I eased myself out of the kiln. My whole body was one massive blister. I managed to drag myself over to the German. The laboratory beyond him was strewn with bits and pieces of bodies. Most of the roof out there had caved in and it had obviously taken much more of the shock of the explosion than the little room we were in. Still, from the looks of the room, I never would have survived the blast if I hadn’t crawled into the kiln.
At first I was sure that Von Koerner hadn’t. But as I knelt beside him, I saw that he was miraculously still alive. He was obviously going fast-—there was a pool of blood spreading from under him and lapping at my bare feet-—but his eyes flickered in recognition of me. From somewhere, he summoned the energy to speak.
“I am dying, Mr. Victor.”
“Yes. You are.”
“I know. And my secret dies with me. It will remain locked in this brain for eternity. You who would sabotage the Fuhrer will never have it now.”
“Perhaps not. But neither will the Chinese. Or the Russians. Or the Cubans. Or your neo-Nazi buddies Maybe it’s best that way. Maybe it’s best that nobody has it—whatever it is.”
“Whatever it is?” He managed a weak, grisly sort of chuckle. “But you have seen it, Mr. Victor.”
“I have?”
“Yes.” His laugh now seemed to come from the other side of the grave. “The flashlight. That was the only model. The flashlight I shone on you when first you entered.”
“Then it didn’t work,” I said positively. “It had absolutely no effect on me at all. If that flashlight was supposed to be some sort of ray gun, it was a failure.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Victor.” His voice was very weak now and fading. “It worked.”
“Then what did it do?”
“You’ll find out.” The laugh again — this time a hollow echo. “You’ll find out in due time. And then you’ll know why it may be truly said that I invented the ultimate weapon.” His eyes sparkled briefly with a last surge of life. “You’ll find out, Mr. Victor,” he cackled one last time. “You’ll—”
And he died.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’ll find out, Mr. Victor!”
The echo of Von Koemer’s dying words followed me as I made my way from the small chamber through the debris of the laboratory. Their meaning would follow me further, but I didn’t know that-—yet. Nor did I fathom the meaning—yet.
I wasn’t wasting any time trying to understand at this point. I had other problems to consider. Like, was I going to be able to get out of this place, or was it going to be my tomb?
The walls had caved in the passageway outside the doorway to the lab. Despite the agony of my blistered skin, I began to heave slabs of rock out of the way in an effort to clear an escape route. Fortunately, my hands hadn’t been burned. But my body ached all over, and it was a slow, grueling procedure. Complicating it was the fact that the blast had knocked the electric lighting system out, so I was forced to work in the dark. All I could do was hope that I was guessing right about the direction in which I was digging. Otherwise, I might dig for hours and come up against nothing but the rock sides of the cave.
I had guessed right. After some hours of digging, I reached a spot where the passageway continued. This area hadn’t been so badly hit by the blast. Nevertheless, I had to keep moving large chunks of rocks out of my Way to get past.
Finally I reached the shaft. The elevator platform was in pieces at the bottom of it. I peered up the shaft. I could see nothing but blackness. I tugged at one of the strands of rope still hanging there. The whole length of it came tumbling down at the pressure I exerted. The same thing happened with a second rope. The third one seemed all right, but when I started to climb it, after a few feet a frayed strand gave way just above where my hands were and I tumbled back to the ground. I landed on my scorched rear, and that hurt like blazes.
That left only one more rope to try. I started climbing it without even stopping to test my weight on it. If it wouldn’t hold me, the jig was up anyway. And if it broke while I was climbing, I wouldn’t be any worse off than I was trapped at the bottom of the shaft.
The rope held—-but only as far as the next level. It was anchored there. There was no other ropes hanging down from the ground level above. I had some matches, and I lit one to peer up the shaft and see what I could see.
About two feet over my head, in the center of the shaft, what was left of the center cable was hanging. Unlike the others, this was made of thick strands of wire, rather than rope. Evidently the blast had split it at that point. As the match burned down to my fingertips, I could see that the end of this cable was just out of reach.
It might be securely fastened to the winch above. Or it might be hanging by a thread. What was left of it might be sturdy and undamaged. Or it might be frayed and ready to part at the slightest pressure. In short, it might hold my weight, and it might not
There was only one way to find out, but that was pretty iffy too. I’d have to leap for the end of the cable, to jump high and at an angle. I might grab it and pull myself up to the ground above. Or I might miss it and fall to the bottom of the shaft. No point in dwelling on that. I jumped.
I got hold of the cable all right, but it was slippery and I almost slid right off the end of it. Only by squeezing my hands so tightly that the wire cut deep into the palms was I able to keep my grip. I dangled there precariously for a long moment before I attempted to climb.
Those first agonizing moments were the hardest. With nothing but my bleeding hands to rely on, each inch I climbed, each fractional shift in position to pull myself higher, renewed the danger of my losing my grip and falling. But, finally, I’d worked my way up high enough so that I was able to grip the strand with my blistered legs and then was able to wrap my legs around it and shift my weight so it was distributed between my hands and feet. After that it was easier.
At long last I pulled myself over the edge of the shaft. I lay on the ground there for a long time, getting my breath back, gulping great lungfuls of welcome fresh air. I thought about Victoria. If she’d set the fuse right, she must have been above ground by the time the blast went off. Then she must have started back for the native village we’d left three days ago. By now she must be well on her way. I worried about her traveling all alone in the jungle at night.
It wasn’t likely that I could catch up with her. She had too much of a head start. I could only hope that she’d be able to make it on her own. For that matter, I could only hope that I’d be able to make it.
I looked up at the stars in the night sky to get my bearings. Then I located the beginning of the trail and started out. Weary, my body blistered, my hands mere hunks of shredded flesh, it was pretty slow going. But I kept moving until the sun was well up in the sky the following day. Then I found a nice, leafy tree, climbed into its branches until I found a shady crotch, and took a long snooze.
It was night when I resumed my journey. I hadn’t gone far when I saw the puma. I was lucky. The wind was blowing my way, so it didn’t catch my scent. It was stretched out right in the middle of the trail, licking its paws. In the patch of moonlight it looked like a giant and not unfriendly pussy cat.
Then it did spot me, and the illusion was quickly dispelled. It sprang to its feet and poised tensely, ready to spring. I stood motionless. We stayed like that a long time before I dared to make the one necessary move. I’d had my gun at my hip all that time, and now I switched the safety off. I knew that once it pounced I’d only have one shot before it was on me. But I had to wait until it leaped to shoot, because it wasn’t close enough for accuracy now.
The slight click of the safety prodded it into action. It jumped. But I couldn’t shoot. The puma fooled me. It leaped sideways, and I wasn’t able to swing around and shoot quickly enough. By the time I corrected my aim, it jumped again, this time straight for me.