisible man's +reasoning. + +Again Chris groaned. He moved an arm weakly and whispered: + +"Can't speak much. Come closer." + +The service repeater was very close now to his right hand. And he felt +a thrill when he saw the automatic come forward through the air, +descend, and pause right next to his head. He sensed a man close +behind him, and he heard: + +"Well? Tell me, quick. Did you throw it over, or--?" + +"Don't shoot!" Chris groaned. "I'll tell you. I didn't--throw it over. +I took it apart to get the secret of it. I put it--there." + +He pointed feebly with his right hand, thus leading the invisible man +to turn his head. His legs braced imperceptibly. And then: + +"Like hell!" roared Chris Travers, and shot his whole weight +backwards, grasping the service gun, whipping it around and yanking +the trigger three times at the same instant. + +Shooting at nothing! But, even above the bunched roar of the +explosions, there pierced out a howl of agony that died quickly to a +sobbing moan. Chris saw the automatic drop to the floor, felt the +invisible body he had crashed into jerk away. He jumped to his feet, +clutched at that body, and caught thin air. He swung around, +listening, the service repeater in his hand. + +Out of the air somewhere before him there came the sound of low, +racking gasps, and also the slow noise of feet dragging heavily +towards the cubby's door, towards the ladder that led up to the +fore-and-aft cat-walk. + +Chris sprang, slashing the butt of the gun downwards. The lead was +false. He hurtled jarringly into the door jamb, the gun thumping +against the floor. The wind was knocked from him; the nausea of his +wound swept him again with a surge of dizziness. But the painful +scuffle of unseen feet ahead pulled him up once more; like a +punch-drunk fighter he staggered out from the cubby to the ladder and +hauled himself up the steps. He half-fell at the top, but his mind was +clearing; and as he swayed there he knew what he had to do--saw the +duty that lay before him.... + +More slowly, he crawled after the dragging footsteps and the gasps of +the invisible raider, following them through the vast dimness of the +interior of the dirigible ZX-1. + + * * * * * + +The chief operator on duty in the flagship of the Black Fleet swung +round in his seat and yelled through into the bridge of the massive +battleship: + +"Urgent, sir! From the ZX-1!" + +A moment later the captain of the ship, for the fleet's admiral was +out in a launch inspecting what little of the fallen ZX-2 was still +floating on the surface, was at the operator's side, listening +amazedly. + +The operator read off, word for word, what Chris Travers had sent. +"... There was a contrivance planted aboard to blow up the ship and +send it down in flames as the ZX-2 was. The thing that did it is--" he +finished, and fell silent on that uncompleted sentence. + +The captain's lined face expressed incredulity. "My God!" he burst +out. "First the ZX-2, now-- That all?" + +"Yes, sir. I can't get any answer or connection." + +They stared at each other. Finally the captain spluttered: + +"Is some maniac loose in this fleet? Don't sit there like a fool, man! +Get in touch with the _Saratoga_; tell 'em what you received; tell 'em +to send some men up to that dirigible, wherever she is. We can't lose +both of them!" + +The operator's fingers skipped nimbly; even while he was speaking into +the microphone, the red-faced captain had rushed back into the control +bridge and was roaring: + +"Signal the Admiral back here! Hurry!" + + * * * * * + +Things moved quickly then; small things, but significant. A casual eye +glancing over the ranks of the Black Fleet as it lay around the scene +of the tragedy, waiting for orders, would not have noticed any +difference. The launch containing the fleet's admiral, which had been +fussing about with its load of officers and various dignitaries, +suddenly wheeled and pointed back for the mammoth flagship, in +response to swift signals from the arms of a gob on her bridge; and, +on the broad landing deck of the carrier, _Saratoga_, two three-seater +planes, equipped with automatic clamps for a dirigible's rack, were +wheeled up to the line. + +Their props were spun over. But even before their cockpits had been +filled, an officer on the bridge of the flagship, and a dozen others +throughout the fleet, cried: + +"There she is!" + +Over the eastern horizon, a gleaming sliver in the sunlight, thundered +the ZX-1, straight for the array of the Black Fleet. Only a few men +were aware of the drama-fraught message which had come down from her +radio cubby, but her growing shape commanded the eyes of every sailor +and officer alike who had time to watch. A few telescopic sights were +trained on her as she bellowed ahead; the keen old eyes of a very +perplexed and puzzled admiral were at one of them. + +"Two planes hanging from her rack," he muttered, half to himself and +half to the officers standing around him. "Both Navy. Say, they're +dropping off! Not coming this way, either. Going northeast. Fast, too. +Can't see 'em any more.... Those men getting up from the _Saratoga_? +Good. We'll find out something soon. Here she comes!" + +Closer and closer roared the dirigible. Two planes from the _Saratoga_ +were swooping up to enter her rack, but the other two planes that +shortly before had been suspended from it were gone--already vanished +into the northeast. + +"Don't understand this at all!" said the Admiral of the Black, or +Pacific, Fleet of the United States Navy. + + * * * * * + +Things had broken well, Chris Travers considered. He had only wounded +the invisible raider; but, luckily, had wounded him badly, so that, +evidently, just one object was in the man's mind: to get back to where +he came from, to where he could find help. He seemed oblivious of the +scout that was following behind at the full speed of its mighty rotary +motor, following him to his base, wherever it was. + +"Just as well I didn't kill him," Chris muttered. + +The rush of wind had cleared his brain; his faculties were steady and +normal. Not so with the man in the plane he pursued. It was flying +crazily, but clinging to one course, nevertheless--into the northeast, +towards land, some two hundred and fifty miles over the horizon. + +The great silver shape of the ZX-1, barren, now, of life, dropped +away, speeding ever due west; the hazy dots and blur of smoke which +denoted the motionless Black Fleet vanished. But Chris was in contact +with the fleet's