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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Amazing Stories, March 1945,
with "Comet From Yesterday"
Down below the victim was unaware of his danger—behind him came a slight noise....
Out of the past came a grim missile from space,
its secret buried deep in an unborn volcano....
A QUARTER of a mile up the steep slope of Tepicol Valley, a killer was stretched on his belly, sighting carefully through the cross-hairs of a telescopic rifle. The hunter wasn't satisfied. He had plenty of time, and the sun had not yet burned his temper to the necessary heat.
The stage, a dark valley where Aztec skulls still bleached, was set.
Jim Rand, an archeologist seeking Aztec lore, crouched near the exposed roots of a giant palm. He wiped sweat from his chin and pushed steaming glasses higher on the ridge of his nose. Rand's height made his present position uncomfortable. A fly lit on his cheek as he worked and he brushed it away impatiently.
So engrossed was he in finishing his job that both the sun and the cramped position were forgotten.
At least six inches of the rock slab were visible above the soil. He scooped eagerly with his hands, eyes brightening as more of the stone came into view.
Rand was sure that it was an Aztec picture rock.
What startlingly new light would this throw on the history of the temple builders? Hacking away the last root, he drew the stone slab from the ground. The slab was about two feet square. The symbols were clear on its surface. A whistle escaped his lips.
Only the upper half of the stone had come from the ground. The lower edge was jagged and broken. He put the precious object down carefully and started to dig again. It was useless. Only broken, pulverized bits of gravel came to the surface. The growing roots had destroyed the lower part of the stone.
Standing up, Rand stretched carefully, removed his glasses and started to polish them on his shirt front. The sunlight playing on rumpled brown hair, and across the red and green checks of his shirt, made him a clear-cut target.
The killer, still waiting, smiled softly and squinted through his sight with added care. His trigger finger stiffened, then curled slowly about the trigger.
JUAN, though only fifteen, had the responsibilities of the
world on his thinly clad shoulders. His boss, Señor James Rand,
was alone somewhere in Tepicol Valley.
Juan, barefooted, swinging a heavy bush knife against the green wall of the jungle, moved ahead with renewed speed.
What Señor James Rand found in Tepicol that was better than food, Juan could not guess. James Rand had left while he, Juan, was yet asleep, and Juan lost no time in searching for him.
Perhaps it was the sudden flash of a gun barrel like a tiny mirror against the sun. More likely it was the single buzzard circling high over Tepicol that caught Juan's eye and stopped him in his tracks. Assuredly it was the second flash from the polished barrel of a rifle that sent Juan scrambling up the steep bank at the edge of the valley.
The sand was soft between his toes and the bush knife, sharp as a razor, hung with the handle in the palm of his tough hand.
Juan moved swiftly along the crest of the hill from palm to palm, creeping like a snake through the undergrowth of vines. He heard the loud click of the rifle chamber as a bullet snapped in, and the movement of a man ahead of him.
Senor James Rand, almost a god to Juan, was somewhere in the valley below. That left but one answer. Juan hugged the ground, moving inch by inch over the last rise between him and the killer.
The buzzard, sensing what was taking place, wheeled in a wide circle above.
The man with the rifle was barely eight feet ahead. Juan saw his feet, pointed outward, and the left elbow buried in the sand. Juan was on his feet, slim and ragged, with weapon posed like a small god of vengeance.
The killer had his rifle aimed. In the brush, a toucan set up a raucous call and, hidden by the sound, Juan sprang. He was across the clearing in an instant. The rifle spoke, clear and sharp against the day, but the aim had been disturbed.
The killer pulled the trigger hurriedly, twisting over as he did so, to ward off whatever was behind him. His face, twisted into an ugly snarl, suddenly turned white.
Juan was over him, and the bush knife plunged downward. The man with the rifle had only time to utter one protesting scream of pain. His fingers closed around the sharp blade, tried to force it from his stomach, and became motionless in death. The bush knife had entered the belly at the navel and its point was buried in the sand beneath him.
Juan felt cold and without emotion. Above him, the buzzard turned lazily, changed the focal point of his interest and waited patiently.
JIM RAND, too engrossed in his work to notice the buzzard or
the flash of the rifle barrel, recognized the sudden crack of the
rifle. He went down like a rock, rolled over quickly and came to
his knees. Releasing both pistols from his holsters, he tried to
detect some movement in the direction from which the shot had
come. The day was silent; then, high pitched above the cry of the
toucan, came Juan's voice.
"Señor James Rand, you are not keeled?"
Rand relaxed, pushed the guns back into their holsters and stepped into the open.
"Juan, you son-of-a-gun, come down here. What the hell happened?" Then came Juan's cry of joy and the sound of his bare feet running and slipping down the hill. He ran swiftly toward Rand, the bloody bush knife in his grasp.
"It was one of Señor Ernst Miller's men," Juan cried breathlessly. "He was ready to shoot you with big gun. I kill him."
Rand put one hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Steady, son," he urged. "You killed Miller's man?"
Juan caught his breath and launched into a garbled description of what had happened.
"Señor James Rand should not go out without Juan," the boy ended. "Miller, what you call Fascist, ready to kill you first chance."
Rand's face had gradually darkened as Juan spoke. New anger was there. Calm, terrible anger that burned deep but left his mind clear.
"You're a good kid, Juan," he said. "I owe a lot to you. We'd better bury the corpse before the buzzards get it or Miller discovers what has happened. Miller's got power with the local police.. He might make it tough for both of us."
Juan's shoulders squared. "You and I make plenty trouble too," he said.
THE grave was shallow, but well-hidden by the undergrowth of
vines. When the job was done, Rand returned to the Aztec picture
rock. His score with Miller would have to wait. Now the stone
seemed more important. With Juan's help, he carried h carefully
to an open spot where the light was better.
He studied it for a long time, becoming more and more puzzled over the odd, faded pictures painted across its surface. Finally he looked up at Juan who waited close by.
"Juan," he said in a hushed, almost shocked voice. "Have you heard of Parangaricutiro?"
"Long time ago I hear of town that name," the boy said hesitantly. "It is in mountains, very old, old town. Aztec ancestors have big temples near there."
Rand stood up slowly. A frown creased his forehead.
"Juan, if this stone is the real thing—and I have reason to think it is—every man and woman in Mexico City may be dead in a week. The North American continent may suffer from tidal waves and cosmic disturbances the like of which we've never dreamed."
Juan's head tipped up one side. His brown eyes reflected bewilderment.
"How you can kill all those people?" he asked. "Cos-mic waves. They are bad, huh?"
Rand picked up the stone.
"I think Juan," he said, "that I'd better get this into more capable hands. You're going to have to do without me for a day or two."
"You go away?"
"To San Diego," Rand answered grimly. "The Aztecs were marvels at astrology. If I've read correctly what is written on this tablet, every government in the world will be sitting on dynamite during the next week. There's going to be hell to pay, and the remainder of this stone would help a lot in preventing it. We'll have to do what we can...."
THE airport at Urban was controlled completely by the power of
Dr. Ernst Miller. Miller himself was no more doctor than the
Mexican boy, Juan. German, fat and pompous, he had attached the
title to himself to impress those about him.
Ernst Miller, hoping against hope that Hitler would stop the rush of Allied armies across Europe, was waiting for the Nazi invasion of the Americas. His hidden rifles were growing rusty and his jungle airports, built to land invasion troops, were run down and in poor condition.
Now, of all times, he was not anxious to have Mexican and American citizens prowling about his jungle domain. If they should stumble on to one of his hidden fields, who knew what his punishment might be. Mexico and the United States were co-operating too closely for his peace of mind.
Ernst Miller was a fat, owlish man with white bushy eyebrows and stone gray hair. His misshapen stomach gave an impression of sloth that was misleading.
Sitting in the small office of Urapan Airlines, he gave instructions.
"You—Alverez!" A little Mexican stepped forward and saluted. "See that no strangers are allowed near the field during the takeoff today. I have reason to suspect that my friend, Rand, will try to make a run for it."
Pedro Alverez smiled and patted his old army rifle.
"Good, Señor! This Señor Rand. I will recognize him?"
