Wade jumped from the ship to the shore and then moved into the jungle. The night was full of predators, many of whom preferred the coolness of the evening to conduct their hunts. Lions, leopards and cheetahs were the primary concerns for Wade and he kept his senses on alert as he plunged through the tall grasses.

  Almost two miles from the riverbank, the underbrush began to thin and Wade spotted what appeared to be numerous paths that had been cleared. As he squinted into the darkness, he saw an area that had been converted into a landing strip – the trees had been removed and several runways had been carved into the earth. A single long-range biplane was currently parked there.

  There was also a building there, illuminated by torches planted in the ground at the four points. Two men stood outside, dressed in loose native garb. They were Westerners, however, who had gone with local fashion simply to avoid the heat. Both men wore holsters.

  Moving with the stealth of a jungle cat, Wade crept along the perimeter, keeping low to the ground. As he got closer, he heard the men conversing in German. Fluent in multiple languages, Wade was easily able to understand their words.

  The taller of the two, a Nordic-looking chap with a nose that had obviously been broken years before, was saying, “No word from the group in the South Pacific.”

  The other laughed hoarsely. “That’s according to plan, right? They weren’t meant to come home.”

  The tall man shrugged. “Cambion should have radioed back confirmation that the job was done.”

  “Think Thunder Jim managed to stop them?”

  “Possible. They say he’s like a superman or something. I heard he was raised by monks in Tibet.”

  “I heard it was a group of Atlanteans who trained him.”

  “Neither of you are right,” Wade said, leaping from the shadows. He tackled the first man, delivering a powerful punch to the face as he did so. Then he whipped around to drive the other fellow’s head into the side of the building.

  Wade dragged the men into the shadows, stripping both of their pistols, which joined his own in the waistband of his pants – two in the front and one in the back.

  Ducking into the structure, Wade found himself faced with stone walls, dirt floors and the occasional wall-mounted torch. It was very quiet but Wade could hear muffled conversations within.

  He quickly found that the corridors were arranged in a confusing manner and that the interior of the structure appeared somehow larger than it should. He passed numerous rooms and even stairs leading both up and down – despite the fact that the exterior had revealed the structure was only a one-story building.

  Wade stopped in place, growing confused. This was an impossibility. He sniffed, wondering if there were hallucinogens being pumped into the air. If so, that could help explain the mad devotion that Leviathan’s followers possessed. They truly believed that their master was superhuman because they saw and heard things that had no rational explanation.

  Of course, that didn’t help Wade at present. If he had breathed in some sort of gas, then he would be under its effects for some time.

  The sound of grinding stone caused Wade to press himself tightly against the wall. He peered around the corner of the hallway, where he saw that the stone surface had opened, revealing a portal. No one emerged so he quietly approached, glancing inside.

  He expected to come face to face with a horde of Leviathan’s followers but what he saw instead was a large chamber, illuminated by a brightly burning brazier. The walls were decorated in banners of crimson with gold trim. In the center of each banner was the black silhouette of a human head, though small horns adorned the skull, giving it a demonic appearance. Seated in the center of the room, just in front of the brazier, was a hooded figure. The figure was obviously male, despite the cloaks that hid its body, and its head was tilted downward.

  “Hello, Mr. Wade,” the seated man said.

  Wade strode into the room, glancing back only when the stone wall closed behind him. “You’re not an easy man to find.”

  “Most men are simply not strong enough to survive the journey.” The cloaked man sat up straight, black-gloved hands rising to remove his hood. “I am Leviathan.”

  For one of the few times in his life, Jim Wade found himself speechless.

  Leviathan wore a gray suit and tie, small gloves and dark shoes. As he stood, Wade guessed him to be just short of six feet in height and of trim but athletic build. Leviathan wore a metallic black mask that covered his entire face, with only a small slit over the mouth and ovals for eyes.