flagship once more, through the compact +radio-telephone set of his scout. As he flew, his eyes fixed steadily +on the plane ahead, he was rapping into the microphone the story of +what had happened. He told of the invisibility of the strange +marauder, of how accurately he had judged the time of his raids; of +how he, Chris, had managed to prevent the destruction of the ZX-1. + +"He uses a tremendously expansive gas resembling carbon monoxide," he +went on. "It seeps into every cranny of the dirigible, killing +everything. The crews got no warning; they didn't know what was +happening; couldn't see him! Well, I managed to wound him on the ZX-1. +He beat it. I'm following him. If he lasts out, he'll go to where he +came from, and we'll find out who's in back of all this. Let you know +where his base is soon as I get there. Keep listening. Okay? Right; +signing off." + +Silence, then, between the scout and the flagship far behind.... + + * * * * * + +On--on Time passed. The scout's gas was down below the half-way mark. +They had covered two hundred miles now at a speed just bordering three +hundred. The plane ahead looked uncanny with its apparently empty +cockpit, but Chris could see all too well that death was pressing at +its invisible pilot. The big machine was literally staggering in its +course as the hands on its control stick grew weaker; was yawing +wildly, even as the ZX-1 had yawed after her crew had been slain by +vapors they could not see. + +"He's got to last out!" Chris muttered. "Got to!" + +At that moment land appeared, and the fleeing plane altered its +northeast course to due east with an abrupt jerk. + +First it was a mere hazy line on the horizon; then it rose to a thrust +of land, jutted with cloud-misted hill-tops. Then, as the two roaring +specks that were airplanes came closer, heavy tropical foliage became +distinct, and white slashes of surf breaking on the shore. This was +the Azuero Peninsula, most western point of the Republic of Panama. + +Aside from one small cluster of wretched huts, it was practically +uninhabited. Guarded by dense growth, only one or two of the dusty +paths which passed for roads wandered aimlessly through its tangled +creepers, trees and bush. To the southeast was the broad Gulf of +Panama, doorway to the Canal; on the other sides this thumb of land +was surrounded by the reaches of the Pacific. + +The plane was obviously nearing its eyrie--dropping lower and lower, +losing speed and altitude; and also threatening each moment to tumble +down out of control into the smothering welter of olive-green below, +with a dead, unseen body in its cockpit. + +But where was the landing field? They were now over the very heart of +the Peninsula, and still Chris, searching through his telescopic +sight, could see nothing but the monotonous roll of jungle. They must +come to it soon, or be over to the Caribbean Sea and the Mosquito +Gulf. + +Then suddenly he started forward, staring. Of course there was no +landing field in sight. The mystery plane needed none. It possessed +the power of the helicopter: it could rise straight up or sink +straight down. + +From each one of the two knob-like projections on its upper wing that +had puzzled him previously, a propeller had risen and unfolded into +long, flat blades. They whirled in circles of light in the sun; and +the airplane beneath them poised, all but motionless, its main +propeller swinging idly, and then began slowly to drop downwards. + +But Chris, swooping nearby, was still perplexed. Dropping down to +what? There was only the dense tropical growth beneath. He could see +no trace of men, no clearing, however small, no base--nothing but the +jungle. + +"How in the dickens--" he began; and then stopped. At that moment the +jungle's secret was revealed. + + * * * * * + +As the helicopter-plane dropped to within a few hundred feet of it, a +strip of the sea verdure split in two and reared up. It looked, at +first, like magic. But from aloft Chris saw the trick and how the +camouflage was worked. What appeared to be a slice of the jungle roof +was, in reality, a metal framework cunningly plastered with layers of +green growth. An oblong, some fifty by a hundred feet, it parted in +the middle like a bridge that opens to let a steamer through, +revealing the lair of the plane. + +Soon more was revealed. Two tiny, green-painted huts stood in the +minute clearing, and a few white-clad figures were by them, staring up +at the plane sinking down and at the other plane which soared above +like a buzzing mosquito. + +One of the dwarfed figures in white waved an arm. The others around +him darted into the left-side hut. Then the helicopter-plane's wheels +touched the small space allotted for it in the clearing, and the +whirling propellers halted. + +"So that's the secret!" Chris muttered. He pulled the microphone of +the radio-telephone to his lips and angled with the dials for +connection with the fleet hundreds of miles behind, meanwhile noting +his exact position on Azuero Peninsula. But before he spoke, some +sixth sense bade him glance below once more. + +An icy shiver gripped his body. + +A thin slit had appeared in the roof of the left-side hut. A spot of +bright blue light was winking evilly inside it. And, though he could +not hear it, Chris knew with terrible certainty that a shrill, +impatient whining was piercing from the machinery of a weapon inside +that hut--a weapon whose fangs had forked close to him once before--a +weapon which the winking eye of blue presaged. + +It struck. But at the same instant Chris leaped desperately from the +cockpit of the scout. + + * * * * * + +He leaped almost into the teeth of the blue-tinged ray which knifed up +with uncanny accuracy from the slit in the roof of the hut. He was +conscious of a flash of unearthly light, of terrible heat which came +with it. Only the force of his jump saved him. He pulled the ripcord +of the 'chute strapped to him and jerked to a pause; then he was +swinging beneath a mushroom of white, trembling as he stared at the +fate he had missed by a hair's breadth. + +A web of spectral blue light had enveloped the abandoned scout. The +plane appeared to shudder, hanging almost motionless in the +wraith-like mist. Then, with a crackle, the wings and tail shivered +into countless fragments; the stripped fuselage nosed over and plunged +earthward, a roaring mass of flames. A fiery comet, it screamed past +the man who swayed beneath his 'chute, coming within a few hundred +feet of him