Miller snorted.
"He'll be the only white man around if he shows up. That won't be hard."
He dismissed Alverez with a nod of his head and turned to the sallow-faced youth, dozing near the window.
"Herman!"
Herman Wassler, Miller's closest ally, moved lazily and sat up.
"You can't let me rest a minute, can you, Doctor?"
Miller glared at the youth. He leaned forward over his desk.
"You think Rand is down here on government business?"
A sneer twisted Wassler's thin face.
"I think he's a big, good-natured boob, fresh out of college, with one thought in mind."
"And that is?"
"Cover himself with glory by digging up some bit of Aztec stone. Odd. these Americans. Their country is in danger of losing a war, and they putter about with shovels, digging up past history."
Miller looked thoughtful.
"I'll play safe," he said. "Rand's down here and I'm making sure he doesn't leave. Kuhn tracked him this morning. I told Kuhn if the chance for a good shot presented itself, to get rid of Rand the easiest way."
A smile, arrogant and self-satisfied, parted Wassler's lips.
"Killer Kuhn doesn't fail to carry out orders like that," he said. "You can depend on Rand's early exit from this world. As for me, I'm getting very bored with this living death. Our soldiers are seeing action back home. Sometimes I wonder....
"Wassler!" Millers voice cracked like a whip. "You're about to say something against our method of fighting a war. I warn you again. I'll listen to very little more of your fantasy. The Fuehrer knows best. We shall be engaged in an invasion when he thinks the time is right."
Wassler and Ernst Miller often disagreed; but Miller's domineering attitude was wearing Wassler's temper thin. He wondered if he was a member of the Master Race or a bunch of master fools. Time, curse its slow passage, would tell.
RAND noticed the armed figure of Alverez, patrolling the edge
of the Urapan Airport. He knew that Miller was around, because
Miller's private plane was warming up at the far end of the
field. The Mexico City plane, a ten-passenger transport, was
waiting in front of its hangar.
Rand decided to play safe. If Miller was on guard, Rand would stand no chance of getting off the ground. With the information that the Aztec stone had given him, Rand could afford to take no chances.
"Are you willing to take a chance of getting shot?" Rand asked the Mexican youth.
Juan grinned.
"Take chance already," he said. "No harm."
"Good." Rand drew the boy into the underbrush. "Get out of your clothes."
Juan looked puzzled, then took off his ragged shirt, baggy trousers, and wide straw hat.
Rand got out of his own jacket and pants and they switched clothing hurriedly.
Juan looked like a baggy scarecrow; and Rand, with clothing three-quarters his size, seemed about to burst out of Juan's trousers and shirt.
"Stay at the far end of the field," Rand said. "I'm going to get to Miller's private plane if I can. Make sure that guard sees you, but keep out of firing range. At a distance, you may pass for me."
Juan nodded, backed into the forest and disappeared. Rand waited. The distance to Miller's plane was short, but the field was open and a mechanic was at work on the plane.
He saw Juan at the far end of the field. The Mexican boy was only partly visible, but the leather jacket and whipcord trousers made him resemble Rand slightly.
Juan walked out on the field. The armed guard saw him and shouted for him to halt. Juan seemed not to hear, but walked calmly away keeping in plain sight.
Alverez raised his rifle and fired.
The shot fell short, but it brought Miller and Herman Wassler dashing from the office.
Rand saw his chance.
He dashed across the gravel behind the office, then ran at a trot down the edge of the field toward Miller's plane.
Juan kept on going, always dose to the trees, and yet in sight of the three men. Alverez started to run toward him, and Juan darted into the jungle out of sight. Miller, and Wassler both followed Alverez.
Rand was close to the plane now. He noticed that the mechanic had looked up, and was watching Miller.
"Señor mechanic," Rand spoke broken, uncertain English. "Señor Miller asks your help at once. That Rand is in the jungle."
The mechanic jumped down, wiped his hands on his overalls hurriedly and drew a pistol.
"Thanks, bub," he said.
Rand kept his face averted and the mechanic started to run toward the spot where the others had disappeared into the forest.
Rand noticed that Miller's plane was a fast, single-seated job and the motor was turning over smoothly.
With a leap he was on the wing and into the cockpit. He dared not wait, but gave her the gun and shot across the apron toward the runway.
He turned the machine quickly and headed north. The engine roared wide open and he left the ground with a smooth rush of air.
He could see the small cluster of men near the jungle edge. Alverez, rifle in the air, was firing as fast as he could reload. He might as well have been shooting at the moon.
With a satisfied grin, Rand leveled off at five thousand feet and got his bearings.
His expression sobered as he remembered again that this trip was perhaps the most important one he had ever made. He hoped fervently that Professor Waldo Frazer would be at home and that he could believe enough of Rand's story to insure a quick visit to Mexico.
Disaster, swift and terrible, was about to strike. Could he make his story bear enough weight to convince a hard-headed man of science?
PROFESSOR Waldo Frazer, member of the American Meteor
Society, had retired. San Diego was a warm, pleasant place for
him to spend his declining years. Not that Frazer was an old
man. Perhaps fifty, with an iron gray beard and stern high
cheekbones, Frazer had given up the study of meteors when his
wife died. His daughter Frances had been brought up with all
his love lavished upon her. Father and daughter lived together.
They seldom mentioned Frazer's former work, but when it was
discussed, he refused to express any interest in it.
Together in the library, they were discussing the wire received from Mexico City only an hour before.
"It will be nice to see Jim, of course."
Frances sat on the arm of her father's chair, her light dressing robe falling away to expose slim, smooth legs.
"But, Dad, Jim's such a bore. There's something about his glasses, his eternal digging for history, that makes him completely uninteresting. I'll bet he'd blow up under any kind of excitement. I'm never sure whether he's modest and quiet or just backward and afraid of life."
Frazer smiled.
"This wire doesn't sound very retiring," he said.
ARRIVING VIA PAN-AMERICAN TONIGHT STOP DESPERATE TROUBLE AFOOT STOP MANY LIVES AT STAKE NEED YOUR ADVICE
J. RAND
"I suppose we'd better find out what time he's due," she said.
Frazer waited until she had spoken to Pan-American, then went to the closet for his coat.
"In half an hour, eh?"
She nodded.
"You want to go down, or shall I meet the plane alone?"
Frances winked at him.
"Don't get me wrong, Dad, just because I say Jim's a bore." She went hurriedly toward the stairs. "He's handsome for all of that. I'll be ready in a jiffy."
In spite of his daughter's failure to see Jim Rand in a serious light, Professor Frazer was worried. Rand hadn't visited them for a year. During that time, Frazer had often wondered what had become of the younger man, knowing only that he was somewhere in Mexico. Frazer liked Jim Rand. They had been friends when Frazer taught at Yale.
Frances came down, tugging at the sleeves of a short, red coat, hat to match perched carelessly on one side of her brown curly hair.
"Ready!" she said, and her father followed her across the hall toward the rear door. She backed out the car. Climbing in, Frazer settled back comfortably.
"Kindly avoid all curbs and lamp posts," he said with a chuckle. "I'd like to be in good condition to meet Rand. Do you think you can drive with a little more caution than usual?"
Frances smiled, and turned the car into the street on two wheels.
"IT'S impossible to decode the full message, Professor," Rand
said earnestly. "I am only a student of Aztec symbols. However,
here is as much of the message as I could make out without
leaving any doubt in my own mind."
He removed his glasses from his pocket, polished the lenses carefully and placed them on his nose.
Frances, sitting on the far side of the room, gave her father an "I told you he's a bore" look, and then adopted an expression of rapt interest. Rand started to read from a paper he had taken from his briefcase.
"And Xerces, High Astrologer to the court of Montezuma, states with certainty that on the 12th day of the—(here the message included a group of complicated figures from the Aztec calendar which I was unable to decipher)—the Black Comet will rush from the sky and destroy the city of Tenochtitlan (Mexico City). Xerces, with the instructions of Montezuma, has taken steps toward preventing this catastrophe. Three hundred slaves and prisoners of war from the neighboring Republic of Tlascala have been sacrificed to appease the wrath of the Gods of Destruction. When the Aztec empire, grown powerful with centuries of good ruling, faces this power from outer space, they will remain unafraid, in the knowledge that Xerces has... Parangericutiro."
