Doc Savage: The Ice Genius (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 12) (31 page)

“The point is,” he said stubbornly, “that I keep my promises.”

“Oh, Bill,” she said with a deep hurt in her voice. “You don’t understand. This thing is bigger than your promises. You must lift your head, look around you. Responsibility as an American must mean something to you—something powerful, compelling. You must realize you’re no longer one dog in a dog-eat-dog world, so you can’t continue to center your interest on Number One Dog.”

Monk interjected, “I couldn’t of said it any better myself.”

Distractedly, Bill ran his fingers through his hair and groaned, “We got to get out of this mess.”

Monk asked, “You still got that cloud-hopper plane of yours?”

“Yeah, parked at the airfield south of the city.”

“We were kinda hopin’ that plane would be our ticket out of Hanoi.”

Bill looked distracted, but asked, “How many are with you?”

“Counting Doc and Long Tom over there—six.”

“That’s eight with Anne and me. We’ll be overloaded, but we can probably get off the ground if we all eat light and hold our breaths.”

Long Tom spoke for the first time in his natural voice. “Swell. When can we start?”

“Let me go back to my hotel and clear up some things.”

“What things?” Anne asked worriedly.

“General Miyagi expects me to sign a certain contract. I need to destroy it.”

“How do you know you weren’t followed here?” asked Monk suspiciously.

Long Tom answered that. “I kept a sharp eye peeled. We weren’t followed.”

“I did the same,” added Bill. With that, he barked, “Give me an hour. I’ll be back.”

Long Tom blocked his escape, fists tightening. “How do we know you won’t give us up to the enemy?”

Making his own fists hard, Bill growled, “I keep my promises, remember? Now step aside or I’ll paste you one.”

“Let him go, Long Tom,” said Monk. “He’s on our side.”

“Count on it.”

With that promise, Bill Saxon slipped outside and mingled with the pedestrian traffic of Hanoi. He walked aimlessly through the narrow streets in the gray morning light. He was disgusted with himself for his folly, his indecision. He wandered along the river waterfront where short, bloated steamers with a draft of no more than six or seven feet of water were disgorging troops like brown ants.

Bill studied their stiff, expressionless faces. The Japanese were mobilizing for something big.

That settled it. He knew what he had to do. Having made his decision, Bill returned to his hotel as fast as his long legs could carry him—and crashed headlong into catastrophe.

Chapter XLII

FOR BROKE

NO ONE COULD miss the olive-colored armored car which stood in front of Bill Saxon’s hotel, two Rising Sun flags affixed to the radiator.
Click!
went Bill Saxon’s brain, and he stopped dead. This was Miyagi’s car. A military chauffeur sat stiffly behind the wheel. General Miyagi had returned!

With shocking certainty, Bill Saxon understood why Miyagi was in his hotel. That damned Filipino valet of his! He was probably a Jap agent. Why else did he fail to hand him a newspaper upon his return, or volunteer the small fact that America had declared war on Japan? With the fanatic zeal of admirers of the current Emperor of Japan, the valet must have appointed himself a one-man Gestapo and ratted on him.

Bad, this was. As Bill’s mind slowly explored the ugly probabilities that would result now, he was appalled.

Stunned, he stood in a cold sweat. And now the urge to act was flowing up in him, becoming a hot pressure. He carefully restrained the passionate impulse to blind anger. He could do this well, putting a cool control on his mind in an emergency; it was an ability he had long ago mastered, and had done much to put him where he was now. Rage crawled vainly in his muscles.

Saxon crossed the street in a casual walk and entered his hotel. The telephones were in the lobby. They were—thank Joseph!—now working. He telephoned his valet and used short sentences and profane words, so there would be no doubt in the treacherous valet’s mind about the urgency.

“Now, get moving!” finished Bill. “And if you fall down on the job, I’m going to beat the hell out of you.”

After that, Saxon sat in an empty brown leather chair in the lobby, holding a newspaper someone had left behind. He smoked his pipe. His only nervousness was in his long legs, which he kept crossing and uncrossing. It took a long time.

