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diff --git a/31349-8.txt b/31349-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..41267de --- /dev/null +++ b/31349-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1292 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt + +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: Satan and the Comrades + +Author: Ralph Bennitt + +Release Date: February 22, 2010 [EBook #31349] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SATAN AND THE COMRADES *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, September + 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + + _It is not always easy to laugh at Satan, or take pleasure in + his antics. But when the Prince of Darkness goes on a vacation + or holds a mirror up to human nature at its most Luciferian + chuckles are certain to arise and follow one another in + hilarious profusion. Here is a yarn contrived by a craftsman + with ironic lightning bolts at his fingertips, as mordantly + compelling as it is jovial and Jovian. If you liked _SATAN + ON HOLIDAY_, and were hoping for a sequel you can now + rejoice in full measure, for Ralph Bennitt has provided that + longed-for delight._ + + + + +SATAN AND THE COMRADES + +_by ... Ralph Bennitt_ + + + Lucifer wasn't sure that just the right improvements had been + made in Hell. So he used a dash of sulfur with Satanic skill. + + +Nick felt almost good-humoredly buoyant after his year's holiday as a +college boy. About a second after leaving Earth he slowed his +traveling speed down to the medium velocity of light by shifting from +fifth dimension to fourth. Though still a million miles above the +wastes of Chaos and twice that distance from the gates of Hell, his +X-ray eyes were quick to discern a difference in the road far below +him. + +Sin and Death had built that broad highway eons before. On leaving +Hell, presumedly forever to carry on their work among men, they had +done a mighty good job of the original construction. But time had +worked its ravages with the primrose-lined path, and it was not +surprising that on starting his sabbatical leave, Nick had ordered his +chief engineer to repair the road as a first step in his plan to +modernize Hell. + +Apparently, old Mulciber had done a bang-up job, and Nick roared in +laughter at evidences of the engineer's genius and those of wily +Belial, the handsome court wag. The Propaganda Chief had added +advertising at numerous new roadhouses along the way, and unwary +shades traveling hellward gazed at beautiful scenes of lush vegetation +instead of a dreary expanse like the Texas Panhandle. This "devilish +cantraip sleight" also changed the raw Chaos climate to a steady 72°F +and gave off a balmy fragrance of fruits and flowers. + +Ten thousand drachmas, a fictitious unit of currency established by +foxy old Mammon, was the flat fee for use of the road. Blissfully +unaware of this "Transportation Charge," or how it would be paid, +numerous phantom pilgrims were sliding down the steeper hills--and +having a swell time. Their shouts of glee reached Nick's largish ears +despite the lack of air as mortals know it. Clever old Mulcie had +installed freezing plants here and there to surface the road with +glare ice. + +Nick poised above a party of phantom men and girls sliding downhill on +their _derrieres_ and ending in a heap at the bottom. A nice change +from traveling under their own power. Their maximum speed while swift +and incomprehensible to mortals, seemed relatively slow to one of +Hell's old timers. Only Nick and his best scout, Cletus, could move at +thought speed--"Click-Click Transportation." + +Drifting on, a pleased smile on his red, bony face, Nick paused +several times to read Belial's welcomings. + +"Die and see the original Naples in all its natural beauty," said one +sign. "Try our hot sulphur springs and become a new soul." Gayest +pleasures were promised to all and golfers had special attention. +"Register with the pro at your favorite golf club so you can qualify. +No charge for pro's services who'll teach you to break 80. Free lunch +and drinks at all Nineteenth Holes." + +No fool shade would wonder what he'd qualify for, nor suspect he'd +have to shovel eighty million tons of coal and ashes before his +handicap would be lowered enough to earn him a set of golf clubs or +that the free lunch and drinks were chunks of brimstone, the +sulphurous air and Styx River water which is always just below boiling +point at 3,000°F. + +Hell's thousand of new golf courses, gambling joints and bars would be +available only after downtrodden souls had worked a millennia or two +at common labor jobs. A shady deal, indeed, but all a part of Nick's +master plan to get him and his legions back to Heaven. + +By modernizing Hades he hoped to annoy "The Big Boss Upstairs" while +diverting the attention of those two vigilant celestial watchers, +Michael and Raphael, from the main idea. In a series of bold moves, +known only to Nick and his Board or Inner Council, mankind would be +wiped off the earth--and thus bring The BBU to time. Or so Nick hoped. + +As a