Here, Rand stopped reading, removed his glasses, and folded the paper carefully. For a long time the room was silent. Then Frazer cleared his throat.
"I assume that those calendar references were checked by you?" Rand nodded.
"Not as closely as I intend to have them," he admitted. "Allowing for some difference, this Black Comet should be visible at the present time, and should hit earth in about seven days."
A gasp escaped Frances Frazer's lips.
"But, Dad—it's impossible. That message was recorded hundreds of years ago. It can't be...."
Frazer held up his hand for silence.
"I'm afraid this is beyond your knowledge, child," he said gently. "I'm inclined to agree with Jim. The Aztecs were far ahead of us with their study of astrology. In some ways their predictions have been uncanny. At least they believed that precautions must be taken."
"That's what worries me," Rand interrupted. "What precautions? The remainder of the stone could have given us the answer." Frazer arose and walked to the window. For some time he stared up at the star-lit sky. When he turned, Rand saw a longing in Frazer's eyes that he had not seen for years.
"Jim," Frazer said haltingly. "I haven't been near my old work for years. I'm not even sure I could spot your Black Comet if it existed. I'd like to try. If it's there, and we can see it, I'll go to Mexico with you as fast as a plane can take us."
Rand stood up eagerly.
"I hoped you'd say that, sir."
Frazer smiled.
"To gain access to the proper telescope equipment, we'll have to tell others about your find. I'm afraid the press will hear of it."
"It might cause quite a stir," Rand said. "Can't we remain silent, at least for the present?"
Frazer shook his head and smiled sadly.
"With a city in danger, and perhaps the whole western world feeling the results of such a blow, I'm afraid the news is too important to keep to ourselves."
Rand nodded and Frazer went on: "It may be a false alarm. Let's hope so. For the time being well consult the sky for an answer. I hope we find nothing unusual among the planets tonight."
PROFESSOR FRAZER left his post at the giant telescope
and climbed slowly down the steps to where Rand and several
men of science were waiting.
"It's there, all right," he said. "You've all seen it, or at least seen the part of the sky it blots out. Mars is gone completely from sight. There's only one explanation.
"The Aztecs, working with mathematics and skill we know nothing of, predicted this hundreds of years ago. There is no way for us to know that it will hit earth, or where it will strike. Yet, the story has been confirmed."
A door slammed, and hurried footsteps sounded from the lobby. One of the group turned, facing Frazer.
"The press has its story," he said. "The public will have the nicest scare it's had in years."
Frazer remained serious.
"Gentlemen." he said, "I view this with alarm. The Aztecs were a powerful race. They didn't jump at shadows. The rest of you can do what you wish. I'm starting for Mexico this afternoon. I'll appreciate all the cooperation I can get from you in the way of mathematical figures and movements of the Black Comet."
"I move we name it the Black Comet, and enter it as such on the records," someone offered. "Although I can't agree that because a bunch of savages went star gazing, that we, a civilized people, should have cause for alarm."
Bitterness welled up in Rand's mind, but he held his tongue. Frazer, suddenly straighter and younger looking, was handling the situation well.
"Gentlemen, you do what you wish. I warn you that you'll have your hands full when this story reaches the American and Mexican people. T have no doubt that Mr. Rand has discovered a bitterly truthful account of what is to happen. I'm going to work with him constantly until we find an explanation. Meanwhile, you'll keep in contact with us?"
A polite murmur went up from the others.
"Thank you," Frazer said. "And now, if you'll accept our gratitude for helping with the first step, we have other business to attend to...."
WHEN Rand and Waldo Frazer reached San Diego, the streets were
filled with newsboys selling extras. Pseudo-experts had already
dragged enough old stuff from the files to insure quick
destruction of the world by the Black Comet.
HUGE COMET BLOTS OUT SKY;
THREATENS DESTRUCTION OF
ENTIRE EARTH
San Diego, March 6—It was announced here tonight that a new comet, a black comet of destruction, has blacked out a portion of the sky and is hurtling toward earth at terrific speed. Just when the collision will occur, no one can say. It is believed that no possible steps can prevent such a collision.
Experts agree....
Rand tossed the paper away disgustedly.
"Americans either make a sideshow of tragedy," he said bitterly, "or ignore it completely."
Frazer was preoccupied.
"I have several errands to run," he said. "I'll contact Professor Girand at the U. of C. He's a bug on old languages. We'll arrange to put a photo of the stone in his hands by telephoto from Mexico City. He can phone us a complete translation within a few hours. We'll need survey equipment, suitable clothing, and a light fast car. You have a guide down there?"
Rand smiled.
"The best," he said, and remembered that the last he had seen of Juan, the boy was running into the jungle, clad in Rand's clothing.
"AND you think you can go merrily away to Mexico without
taking me along?"
Frances Frazer, balanced daintily on the arm of her father's chair, put a small finger under his chin and lifted it until their eyes met.
"You've a plane chartered and it will hold four passengers. That means the pilot, Jim, yourself, and me."
"But the danger?" Frazer started to protest. He was beaten before he started.
In the hall, Rand was talking with Washington on the telephone. He hung up finally and returned to the study. His face was red and excited.
"It seems we've reached an important audience," he said.
Frazer nodded soberly to his daughter.
"Pack up your hiking clothes. You win." He turned to Rand. "Who was it?"
"The President," Rand said with awe. "He put through the call and kept the wire open directly to his desk. He wanted every detail from the time I entered Mexico."
Frazer whistled.
"The verdict?" he asked.
"The Army is ready to give us assistance the moment we have definite proof," Rand said. "Mexico's president has contacted Washington on the strength of the newspaper accounts, and has equipment waiting for us when we reach Uruapan. A B17 bomber is waiting for us. Frazer, both countries want to see that stone and see it in a hurry."
Frazer hurried to the stairs and called to Frances.
"Never mind packing," he said. "Get down here at once. We'll find clothing at Uruapan."
He turned back to Rand. "If action is what they want, and we've a clear sky for flying, what are we waiting for?"
RAND had worried a great deal for the safety of Juan, the
Mexican boy. Because they landed in an Army B17, and a number of
officials from Mexico City greeted them at the airport. Ernst
Miller stayed very much in the background. The big plane
discharged its passengers and took off again, headed north.
With it had come complete field-ration kits, clothing, an army jeep to be used for rough country, and the extra items Professor Frazer had brought for his own use.
Ernst Miller, forced to be on his good behaviour, greeted Rand.
"I have you to thank for the return of my plane, Mr. Rand. I hope you and Mr. Frazer and his daughter have a pleasant stay in Mexico. The pilot who flew my plane back from Mexico City said you paid him."
Rand nodded.
"Thanks again for letting me use it," he said soberly.
Miller continued to smile, shaking hands with Frazer.
"Mr. Rand is quite a friend of mine," he told Frances. "I've been trying to help him in his research work here. I even sent a man out to assist him, but I haven't heard what work Mr. Rand put him to."
The conversation was obviously meant for Rand's ears.
Professor Frazer was superintending the movement of the baggage to a small truck. The jeep would be for themselves. Two privates had been detailed to drive the cars.
Miller still talked with Frances. Rand had overheard the portion meant for him.
"You'll find the jungle country hot," Miller said. "Mr. Rand thought so, and Rand is a hardy man. However, it gets still hotter about this time of year. I doubt if even Mr. Rand will be able to withstand much more of the climate."
Frances was murmuring something about being able to take it, and Frazer shouted that the last bit of stuff was in the truck. Rand turned away from the Mexican to whom he had been talking.
There was a sudden shouted warning from near the office of Uruapan Airlines. Herman Wassler darted out and around the building out of sight.
He came back almost immediately, holding a Mexican boy firmly by the arm. The boy wore a large leather jacket and whipcord pants which were much too large to be his own.
"Wassler." Miller's voice was commanding. "Let go of him."
Herman Wassler looked startled for a minute, but he released his grip. Immediately Juan rushed across the field to where Jim Rand was standing.