and searing him with its hot breath. Then it drove into +the dense flanks of the jungle growth. + +Soon only a charred skeleton marked the last landing field of a scout +of the dirigible ZX-1. + +"And now, I guess," Chris whispered, "they'll turn that ray on me...." + +But he had only been a thousand feet up when he jumped. Already he was +close to the top of the jungle. The clearing and its huts disappeared +from view; he was out of range of the swift-striking ray. And, he +reflected, though the scout was gone, he was still free--and could get +to the Canal.... + +But tropical growth is difficult to land in. + +A moment later his swinging body crashed through the branches of a +tree, and he pitched forward, unable to control the impetus. A sudden +shock of pain stabbed through his head and everything spun dizzily +before him. He knew he was falling, jerking down as the parachute +ripped on the boughs. There was another impact which drove all +remaining consciousness from him. + +Darkness washed over Chris Travers, lying limp beneath the shreds of a +silky white shroud.... + + * * * * * + +Electric light. A strong glare of it somewhere. A dull throbbing in +his head. Then, a voice, with queer, hissing s's, speaking very close +to him. + +"Ah, yess. Look you, Kashtanov. He will be conscious soon, I think." + +"You're a damned fool, Istafiev, to let him wake up," said another +voice, cool and of easy correctness. "He'll see the machines. And +these Americans are tricky--one can never tell." + +"Tricky? Bah! This fellow is a service man; there are things I can +learn from him. Come, now, wake yourself properly, you! That glass of +water, throw it on his face." + +Kashtanov--Istafiev. Names that could belong to only one country, to +that huge power overseas which was hovering, so said rumors, on the +brink of war, waiting only for a favorable opportunity to strike--the +country which the war game around the Canal had been designed to +impress. Chris Travers' mind cleared just then with complete +comprehension of who had schemed to send both dirigibles down and who +had built this secret lair on Azuero Peninsula. + +Inwardly, he groaned. It was all too plain. The destruction of the +ZX-2 and the thwarted destruction of her sister had only been the +first step of some gigantic plan which was to provide the opportunity +for the mighty fighting machine overseas to strike. And he, who might +have balked it, had made a rotten landing from the scout and delivered +himself, helpless by his own clumsiness, into the hands of these men. +The self-accusation was bitter. + +With their secret of invisibility, their deadly blue rays, what havoc +couldn't they wreak, working from their cunningly concealed base? + +And now they were waiting for him to recover consciousness--waiting to +question him before killing him.... + +But as he lay there, apparently still senseless, Chris was grappling +with the seemingly hopeless problem. So, even when he felt the +tingling coldness of a spray of water on his cheeks, not one line of +his face moved, nor did the tiniest flutter of eyelids betray him. + +Although the fumbled landing in the jungle had been a catastrophe, it +had granted him his only weapon. He was believed to be genuinely +unconscious. + +"Another--he iss stubborn," hissed the voice of the man called +Istafiev. "His senses will soon come. I can bring them back--oh, +yess!" + +"Enough of this!" complained the suave, beautifully modulated voice. +"Darkness is coming; there's a lot to be done. Shoot him and throw him +out!" + +"It iss I who am in command here, comrade Kashtanov. Remember that. I +desire to speak to this man. There! No? No sign yet? Well! We will +see if this helps those eyes of yours to open, my American!" + +Then began sheer torture. + + * * * * * + +It was an ordeal of silence. By no motion, sound or slightest sign of +consciousness could he seek relief. Inanimate Chris Travers lay, +holding his pose sturdily, although it seemed that the sweat was +spurting from the pores, while a thin, cruel knife-blade drove into +the quivering nerves beneath his left thumb-nail. + +Deeper and deeper it inched, accompanied by the soft breathing of the +man who guided it, until Chris felt one great sob of pain welling up +inside him, struggling to break past his lips; felt a tremendous urge +to writhe, to break away from the digging steel. His tongue seemed to +be trembling, shivering; but no other part of his body, not even the +smallest flicker of eyelash, betrayed him. At long last there came a +voice, sounding as if from miles away, and the disgust in it was very +good to Lieutenant Christopher Travers. + +"Bah! It iss no use. His thick skull must be fractured. I could cut +him open and he would not awake. He might be conscious for minutes +after some hours--no, do not shoot him. I shall learn a few details +from him then. Throw him over there. Now--Zenalishin iss dead, but the +mask and cylinder on him should be returned to visibility. Well, we +will return him, too. Then, Kashtanov, to your instructions and your +work." + +Hands gripped Chris's body. He felt himself thud against a wall, and +slumped into a heap, head lolling over. The cessation of pain was +sweet, though his thumb was raw, but sweeter still was the knowledge +that he had won the first tussle: that he was deemed to be harmlessly +unconscious for hours. + +And carefully, through his lashes, he permitted himself a glimpse of +the room he lay in, and the men whom he had heard and felt but not yet +seen. + + * * * * * + +It seemed more like the belly of a submarine than a room, that maze of +tubes, levers, wheels, switchboards and queer metallic shapes; and the +blur cast upon his vision by barely raised eyelashes made it appear +doubly unreal and grotesque. It might have been another world. + +Some of it was recognizable. A massive radio-telephone set, by which, +he judged, all communications between the fleets in the Pacific were +overheard; a squat dynamo; a set of huge cylinders, from which, +probably, had come the highly expansive gas that had snuffed out the +crews of the two dirigibles. But there were other things--strange, +monstrous. One of them, the tapered tube of metal that angled up to +the hut's ceiling, its base a mass of wheels and dials and tubing, was +evidently the weapon of the ray that had struck the scout down. + +There were three men visible in the room, and Chris switched his +attention now to them. + +Two were standing by a table in the center of the