  Just as Wade was finding his voice once more, Leviathan spoke again. “I suppose it’s time for you and I to begin the requisite fight-to-the-death? Along the way, I’ll regale you with stories about my origins and motivations, perhaps even giving you enough clues to my master plan that you and your allies can later put a halt to it?”

  Wade frowned. “I could not care less about who you really are. What I do want to know is how you found out about my island and why you’re trying to kill me.”

  Leviathan laughed, the sound coming out strangely because of the helmet’s muffling effect. “That was simple. You’re familiar with Randall Herbert?”

  Wade was. Herbert was a member of his network of operatives. Based primarily out of Paris, Herbert traveled frequently for business purposes, which made him doubly useful.

  Leviathan shrugged. “He ran afoul of one of my plans and was captured. He was quite brave during all the questioning we put him through but in the end, he was only a man. He eventually tried to bargain with whatever he thought would save his life. Believe me, I know how that is. You’ll agree to things you’d have scoffed at, when the shadow of death is upon you. In his case, he revealed that he worked for you… and that he’d once been to your secret island base.”

  “And after he told you all this, you did what?” Wade pressed, clenched his hands into fists.

  “Oh, I killed him, of course.”

  “You bastard. And then you attacked me for no reason at all?”

  “Eventually, you would have become aware of me. I thought it best to strike first.”

  Wade shook his head. Something was wrong. Leviathan was shimmering before his eyes, almost looking like he was splitting in two. He rubbed his forehead. “What have you done to me?”

  Leviathan was suddenly right in front of him. Gone was the form of a man in a suit and mask. Now he looked… different: Like a swirling bundle of energy bound up in a human frame. “You know what I’ve done to you. You’ve been walking closer and closer to the precipice ever since you entered my home.” The energy-thing that wasn’t a man pointed to the brazier. “And now you’re breathing in a particularly potent mixture of peyote and a few drugs of my own devising.”

  Wade fought to maintain his grip on reality, aware of just how dangerous it would be to be at the mercy of a man like this. “I’m… going to… stop you.”

  Leviathan, who now looked just like Thunder Jim Wade, smiled. “No. You’re not.”

  Wade tumbled backward, landing hard on the ground. The world grew dark and he thought he heard a familiar voice, speaking to him from beyond the grave.

  “Good night,” Leviathan said, only it sounded like Jim Wade’s father. “When you wake up… all will be well.”

  Chapter VI

  The Trials of Salem

  Matthew Garrity sipped his tea and enjoyed the silence of his Salem home. It was the wee hours of the morning and almost everyone in the city was asleep. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional bark of a dog and the soft tick-tock of the grandfather clock that stood in the hall.

  Garrity was seated in his study, a leather-bound edition of Charles Dickens’ Bleak House, open on his lap. It was widely regarded as the author’s most complex work, with a vast array of characters and subplots. Garrity had read it numerous times over the years, always finding something new in its pages.

  At a little past seventy years of age, Garrity was well aware that he might not live to read it through from start-to-finish again. His health was beginning to wane, his eyesight was failing and on some mornings, there was a tremble in his hands that made work difficult.

  He remained a fine-looking man, though his face was now lined with wrinkles. Silver hair was swept back from a regal forehead and he wore an expensive robe with Persian slippers. He had women that he saw from time to time but none were with him this evening. In truth, he didn’t like it when his lovers spent the night – it implied a depth to the relationship that didn’t truly exist.

  Garrity set aside his book as an odd sound reached his ears. It was coming from the front foyer and it didn’t take much to recognize the familiar click and following creak: someone had unlocked the front door and was now slowly opening it – in a failed attempt at stealth.

  Rising carefully, Garrity moved toward a nearby bookshelf and pulled down a specific volume. He flipped it open to reveal a false bottom and a pistol hidden within. He checked to make sure it was loaded and then began to move toward the hallway. When he reached the front door, he found that it was standing open, with no one in sight.