first step, he had spent a year as Pudzy, a college boy, studying +electronics and modern skills of all kinds. He had enjoyed the holiday +on Earth though it irked him to recall that he'd been obliged to do +good here and there. The thought of these satanic lapses caused him to +frown, but his jolly mood returned when he saw the familiar gates of +Hell wide open in obedience to his whistle. + +The whistle's high frequency waves also awakened Cerberus, the +three-headed watch dog, besides actuating "The Dingus." This +electronic device Nick had stolen to operate the three ponderous +triple-fold gates of adamantine, brass and iron. + +He slowed to supersonic speed, brought back his great red wings and +made a neat three-point landing without injuring the needle-sharp dart +at the end of his long, black tail. Still feeling jovial, he kicked +all three of Cerberus's heads, then zoomed down through the tunnel to +the north bank of the River Styx. + +There he halted to view the ten-lane suspension bridge Mulciber had +thrown across the steamy black water. Nick was wondering how the old +genius had accomplished such a feat when a thick black wall dropped +across the bridgehead. + +"Cost you five thousand rubles to cross, mister," Charon called in a +thick voice. + +The old riverman who had ferried new shades across the earth-hell +boundary for eons of time, had just returned after a year's vacation +in Moscow. + +He hid a bottle under his brimstone bench, then straightened a gaudy +red tie as he weaved forward. A changed devil, Charon. His year in +Redland had done more than put him into a natty summer suit. Although +not very bright, he had unusual powers of observation. He liked to ape +the odd speech of his customers, especially American prospectors. +These truculent but harmless old timers worked at odd jobs around the +nearby palace grounds, and in the ferryman they found a kindred +spirit. + +Nick eyed the loyal old fellow's red tie with amazement. "What, for +St. Pete's sake, are you drinking, Char?" + +"Vodka," Charon gasped. Recognizing the stern voice, he tried to focus +his bleary eyes. "'Scuse it, Your Majesty. I've come a long way and +alone. Your substitute, Pudzy, gimme a bottle 'fore he returned to +Ameriky, and it's durn cold up there in Musk-Cow, and so I took a few +nips, and I felt so goldurned glad to git back I polished off what was +left, so I didn't recognize Your Majesty when you came zoomin' along, +and if you'll sort of overlook--" + +Nick patted the frightened old fellow's scrawny shoulder. "Better +check in and sleep it off, Char." + +"Gosh, stoppin' _you_!" + +"You let everybody in till I tell you different. Forget the toll +charge too, you old conniver." + +"Yeah, and look!" Chortling with glee, Charon tottered back to his +station and put one hand across the beam of a photo-electric eye. The +ponderous gate slid silently upward. "It weighs fifteen hundred tons, +Mulcie says, and I don't even push a button." + +"You still smell like a Communist, Char," Nick said, sniffing the good +sulphurous air. "How come you're on the job as bridgekeeper if you've +just returned from Moscow?" + +"Orders from Beelzebub, and it's nigh a half hour by now since this +fella came across the bridge. I'm sauntering home, friends with +everybody, I am--" + +"What fellow?" + +Charon scratched his grisly thatch. "Come to think of it, I never see +'im afore this. I'm standing back there, looking down at my old skiff +and wondering about my job, when this fella comes up. 'This is for +you, Charon,' he says, and held out your official incombusterible +letterhead with the cross-bones and dripping blood--" + +"Yeah, yeah. What does this stranger look like? What's his name? Who +signed the paper?" + +"Beelzebub signed it. I guess I know the John Henry of your Number Two +devil even if I am a dumb ferryman." Perhaps sensing he had blundered, +Charon almost wept. "This paper appoints me head bridge-tender from +now to the _end_ of eternity, and, bein' worried about my job, I +hopped right to it. You're the first--" + +"Which way did he go? What's he look like?" + +Charon almost said "Thataway," as he shook his head and pointed a +trembling finger to the distant shore. "Lemme see. He wore neat +clothes about like mine, and he zoomed off like the upper crust shades +do when in a hurry--which ain't often. He has mean little eyes, sort +of pale blue, is built wide and short, and talks American good as I +do. Now't I think of it, he had an impederiment in his speech, and he +smelt like a bed of sweet peas." + +"Very good, indeed." Scanning the paper, Nick smiled as he recognized +a forgery of the Beelzebub signature. He drew out his pen which writes +under fire as well as water, and scribbled "Nick," then put the +document into the eager hands. "This gives you the job forever--or +till I revoke the appointment." + +"Boydy-dumb-deals!" Charon shouted. "Boss, you oughta hear about my +adventures in Redland. I had a real gabfest with the new Premier, +Andrei Broncov, and his Minister of Culture, Vichy Volonsky." + +Nick grinned sardonically. "I heard a little about the most recent +changes in the Kremlin. Are my old sidekicks well? And are they having +any particular trouble since liquidating the old gang?" + +"How come you call that fat crumb, Broncov, your sidekick?" Charon +frowned, trying to collect his wits in the dread presence. "He didn't +ask about you. He took me for an illegitimate son of Joe Stalin's, so +how would he know you and I are pals? I bought this red tie and hired +a sleeping dictionary to catch onto the language better, and--" + +"Your dictionary probably spilled things to the MVD." + +"Not while my gold held out. Anyhow, those punks are way overrated. +Tricky, maybe, and they lie good. They'd rather bump you off than eat +breakfast." + +"Purge is the word. The old comrades Broncov threw out a month ago now +fully understand its meaning. How is the comrade?" + +"Gosh, boss, I'm sick of hearing that word. They say it just before +they knife you. Broncov's been busy, all right. Since taking over the +Number One job he's been sending a lot of his best friends down this +way. To keep Joe Stalin company, he told me. He looks fat even if Bill +Shakespeare says this new lot--" + +"I suppose he and his pals plied you with liquor," Nick said. + +"They tried to drink me under the table." Charon cut a laugh in half. +"Gosh, I durn near forgot. Y'know what the sidewinder, Bronco, babbled +'fore he passed out? Top drawer stuff. Only he and this Vichy +Volonskyvich know about it. Seems Bronco learned, somehow, about your +taking a vacation, so he's been torturing a lot of his friends into +confessing they plotted agin 'im. He promised them an easy death if +they'd carry on down here. How you like that?" + +"The fools. What's his plan?" + +"I ain't sure I got it all as his tongue got thicker from the vodka. +But I learned Hell's full of comrades who've sworn to their god, +Lee-Nine, they'll toss you to the wolves. They aim to pull Joe Stalin +off his clinker-picking job and make him secretary here." + +"Go on," Nick urged in ominous tones. "How?" + +"They've swiped some new secret weapon and figure to obliterate you +and every devil in authority so things will be organized nice and cozy +when they finally get here. The Dumb--" + +"Good report, Char." The new weapon did not bother Nick much, but from +his profound studies of atom smashing he decided anything can happen +these days even to a top devil. He continued briskly: "Hereafter, +sniff all your customers and make sure they don't _smell_ like a Red. +You know the aroma by now--sweet peas with an underlying stink--so +keep your nose peeled. When you spot a comrade, radio-phone the guard. +Those lads will know what to do you can bet your last ruble." + + + + +II + + +The rousing welcome home Nick received as he climbed the hill to his +great palace would have warmed his heart if he'd owned one. + +"Thanks, boys and girls," he intoned in his best golden voice. "It's +swell to be back among you. I haven't time for a speech now, but tune +in to Channel Thirteen tomorrow evening for my fireside chat." + +He wanted to take off for Moscow immediately, but decided to start the +war by calling The Board. Also, the boys would be hurt if he didn't +inspect what they'd done during his absence. After a hasty, +Russian-style dinner of caviar, cabbage and cold horse with a gold +flagon of vodka, he ordered Azazel, Flag Bearer and Statistician +Chief, to call a meeting in the throne room. + +Little Cletus waylaid his big boss. The scout among the celestials +looked like a chubby cherub what with his dimpled cheeks and curly +black hair, but he'd proved to be the trickiest imp south of the +pearly gates. Knowing that Raphael had cajoled the little imp into +revealing something of the improvements in Hades, Nick suspected +treachery by one of his most trusted scouts. + +"I hear you've been seeing Raphael!" he barked. + +"Aw, I told 'im a pack of lies," Cletus scoffed. "Maybe Rafe figured +out something; he's a smart apple. I told 'im everybody here is hot +and unhappy like you ordered me to say if they ever caught me. I said +our air-conditioning system goes haywire and that we were ripping out +a thousand old boilers and coolers. Stuff like that." + +"Don't lie to me, you ornery little brat. Okay to anybody else but not +to me. I happened to hear Rafe talking to Mike, and they're wise to my +plan of making Hell attractive." + +"Well, hell," Cletus protested, "they saw Mulcie's gangs fixing the +road. If Rafe and them extra-extrapopulated that dope to figure out +the truth, why blame me?" + +"We'll forget it," Nick said, vastly relieved to believe his scout had +not betrayed him. "I have a job for you. I'm going to Moscow and I +want your help. Light out as soon as you can. Requisition as much gold +as you can handle by the usual translation method, and include a sack +of polished diamonds and rubies. I'll tell Mammon it's okay when I +arrange for my own supply." + +"Okay, boss. Where do we meet? And what am I supposed to look like, +and do?" + +"Make yourself bellhop size and register at the Droshky Hotel as +Prince Navi from Baghdad with fifty Persian oil wells to sell. Let 'em +see your gold