room, directly under +a shaft of light from a powerful electric bulb. The shorter of them +was saying to a third man, who knelt in front of the dynamo: + +"On full." Then, as a full-throated drone pulsed from it: "Zenalishin +iss there? Yess. Put him in." + +The voice of the hissing s's--that was Istafiev. Short, stocky, +black-haired, he was a direct contrast to the tall figure next him of +one whose pointed black beard gave elegance to sharp, thin features. +He carried a gun at his waist, and he identified himself as Kashtanov +by saying languidly: + +"Better strap him in. He'll fall, otherwise. Get some cord; I'll lift +him." + +The other man, by the dynamo, apparently a subordinate mechanic, +dull-faced, drew a loop of cord from a box nearby, while Kashtanov +went through actions that seemed fantastic. He stooped, groped along +the floor, and then gripped what looked like thin air with his fingers +and lifted upwards. But it wasn't air, Chris knew; it was the +invisible body of a man--the man who had destroyed the ZX-2, the man +whom he had shot at in the cubby of the ZX-1--whose invisibility was +now to be stripped from him. + +By what? Carefully Chris swivelled his gaze around until it caught on +an object which dwarfed Istafiev, now waiting by its side with one +hand on the small panel of a switchboard. + + * * * * * + +A strange thing, truly, to find in a little hut on Azuero Peninsula! +Row upon row of slender curved tubes, describing a three-quarter ovoid +so that there was an opening for entrance in front, rose to a height +of some eight feet, the whole topped by a curious glassy dome which +was filled with creamy substance. There was room inside the layers of +tubes for a man's body to stand upright--and a man's body was upright +in it now, held by cords strapped to his unseen arms. + +Invisibility! The dream of scientists for years! Here created, here +taken away--by the simple manipulation of two levers on the control +panel. + +Intently Chris watched Istafiev pull down the right-side lever. + +As it came down, the creamy liquid in the dome above the cage began to +swirl slowly, then to froth and boil and whip round and round, while +thick, dropsical bubbles slid up from its heaving surface and burst, +discharging a kind of grayish mist, under which the white substance +sank, until there was nothing left in the dome but drab-colored vapor. +On the completion of this stage, the layers of tubes below warmed +into life. They glowed with a soft vari-colored brightness that filled +the cage with a golden splendor and seemed to rim each one of the +watching men with fire. + +"See you, Kashtanov," came Istafiev's voice. "The refractive index, +lowered to that of air to produce invisibility, iss being raised +again--all through a simple adaptation of Roentgen's theories! The +substance above, mark, in the dome, which this morning you saw affect +Zenalishin's blood and the pigment of his hair so that the vibrations +would render his colorless tissues transparent, iss now reversing. +Soon--see!--already he becomes visible!" + +Something was growing in the heart of the ribbons of color, and Chris +strained his shrouded eyes to discern what it was. + +Black lines, standing out in the dazzling welter of light--lines that +grew and became more solid as he peered at them--lines that were +shaping into a recognizable form, the form of a man's skeleton! + +The effect was that of an X-ray. A skeleton hung in the cage, held +steady by the cords around its arms, its naked skull with yawning +eye-pits grinning out at the four men in the room. Soon other details +became visible: black lumps that were organs, the web of fine thin +lines that were veins; and then a hazy, ghostly outline of flesh that +quickly assumed solidity, burying the bones and veins and organs which +had been first apparent. + + * * * * * + +And all the time the dynamo was filling the hut with its sweeping +drone, and the million points of light flung from the intercrossing +flame-tongues inside the cage were dancing madly on the walls and +floor and ceiling, making the whole scene unreal, fantastic, as from a +dream.... + +"There! That iss enough," said Istafiev. + +The lever went back. The streaks of blue-white that threaded the cage +died; the grayish vapor in the dome above faded away, leaving more of +the creamy, bleaching substance than had been there originally; the +dynamo was shut off, and silence fell in the room. A naked man with a +very white, peaked face and a blotch of blood encrimsoning his neck +hung inside the cage, his head pitched over lifelessly to one side. + +Chris stared, almost forgetting the pose of unconsciousness in his +bewilderment. A queer mechanism shaped in the form of a cylinder from +some oddly sparkling, almost transparent material, was clasped to the +nude body's chest: over the nose and mouth was another small +attachment of the same substance. A nozzle midway in the large +cylinder's front side gave him the clue: from it, obviously, had come +the gas which had strangled the crews of the dirigibles, and the +covering over nose and mouth was a novel gas mask. The material they +were made of could, obviously, be rendered invisible--a virtue not +possessed by ordinary inorganic substances. Invisible death from an +invisible container, carried by an invisible man! + +"Yess, dead," hissed Istafiev, probing the motionless, naked body. "He +just got here, told what had happened, and died. He was hurt too badly +to think of taking off the gas cylinder or putting on a coat. Well, it +makes no difference.... Here, Grigory, take off the mask and cylinder +and bury him. And you, Kashtanov, look well at this." + +From the table, he picked up a large white piece of cardboard and +tapped it meaningly. There were two broad lines on it, running side by +side through other smaller lines and shaded patches, and there was +also a thick black arrow pointing to one particular place on it. + +The chart was easy to understand. Chris Travers recognized it +immediately, and his heart seemed to stop for a moment as he did. + +Their first step had been the dirigibles: their second was a blow +which paled the other into insignificance. And Chris told himself +desperately: + +"It can't go through! It can't!" + +The lines on the cardboard were a detailed map of the Panama Canal; +and the black arrow pointed unerringly to its most vulnerable, +unguarded and vital point, the Gatun Spillway, which, if wrecked, +would put the whole intricate Canal hopelessly out of