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the screens, men, some looking fearful and others simply puzzled, were hurrying along corridors.
Prof turned his attention to a different control desk. "Is this the one?" he asked their little Nazi guide.
"Yes, it is."
"Okeydokes." Prof clicked a switch. "Well, isn't that nifty. The June Robbins Show."
A small television screen had come to life before him, showing the room June had been placed in.
Twisting a dial, activating another switch, Prof picked up a hand microphone from the desk. "This is the
voice of Christmas Past, June Robbins, and I'd like to complain about the ski sweater you gave me back
in 1974. I mean, a pattern of leaping ballerinas, while fetching, isn't exactly
"Prof?" On the screen the blonde girl's eyes went wide; she was glancing around her cell.
"Currently doing business as the U.S. Cavalry to the rescue," Prof spoke into the mike. "You okay,
princess?"
"Yes, but... don't come in here. Are you right outside my cell, or what?"
"In the neighborhood, let us say. Why can't we spring you?"
"It's Denny Yewell; he is one of them," explained
June. "When he tossed me in the prison wing here, he implied there was some kind of booby trap
awaiting you if you tried to bail me out."
"No specifics?"
"Nope."
"Fear not, we'll find out. Hang on."
"It's disconcerting trying to talk to you like this, Prof. I don't know where to look."
"Look heavenward, my child, and you can't go wrong. We'll get to you soonest. Bye." He flipped a
switch; the pretty girl's image faded away. "What kind of booby trap might they set in those cells?" Prof
asked the small Nazi.
"I do not know."
"They're all in the auditorium," announced Ace, "except for a guy who must be Shuster, and Denny
Yewell ... he is a double agent."
"So I hear." Frowning, Prof went over to stare up at the multiple images. "Looks like Yewell and
Shuster are heading for elsewhere."
"They must have," said Ace, "tumbled to the fact something's wrong."
"Marine Exit Room," Prof read off one of the screens. "They're hurrying into the room. Hey, what's in
there?" he called toward their controlled Nazi.
The talkative technician supplied the answer. "We keep several miniature subs there, to be utilized in the
event all other escape routes are cut off. The subs can be launched directly into the waters of the lake."
"Ace, can you handle locking the rest of the gang in the auditorium?"
"Doing it now," Ace answered from another of tine control desks.
"I'll tag Yewell and Shuster." Prof ran for the door. "June's cell is booby-trapped, so go easy." "Right."
"You," said the helpful technician, "better be careful yourself, my friend. There's no telling what you
may encounter in the deeps of Lake Sombra."
"Oh, it's probably the monster's day off." Prof gave them all a mock salute before sprinting from the
room.
"First time I've ever had a host do that."
"Kee-rist! What do you think did the poor bastard in?"
Red, clutching the bars of their cage, and watching the fallen body of the late Escabar, said, "He was
bragging about playing some sort of trick on the illustrious General Cuerpo. Could be Cuerpo played
one on him."
"Politics," said Rocky. "It's worse in South America than it is in the U.S.A. even."
Red turned, leaning his back against the bars. "Feel strong enough to bend a few of these?"
"I can try, but I don't guarantee anything." Tentatively, the big man took hold of one of the iron bars.
After more than a minute of straining and grunting, he relaxed his grip. "Going to take a lot of time."
Red moved to the lock mechanism in the cell door. "Very complicated lock," he concluded after a
hunkered examination of it. "Going to be rough to pick without any of our tools."
"Wait now." Rocky poked a thumb in the direction of the corpse. "Somebody, sooner or later, is going to
miss this bird. They'll come looking, we'll wait our chance and jump 'em."
"Who?"
"Us. We jump 'em when they show."
"I meant who do we jump, even if we got a chance?"
"Escabar's gang, his flunkies."
"Rocky, we don't even know for sure if he had a
gang-" "
"He's got to have somebody else here in this joint."
"The only other inhabitant of this castle we've seen, besides our recently deceased host, was a robot
dog."
"Okay, so maybe his servants and staff are robots, too. We wait till they come in and we jump them."
"Nobody may ever come here."
Rocky's head tilted back on his thick neck. "Aw, that's a spooky thought, Red. I don't want to hang
around here with no corpse."
Red unbuckled his belt. "Then we better get out."
"What you going to try, picking the lock with your belt buckle? That'll take as long as me bending the
bars."
"Give me your belt, too."
"Two belt buckles won't work any bet "
"Hand it over; come on." When Red had both of the wide white belts tied together, he made a loop at
the end of one. "We'll see now if the defunct Escabar, AKA Otto Wenzler, has anything on him which
will aid our cause."
"A cowboy trick, huh?"
Red flung the looped end of the belt toward the supine body. The loop hit the stone floor several inches
from Escabar's foot. Two more pitches were even less successful.
"Kee-rist, let me do that."
"Hell, I can "
"111 do it." Rocky shoved his partner aside, assumed the manipulating of the improvised lasso. "There
she goes. Ha! First try."
"Remind me I owe you a cigar. Or would you rather take a Kewpie doll?"
The loop had hooked over the toe of one of Escabar s shoes, slid down as far as the instep. Brows knit,
the big ex-wrestler began, very slowly and carefully, to pull the dead man across the floor to them.
"That's a boy, Escabar, come along now. That's it," Rocky crooned to the corpse as he reeled it closer.
All at once Rocky went bicycling backward.
Thunkl
"Loop came loose," said Red.
"Yeah, I deduced as much." Grunting up, Rocky returned to the bars. "Aw, I don't need this lasso no
more." He thrust an arm through the bars, extended his thick fingers and managed to catch the tip of one
of the dead man's shoes. "Come on, come on. That's the boy, we're moving again. Come on, Eskie.
That's the way to go."
Rocky succeeded in getting the body lined up against the bars.
Red said, "I'll search him. I've got a light touch."
Rocky got out of his way. "Go ahead. I ain't no ghoul."
"Gold cigarette lighter, box of Turkish cigarettes, bottle of some sort of pills, six keys on a chain . . .
yeah, this may do it." Red's grin grew smaller and smaller as he tried the keys on the lock. When he
reached the sixth key, he was grinning not at all. "None of these works."
"Okay, let me frisk him." Down on his knees, Rocky set his big hand to exploring the dead man's
clothes. "Now this is more like it, a key all by itself." Chuckling, he stood to toss the key to Red. "Don't
stand to reason he's going to keep the dungeon key with the others since it ain't probably one he's going
to use as much. See, you got to figure "
"This is the right one."
The lock gave a satisfying click, the door swung outward with a push from Red. "Amnesty time."
"We ain't out of the woods yet," reminded Rocky, following his Challenger teammate out of the cell.
"We maybe still got to tackle a bunch of Nazis or a whole castle full of goofy robots before we get out
of here."
The dog didn't stir.
It was lying on its side beside the deep fireplace. The last of the logs was now only glowing fragments.
Rocky, attempting to walk on tiptoe, approached the German shepherd. "Didn't Escabar build this one to
jump people?"
With a final scan of the empty hallway, Red came into the beam-ceilinged living room. "That's a real
dog."
"Naw, can't be." Rocky bent, poked a finger into the animal's furry side. "Kee-rist, it is . . . and the damn
thing's dead." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]