and jewels. And, remember, you'll account for any dough +you toss away to women and bribes. Get going!" + +Nick could see into the _near_ future, at least, and he chuckled after +Cletus vanished through the wall. "The little devil doesn't know +what's in store for him." + +In the throne room, sage old Beelzebub sat at the right of His +Majesty's chair; huge Moloch with his evil grin and snaggle teeth, at +the left. Tall, prissy Azazel, always acting important, planted +Satan's flag and then sat down at a table opposite wide-shouldered +Mulciber and handsome Belial. Charter members all of the original +organization booted out of Heaven some eighteen million years ago when +Nick's first but not last rebellion flopped. + +After the customary ritual of renewing their vow to get back to +Heaven, the gang sat down. Nick rapped the arm of his throne and +glared at Chemos, the lustful one. + +"Cheme," he said, "if you will quit flirting with Astarte, The Board +will take up business." + +Belial snickered when the culprits' red faces grew even redder, and +after a wink at the court wit, Nick went on: "I intend to take off for +Moscow after a quick look about with Mulcie and Belial. Incidentally, +my compliments on the good work you did on the road." + +"Egad, boss," Moloch complained, "why can't you stay home more and +line things up for us?" + +"Time enough--" Nick sniffed, scowled, then pointed toward a thick +pillar near the rear of the big room. "I smell an interloper. Thammuz, +Dagon, drag 'im up here! Beel, I fancy he's the one who forged your +signature." + +Beelzebub rose in anger when a shadowy figure darted for the door. The +intruder moved as fast as any wraith but the two former gods were too +quick for him. A brief struggle, then they dragged the eavesdropper +before the throne where they held him upside down. + +"It's the Paperhanger!" Beelzebub roared. + +"I guessed that from Charon's description," Nick said calmly. "He's +siding with the Reds again--Smell him? Stand up, Adolf, and hear your +sentence!" + +"I didn't do a thing, Your Majesty," Hitler began, but the hot, +glowing eyes were too much to face. His knees buckled and he sank, +groveling, on the floor. "Didn't I send you millions of customers?" he +wailed. "Haven't I done a good job of sweeping out and collecting +garbage? Have a heart, Nick. I came in here to sweep, and how would I +know about this private conference?" + +"You talk about hearts?" Nick flared. "You hung around to listen. You +forged Beelzebub's signature on my official paper, then put Charon in +charge of the bridge, thinking he's too dumb to report any Commies +coming here." + +"I can prove--" + +"You get the same chance at that which you gave people in Berlin. Down +the chute with him, boys!" + +The chute, connecting with a main one leading down to the burning +lake, has a flap which Belial gleefully lifted. Since shades have no +mass worth mentioning, the long duct acts like a department store +vacuum tube. + +"Oh, my beloved emperor, forgive me," Adolf yelled as he felt the +suction. "I only wanted to organize a counter-revolution against the +Communists and--" + +"Ratting on your pals again, eh?" Nick sneered. "You stay in the +burning lake a thousand earth years. You'll have plenty of time and +company for your plotting. Let 'im rip!" + +"No! I'll be forgotten--" + +"No one remembers you now except as a dung heap." Nick turned a thumb +downward, and the screeching shade vanished. + +"Like a paper towel in a gale," Belial said as he let the flap clang +shut. "How'd that creep get a job where he could snoop?" + +"My fault," Beelzebub admitted. "He's a smooth talker. I saw him not +long after you left, Your Majesty, when I went out to inspect the +garbage incinerator. He had shaved off his dinky mustache and changed +the color of his eyes, but I recognized him." + +"It's okay, Beel." Nick patted the heavy shoulder of his top +assistant. "The punk did us a left-handed favor in bringing things to +a head." He told of how Charon had discovered the Red plot, then +outlined his general plan. + +"Those Commies can't stand ridicule," Nick summed up. "While I'm gone +I want every Communist son tossed into the burning lake. Alarm all +guards and tell them how to identify them--the fragrance of sweet peas +with an underlying stink. No one in the USSR has used up a cake of +soap in twenty years, and the perfume they add can't quite cover the +BO." + +"Must be a lot of Commies here," Mulciber commented. "How many guards +have we, Azzy?" + +Azazel, Statistics Chief, glanced at a roll of incombustible +microfilm, and cleared his throat. He liked being called upon, and +since he had the history of every shade while on Earth, he was the +second most feared devil in Hades. + +"After promoting the last batch who qualified for better jobs during +the minimum millennium at common labor," Azazel said, "and adding--" + +"Never mind the commercial!" grouchy Moloch roared. "Boss, how do we +know all our guards are to be trusted?" + +"We don't," Nick said. "When did we ever trust anybody? But our system +of checkers, checkers checking the checkers, super-checkers