"Señor Rand," he said. "I am so glad you come back. This man had me locked up."
"This kid must be crazy," Miller said calmly. "I've never seen him before."
Rand interrupted him.
"He's my guide." Rand said coldly. "I'll lake care of him."
A Mexican soldier came toward him.
"Señor, the truck, she is ready."
Rand turned to Frazer.
"I suppose the sooner we get the stone, the faster we can get to work."
"But the stone, it is gone, señor!"
Rand whirled, facing Juan.
"Gone?"
"Yes, señor. The day I saw you fly away, I escaped into the jungle. I went back to Tepicol, but the stone was gone."
"You're sure you found the right place?" Rand demanded.
"Sure, Señor James Rand. Juan is sure. I saw Miller and Wassler take it. They follow your tracks to the place you dig."
ERNST MILLER growled something under his breath. Then a
triumphant grin crossed his face. His eyes narrowed. He turned to
the Mexican officer In charge.
"You see, señor?" he asked icily. "These Americans have made a fool of you. I'll tell you what happened. This man is spying on the Mexican government. He thought to get information for the Axis. One of my men followed him and was murdered. Rand escaped In my plane, then trumped up a wild story about a Black Comet to excite your government and return with extra aid for his work. It was clever, Señor Rand, very clever. Fortunately I am a loyal friend to Mexico. I was on guard."
This speech took the Mexicans by surprise. They fidgeted and started to whisper among themselves. After all. Señor Rand had come in the name of the United States. They did not know Just what to do.
The officer in charge, a short, dark-faced man, stepped toward Rand and saluted stiffly.
"Do you care to reply to this man's charges?"
Rand shook his head.
"Our whole work depends on that stone. Without it, I can't say or do a thing to protect us. Mr. Frazer and his daughter came here at my request."
"I think it best," said the officer, "for you to remain at Uruapan until this has been discussed by our governments. It will not take long."
"But—the time element," Frazer protested. "There is little—"
Ernst Miller laughed aloud.
"Time is something we have much of in Mexico," he rumbled.
Miller turned to the officer.
"I will see that some of my own men watch the hotel where these three people arc lodged," he said.
The official stiffened.
"That will not be necessary."
"All the same, señor," Miller said, "a couple of men with rifles will not be useless. They might prevent some military secret from escaping to an enemy government."
He turned toward Rand and deliberately winked.
THE stay at Uruapan might have been bearable if Rand hadn't
realized how little time they had left to work. He had no
knowledge of what was being done to establish their honesty of
purpose. Little could be done. Without the actual stone,
neither country could be sure that he was more than an impostor.
True, the Black Comet had been sighted, or rather the
space which it covered had been blacked out. Still, would the
comet's presence necessarily mean a threat to the Earth?
At the hotel they were given two rooms. Rand shared one with Frazer, while Frances had a small room to herself. They were well fed and the two soldiers remained to look after them. Rand felt sure that Miller had several men posted near the hotel, ready to shoot him down on the slightest possible excuse.
The afternoon wore slowly on.
Rand couldn't even be sure that Waldo Frazer trusted him entirely. Yet Frazer was different from other men. He had a deep insight into life and character.
Frances bad bathed and they all sat together in the small lobby. A fan blew away the worst of the heat. An Army private remained in the background, pleasant enough, but alert.
"The next move, as I see it," Frazer said abruptly, "is to find that stone and find it in a hurry. It's the only evidence we have."
Rand thought of Juan. If Miller hadn't recaptured him, the Mexican boy might prove to be of some help. Where would Miller hide the stone? His reason for stealing it was obvious. It was the quickest way of getting Rand out of Mexico.
"I'M going out of here tonight," Rand said in a low voice. "I
think Miller has the Aztec stone. He won't make any use of it,
other than to keep us from finding it. It would suit his purpose
if Mexico and the United States have trouble. More so, if any
part of Mexico is destroyed. There are a lot of superstitious
natives down here. Some of them might blame the catastrophe on
our government."
Frances gasped.
"But that sounds impossible."
"Nothing is impossible in time of war," her father assured her. "Rand is right. We've got to leave here."
"I'll try it alone," Rand corrected him. "Miller's men are crack shots. From the time we leave here, we'll be escaped prisoners in the eyes of the law. I think I can evade Miller. I don't want either of you to take that chance."
Frazer protested, but Rand won him over.
"You can't leave Frances alone," Rand said finally. "And she certainly can't be sent out where Miller's marksmen can take a shot at her."
It was agreed that Rand should go alone. Frazer was to keep his door locked and allow no one in during the night. Rand would attempt to get the stone, or at least contact Juan, and return before morning.
As they went to their rooms, Frances Frazer stopped Rand on the stairs. Her eyes were a little moist as she dung to his arm.
"Jim, I've said some pretty sarcastic things about you in the past."
Rand grinned. "'Sissy boy' Rand, huh?"
Frances turned red. "You knew?"
Rand put his hands on her shoulders.
"I know that my work seems unexciting to you," he admitted. "Some day I'll try to make you understand it. Whatever you may have thought, forget it. You're forgiven. From now on, we're friends."
She smiled up at him almost tenderly.
"Jim—be careful tonight—for—our sake."
The light warmth of her kiss on his cheek, and she was gone, walking swiftly toward her room.
Rand took off his glasses, clearing them on his handkerchief and stared after her.
"My, how my life is changing," he said softly.
THE escape from the hotel was easy.
One soldier had been posted at either end of the corridor on the floor where Rand's room was located. He slipped down the drain pipe outside the window and disappeared into the rose garden beneath it.
The night was cloudy and overcast. He breathed a sigh of relief when, after reaching the soft earth under the window, none of Miller's rifle men had taken a shot at him.
Ernst Miller owned a large, rambling adobe home near the Uruapan air field.
Once away from the hotel, Jim Rand walked swiftly across the town, and followed the open road until Miller's place was visible ahead of him. The house itself was backed up to heavy undergrowth that extended to the hills. The kitchen was built against the hill, so that the roof was even with the slope.
Rand left the road and carefully worked his way toward the back of the house. On his hands and knees he crept forward, listening for some sound that might mean the presence of a guard.
It was well that he used caution.
Close to the low roof, about to trust himself in the open, he heard the sudden snap of a twig. Rand froze in his tracks, listening.
Silence for a long time, then another cautious movement, coming closer. Rand drew his pistol and waited. He sat back on his haunches. The moon was under the edge of a cloud. He made out a movement a few feet ahead, then saw the figure of a man creeping slowly toward him. A knife glinted dully.
Rand's breath was low and even. His hand tightened about the grip of the gun.
The figure near him hesitated. "Señor Rand?"
Something inside of Rand snapped like a broken spring and his gun hand lowered. He covered the few feet swiftly, grasping Juan's hand.
"I damn near shot you," he whispered. "How did you get here?"
Juan placed the knife beside him on the ground.
"It is the stone," he whispered. "I saw Wassler take it from the office safe and bring it here. He and Miller are looking at it in the lounge of the house."
Rand chuckled.
"Imagine Miller trying to read an Aztec picture message." Then his eyes grew cold. "We've got to get that stone, understand, Juan?"
The Mexican boy touched the handle of his knife.
"I am glad you are here to help, Señor James Rand," he said simply. "It might have been difficult."
Rand stared at him.
"You weren't going in there—alone?"
Juan nodded.
"You are in bad spot," he said. "I try save you from trouble. Miller is one bad man."
Rand sighed.
"I wish I had a dozen like you," he said. "I've a feeling we've just got started."
ERNST MILLER was worried. Not once since he came to Uruapan
had the local authorities questioned him. Now, trying to puzzle
out the meaning of the Aztec stone, he found certain details that
troubled him deeply.
"Maybe all that rot about comets was true enough." He turned savagely to Wassler. "But this stone has one message that's clear enough to demand action in a hurry."
Wassler, trying to show the proper interest, nodded.
"The picture of the mountain near Parangaricutiro?"
Miller grunted. The stone was on the table before him. He leaned over it, tracing the outline of a high, round-topped mountain that had been traced in the lower corner of the stone.