  Garrity glanced at the grandfather clock. It was far too early for his maid to have come in and she never would have been sloppy enough to leave the door ajar, even if it wasn’t.

  “I like your slippers.”

  Garrity froze, hearing a woman’s voice from over his shoulder. He whirled about, finger poised on the trigger, and came nose-to-barrel with Morgan’s revolver. Samantha stood at his side, a smirk on her pretty little face.

  “I know you two,” Garrity said, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t realize that Assistance Unlimited was into breaking and entering now.”

  “You’d be surprised at what we can do when the case calls for it,” Morgan answered. He looked cool and debonair in his suit and tie, his moustache and hair perfectly coiffed. “Now hand your gun over to my lady friend here.”

  Samantha took the pistol and gestured toward Garrity’s footwear. “I really do like the shoes. Expensive.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I’ll see that a pair is sent to your prison cell. You do realize that you’re going to end up in jail over this, don’t you? Your parents will be so proud.”

  Lazarus entered from another doorway, one that led into Garrity’s kitchen area. Eun was with him, munching on an apple that he’d plucked up off the dining room table.

  “Leviathan,” Lazarus said without preamble. “Tell us about him.”

  Garrity stared at him for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing. “That’s hilarious - You asking me about Leviathan.”

  “Why is that so funny?” Eun asked around a mouthful of apple.

  “Because your employer here is an expert on Leviathan. But I guess he doesn’t know that yet, does he?” Garrity exhaled slowly, looking smug. “I will tell you nothing about Leviathan. To do so would be to court death.”

  Morgan pressed the barrel of his gun against the side of Garrity’s head. “I’d say death is a hell of a lot closer right now than it would be from Leviathan.”

  “Leviathan’s reach is greater than you might think,” Garrity said. The old man moved with surprising speed, twisting around to grab hold of Morgan’s wrist. In the struggle, the gun went off, a bullet narrowly missing Samantha as it crashed into the staircase.

  Morgan grunted as he was shoved into the wall. Garrity was spinning about, blocking a blow from Eun, who had tossed his apple aside. The elderly man was a skilled combatant but against Eun, he was facing one of the greatest martial artists the world had ever known. The young Korean pressed the attack, peppering Garrity’s midsection with punches that left his opponent gasping.

  Garrity tried to back away toward the still-open door but he bumped into Lazarus. Gray wrapped his arms around the man’s head and neck, applying enough pressure that the flailing old man finally succumbed to lack of oxygen.

  Lazarus let the fellow fall to the floor. “Let’s lock this place up before any of the neighbors get suspicious.”

  “What are we going to do with him?” Eun asked, nudging Garrity’s unconscious form with the tip of his toe.

  “I’m not done with him yet,” Lazarus answered.

  ***

  Garrity woke up to find that his hands were bound behind his back and that he was seated in his kitchen. A bright reading lamp had been brought close, its beam directed straight into his eyes. He squinted, recognizing the silhouettes of Assistance Unlimited. “This isn’t your wisest course of action, Lazarus,” he warned.

  Lazarus moved into view, a syringe held in his right hand. A clear fluid dripped from the needle’s tip. “You can answer my questions of your own free will… or I can give you something to help relax your tongue.”

  Garrity flinched. “You can’t use that on me. Sodium pentothal weakens the heart. You could kill me.”

  “I’m prepared to take that chance.”

  “You’re not like this. You don’t kill unless you have to….”

  “My home was invaded by agents of Leviathan. You made it sound as if he’s someone I should know. That means that I’m at risk until he’s caught and so are my friends. So I have to do whatever it takes.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Garrity began speaking. “I only know stories. Maybe they’re true, maybe they’re not. But from what I’ve heard, Leviathan is actually Walther Lunt. He was the man who invited you into The Illuminati, wasn’t he?”