on up to +charter members, hasn't failed yet." + +"If His Eminence, The Corpse-Snatcher, is satisfied," Azazel said, +smoothing his sleek black hair, "I shall answer Prince Mulciber's +polite question. We now have on the guards' roll exactly thirteen +million four hundred--" + +"That's close enough." Plainly pleased with his title, Moloch grinned +at the big engineer. "Mulcie, why not build a chute straight up into +Moscow? Save the boss trouble. He could take along a few gorillas and +toss all those troublemaking stinkers straight into a hot bath." + +Nick joined in the laughter. "Trouble with that, Molly, The BBU +wouldn't stand for it. Only Death can give the final sting, and even +he has to wait for the call. Our game is to play it cagey, stick by +the few rules The BBU laid down, and stay out of trouble." + +"How do you aim to handle those fellas?" Belial asked. + +"Tell you after I do it." Nick guessed the fun-loving Propaganda Chief +wanted to go along, but decided Cletus would be a better assistant in +a plan already formulated. A boon companion, Belial, for any nefarious +project. True, he had the quickest wit of the lot, but had worked +over-long in the advertising racket, and many of his schemes resembled +those of a hen on a hot griddle. + +Nick turned to the secretary. "If you have all this down, Asta, I'll +consider a motion to adjourn." + + + + +III + + +It was an hour short of midnight and snowing in Moscow when Nick +landed in the printing room of Pravda, the official Red journal. As he +had calculated, several sample newspapers had been run off. + +Vichy Volonsky, a short, roundheaded man, had held up the rest of the +issue while he studied the content through his nose-glasses. Editor +Blochensk and the mechanics anxiously awaited the great man's verdict. +An unfavorable one meant the concentration camp for everybody. As +Minister of Culture, Volonsky previewed all news personally when not +running errands for Andrei Broncov at a meeting of the Inner Council. + +The Number Two ranking man in the Kremlin clique frowned most +frighteningly, then, moved by an odd compulsion, walked into a +sound-insulated telephone room. He closed the door and stared at it +stupidly while looking through the invisible Nick. + +"Why did I come in here?" he said. "There's only the usual bilge in +the sheet, nothing to telephone the fat slob about. Yet something made +me." + +"I did," Nick said, suddenly visible. "When I finish, Pravda will +never be the same again. Lie down, Vichy!" + +Volonsky opened his mouth, but Nick wiggled a finger, and no yell came +out. In the wink of an eye, he squeezed out the Minister's shade and +took its place. + +"Pretty cramped and smelly quarters," Nick told himself, "but do or +die for good old Hades." + +"What? Who are you?" Volonsky's phantom teeth chattered. "You must be +Nick, himself." + +"Russia's patron saint till you amateurs took over. I have business +with your boss. I mean Andrei Broncov. Not that it matters, but who +conceived the idea of deposing Satan? Talk, _mujik_, and tell the +truth. All of it." + +"Blame Broncov, not me," Volonsky pleaded. "It was his scheme to kill +off several thousand loyal party comrades. They got a choice: Be +tortured to death, or die quickly and work for a revolution in Hell as +soon as they arrived. Naturally--" + +"I've heard enough, rat." Nick spat contemptuously, and a puff of gray +smoke spread rapidly over walls, ceiling and floor. "That will hold +you," he jeered, and opened the door. Aping the Minister's important +waddle, he walked over to the great press. + +Editor Blochensk stared with fear-bulged eyes. "Anything--anything +wrong, Your Excellency comrade?" he asked shakily. + +"Nothing I can't fix." + +"Oh!" The editor clutched his throat. "Thank--uh--uh--" + +"Never mind, I know Who you mean." Muttering words in Hell's silent +language, Nick walked completely around the press. "It's perfect, +Blochy. Don't let the content worry you. It's part of The PLAN. Roll +out your papers and deliver them fast. Don't question anything. Orders +from--you know." + +Only minutes ahead of the new Volonsky, Cletus had entered the lobby +of the Droshky Hotel on Red Square. The cherubic scout had obeyed +orders and made himself bellhop size, large size. He didn't exactly +resemble the one in the cigarette ad but he had the kid's twinkle in +his dark eyes. And he had already latched onto a luscious blonde; or, +more likely, Nick concluded, the reverse. + +Having just registered as a Persian prince, Cletus again clanked down +a large sack of gold pieces and a smaller one of jewels. "Put these +diamonds and rubies into your best safe," he ordered in perfect +Russian. + +The clerk's eyes began popping, so did the blonde's and those of a +score of spectators, including four hard-faced MVD boys. + +"And I'll take care of you, Honey-Navi," the blonde said. + +"Ah, you just love me for my two billion dollars," the imp retorted, +and winked at her. As did Nick, Cletus could plainly see the twist +operated on the MVD payroll as well as in her own interests. + +"I'm selling out my fifty oil wells," he