"Our field at Parangaricutiro is fully equipped. It has two dozen planes; a munition dump and enough material to Wreck the Whole lower section of the country. It's well hidden, but if a lot of nosey Mex's get down there, they might run across it. We can't take that chance. Rand wrote down everything he found on the stone. Sooner or later he'll find the mountain that looks like this picture. If he does, we're in hot water."
Wassler grimaced.
"Kuhn didn't have much luck with Rand."
Miller's next words were angry.
"Rand—or his boy—killed Kuhn. Kuhn was my best man. It's your turn to have a try at getting rid of Rand, Wassler."
"You think I can't do it?"
Miller frowned.
"I can't depend on you the way I used to," he said. "But I guess you hate Rand as much as I do. Make sure, when you pull the trigger, that there isn't someone behind you with a knife in his hand."
Wassler shuddered.
"Ill make sure."
Miller went to the window and stared out into the night.
"Tonight is as good as any," he said. "Rand will be at the hotel. Hell walk by his window sometime between now and breakfast time. You'll have a fine shot if you wait across the street Now get going."
Wassler went into the other room, and came out with a telescopic rifle. He stood near the door, fondling it in his hands.
"Now I've got something to do," he said. "Now I won't be sitting still, waiting to go crazy."
Miller nodded, and Wassler went out the front door. Miller heard him enter the small car and listened as the sound of the motor faded into a distance. Then he arose end poured himself a drink.
RAND heard the car leave the front of the house.
"Juan," he asked, "were Miller and Wassler here alone?"
Juan nodded.
"I have watched the house for long time. Servants all go. Wassler and Miller alone. Now maybe they both gone?"
Rand shook his head.
"I don't think so," he said. "Unless they took the stone with them. There's light reflecting on the side lawn. One of them probably is still in the house."
Together they left the hiding place behind the house and edged along the side wall until Rand, a little ahead, had a full view of the room. He saw Miller leaning over what he was sure was the Aztec picture stone. As he watched, Miller left the table and moved out of sight into the next room. Rand turned.
"You go to the front door," he said. "Knock, then wait until Miller comes. Give him some cock-and-bull story about being angry at me, and wanting to help him. Stall as long as you can. Tell him you want to get even with me, and offer to do the job."
Juan moved away soundlessly toward the front of the building. Rand adjusted his holsters within easy reach of both hands.
He heard Juan's knock. Miller looked toward the front hall, then moved across the room toward it. Rand waited until he could hear faint voices coming from the front door. He tried the window gently, then with all his strength.
It was locked.
Rand drew out one of his pistols, held the barrel firmly in his right hand and brought the gun butt down against the glass with all his weight. He heard a sudden shout of anger and scuffling footsteps from within. Rand did not hesitate. He ran the heavy gun across the broken glass, smoothing the edge of the window casing. Then he vaulted through the opening into the room. Swiftly he reached the table and picked up the picture stone. It was heavy but he managed to get it back to the window.
"Stop where you are, or I'll shoot."
Rand thought swiftly. With all his strength he pitched the stone ahead of him through the broken window. It hit with a thud on the lawn outside. Rand dived forward, rolled over quickly and came up with both pistols roaring.
Miller was at the door, his face covered with blood. He held a rifle, firing as he moved forward.
Rand felt a cutting, searing pain in his leg. Miller stepped quickly into the protection of the hall and fired again.
The bullet came close, but not before Rand could get behind a heavy oak table.
What had happened to Juan?
There was a long silence. Rand thought of Wassler and wondered when he was coming back. He knew Miller would get him if he showed himself.
Rand waited. Then a sobbing, cry of pain came from the hall. Quick footsteps and Juan staggered into the room and fell face down on the carpet.
In an instant Rand was at the Mexican's side. Rand rolled him over slowly, lifting his head into his arms. "Juan?"
Juan's eyes opened.
"Miller—feel—knife," he whispered. "Miller—not harm the senor again. Look out for—Wass—"
His eyes rolled back and the neck muscles relaxed. Rand put the boy down softly, then rubbed the sleeve of his shirt across his own eyes.
Juan was dead, but Miller would do no more harm. It was clear to Rand, as soon as he went into the hall, what had happened. Miller was lying face down, Juan's bush knife buried in his back. Juan must have been arguing with the German when Miller heard Rand entering the other room. Juan tried to hold him, but Miller had shot Juan and left him for dead. Juan had staggered to his feet, followed Miller and stabbed him in the back while Miller was lying in ambush for Rand.
Rand returned to the lounge, picked Juan up tenderly and carried him up the hill behind the house. He hid Juan's body in the underbrush. The stone tablet must be taken care of. Juan's body would be taken to his family tomorrow. Tonight there was urgent business at hand.
HERMAN WASSLER, given a job that he thought he merited, drove
swiftly toward Uruapan. He, of course, knew nothing of Miller's
death, although it is doubtful whether the knowledge would have
bothered him. Miller had been domineering, and Wassler had his
own ideas about handling Miller's job. Ideas that were born of a
sadistic, murdering complex buried deep In Wassler's brain.
Wassler knew the layout of the Uruapan hotel perfectly. He had been called upon to dispose of minor officials much earlier In the campaign. Therefore he chose his headquarters swiftly.
At dawn he was well hidden in a small hallway across from Rand's room, rifle ready, keen eyes watching the drawn shade from a small window. He consulted his watch. He had been here for two hours.
Seven-fifteen. It was cloudy and dark. A light came on in Rand's room. Wassler raised his rifle, made sure the barrel didn't protrude beyond his own window, and waited. A shadow passed behind the shade. Wassler tensed and the shadow moved on.
Rifle ready, he saw the shadow return and stand there behind the shade. Without a qualm, Wassler sighted quickly and fired. As he did so, the curtain flopped up.
He saw a girl, robed in blue, clutch her throat and fall forward against the glass.
Wassler cursed. In his stupidity, he had chosen the wrong room. A perfectly logical mistake, but he had shot someone whom he was deeply interested in—Frances Frazer.
JIM RAND didn't waste the time necessary to return to the
Uruapan hotel. It was still long before daylight when he left
Ernst Miller's home.
Juan's death disturbed Rand greatly. He had grown to love the Mexican boy like a brother. Now it was too late to help him, but, if the plan worked out, Juan's death would be instrumental in saving millions' of his countrymen.
Rand found Miller's plane at the field. With a little talk, he convinced the man in charge that Miller had given permission for him to use it.
Rand flew directly to Mexico City. Within an hour of his arrival, the possession of the stone brought him an audience with Mexico's President. Several important men were present at that meeting. Feeling very much out of place, Rand told his story from beginning to end. He explained that his only clue had been the name Parangaricutiro, written in Aztec close to the bottom of the crumbling stone.
He left out nothing of his story, telling of the death of Ernst Miller and how Miller, a German spy, had already prepared landing strips and ammunition dumps in the jungle.
His audience, destined to protect Mexico through a great war, listened patiently.
To his surprise, he was escorted to the biggest news agency in the city where he made arrangements to have a photo of the stone sent to Frazer's friend at the U. of C. Then with an escort of a dozen Army men, and with the best wishes of the President himself, he returned to Uruapan.
The shock of seeing Frances Frazer, slim and pale as a ghost, brought back Rand's hatred for Wassler with sudden clarity. Three doctors were watching Frances every moment of the day. She had an even chance to live.
WHAT happened among the people of Mexico and the United States
in the following two days, is now history. Herman Wassler
disappeared entirely, hiding with his men in the jungle. The
University of California published a complete report of the Aztec
stone, vouching for the authenticity and stating, from their
viewpoint, that the story of the Black Comet was entirely
accurate.
The President of the United States personally appointed a strong force of Army men to fly to Parangaricutiro, Mexico.
He also gave out press notices, asking that the people remain cool and prevent the spread of propaganda that might comfort Axis nations.
Just what harm the Black Comet would do was a question. All observatories gave their complete time to mapping its course. By Thursday afternoon, a vast portion of the night sky was blotted out. The Black Comet was close. At least, close in the eyes of astronomers who allowed for its terrific speed and size.