General Miyagi stepped out of the elevator; he straightaway exited the hotel, a soldier walking briskly behind him. They got into the armored car, Miyagi taking the commodious back seat, the aide turning down an auxiliary seat to sit facing him. He carried the document case.

Bill crossed the sidewalk. He opened the door of the armored car, and swung inside. He growled, “I’m going along.” And he turned down the seat beside the soldier for himself.

The hard-faced soldier had drawn a pistol and was holding it tight against his hip, but with the muzzle pointed downward.

AT FIRST, no one spoke. Amazement had spread a flatly blank expression on General Miyagi’s face; he was adapting himself slowly to the new situation, and not very agreeably. He did not like this. But then Bill Saxon had not expected him to like it. However, Bill had staked everything on the momentarily important fact that he was a man who could find oil, and therefore to be coddled. The number of that gamble won.

“Isogu ni wa oyobani,”
General Miyagi ordered the driver. “Drive slowly,” he repeated in English, so that Saxon would know everything was still calm.

The car moved ahead, running like a truck, with a solid tone of steel.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Miyagi. “I thought we were friends.”

“What were you doing back at my hotel so soon?” Saxon asked him.

The General looked uncomfortable. His lips compressed in silence.

So Bill let the cat out of the bag. “I finally heard about the ambush on Pearl Harbor.”

General Miyagi shifted his eyes to and fro, said coolly, “What has this to do with our business arrangement?”

“You know that it has everything to do with it!” snapped Bill.

The General said, “You will sign the contract. There is no choice in the matter. Not for you, and neither for me. It must be done.”

Bill sat there, saying nothing for the longest time as the armored car trundled through the colorful streets of downtown Hanoi.

Then he made his move. The soldier was easy. Bill Saxon just grabbed the gun and held it fast with his left hand while he half turned to bring his right fist around. After that, his knuckles hurt, but it was a good hurting, and the gun barrel—the soldier’s weapon—made a decisive sound on General Miyagi’s head, and another sound, equally decisive on the driver’s head. The car ran wild against the building, but it was an armored machine so that was not important. Bill Saxon was already climbing behind the wheel. The chauffeur had banged his head against the windshield, and clutched his head as if dazed. Bill cured his headache with a roundhouse right.

As he sent the armored car back into traffic, Bill muttered under his breath. “Think I can pull this off.”

Excitement flew with him after that. It beat its hot wings close overhead during the whole tense, fast drive through the noisy city, to the Pagoda of the Great Buddha.

Chapter XLIII

INVASION

BILL SAXON PULLED up near the ivory-gated Pagoda of the Great Buddha, and slipped out as quietly as he could. He reached the side entrance, eased inside, and was quietly taken to Monk Mayfair by the silent abbot in saffron.

This time Monk was in the company of Doc Savage and the other members of the fugitive group. Anne stood with them, looking somehow radiantly pale. There was also a tired-looking pet pig, who looked as if he had traveled hard.

“No time for introductions,” Saxon told him rapidly. “I just commandeered General Miyagi’s armored car. It’s waiting outside with Miyagi and two of his polite monkeys flat on the floorboards.”

“Will it accommodate us all?” asked Doc Savage in his remarkably vibrant voice.

“Not easily. But we have to chance it.”

Since he was still disguised as a local Annamese gentleman, Long Tom went out first to investigate. He came back wearing the Japanese chauffeur’s crisp military uniform.

That was when they made a break for it. Going in groups of two, they ran down to the waiting armored car and piled in.

Climbing into the back, Doc Savage took the seat next to General Miyagi and propped him up as if he were conscious, holding him in place with one strong fist.

Long Tom took the wheel. His make-up enabled him to pass for a Japanese flunky. The others hunkered down as best they could. Since this was an official car, it was unlikely to be challenged.

They drove straight for the flying field, and got in the line to the gate. Military vehicles hastily got out of their way to make room for the General’s car to go on ahead. This helped enormously.

Coming to the guard at the gate, Doc Savage employed ventriloquism to make it sound as if Long Tom was speaking perfect Japanese. Long Tom kept his head down and his cap visor pulled low so the imposture would get by. He moved his lips soundlessly.

They were waved on through, and Bill Saxon provided directions to the hangar where the plane was waiting.