announced, "and I've come to +town to see the head man, whoever he is today. I thought I'd let you +dumb _mujiks_ bid for the wells before I practically give them to +Super-San Oil company for a measly two hundred million dollars." + +"Of course, Prince Navi," the clerk said loudly. He nodded toward the +four tough lads who, likewise, had not yet noticed the great Volonsky. + +Nick rapped on the counter with his six-carat diamond ring. "How about +a little service here, comrade?" + +"One moment, comrade," the clerk said nervously. + +"What you mean, one moment?" Nick roared. "I haven't flown all the way +from New York to have a two-bit clerk tell me to wait. I represent +Super-San Oil and I'm here to meet a Persian Prince Navi." + +"Quiet, Amerikaner, till--Oh, Your Excellency Comrade Vychy Volonsky!" +The mouth of the astonished clerk fell open. Then, fearful of making a +wrong move in the Red game of dirty politics, he failed to guess why +the great one should act as a miserable capitalist. "A thousand +pardons, Your Excellency Comrade. What can I do for the beloved +comrade? I didn't recognize you--" + +"Hush, fool!" Nick looked toward Cletus just then gazing into the +blonde's blue eyes. + +The four MVD agents went into a quick huddle, then the one with a +broken nose bowed to the fake Volonsky. "If Your Excellency Comrade +will step aside with us, we'll explain this fool's mistake." + +"Put him in the can and question him tomorrow," Nick snarled. "Anybody +can see he's working for the filthy capitalists." + +"Of course, Your Excellency Comrade." Broken nose and his three pals +escorted Nick to a chair beside a column. "I'm Lieutenant Putov of the +MVD," he whispered. "We picked up this Prince Navi the instant he +entered, and have been watching him." + +"Skip the commercial," Nick said, almost laughing as he gave Moloch's +favorite expression. "How come you didn't spot him at one of our +airports?" + +"He must have landed on an abandoned field in his private plane, Your +Excellency Comrade." Lieutenant Putov glanced at the other three +equally worried looking plug-uglies. "He's a prince, all right. Look +at the gold and jewels he tossed to the clerk, several million dol--I +mean, several billion rubles. We haven't checked his story, but he +claims he's here to sell fifty Persian oil wells." + +"I know _that_, idiot. Our spies in Baghdad advised us yesterday. +That's why I pretend to be with the stinking Super-San--Wggh!" + +"What are Your Excellency Comrade's wishes?" + +"Get him away from that blonde before she ruins our plans." + +"Ah, that's Nishka, one of us." Astonishment widened Putov's watery +blue eyes. "Have you forgotten the night you and she drank--" + +"You talk too much, Putov." Nick flapped a hand. "Get a car to take me +and the prince to the Kremlin. Hurry it! Comrade Andrei Broncov and I +have a Council meeting at midnight. You three, bring the prince to me +here." + +Cletus and Nishka had withdrawn to a sofa in an alcove off the lobby. +Without effort, Nick could see them and hear the female agent saying: +"How do I know you have all that money, Navi-Honey? I'll bet you +brought gilt lead and fake jewels just to impress me." + +"No, but I've been to America," Cletus bragged, knowing well his boss +would be listening. "So be nice and I'll prove they're real. I've been +everywhere but this lousy place. I even lived in Egypt." + +"Talk some Egyptian for me," Nishka wheedled. + +"I've forgotten most of it," Cletus said, cannily dodging the trap. +"But I once made a study of the ancient language." He ripped out a +stream of what had once been his native tongue. Then, partly at least +to test Nishka's knowledge, he added in English, "How's for looking at +my room before we go out on the town?" + +"Wha-at? Why, you bad boy!" The girl winked at her three fellow agents +coming toward them in a crablike walk, then spoke in Cletus' ear: +"It's the LAW, Navi-Honey, but don't let them worry you. Little Nishka +will stay with you--to the limit." + +Cletus leered at her and rose to accompany the MVD to the front of the +lobby. He and Nick put on an act, then went to the street followed by +a chattering crowd. + +Once inside the sleek car Putov had conjured up, Nick said: "The heap +is wired so we'll talk only in Hell language." + + + + +IV + + +It wasn't far to the grim walls of the Kremlin, and as the big car +purred across the snowy, radio-stricken square, Nick gave Cletus the +main points of his plan. Obviously warned, the police gave a snappy +salute and let the car enter the courtyard. A few moments later, +Hell's emissaries were zooming through long corridors and up to the +second floor; walking the last fifty yards. + +Six husky guards armed with sub-machine guns opened the great doors to +the Premier's private study. "He's been asking for you," a huge guard +whispered. + +"He would, the brainless pup," Nick snarled, reading the big fellow's +thoughts. A Volonsky man called Gorkzy. "Don't announce us." + +Inside the great room, at a desk almost large enough for a roller +skating rink, Andrei Broncov appeared to be studying a document. True +executive, he