Headquarters were set up in the ancient town of Parangaricutiro. Army men, equipment of all types, and a large house, were all placed at the disposal of Professor Frazer.
Then the world waited.
If the Black Comet hit Mexico City the city would be completely destroyed. Thus read the account of the Aztecs. Hence mass movement of all the people in this city took place. Planes carried evacuees to supposed safety hundreds of miles away. The President moved his headquarters to Uruapan, where he might watch with his own eyes what took place. Mexico and the United States waited for the worst.
DURING those days, Professor Frazer and Jim Rand were
not idle. On Wednesday, Frances was left in safe care at Uruapan.
Rand and Frazer made the quick trip to Parangaricutiro in an army
jeep.
Rand set out alone to explore the countryside. He had kept to himself since Juan's death. By finding the riddle of the Aztecs, he could make the boy's death a tragedy not in vain.
This afternoon, Rand met Frazer high in the hills near the town. Below, they could see the army of tents: men with all manner of military equipment, waiting to fight something they knew nothing about.
Rand leaned against a tree on the mountain side.
"You'd think, with the armies both nations have drawn up, that this was to be a military campaign."
Frazer shook his head.
"Rand, we've got exactly two days to prevent a collision between the world and a force that may destroy part of it. I've reached a dead end. What are we to do?"
Rand considered.
"This town was mentioned for a purpose," he said at last. "The Aztecs said they had made preparations to prevent the collision. The stone was so badly broken that we don't know what they did. I've been looking for some sign of a man-made object."
Frazer stared at the sky, then let his gaze wander down to the round top of the mountain above him.
"I haven't been to the top yet," he admitted. "We'd better have at least one look."
Together they started upward. After a hour's climb, they came out on the smooth flat top of the mountain. It was rounded so that the highest spot was curved somewhat in the manner of a stone cannon ball.
Frazer made his way across the smooth boulder until he stood on the highest point.
"Odd," he said at last. "But I've been led to believe that this mountain was of volcanic structure. I expected to find a crater up here." Rand had been walking about over the smooth stone. He bent over suddenly, studying the surface.
"Frazer." His voice was taut with excitement. "Come here."
Frazer ran to his side. Rand was pointing to a row of holes drilled into the surface of the stone.
They were formed in the shape of an arrow, pointing down the face of the mountain toward the south.
"Mexico City," Frazer said. "Pointing to the city."
Rand nodded.
"Professor, I'm going to hazard a guess. It isn't much, and I have only a hunch to go on. Try to hear me through without laughing."
Frazer shook his head.
"I'm far from a humorous mood," he admitted.
"You said this mountain seemed volcanic in origin," Rand said. "That started me thinking."
"Yes?"
"Professor, suppose this bullet-shaped boulder was placed into the crater by human hands. Perhaps moved here in sections and welded together by some substance that the Aztecs knew of?"
Frazer went to his knees, studying the surface of the rock.
"Suppose that the Aztecs did make arrangements to stop that comet. Only one way was possible. To fire a projectile into space like a gigantic cannon, and hit the comet before it reached earth."
"But—" Frazer started to protest.
"I know," Rand admitted. "Wild—absolutely impossible; and yet the Aztecs built temples with boulders larger than we've ever found a way to move by hand. Isn't it possible to assume that, saying they did plan a way to stop the Black Comet, they might have equipped this mountain with a huge stone cannonball, primed a mechanism to set it off at the precise moment, and waited, confident that they would be able to save their precious city from destruction."
Frazer's eyes were almost closed. Within his mind were many thoughts. True, the top of the mountain had been altered. He was sure of that.
"One thing troubles me," he said at last. "The mechanism? If they did all this, where is the mechanism?"
Rand grimaced.
"I may be called an awful fool for this wild hunch, but where a better place than in the base of the mountain itself?"
"And if we are to find it?"
Rand pointed to the arrow drilled in the rock.
"Mexico City is south, Frazer," he said slowly. "But not in direct line with this arrow. I suggest we get surveying instruments, a dozen men and start following a dead line from the pointer end of that arrow."
AT midnight Waldo Frazer and Jim Rand found the object of
their search. With a dozen Army photographers and surveyors, they
traveled the smooth rock cap, plotted its surface and came to the
conclusion that it was man-made. The volcano itself, however, was
long dead. This meant that the Aztecs had planned on some other
power to send the cannon-rock shooting into space.
For hours they followed the course of the arrow, down the side of the mountain and into the dense underbrush at its base. Huge army caterpillar tractors ripped their snouts into soft earth, digging away the trees and heavy vines that had long since covered Aztec civilization. Electric generators were brought up by plane from Mexico City, and power lines were strung for miles near the bottom of the cliff. Under the direction of Waldo Frazer, trenches were dug in an attempt to find some trace of an Aztec tunnel.
When the solution came, it was so simple that Rand swore at himself for not thinking of it sooner.
At the base of the cliff, down in the valley where dirt trucks and tractors roared a steady fight against time, he found another arrow. It was small, not more than a foot long, pointing away to the north. Rather than start the entire staff on another wild goose chase, he followed the second arrow and found the third.
The Aztecs had been clever. They had placed several arrows in different places. None of them made sense individually, but by starting with the first, the trail was easy. It ended flat against the turf that had grown up to the bottom of a small, lower cliff.
So tired that he was almost beyond satisfaction, Rand staggered back through the wilderness and told Frazer. In half an hour a wide ditch had been gouged away and a slab of rock uncovered. The slab, pulled from the opening by the combined force of three tractors, left a low, clean tunnel open under the cliff.
All but the most important officials were sent back to the main camp at once. Reporters, waiting for long hours for this news, were ready now to dispatch word of Jim Rand's latest discovery to the waiting world.
Only one press representative was allowed to go with the carefully chosen party into the heart of the mountain. Jim Rand, Frazer, Manual Fresno of the President's cabinet, and dour-faced Ralph Hawk of the Washington News prepared to enter the crypt.
A RADIO had been set up at the entrance of the tunnel. Two
signal corps men were at the controls. A phone wire led into the
tunnel.
Down below, Frazer, Rand and their two friends moved ahead cautiously toward the cavity they felt sure existed in the heart of the rock.
"Almost half a mile," Frazer said suddenly. "The distance proves we are nearly under the stone bullet."
"If this turns out to be an old tomb instead of a powder chamber," Rand said, "we'd might as well stay here ourselves."
Hawk of the Washington News suddenly gave a cry of surprise.
"Ahead there," he said. "Looks like an open cave."
It was. A small, compact cavern with square walls and a hodge-podge of equipment piled in the center.
The place had a wrecked appearance that puzzled them. They entered the chamber and Rand put the lantern on the floor. Above them a straight shaft, not more than six inches wide, went straight upward to daylight.
The apparatus that met their eyes was constructed mostly of rusted metal and rock discs. Frazer tried for several minutes to make sense out of it, then gave up.
"Someone has beat us here," he said. "This isn't like the Aztecs at all. I'll venture that this intricate system of balance and counter balance was made to get the charge off at the exact moment.
"There on the floor"—he pointed to a squared stone with numerous markings on it—"is the remains of a calendar stone. It's evident that someone or something has broken it in two pieces. Would a race of people, determined to save their own skins, deliberately wreck their plan?"
Rand didn't answer. He had found rude markings on the wall. They were in Spanish, cut with a sharp-pointed instrument.
"The lantern," he said. "Bring it here. Perhaps Manual Fresno can make something of this."
The little Mexican started to read to himself. Then he turned, his face twisted in anger.
"Cortez," he said bitterly. "The message says: 'I, Hernando Cortez, have with great trouble found my way into the heart of this mountain. The Aztecs have led me to believe it was a gold mine and tried to trap me here. In retaliation, I have chosen to destroy their religious trappings, useless stones. May this teach a lesson to the sons of the Aztec.'"
"Damn meddling hypocrite," Frazer mumbled. "Now I've got to start at the bottom and work this thing out myself."
Hawk produced a cheap watch and consulted it
"In exactly twenty hours, five minutes and six seconds, Mexico City Is scheduled to get blown off the map. If this place is really filled with powder enough to explode the top of the mountain, I'm getting back to the States."