commission. + + * * * * * + +Istafiev was speaking again, in low, terse tones, oblivious of the +desperate resolve forming in Chris's brain. + +"Only one of the dirigibles had been destroyed. Well, it iss too bad, +but not fatal to the plan. The ZX-1 can hamper our country's +operations when she strikes, but if the ZX-2 were also in action, they +would be hampered much more--perhaps fatally. It iss not serious. So +we go ahead. Now, Kashtanov, for the last time, the scheme of wrecking +Gatun Spillway iss this: + +"Note, here, the small golf course. That iss your landing space. You +know its location: a mile, perhaps, from Gatun Dam and the spillway. +At night, there iss no one near it or on it. You drop down to the golf +course from seven thousand feet: the helicopter motors are muffled, +and no one will hear you come. Some of the stretches of the course are +secluded and hidden by the surrounding jungle; choose one of these to +land on. Well, that iss easy. + +"The spillway iss about midway in Gatun Dam: its channel has been cut +through a hill. You come along the side of this channel right up close +to the spillway--close, remember!--and leave the box there. The range +of the rays, you know, iss two hundred feet: set them to fire one +minute after you leave the box. They will destroy the seven gates of +the spillway and also part of the dam and the hydro-electric station. +Gatun Lake will then empty itself; the canal will be half drained; the +power will be gone--it will take half a year to repair it all. The +ZX-1 can fly up to the east coast, thanks to Zenalishin's +fumbling--yess; but these American fleets are massed in the Pacific; +they will have to go around South America to reach the Atlantic--and +that will take weeks. + +"And in that time the Soviet has crossed the Atlantic uncontested and +has paralyzed the heart of America, her eastern states. Ah, it iss +magnificent!" + + * * * * * + +But Kashtanov's thoughts were elsewhere. Peering hard at the chart, he +said: + +"I have a minute to get clear, eh? Well, I can do that; but won't the +water sweeping through from Gatun Lake after the spillway is wrecked +catch me?" + +"No. You run up the hill the spillway channel is cut through; it iss +high ground, and the golf course iss on high ground. No one will see +you coming or going, naturally, and the box iss not big enough to be +noticed at night. The noise of its equalizers will be covered by the +water coming through the spillway. It iss--what they say?--fool-proof. +You cannot fail, Kashtanov. And--" he broke into swift-flowing, liquid +Russian, his swarthy face lighting up, his arms waving, one of them +slapping the other's back. + +"Stop the dramatics," said Kashtanov, "and speak in English. I've +worked so long in America, Russian is hard to understand. Time to +begin?" + +Istafiev glanced at a watch on his wrist. "A few minutes. Look you." +He went to a side locker in the room, opened it, hauled out with both +hands a box of plain dull metal, and put it on the table. It was +larger than the one Chris Travers had seen on the ZX-1, but otherwise +similar. + +"A double charge of nitro-lanarline iss in this," murmured Istafiev +complacently. "Imagine it, when released! You know the working well, +do you not? Yess. Well, I put it in the plane, ready." He stepped to +the hut's single door and passed out. Through it Chris could see the +tiny clearing, dark under the camouflaged framework, now closed once +more; the light from the hut showed him the wings of the +helicopter-plane standing there. He heard, moreover, the sound of a +shovel from somewhere, and knew that a lonely grave was being dug in +the wilderness. Then Istafiev shouted: + +"Grigory! That grave, make it wide, make room for two." He came back +and peered sidewise at Chris. "Not conscious yet?" A foot thudded into +the American's side. "No. Well, I see to him when you are gone, +Kashtanov. Yess, thick darkness iss here. Time to begin. Take off your +clothes." + + * * * * * + +Chris was now keenly alert, poised, ready for any chance that might +come. The odds were two or three to one, and a gun into the bargain, +but the stakes were higher than any ever played for before; and a +stroke had to be made, no matter how seemingly hopeless. Through his +lashes he watched, turned things over in his mind--and something +leaped within him when he saw Kashtanov unbuckle the gun around his +waist and lay it down, meanwhile taking off the clothes he was +wearing: and when he heard the question which followed, and Istafiev's +answer. + +Naked, lean-muscled and sinewy, Kashtanov paused before the door of +the cage. "How will this affect me?" he asked. "Painful?" + +"You will be conscious of no sensation. You will see me, yess, and +the room, but you will be paralyzed completely while the power is on." + +"Paralyzed, eh?" murmured Kashtanov. "Well, let's go," and he placed +himself inside the cage. + +Paralyzed, when the power was on! In effect, that left only Istafiev +in the room: the man Grigory was outside, and the noise of the dynamo +would drown any shouts for help. And Kashtanov's gun was on the +table.... + +Imperceptibly, Chris's muscles tensed as he judged the distance to the +table and reckoned out each movement after the first leap. One +sweeping blow with the gun would put Istafiev safely out of action; +then he could be bound and Grigory summoned and tied also at the point +of the gun. If, by that time, Kashtanov was invisible inside the cage, +the levers could be reversed and his body brought back to visibility +and bound. + +Then--a call broadcast from the hut's radio-telephone to headquarters +at the Canal and the fleets in the Pacific! + +"It'll work," Chris told himself. "It's damn well got to!" + +But a certain part of the invisibility machine did not enter his +plans. + + * * * * * + +The creamy liquid in the glassy dome began, as before, to swirl +slowly: but apart from that its action was different. The white mass, +instead of discharging the vapor-laden bubbles, became a whipping, +highly agitated whirlpool as the tubes below glowed softly and ribbons +of golden light snaked out and laced through the nude body of +Kashtanov. The liquid above flowed rapidly in a complete circle, its +center sucked hollow, exactly as a glass quarter-filled with water +behaves when rotated quickly. Thus the outer surface of the dome, +coated inside with the milky liquid, gleamed and scintillated as the +whirl of light struck it and danced off it: and it even became dimly +reflective. + +In seconds Kashtanov's figure lost definite outline and assumed a +ghostly transparency that bared the internal organs and veins: and +then his skeleton appeared. + +Istafiev was facing the control panel. As he gathered his limbs for +the decisive leap, Chris's eyes were on his stocky back. But Istafiev +was watching keenly the gleaming, glassy dome above. + +He was surveying the action of the white substance and judging the +time of the process by it. Then suddenly his vision centered on +something that had seemed to move on the surface of the dome. + +Something had moved. Chris, lying against the wall behind, had opened +his eyes fully, had dragged back his legs beneath him and balanced +himself for his leap. And, in distorted perspective, his actions were +reflected on the dome. + +Just for a second he poised--then sprang. + +The speed Istafiev showed seemed foreign to the build of his body. In +an instant he had whirled from the switchboard, fingers not lingering +to release Kashtanov, and leaped. + + * * * * * + +They met at the table. Two hands shot out for the gun lying on it. +Chris grabbed it first. But he paid for his speed. The swipe he had +aimed with his left arm went wild; a fist thudded into his stomach and +belted the wind from him, and he felt his gun-wrist seized and +wrenched back. + +Gasping for breath, dizzy, only the fighting instinct enabled him to +crane a leg behind the other and throw his whole weight forward. The +planks of the floor shivered under the two bodies that toppled onto +them. + +There was a melee on the floor, furious, savage, mad. In cold fact, it +lasted merely for seconds; but Chris was grappling with a man whose +strength was as desperate as his own, and who had not been weakened by +a solar plexus blow or a cramping wait of hours in one position: the +American had passed through an eternity of physical and mental agony +when Istafiev, hunching up, strained the finger of his right hand +upward, searching for the gun trigger. + +One stubby finger found it. Istafiev grunted. The gun trembled from +the force of the hands disputing its direction; then its ugly snout, +stuck out parallel to the floor, and began to creep slowly downwards +as Istafiev bore on it with all his might. + +"So!" he hissed. "It was clever, your little game, but it iss +finished!" + +But Chris, undermost, had braced his elbow on the floor. The gun held. +Every ounce of his strength went into holding that one position, into +keeping the weapon's muzzle away; he was therefore not prepared for +Istafiev's sudden strategy. + +There was a quick pull, a tug. Istafiev had wrenched himself over, +reversing their positions and dragging Chris uppermost--and, as the +American's balance was destroyed, the gun whipped up and fired. + +A bullet sang past his head. It missed by inches. But from behind came +a sound as of rending cloth. The glassy dome above the cage of the +machine had splintered into countless fragments. + +The effect was amazing. The shafts of light from the machine's tube +ceased; creamy liquid dribbled out from the cracked dome, and, as it +met the air, frothed into billows of dense gray smoke. In seconds, the +room was choked with a thick, foggy vapor that obscured every object +in it as well as the blackest of moonless nights. + + * * * * * + +Istafiev had not fired again, could not. With a quick, frantic wrench +and twist Chris had knocked the gun from his hand, and it had +slithered away, now lost in the bunching smoke. But Istafiev's other +hand, steel-ribbed with tense muscles, had darted like a snake into +the American's throat, and under that iron, relentless grip Chris was +weakening. His head was whirling; the old wound throbbing waves of +nausea through him. Desperately he tried to struggle loose, flailing +with his legs--but useless. He knew he was slipping; slipping.... + +Then, out of the gray, all-hiding mist, came a voice. + +"Istafiev! Where are you? Call! The machine's broken; I'm out and +invisible. Where is the American?" + +Kashtanov! + +Istafiev hissed: + +"It iss all right. He will be finished in a moment. But you--go! The +box iss aboard the plane; don't wait! You must not take chance of +being hurt. Go to your work. Call Grigory in. Go, Kashtanov!" + +"I go, Istafiev." + +"No, you don't!" Chris Travers croaked almost inaudibly. "_You +don't!_" + +Thought of the Canal lying there defenseless, of Kashtanov speeding +towards it on his wrecker's errand, kindled within him a strength that +was unnatural, superhuman. Like a wildcat he tore loose from the +choking grip on his throat; Istafiev tried to subdue that sudden, +unlooked-for surge of power, but could not. Five piston-like, jabbing +blows crunched into him from Chris's hurtling fist, and with the fifth +Istafiev faded quietly out of the picture.... + +Chris sprang up and started a leap for the door he could not see. A +body brushed against him; dimly through the smoke he saw the man +called Grigory, and Grigory saw him, but not for long. A whaling swing +lifted him two inches clear of the floor, and then he went down onto +the peacefully recumbent Istafiev; and Chris Travers, fighting mad, +stormed from the hut into the clearing outside. + +The camouflaged framework had been raised; soft motors were purring +helicopter propellers around and lifting a plane up towards the stars +hanging high above. + +The airplane was already feet off the ground and sweeping straight up. +A sane man wouldn't have thought of it, but Chris wasn't quite sane +just then. With a short sprint, he launched himself into a flying +leap, grabbed out desperately--and felt the bar of the undercarriage +between his hands. + +The plane jolted. Then it steadied; rose with terrific acceleration. +And Chris hauled himself up onto the undercarriage and clung to one of +the wheel-stanchions, breathing, hard, hidden by the fuselage from the +invisible pilot. + +The clearing and the hut, with smoke billowing from it, dropped into +nothingness. The night enclosed the helicopter-plane. + + * * * * * + +From the air, Panama Canal at night is a necklace of lights strung +across the thin neck of land that separates sea from sea. Then, as a +high-flying plane drops lower, the beams of light loosen into widely +separated patches, which are the locks; between them the silky black +ribbon of water runs, now widening into a dim, hill-girt lake, now +narrowing as it passes through massive Culebra Cut, then widening +again as it comes to the artificial Gatun Lake, at the far