  Lazarus said nothing but his mind was whirring like a well-oiled machine. Lunt had, indeed, been his mentor at one time. But he’d become a terrible enemy when Lazarus Gray – then known as Richard Winthrop – had turned against the secret society. Lunt had died and then been resurrected but during the Die Glocke affair, it had appeared that his threat had been silenced forever. “Go on,” he prompted.

  Garrity’s face took on an expression of distaste. “I never liked him, you know. Everyone associated with The Illuminati wanted power and money but there was something different about Lunt. It was like he wanted power… so he could fuel his sickness. He needed to be able to assuage his hungers, no matter how disgusting they were.”

  “Do you have any evidence that Lunt might be Leviathan?” Lazarus asked. “Or is it all hearsay?”

  “I’ve only met Leviathan once – all of my other dealings with him have been through intermediaries and all of them have been since you gutted The Illuminati. A lot of us went into deep cover but we maintain contacts – Leviathan implied that he’d used Illuminati methods to find me. He knows who you really are, too, and hardly anyone outside of The Illuminati knows that.”

  “It would explain why he’s launched an attack on you,” Morgan said from the side.

  Lazarus silenced him with a quick look before moving in closer to Garrity. “So no genuine proof?”

  “No,” the older man admitted. “But it seems likely to me.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you seem convinced it’s not.”

  “Walther Lunt is dead.”

  “The Illuminati can--”

  “I know about their resurrection techniques!” Lazarus snapped. “But it didn’t happen this time. He was killed by a creature named Jack-In-Irons. His body was splintered into a dozen pieces.”

  Garrity shrugged. “Death is not always the end for men like Lunt.”

  Lazarus pushed the needle into Garrity’s neck, causing the man’s eyes to open wide in surprise. His head slumped forward, mouth hanging slack.

  “He’ll wake up in about four hours,” Lazarus said. “In the meantime, let’s look around and see if we find anything of interest. We’ll clean up and remove any prints before we go.”

  As Morgan and Eun jumped to their tasks, Samantha lingered behind. Always the most sensitive of the team, she could tell that Lazarus was more on edge than usual. “Do you think Lunt really could be involved in this?”

  “No. He’s dead. I’m sure of that. But Garrity might be on to something. I think it’s very possible that Leviathan is someone from the higher echelon of The Illuminati. Whoever it is was probably running a side game during the secret society’s heyday but once we put a dent into the group’s livelihood, they slid into being Leviathan full-time.”

  “Hey, Chief!” Eun hurried over, holding a folder in his hand. He passed it to Lazarus and said, “There’s notes in there about ‘current targets’ – and it includes information not just on you but on some other guy, too.”

  Lazarus lifted out a photograph of a dark-haired man with a youthful face and piercing eyes. Scrawled underneath the picture was the man’s name and Lazarus read it aloud, eyes narrowing as he did so: “Thunder Jim Wade.”

  Chapter VII

  Friends and Enemies!

  Red Argyle was feeling increasingly nervous. He and Dirk had arrived in Egypt about six hours ago, making their way to the hotel where Wade had been staying with great haste. Unfortunately, their friend had already checked out. He had left behind a small note asking them to check in on Josef to make sure he was safe.

  Josef had been dead for nearly three hours by the time they tracked him down. Someone had bludgeoned him in an alley, not bothering to steal the large amount of American cash he’d been carrying.

  Thankfully, Josef was a man who kept meticulous notes. Alongside the money, there had been a small notebook filled with details about his recent activities. Included was a reference to his meeting with Wade and the directions he had given him.

  And now they were standing on the riverbank, looking down at the Thunderbug. “How long do you think it’s been here?” Red asked, wiping sweat off his brow.

  “Not sure.” Dirk leaned out and held his hands over the amazing vehicle. “The engine’s cold. Given that the hotel clerk said he checked out not long before we arrived… we can’t be too far behind him.”

  Red looked around. Dawn was still a few hours away and the jungle was alive with activity. “This gives me the creeps.”

  Dirk stood up, studying his friend. “Why? We’ve been in the jungle before.”

 

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