Hawk had his story. He headed up the tunnel, walking with hunched shoulders to clear the roof.
Hawk had hardly left, and Frazer was leaning over the oddly marked calendar stone, when the explosion came.
The tunnel sucked down a quick intake of air and the lantern went out.
"Good God," Rand cried in a choked voice.
They could hear Hawk swear, and his footsteps as he found his way toward them. Manual Fresno muttered something in Spanish. Frazer, the phone in his hand, tried to reach the men at the face of the tunnel.
"Frazer calling—Hey! What the hell?"
Then Hawk, swearing bloody murder.
"I shouldn't have come in with you guys in the first place. Whole damned tunnel caved in up there."
Then a voice, clear and sharp over the phone. So clear that Rand could hear it, and his fists clenched tight.
"Jim Rand." It was Wassler's voice, cool and sharp. "You thought you could outwit us. The signal corps men are dead. You will have no visitors for at least an hour. When they come, it will take too long to dig you out. Goodbye, and remember that you did me at least one favor. Now I alone am the leader here."
FRAZER started to speak again, and felt the wire go dead.
"Guess the wire has been severed." He tossed the phone on the floor. "How are we coming, Rand?"
Rand looked up from his place on the cave floor. His shirt was open, glasses steamed until he could hardly see through them.
"We were damned lucky you found that powder chamber," he said. "I've packed this small box half full of it and the fuse is ready. Here's hoping you doped it out right. We might have enough to blow us all to kingdom come."
Frazer smiled.
"I think not," he said. "The main chamber is about a hundred feet across. It's packed tight. If that chamber held powder for the general charge, this small amount should do the job at hand without much danger to ourselves."[*]
[* In explanation to the reader, let us say that Waldo Frazer discovered that the powder charge under the stone-capped mountain was prepared much as a modern bullet is manufactured. The stone cap took the place of the actual lead slug in a rifle bullet. The mountain crater itself acted as the cartridge shell. Of course, a primer mi out of the question. The intricate machinery, destroyed by Cortes, took the place of the primer. Because it was destroyed, the task of rebuilding this machine and tuning it to the second, fell to the genius of Professor Frazer.—Ed.]
He took the box from Rand, tamped a fuse into the top of the box and together they started up the blocked tunnel.
No sound came to them from outside.
"I hope they're out of the way," Frazer said.
He placed the box carefully under a projecting rock where the tunnel roof had fallen in, and adjusted the fuse.
The tunnel was stifling. The air was becoming foul in spite of the air vent.
From below them, Ralph Hawk shouted something about making It snappy. Frazer listened. There was no sound outside now. He leaned over, stretched the fuse out to full length and applied a match. The fuse started to sputter. "Run for it," he shouted.
Together, they dashed down the tunnel. Ralph Hawk and Manuel Fresno were already crouched against the side wall of the cave. Rand reached the cave, then turned to see Frazer stumble and fall just inside the tunnel entrance.
BAROOM!
Before Rand could return to aid his friend, the cave shook under the force of the explosion. Frazer, not badly hurt, crouched close to the floor. Then all was silent, save for the sound of falling rocks.
"You're all right?" Rand shouted.
FRAZER climbed to his feet unsteadily. There was an odd look
of terror on his face. He held his hands over his eyes, and then
slapped his cheeks smartly with the palms of his hands.
Fresno came from the corner.
"One big explosion," he said. "I'm glad it didn't start the main powder chamber toward heaven."
Rand knew there was something wrong with Frazer. Yet the man hadn't taken a bad fall. He had no visible wounds.
Meanwhile, Hawk had rushed up the tunnel. He was back, breathless with excitement.
"By God, boys," he howled, "she's through. I can see daylight. Rand, you going for that equipment? I'll fly to the States with you, get my story in and come back."
Rand didn't answer. Gradually the rest of them noticed Waldo Frazer. He was staggering, both hands before him, as though feeling for the side of the cave.
"Frazer!" Rand said sharply. "What the hell?"
Waldo Frazer turned toward his voice, eyes wide open, a dazed expression on his face.
"I—I can't see," he said haltingly.
Hawk's breath sucked in loudly. Rand was across the cave, both hands on Frazer's shoulder.
"Waldo—take it easy, man. You're going to be all right."
Frazer's hands gripped Rand's arms. He held on tightly.
"Rock dust," he said. "Sorry, but I'm afraid it's a bad job. I won't do any more star gazing."
Manuel Fresno became excited.
"But the Black Comet, señor. You're the only man who can save —"
Rand whirled on the Mexican.
"Shut your damned mouth." he said. "Can't you see what's happened?"
Frazer managed a wan smile.
"No quarreling, please," he begged. "Least of all over me. I'm all right. Rand, take a list of materials from me and get the hell out of here. You'll have to be back in a few hours."
Rand found his note book and started to copy down the items as Frazer rattled them off.
Before he was finished, sounds in the tunnel told him that the others were on their way down. He listened to Frazer's mechanical, bitter voice.
"Winch—a small one, fifty feet of rope, half a dozen alarm clocks...."
Then it was finished and Frances Frazer's voice came excitedly in the tunnel.
"Jim," Frazer said quietly. "Yes," Rand said. "You'd rather Frances didn't know?" Frazer nodded.
"You and Hawk leave at once and make all speed possible. Manuel will help me out of here and keep the others from finding out if he can. We've got a job to do, Jim."
Rand swallowed.
"No sentiment, sir," he promised. "But, please take it easy."
Frazer's lips pressed together in a hard line.
"No sentiment, boy," he said. "But you're going to have to be the eyes of our partnership for the next few hours. I think we'll make it."
They shook hands quickly.
ON March 11, the following bulletin was issued from Yerkes
Observatory to both Presidents, and to astronomers throughout the
country.
The Black Comet is definitely going to hit Earth, Through several days of close observation, it has been determined that at its present rate of speed, this comet cannot avoid striking after daylight tomorrow morning. The world is waiting and putting trust in one of our foremost scientists, Professor Waldo Frazer. Frazer is at the scene of what may be a great catastrophe unless he and his aids can prevent it. We ask all of you to co-operate with him by sending radio reports of any new findings.
During those last few hours, a lone B-17 bomber winged its way
southward toward Uruapan. On board were two passengers. Jim Rand,
busy sorting and preparing gadgets from which the time fuse would
be constructed, and lanky Walter Hawk.
They had been across the border for some hours. The jungle country of southern Mexico was beginning to unreel swiftly under the wings. Rand, finally finished with what work he could do. turned to Hawk.
"When this thing is over," he said grimly, "I'll give you the line up on the fifth columnists who almost buried us for keeps in the cave. There's a fine story in it for you, and the government can clean them out quite easily."
Hawk, already familiar with Herman Wassler's voice, showed great interest.
"I understand your Mexican boy put one of them away? Guy by the name of Miller?"
Rand nodded, and went on, telling Hawk what he knew.
Hawk interrupted finally.
"Miller was well known in Washington. Been causing trouble for years. Skipped out after we caught up with the Nazi Bund camps. Had a thin, mousy partner named Kessler. Suppose that might be Wassler?"
Rand brought his fist down suddenly on top of a cargo crate.
"Wassler or Kessler," he said. "He's responsible for almost killing Frances and because he destroyed the tunnel, Frazer's blind. Wassler and I have an account to settle."
One of the pilots turned suddenly, a strained expression on his face.
"If I'm not nuts, that's as pretty an airfield as I've ever seen, just ahead there buried in the jungle. It's not down on the map."
Rand leaned forward eagerly, staring down at the long, smooth run-way cm out of virgin wilderness. A line of lights went around the entire field.
"That's it," he said sharply. "I knew they had one hidden up here somewhere. Are we near Uruapan?"
The co-pilot nodded.
"Leveling off to go in in about ten minutes," he said. "But say, that field's plain as the nose on your face. You'd think they'd have it hidden."
A thought flashed through Rand's mind. It wasn't a pleasant one.
"Suppose Wassler had it camouflaged, and took the camouflage away so that they could get planes into the air?"