went on reading till Nick coughed. + +"Your Excellency Comrade Broncov, I have brought Prince Navi. Where is +the rest of the Council?" + +"Ah!" Broncov's plump face widened in a smile for Cletus. "This is an +honor, Your Highness. I trust you will pardon my preoccupation with +affairs of state. They're in a mess--as are all capitals when the old +order departs. I supposed you'd be announced." Andrei Broncov glared +at the pseudo Volonsky and whispered in a dialect, "The Council is +waiting below, fool." + +"Nuts," Cletus said. "Talk English, will you? I can hardly understand +your outlandish language. Or, speak Persian." + +"My knowledge of your native tongue is not good, but I'm quite at home +in English or Amerikaner. A Russian invented--" + +"Yeah, he knows," Nick cut in. "Forget the malarkey, Bronco. This lad +is here on business and has no time for our phoney hooptedo. From his +grandfather, the old Shah, he inherited fifty of the richest oil wells +in Asia, and he's giving us a chance to bid on them instead of +carrying on a, quote, cold, unquote, war, and steal--" + +"I understand," Broncov said through his big teeth. His lips tightened +in his rage over Volonsky's direct speech, but he managed to say +fairly suavely: "Your Highness, we appreciate your giving us a chance +to buy your wells. Surely, a banquet is in order." + +"No, I want to get out of this place. It's too cold." + +Nick peered over his Volonsky nose-glasses. "How much, kid? No +fooling." + +"Volonsky!" Broncov barked. "Mind your speech. I'll handle this little +deal. You're excused." + +"Uh-uh." Nick grinned. "I stay for _my_ cut." + +"You both look like a couple of crooks to me," said the young prince. +"I want two hundred million dollars--in gold." + +Broncov's hand shook as he reached for a row of buttons. "How about a +bit of tea and cakes, or, perhaps something stronger before we discuss +this matter with the Council? They're waiting just below us, and I'd +like to present the deal already consummated." + +"Got any Old Style Lager around?" Cletus asked. + +"We have some good Bavarian beer, a stock we--ah--bought some time +ago." + +"I've heard how much you paid the Heinies. The beer I want is made in +Wisconsin, USA, so I think I'll fly over there tonight. Super-San Oil +keeps begging me to visit their country. Offered me two hundred +million for my wells but only half in gold. I want all gold, and I +won't discuss any other terms." + +"Bungler!" Broncov whispered in dialect. "Why didn't you get him +drunk, first? Without oil we can't carry on this cold war or kid the +peasants much longer. Where in hell could we get even two hundred +dollars in gold?" + +"Go to hell and find all you want," Nick said with a wicked grin. + +"I understood what you high-binders said," Cletus put in. "My cousin +told me before I left home Communist clucks don't savvy Saturday from +Sunday. Everybody knows you top boys have stolen everything not nailed +down, and have stashed it away against the time your own people kick +out Communism for good." + +"Oh, come, Prince Navi, I don't understand how such an evil story +started. Our people wouldn't dare--" + +"Wouldn't they?" Cletus laughed nastily. "We have spies too, and we +know your common herd would settle for anything else. Most of them +want their church and their Tsar back, bad as he was." + +"Bah! The capitalist press started that myth." + +"Why, Bronco," Nick protested, "you can read that story in Pravda, +'The Organ of Truth.'" The fake Minister of Culture cleared his throat +to keep from laughing when the glowering Premier began thinking of +various ways to torture unsympathetic comrades. In silent Hell +language, Nick added: "Good work, Cleet. I'll take it from here." + +"Lies put out by the war mongerers of Wall Street," Broncov shouted. +He continued raving, but Nick no longer listened. + +Sounds outside the window told him time had begun pressing. He shook +the hat he'd been carrying. "Gold, is it you want, Prince Navi? You +think we have none? How about this?" + +A glittering gold piece tinkled on the floor and rolled toward the +amazed Red Premier. Puffing, he bent over and scooped up a newly +minted coin the size of the American gold eagle. "It's a new +issue--I--never mind. We have lots more where this came from, haven't +we, comrade Vychy?" + +"I'll say," Nick said. "Watch!" + +Gold pieces continued falling from the hat, one by one, then in a +steady stream. Stunned, Broncov clutched his throat, muttering: "It +can't be true. Miracles don't happen." + +He watched in silence while his Minister of Culture made a pile of +gold coins four feet high. When the floor timbers began creaking, Nick +made another similar heap; then, others, till the thick walls began +bulging inward. + +"Stop!" Broncov cried. "A couple of tons is enough." Eyes now popping, +he waved his arms as the floor sagged under fifty times that weight. +"There's the two hundred million for you, Prince. The rest is for--us. +We'll sign the papers in another room." + +Ignoring frightened cries, Nick made more piles of gold next to the +windows. Outside on Red Square, people were