Flying reminded Dodge of Molly.
Molly Rose Shannon, the adopted daughter of Captain Falcon’s one-time teammate, Father Nathan Hobbs, had taught Dodge how to fly. She had also won his heart.
Then she had broken it.
He didn’t blame her for her decision to remain in India, where she was working to help the outcastes known as ‘the untouchables.’ It had been the only way she could think of to cope with the grief of losing her father, and Dodge would not have dreamed of taking that away from her. In the weeks since, he’d managed to stop thinking about her all the time, keeping busy with writing the Captain Falcon serial and helping Dr. Newcombe get back on his feet after losing his job with the War Department. He had come up with some very effective strategies for coping with the times when he felt her absence more acutely. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do now to get her out of his head.
Except perhaps worry about his other friends: Doc Newcombe, abducted, whereabouts unknown; Hurricane Hurley, arrested on an island in the middle of the Atlantic… What hornets’ nest did you poke a stick in this time, Hurricane?
Worry about my friends, or mope over a lost love? Not much of a choice. He glanced over at Anya and wished that she would say something, talk about the weather, which was mind-numbingly becalmed, or pontificate about the evils of colonialism and capitalism… anything, but she remained as still and quiet as the Sphinx.
He shook his head and checked his chronometer. Time for a navigational radio check. Just six more hours until they reached their destination.
It was late afternoon when the Catalina finally set down near Horta harbor. Dodge felt almost too tired to leave the pilot’s chair, but when he caught sight of a pair of familiar faces waiting on the dock, he shook off the fatigue and hastened to meet them.
“Hurricane!” he called. “Where are the handcuffs?”
The big man smiled broadly, sweeping Dodge into a bear hug. “Rumors of my incarceration have been greatly exaggerated.”
Nora blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry. I got a little excited when the gendarmes detained Brian.”
“So you did get arrested?”
“Not exactly.” Hurley cast a suspicious eye toward Anya as she strolled along the dock to join them, but then returned his attention to his friend. “You must be tuckered out. We’ve got a room at the hotel. I’ll tell you the story as we walk.”
Dodge wasn’t a bit surprised to learn that Hurley and Nora had been shadowed by Japanese men — spies, no doubt, working for or with Uchida.
“After that fella skedaddled, the gendarmes didn’t know what to think, so they locked me up until they could sort it out. Once I explained that we were just innocent victims of an unprovoked attack, they let me go. Unfortunately, the clipper had already flown on without us.”
“Did the police find the man that attacked you?”
“Vanished off the face of the earth. He and his friend also missed the plane, so they’ve got to be somewhere on the island.” Hurley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, the way that fella fought… it was like the Padre. He knew exactly where to hit me to take me down.”
Dodge winced a little at the memory of his friend who was both a Catholic priest and master of Oriental martial arts. Father Hobbs had made the ultimate sacrifice to protect humanity from an otherworldly horror, and while Dodge honored his choice, the priest’s decision had cost Dodge two friends.
“Something else, too,” Hurley continued. “I think these Jap fellows could be almost invisible if they wanted to.”
Dodge looked around reflexively, wondering if the Japanese spies were perhaps lurking nearby, listening to everything they said. Finally, he turned back to Hurley. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, but I’m beat. We’ve got a lot more flying ahead of us, and since I’m our only pilot, I need to sleep in a bad way.”
Hurricane smiled broadly. “You mean you’re going to leave me to entertain these lovely ladies all by my lonesome? How will I ever manage?”
“I’m sure if anyone is up to the task, it’s you.” Dodge laughed along with the big man, but secretly he wondered just how well Hurley’s charms would fare against Anya’s inscrutable nature. Would he have better luck cracking her shell?
Early the next morning, the Catalina took to the skies bearing four travelers instead of two. Dodge was grateful to have Hurricane at his side once more. Not only was the big man considerably more conversational than Anya, he also provided some much needed perspective on their situation and what to do next.
Not surprisingly, Anya had been as forthcoming with Hurricane as she had with Dodge, but at least she had brought him and Nora up to speed on all that had transpired since their parting in New York. And while Dodge slept, Hurley went to work establishing their itinerary. Thanks to the advent of the telephone, he was able to make arrangements for refueling the plane, lodgings and a guide to take them to the ruins of Alamut.
The trip from New York to Horta harbor covered a distance of more than 2,200 nautical miles. The distance separating the Azores from their destination in Persia, the modern nation of Iran, was nearly twice that, so the decision was made to break the journey into two legs. The first stop, not quite halfway, was in Naples, Italy. Late the following day, the Catalina set down in Pahlavi Bay near the port city of Bandar-e Pahlavi.
As they disembarked, they were greeted by a middle-aged man wearing a black suit that perfectly matched his hair and bushy mustache. He drew close, then held his right hand over his heart and inclined his head. “Ba drood. Welcome, my friends. I am Rahman Gilani.”
Dodge mirrored the gesture and introduced himself and his companions. Rahman was the expediter recommended to Hurley by the American consulate in Tehran.
“I have made all the necessary arrangements to depart in the morning,” Rahman explained. “The journey to Qazvin will not take long, but to reach your destination — the ruins of Alamut castle — it will be difficult. It is only about sixty miles from Qazvin, but the roads through the mountains are not well maintained.”
“Then I guess we’d better get an early start,” Hurricane said.
Rahman nodded. “I will take you to your hotel.”
The Persian drove them to a hotel and joined them for dinner in order to review the details of their expedition. Over a meal of caviar, olives, sturgeon kebabs and a stew which Rahman called fesenjen, Dodge broached a subject that had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since Anya had established their destination.
“So what are we going to do once we get to Alamut?” He put the question out for general discussion, but his eyes were on Anya; she was calling the tune, and he hoped she had something more specific to offer than simply ‘go there and look around.’
The statuesque blonde met his gaze, but offered little useful information. “Barron believes there is a hidden repository somewhere in the ruins. Scrolls and other documents that were concealed from invaders long ago, and then forgotten.”
“If they’re hidden so well,” Hurricane intoned, “then we’re not likely to find them under a rock.”
Rahman inclined his head. “You are correct. I fear you will have a long and possibly fruitless task ahead of you.”
Nora, who had been preoccupied with taking notes in her journal for most of the journey, now jumped in. “Maybe I can narrow things down a bit. I’m a pretty fair researcher.”
“There are some historical documents in the library here at the hotel,” Rahman replied. “But I suspect you will find little that will be useful to you in your search.”