He heard Hawk gasp.
"He wouldn't know we were coming down by plane."
Rand stood up.
"Just the same, he knew we were in the tunnel. I wouldn't be—"
Crack!
The bomber tottered suddenly, leveled, then shuddered from nose to tail. Rand was aware of the two pilots grasping hurriedly at the controls, then the force of the blow sent him spinning into the equipment and the bomber nosed downward toward the jungle.
"You're right," one of the pilots shouted. "Plane on our tail—blind spot—no gunner along. He must have socked some heavy stuff into the wing—it's folding."
Rand regained his balance just in time to see a fighter plane, no marks on its wings, shoot ahead of them and upward into the sky.
"Sit tight back there," the co-pilot howled. "Going to try a tree-top landing. Think we can make it."
Hawk sat still, knuckles white as he grasped the side of the plane and held on. Rand tried to see the plane above them, but he was thrown on his side as the B-17 started to dive.
A single row of machine gun bullets ripped through the top of the cabin and buried themselves in the floor.
"Almost down," he heard a voice shout. "Hold on and pray, if you get—"
Then the sudden ripping, slapping sound as they topped the first trees. The props went with a crash and the engines roared suddenly and died. Rand was tossed about in the cabin, felt his back strike against a packing case. Then everything blacked out. He was conscious only of a slipping, sliding feeling as the plane stopped moving ahead and slid down among the trees.
WALDO FRAZER had done a fine job, Rand thought, as they
carried him down the steep incline of the tunnel. Mexican peons
had seen the B-17 crash A quick rescue was made, and none of the
occupants was dead. Hawk had a nasty gouge over his left eye and
Rand knew he himself wouldn't be walking for several days.
His back and legs had suffered a severe wrenching, although no bones were broken.
When Frazer heard the precious instruments were destroyed, he replanned everything alone, in a darkened, sightless brain.
He insisted that he and Rand be taken into the cave room. Because Rand could not walk, he was carried down on a stretcher and placed comfortably in a dry corner. A small box of reports and books were brought also, at Frazer's bidding. Manuel Fresno, still at Frazer's side, helped the professor manage the trip in a way that hid his secret perfectly. Even Frances did not suspect that her father could not see.
Now they were alone under the mountain, a man who could not see and another who had no power to move. Frazer was silent for a long time, making sure that everyone had returned to the head of the tunnel.
"Jim," he said suddenly. "You and I have three hours to work. I've another way out. I thought of it when you were gone. I know the equipment down here by heart. It might be repaired."
Jim Rand looked at the broken mechanism that Cortez had destroyed hundreds of years before. He knew what was in Frazer's mind. He didn't have the heart to argue with him.
"You're in bad shape for such work," he protested mildly. "Think you can manage?"
Frazer nodded grimly.
"You're going to have' to read to me." he said, and sat down on the sandy floor. "I'll have to hear every report that has been issued in the past twenty hours."
Rand went to work, keeping his voice as steady as possible, reading the observations that had come in from all parts of the country. Outside the tunnel, a number of high officials stood by, radio ready, receiving each new flash that came across the jungle from civilization.
Frances Frazer, without understanding what was taking place, knew only that the pain in her shoulder had long since ceased, and there was only a dull yearning inside her to be with the two men under the mountain.
"SO now," Frazer said finally. "The time is so close I suggest
that you call the others and get to safety."
Rand, knowing from the first that this would happen, hated worse than anything else to face the actual parting.
"You—can think of no other way?"
Waldo Frazer had aged greatly in the past half day. His sightless eyes stared straight ahead. His lips were compressed, fists clenched.
"If you had lived a full fifty years, able to scrutinize the sky with sharp, all-seeing eyes, loving every hour of your work, would you want to go on without seeing—without knowing what was there to see?" Rand was silent.
"Some might call me a hero." Frazer pondered slowly. "Perhaps I am more of a coward than a hero. I can't stand facing the facts as they are. If one poor life can save thousands, it should be that way. What other form of primer do we have? A single match, quick death at a precise instant, and the Black Meteor will be faced with something more powerful than it can endure."
Rand tried to roll closer to the older man, and grimaced at the pain.
"I think you know how I feel?"
"We've been friends," Frazer said simply. "You found this mountain cannon of ours, and I'm to have the honor of firing it. I know you'll take care of Frances, and that's all I ask."
"Then I'd better go," Rand said. "I've removed the glass from my watch and I've scratched a spot on the dial precisely where our final measurement figured out. That will be the exact instant where the exploding projectile will have a chance of meeting the Black Comet. After that it will be too late. A shot would be useless."
Frazer nodded.
"I know," he said. "Give me the watch and call the men."
Leaning over, Rand pressed the switch and spoke into the phone.
"We're all set," he said in an easy voice. "Bring down the stretcher."
THE final death agonies of the mountain were swift and
glorious. Every army unit, every single living person within ten
miles of Parangaricutiro was removed to safety. Only Rand knew
what Frazer planned to Ho. The others, practical men, depended on
Frazer to produce a long-distance firing apparatus.
Rand and Frazer knew it couldn't be done. That to fire at the precise second, necessary if the plan were to work, depended on perfect timing. No timing was more flawless than the grim, shaking fingers of an old man, applying a lighted match directly under the vast powder room.
From Uruapan, Frances Frazer, her arm tightly about Rand, watched and waited for the clock to trek the fatal second. Army men strained their eyes in the direction of the round top mountain.
Five minutes.... Frances started to cry softly, dried her tears and pressed closer to Rand. "He wanted it this way?" she asked. Rand nodded.
"He's a great man," he said.
The last minute, and the last second, and Rand held his breath.
B-A-R-O-O-O-M-M!
The air was split with a mighty roar, and the entire top of the mountain exploded into the air. Jungle trees bent double under the force and the ground shook as though ripped by an earthquake. Smoke and fire belched hundreds of yards into the sky. Then the mountain itself settled back slowly, seemed to tip tiredly over on one side and was motionless. It had sunk into the earth at least fifty yards lower than it had been before.
Its entire contour was changed and flattened by the blow.
Gradually, Rand was aware of excited voices about him. Across town at the airport, half a dozen planes took to the air and turned north. Trucks and jeeps started to pull out.
He heard an announcer, on the scene for the Northern Networks, talking over the microphone: "... entire world seemed to come to an end." the man was saying. "This was a deliberate man-made attempt to destroy part of an onrushing force that may kill millions... hero among heroes... Professor Waldo Frazer personally handled the job... hope to hear from the Professor in an hour or two... party already on way to mountain to interview...."
With a sob, Frances was in Jim Rand's arms.
"Oh! The fools. The poor fools. Dad killed himself for them and they don't even know it."
"They will," Rand said thickly. "And they'll never forget the blind man who gave his life so that millions might live."
March 13. From Yerkes Observatory. It was reported here this afternoon that Professor Waldo Frazer's death was not in vain. His calculation, figured with the eyes of James Rand, was a wonderful thing. How any blind man, blinded completely, could time the shot to the split second is beyond understanding. But it is true. The entire story has been learned from Rand.
Today a fitting end is recorded. Seven observers, all working with this observatory, reported that the Black Comet seemed to come to an abrupt halt within three hours after the projectile was fired; it hesitated in space, then seemed to explode with a radiant burst of color. Tonight the sky is clear once more. Professor Waldo Frazer's work is well known. His name is dedicated to the ages....
From the Washington News, March 14—Special from Walter Hawk—Uruapan, Mexico.
Combined forces of Mexican and United States Army planes flew over the jungle here today. With the assistance of this reporter, a hidden Axis airport was discovered and completely destroyed. Ground forces used commando tactics to round up several fifth column suspects. Herman Wassler, otherwise known as Kesshr, faced the firing squad for his leadership of this group.
Washington News, March 16—Special from Walter Hawk—San Diego, California. This reporter returned to the States today with James Rand, Professor Waldo Frazer's able assistant and original discoverer of the Black Comet menace. Rand and Miss Frances Frazer, although they refuse to discuss dates, will probably be married some time this summer. Rand will continue....
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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