running in all directions, +shouting and waving newspapers. A cannon roared. A hundred or more +machine guns began rattling. Plainly, the bullets were not fired at +any one, for the people were laughing and weeping, singing and +dancing. + +"Come here and have a look, Bronco," Nick suggested. + +"It's--a trick, a revolution," Broncov panted. "Damn you, Volonsky, +you started it." He snatched a heavy revolver from his desk and fired +it at Nick without warning. + +The false Volonsky laughed when five of the slugs bounced off the +invisible shield around him. A sixth bullet splintered the window +glass. The other five returned and struck the raging Red boss, cutting +his face and arms enough to bring streams of blood. He dashed for the +door but collided with the six guards who burst into the room. + +Broncov wiped off some of the blood running into his eyes well enough +to see all six waving copies of Pravda. "What's going on here?" he +screamed. + +"Read about it in Pravda," bellowed Gorkzy, the huge guard. "It always +prints the truth--you've taught us." + +"What truth?" quavered the Premier. "Put down those guns!" + +"Oh, no. Pravda says you were shot trying to escape, and for once it +really told the truth." Implacably, the big guard brought up his +Tommy-gun and let it rattle. + +The stricken Red leader took two steps backward and fell to the floor +as the other five guns opened up on him in a hell's chatter of death. +His falling weight added the last straw to the overstrained floor +timbers. They gave way in a roar, and a hundred tons of yellow gold +streamed downward in a cataclysmic wave of wealth and death to the +Council members below. + + * * * * * + +Poised on air, Nick and Cletus became invisible to mortal eyes. "That +wraps it, Cleet. Let's see how the boys take it." + +The six guards were peering down into the ruin below, and at some of +the fortune still clinging to the slanting floor. + +"Great Nicholas!" Gorkzy yelled. "Gold!" + +"Just like Pravda says," howled another man. "Listen! It says: +'Volonsky and the mysterious Persian prince have disappeared. Broncov +executed by heroic guards. All members of the once-feared Inner +Council crushed almost beyond recognition when floor crashed upon them +from the weight of the gold brought by the prince.'" + +"And look at this!" roared the big Gorkzy. "'All soldiers and police +throw down their arms. Refuse to shoot the people shouting they want +their Tsar and church back. Satellite countries freed of the odious +Communist yoke. Concentration camps, collective farming, and slave +labor abolished. All spies and saboteurs recalled to Moscow for trial +and punishment. Ivan, the Tsar, to issue proclamation.'" + +"What Tsar?" The six stared stupidly at one another. + +One man picked up a shiny gold piece and tested it with his teeth. +"The Bolsheviks murdered the old goat and all his family. How can this +be?" + +"He probably left plenty of bastards," another man hazarded. + +"I get it," Gorkzy shouted. "Prince Navi is a grandson. His name is +N-a-v-i--Ivan spelled backward. Why, the smart little devil! And now +he's here some place to reign over us." + +"Oh, no," Cletus protested as he and Nick slithered through the wall. +"You aren't going to make me rule over these dopes, boss. Have a +heart. It's cold here, and the whole country stinks." + +"That's your punishment, m'lad, for letting Raphael and Michael catch +onto you. You can't prowl around Heaven just now so you'll have to +work here in Hell's Rear Annex for a while. Look!" Nick thumbed one of +the gold pieces. "Your image stamped on all of them. Also 'Ivan--Tsar. +In God We Trust.'" + +"Okay," Cletus said, shuffling a little, then brightening. "Anyhow, +I'll have Nishka." + +"Not if the common folks find out she worked for the MVD." As if to +punctuate Nick's prophesy, a dozen bombs exploded inside police +headquarters. + +"Heck!" Cletus shrugged resignedly. "Well, lend me that hat, and +conjure up a couple million tons of soap--not perfumed." + +Roaring with laughter, Nick promised to spread soap over the entire +country, then watched the little imp zooming back and forth across Red +Square--sprinkling the snowy pavement with Ivan-Tsar pieces of gold. + + * * * * * + +The Satanic laughter lasted till Nick had whizzed half way across +Chaos. "That caper," he told himself gleefully, "will fool The BBU +about my plan. Or, will it? Great Hades! I did a _good_ deed." + +A million miles above the wastes of Chaos, he remembered he still wore +Volonsky whose shade would still be imprisoned in the Pravda room. +Nick shucked out of his unpleasant quarters, halted to watch the thing +spinning downward. + +"Cheer up, Vych," he laughed. "Next century I'll gather up what's left +and give it back to you--maybe." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SATAN AND THE COMRADES *** + +***** This file should be named 31349-8.txt or 31349-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/4/31349/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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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