There was another difficult moment where they had to leave the vehicle in order to enter the hangar and take possession of the aircraft.

This went smoothly, however.

They left the General and the unconscious military chauffeur and soldier on the floorboards, where they were not likely to be discovered any time soon.

Doc Savage took the controls, and began familiarizing himself with them. Monk and Renny ran corrugated hangar doors open as the others climbed on board.

Engine howling, the trim high-winged ship pulled itself out onto the runway, lined up and started scooting along, hopping and bouncing until the tail lifted and she went straining up into the open sky.

No one spoke during this maneuver, and more than one passenger held their breath. Anne kept her eyes closed, lips moving silently in prayer.

“We made it!” Bill said cheerfully.

“Good thing, too,” breathed Anne beside him.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” grinned Bill.

“What she means,” inserted Ham, “was that if we were discovered, we would all have been shot as civilian spies.”

Bill blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about it that way. I guess this being at war with the Japanese is just starting to sink in.”

“We’re still gettin’ used to it ourselves,” admitted Monk.

A renewed silence once more overtook the cockpit as Doc Savage banked and pointed the smart-looking ship west.

Ham Brooks broke the silence when he asked, “Where are we headed, Doc?”

“Between the Vichy French and the Japanese, most of Asia is in enemy hands. Hong Kong and the Philippines are out of the question. So is Cambodia. We will make a run for Burma and hope it works out.”

“I’ll settle for any place the Japs don’t have their boots planted,” said Bill Saxon.

Anne gave him a comforting hug as Doc Savage turned the plane west in the direction of Burma.

REACHING Rangoon, the capital, was no milk run. They ran out of fuel twice and had to evade a Japanese air patrol once. Since Bill Saxon’s plane was a civilian ship, it was not shot down.

But it was challenged.

Doc Savage took the radio microphone and attempted explanations in perfect Japanese. When they questioned him, he gave them an argument.

That, miraculously enough, fooled the pilots, and they were not pursued.

“Those Zeros are operatin’ awful close to the Burmese border,” said Monk Mayfair.

Anne said crisply, “The Japanese are spreading throughout Asia. They took Shanghai and Thailand, interning British, American and other nationals they considered the enemy. It’s the most horrid thing you can imagine.”

Renny rumbled, “Them pipsqueaks have gone for broke, taking on practically the whole world.”

“Yeah, but they’re in for a pastin’ now that we’re in the fight,” promised Monk. “Right, Habeas?”

The pig grunted as if in porcine agreement.

FINALLY, they made it to Rangoon, landing at the Mingaladon airfield, which was maintained by the British Royal Air Force.

Doc Savage had radioed ahead, to arrange a meeting with American military officials who were stationed there, coordinating lend-lease to the Nationalist Chinese.

A Major Dunn met them.

“Washington has been worried about you, Savage.” He said it as if it were an accusation of desertion.

Doc said, “My men and I ran into some trouble over Manchukuo, and were downed. We managed to evade capture, and make our way to Hanoi, finally reaching Rangoon, thanks to Bill Saxon.”

“Well, you are in luck, Savage. The supply ship
Tulsa
has docked here. I will see about getting you back to the States, where you belong.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Doc. “During our flight, we discovered an army being massed to attack the free Chinese territories. An army of Mongol horse cavalry, led by a man calling himself Tamerlane, after the historic conqueror. He has mobilized a growing force for the sweep south.”

“You don’t say! The Generalissimo will be very interested to hear about this.”

Doc cut him off. “My men and I want to fly back to quell this army before it gets out of hand.”

A frown darkened the officer’s weathered features. “I doubt the War Department will go for it, Savage. They want you safe and sound on American soil as soon as possible. Your brains are needed for the war effort.”

“If this army is not stopped, China could fall to the Japanese,” insisted Doc.

Major Dunn looked troubled. “The only way back is by air. You know that. Even if the generals are agreeable, getting you a flyable aircraft will be tough. Very tough. Practically impossible.”

“I prefer a bomber,” said Doc, brooking no argument.

Major Dunn whistled sharply. “The brass may tell me to inform you that you are getting too big for your britches.”