“That’s your idea of ‘Real Adventures’?”
“Artistic license,” Lafayette answered smoothly. “The audience isn’t sophisticated enough to know the difference, much less care.”
“Really? I guess that’s the difference between us, Mr. Lafayette. I don’t harbor contempt for my readers.”
If he took offense, Lafayette gave no indication. He seemed impervious to any kind of character assault. Beardsley quickly stepped forward, as if he feared the men might come to blows, but it was Nora Holloway who broke the uncomfortable silence. “Actually, Dr. Newcombe tells us that your real-life adventures are quite exciting.”
Dodge shot a look at the scientist, who quickly shook his head and raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I only mentioned that we’ve had some narrow scrapes.”
She flashed her smile again — a sincere, almost pleading smile. “I’d love to hear all about them.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” boomed Lafayette. “Miss Holloway is my secretary and researcher. She should spend some time getting to know all about you. It will lend a modicum of verisimilitude to our endeavor.”
“That’s a mighty big word,” remarked Hurricane, surreptitiously winking at Dodge. “I don’t reckon I even know what it means. Is that how sophisticated folks talk?”
For the first time, Lafayette’s facade seemed to crack a bit. “I meant to say it will…ah, be more authentic…believable…”
Dodge enjoyed watching the bombastic writer squirm under Hurley’s scrutiny. The big man was a lot smarter than most people gave him credit for, but it wasn’t his intellect that made ordinary men tremble. However, Lafayette’s momentary discomfort did little to put Dodge at ease. He glanced at Newcombe, who seemed perplexed by the level of tension in the room, and knew that no matter what was said, he would have to accept the new arrangement. He owed the scientist that much.
Only a few weeks earlier, Findlay Newcombe, sometime science advisor to the President, had been happily conducting research in a top secret laboratory on the grounds of Fort George Meade in Maryland, seeking to unravel the secrets of a technology recovered from the ruins of a lost civilization. And then Dodge had shown up and ruined his life. The Nazi agent, bent on locating the outpost where those secrets had been unearthed, had launched a series of attacks against Dodge and his friends. Separated from the others, Dodge had turned to Newcombe. The scientist had grudgingly agreed to follow Dodge literally to the ends of the earth, and had proven instrumental in keeping the technology out of the enemy’s hands. Unfortunately, for the military and governmental officials who had overseen Newcombe’s work, that happy outcome wasn’t good enough. Newcombe had broken their rules, and could no longer be trusted. To avoid embarrassment, the military had decided not to pursue criminal charges against Dodge and Newcombe, but any goodwill that Dodge had earned rescuing the President from his kidnappers had been completely used up. That was of little consequence to Dodge and Hurley, but Newcombe had no safety net. His exile extended beyond the secret research conducted by the War Department, to prevent him from getting work in academia. The Road to Tomorrow column had been just the thing to lift him out of his despondency, and eased Dodge’s guilt for having upset the balance of Newcombe’s life. There was no way he was going to let Beardsley take that away too.
Dodge finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “There’s not much to say, Miss Holloway. My ‘real adventures’ aren’t that interesting, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Perhaps we could—”
Dodge turned away from her and addressed the editor. “If there’s nothing more Max, I think I’ll call it a night.”
Beardsley looked less than happy, but gave a satisfied nod. Before he could say anything however, the door to the conference room opened. The editor opened his mouth, presumably to bark at the intruders, but no sound came out. His unlit stogie fell to the floor as he gaped in disbelief.
Hurricane reacted quicker than anyone, whirling around and crouching into a defensive posture, as if preternaturally sensing that they were all in great danger.
His premonition was right on the mark. Standing in the entrance were two figures — probably men judging by their builds — wearing dark clothes with faces concealed behind balaclava masks. That should have been cause enough for concern, but Dodge’s attention was instantly drawn to the object one of the men held in his right hand — a large firecracker with a long fuse that was throwing off dazzling sparks. Somehow Dodge knew it wasn’t a firecracker.
“Bomb!” Hurricane’s voice was like a thunderclap, and broke through the fog of incredulity that had left everyone in the room paralyzed, but before anyone could make a move, the man lobbed the lit dynamite stick into the center of the room and pulled back out of view.
Dodge reacted without thinking, whirling around and tackling Bearsdley and Nora — the only people other than Hurley who were within his reach — to the floor. He knew instinctively that Hurricane could take care of himself, and sure enough, his friend’s response was far more effective. Instead of seeking cover, the big man deftly reached under the massive conference table and with a decisive heave, flipped it onto its side and spun it around so that it stretched across the width of the room like a half wall. He then dropped to his knees behind the makeshift barrier and placed one massive shoulder against it, bracing it in place with his own body.
Dodge knew what was coming next, but there was no way to adequately prepare for it. With his head down, he couldn’t see anything, but in an instant everything changed. He didn’t hear an explosion, but instead felt the slap of the shockwave across every inch of his body and even inside his head.
How long he lay there, he could not say, but as he fought his way back to the surface of consciousness, he became aware of two indistinct figures — doubtless the two masked men — moving through the haze of dust and fumes. His eyes were burning from the acrid residue of the explosives and his ears were ringing. He knew he needed to get up and start moving to deal with the aftermath of the blast, and perhaps confront the architects of this unprovoked attack, but his body seemed to be disconnected. Even his best effort to call out to Hurricane resulted in nothing but a croak.
The masked bombers pushed through the debris and bent down to examine something. Dodge knew that they were talking, and while he couldn’t make out what they were saying, realized that they had found what they were looking for. Each man hefted a burden onto his shoulder, a burden that could only be a human body. Marshaling all his willpower into a single effort, Dodge propped himself up onto his elbows to get a better look.
The conference room was completely unrecognizable. The row of windows facing out over the street were gone and only a few tattered shreds of fabric remained of the roller blinds. The interior wall had buckled with the force and the plaster ceiling now hung down in jagged chunks that resembled broken teeth. Hurricane’s quick thinking had spared them the full fury of the blast, but they had nevertheless all taken quite a pounding. For his part, Hurley lay beneath the pieces of the conference table, which had broken around him like a stick snapped across a knee. Dodge noted that the big man was stirring, and then turned his attention to the other people in the room.
He remembered having tackled Beardsley and the woman — he couldn’t remember her name — and they were both right where he had left them, likewise shaking off the effects of the explosion. That meant…
Dodge swiveled his head toward the two masked men and the burdens they carried. The dust-streaked shapes were barely recognizable as human bodies, but he saw a flash of coppery hair that could only belong to Lightning Rod Lafayette. Muddled though his thoughts were, Dodge deduced that the entire purpose of the bombing was to provide cover for an abduction, but he could not fathom why anyone would go to such great lengths to kidnap a pulp writer. Then he realized that the other figure, longer and leaner, had to be Doc Newcombe, and everything fell into place.