end of +which stands Gatun Dam and its spillway. + +Silence hung close over the Canal. The last ship had passed through; +the planes that daily maneuver over it had returned to their hangars; +the men who shepherd ships through the locks had gone either to bed or +to Panama City or Colon. The Canal, as always at night, seemed almost +deserted. + +To Chris, clutching tight to his hazardous perch, it looked utterly +deserted. The ride had been nightmare-like, fraught every second with +peril. Several times the whip of wind had come near tearing him loose; +the cold air of the upper layers had numbed his fingers, his whole +body; he was chilled and, experiencing the inevitable let-down which +comes after a great effort, miserable. Just then, the task ahead +appeared well-nigh impossible. + +The only thing in his favor was that Kashtanov apparently did not know +he was aboard, since the plane had flown evenly, steadily, not trying +to shake off the man hanging to its landing gear by somersaulting in +the sky. Evidently the jolt as it was rising hadn't warned the unseen +pilot; the fog from the broken machine had obscured Chris's wild leap. + +But what, he thought, of that? The element of surprise was in his +favor--but how to gain advantage by it? He had no weapon, nothing save +bare hands with which to subdue a foe as elusive as the wind that was +now hurtling by him. Clinging there, slipping now and again, drenched +with cold, the odds looked hopeless. + +Then, suddenly, the booming of the main motor stopped. Only a quiet +purring from the wings took its place. The helicopter-plane hovered +almost motionless, quiet and deadly like a sinister bird of prey. It +began to drop straight down through the dark. Chris Travers glanced +below. + + * * * * * + +There, misty, fainty, small as the toy of a child, lay Gatun Dam, with +the spillway in its center. + +Chris stared. So small the dam looked--this dream of an engineer, this +tiny outpost of man's genius thrust boldly into the breast of the +tropics, holding back a whole lake with its cement flanks, enabling +ocean to be linked to ocean! It was the heart of the Canal; if burst, +the veins would be drained. + +Something that cannot be caught in words seemed to seize the lone +American then. As in a trance, he saw more than the dam; he saw what +it symbolized. He saw the Frenchmen who had tried to thrust the Canal +through first, and who had failed, dying in hundreds. He saw the men +of his own race who had carried that mighty work on; saw them gouging +through the raw earth and moving mountains, tiny figures doing the +work of giants; saw them stricken down by fever and disease, saw +others fill the empty files and go on, never wavering. He saw them +complete it and seal the waters in captivity with the dam that lay +below.... + +And with that vision of stupendous achievement, cold, weariness, +hopelessness passed from Chris Travers and swept clean away. The odds +that had loomed so large fell into insignificance. + +The golf course spread out and became dimly visible as the plane +dropped cautiously down. Away to the left there were the few twinkling +lights of Gatun Dam, whitening the crests of the waters that tumbled +through the spillway. Their drone was dully audible. On every other +side dark rolling hills stretched, covered in untamed jungle growth. +The golf course was shrouded by them. Its smooth sward made a perfect +landing place; an ordinary plane might alight there. + +Lower, lower, ever so slowly. A bare one hundred feet, now. Chris +scanned the lay of the land. Right close to the spot Kashtanov had +chosen to set the plane down on was a deep sand-trap, put there to +snare unskilful golfers. Chris steadied himself on the cross-bar. + +"I'll have to go up over the side and grab him," he planned. "Then +hold on to his throat till I feel him go limp." + +The wheels of the plane touched gently, and she settled to rest. + + * * * * * + +In one furious movement Chris was off and springing up the side of the +fuselage into the single cockpit, his hands clutching for the +invisible man who sat there. + +He heard a croak of alarm; then his fingers thumbed into bare flesh +and slid up over a nude shoulder to the throat. They tightened, bored +in, held with terrible pressure. Sprawled over the cockpit, he clung +grimly, to what seemed nothing more than air. + +Spattering noises came from somewhere. An unseen body thrashed +frantically. Transparent hands clawed over the American's frame, +worried at him. But he held his grip, tightening it each second. There +was a gasping, choking sound, a desperate writhe, another scratching +of the invisible hands--and then came what Chris had feared, what he +could not guard against since his eyes could not forewarn him. A heavy +monkey-wrench appeared to rise of its own accord from the floor of the +cockpit and come swinging at his head. + +He ducked at the last second. But it clipped him; his brain whirled +dizzily. The next moment he slithered off the plane and fell to the +ground, dragging the unseen Kashtanov with him. And as he pitched into +the damp grass, the shock dislodged his grip. + +He was up in a flash, but the damage was done. The monkey-wrench +curved through the darkness in a vicious swipe that landed it flush +against his jaw; swung back, pounded again like a trip-hammer--again +and again and again.... + +Chris reeled back, teetered on the edge of nothingness, then went +tumbling crazily down into the sand-trap behind. One leg was doubled +underneath him as he crashed. + +A voice floated down out of the darkness. "That is the end of you!" it +said. But Chris Travers did not hear it.... + + * * * * * + +Pain. Agonizing pain. The whole lower side of his face was a burning, +throbbing, aching lump of flesh, and his left leg seemed on fire. What +had happened? Where was he? + +Then came remembrance, and it was far worse than the fangs of pain +that were gnawing him. Chris cried out--a cracked, twisted cry. +Kashtanov, the dam--the box of the ray! How much time had passed? + +He hunched his body over and stared up. Limned against the starlight +were the wings of a plane, still standing where it had landed beside +the sand-trap. He clutched his thoughts. The plane meant--it meant +Kashtanov had gone on his errand, had not yet returned? Only minutes +had gone by since the blows from the monkey-wrench. But was the box +placed yet? Was Kashtanov already hurrying back? + +He listened. From far away came a drone that was separate from the +throbbing of his head. The drone of waters, controlled waters. The +normal sound of the spillway of Gatun Dam. The box had not yet +unleashed its disintegrating bolt of blue. + +"I've got to stop it!" he whispered. + +He tried to rise. Only one leg held. The other twisted awrily with a +rasp of broken bones. A spearing pain tore through him. Useless! His +fall had broken it. He could not rise, could not walk, much less run. +He was no more than a cripple. + +"Oh, God!" he groaned, "How can I, how can I?" + +Then his eyes fell on the plane resting above him. + +"I've got one leg," he muttered, "and two hands and two eyes.... +They're left me. Yes!" + +He rolled over. He shoved with his right leg and clawed at the bank of +the sand-trap. Inch by inch he wormed up, slipping, scraping. The sand +grated into his battered face and seeped through onto his tongue; he +coughed and spluttered, groaning from the effort and his feebleness. +Spots of blood showed black against the crazy course he left behind +him; ages seemed to pass before he thrust his head over the top of the +bank, dug his chin into it and pulled onto level ground. Ages, but in +reality only seconds, and the whole Canal--America--lying at the mercy +of what each one of those seconds might unloose! + + * * * * * + +But the plane was near now, and it almost seemed that some unseen +force mightier than the strength of men hauled Chris's broken body to +it and up the stretch of its fuselage-side into the cockpit. + +Ordinarily, he should have been delirious from the pain of jaw and +leg, but the controls of the plane were before him and he saw nothing +else. Wings and propeller were better than legs! He was in his +element: by the sixth sense of born airmen, he knew and could handle +any flying machine, no matter how foreign. + +In a second, his fingers had fumbled onto the starting button. The +choke of the motor and then its full-throated roar were sweet to his +ears. + +The lonely golf course and the night re-echoed with the bellow of +twelve pistons thrusting in line; watching, one would not have dreamed +that a cripple was at the controls of the plane that now swung around +with a blast of power, leveled its nose down the course and raced +smoothly over close-clipped grass. Its wheels bumped, spun on the +ground and lifted into air. + +A mile to the dam! Istafiev's words came back to him. It would take +Kashtanov twenty minutes at least, for he would go cautiously. But how +long had passed--how long? That was the agonizing question. + +Staring forward through the hurtling prop, the night rushed at him; +the dark hills melted away to either side; clear ground swept into +view and then a long black thread that was the spillway channel. +Behind was the bubbling, leaping flow of the spillway itself, and +Gatun Dam. The smooth cement sides were as yet unharmed. + +"Thank God!" Chris muttered. "Now, where--where?" + +A stream of light flowed out from the hydro-electric station on the +left side of the spillway channel. The opposite bank was bare, running +right up to the face of the dam beneath the spillway's seven gates. +There the box was to be placed. But from the air, the light was +uncertain, deceptive--and a little two-foot-square box was all he had +to go by! + +"I can't see!" Chris said hoarsely. "I can't see!" + + * * * * * + +Like a roaring black meteor the plane hurtled over the banks of the +spillway, the eyes of its pilot scouring the ground. It zoomed just in +time to miss the wall of the dam, banked, doubled like a scared +jack-rabbit, dove down again, coming within feet of the spillway +channel. Mad, inspired flying! But what good could it do? + +Then from its cockpit came a yell. + +"There! There! By heaven, I can make it!" + +Two or three hundred feet--it was not clear just how far--from the +face of the dam, on the bare right bank of the channel, a tiny +pin-prick of black was moving slowly along. It seemed to move by +itself through the air. And now, as the screaming plane banked again +and came rushing closer, the pin-prick grew into a black box that +suddenly stopped its advance, held motionless some four feet off the +ground. Though the man who held it was not visible, Chris could fancy +him staring up at the plane, could fancy the look of consternation on +his unseen face. + +Two hundred feet was the range of the rays! Was Kashtanov that close? +Obviously the controls had not yet been set, for he still held the +box. But he could switch them on in a second and fling the deadly +machine up toward the dam, if he were at present just out of range. A +second--a second! + +"Damn you, here goes!" roared Chris. + +He wrenched the stick way over. The plane appeared to hang crazily on +one wing. Then it leveled off and stuck its nose down, flipping its +tail up, and down--down--down it bellowed; with no hope in the world +of ever coming out of its insane plunge. + +What he saw in that last momentary glimpse was burned forever into +Chris Travers' memory. There was the black box, hanging in the air +straight before the plane's thundering nose; there, behind it, the +black tide of the spillway waters; and, still further behind, he could +see the other bank and the hydro-electric station, and a few tiny +figures that rushed out from it just then to see what some fool flyer +was doing. + +All this flashed into his sight, etched against the sable night as if +in flame. Then the plane's snout smashed into the black box hanging +before it, and the propeller crunched through a naked, invisible body. +A ragged scream that marked the passing of Kashtanov split through the +air for a flash of time, and the dark, blurred mass that was an +airplane teetered clean over and flopped into the rushing spillway +channel. + + * * * * * + +The men who had scrambled out from the hydro-electric station stared +at each other blankly. One of them stuttered: + +"But--he did that deliberately! Nothing went wrong with his ship! I +saw him! He seemed to be diving at something!" + +"Come on!" snapped another. "We might be able to get him out. A mad +fool like that's just the kind who'll live through it." + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Raiders Invisible, by Desmond Winter Hall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAIDERS INVISIBLE *** + +***** This file should be named 29053.txt or 29053.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/0/5/29053/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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