THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Chapter 7

(You can read the previous chapter HERE!)
7

The Shadow peered in the window with a sinking feeling. Had the shots been for Margo? Had he waited too long? Had the desire to solve the sabotage cost Margo her life? The questions whirled in the mind of the black-garbed Avenger. Then his mind clamped down its control, focused its powers, and analyzed the facts.

The shots had come from in front of the house. Margo would certainly not be killed before she talked unless Colonel Derian had made a mistake, and Derian was not the kind of man who made mistakes. And even as The Shadow watched the scene inside the office of Misygyn, he saw that it could not be Margo who had been shot.

The two armed guards who had been with Margo ran into the office with their pistols drawn.

They had panic on their faces, their eyes were wild with apprehension until they saw Misygyn.

They also saw General Rogers and covered him with their guns. Misygyn waved them off.

“No, you fools, outside!” the diplomat said. “The shots came from outside! Find out what has happened! Are the others still here?”

“Yes, Excellency,” one of the armed guards said.

“He has gone to find the source of the shots,” the second guard said, obviously referring to Colonel Derian, but not wanting to mention the name or presence of the Colonel in front of Rogers.

“Help him!” Misygyn snapped.

The diplomat was obviously agitated, disturbed. The Shadow watched the heavy-set man pace the office. And he watched General Rogers who sat now quiet and composed in a chair as if he had no interest in the shots at all. In the midst of the chaos and pandemonium, Rogers remained calm and apparently unconcerned. The Shadow’s eyes glowed. Either Rogers had iron control, or he actually did not care about the shots.

The two armed men turned and ran from the room. At the window The Shadow moved. With the guards out searching for who had fired the shots, and with Derian and Vaslov alarmed and busy, it was The Shadow’s opportunity to free Margo. The black-shrouded figure glided away through the night toward the darkened windows on the far side of the mansion.

The Shadow moved soundlessly, a wraith of shadow in the dark, unseen and unheard by the guards searching the grounds to see who had fired the shots. But there was another wraith in the night. Only the super-power of the black Avenger’s hearing and vision in the dark revealed this second silent figure that moved through the grounds like a tiger stalking some jungle for its prey.

The Shadow heard the delicate footsteps and became an immobile shadow, a part of the night itself.

Colonel Derian passed within five feet of the black-garbed Avenger. The cobra-like face of the secret police officer was rigid with intensity as he looked and listened, an ugly pistol with a silencer in his hand. Derian moved without a sound, without a crackle of twigs or a movement of the air as he passed. The tall, cadaverous Colonel was an expert at stalking, and only The Shadow could have seen or heard him as he passed in the night and moved off toward the distant wall of the grounds. A feeling of cold remained long after the Colonel had passed.

When all was still again, the sound of the search by the guards moved far away to the other end of the spacious parklike grounds, The Shadow moved again toward the dark side of the mansion. His black-garbed figure was no more then the passing of dark air. He knew now that Colonel Derian and the two armed men were out in the night—but he had not seen Vaslov. His fiery eyes watched for the small, wiry scientist as he reached the dark windows of the mansion.

He neither saw nor heard the spy-scientist. Was Vaslov the victim of the shots? Or was Vaslov lurking somewhere to watch? Alert, The Shadow silently opened a window on the dark side of the house and vanished inside.

In the small, windowless, and soundproof room far below the office of Misygyn, Vaslov paced the soundless cork floor and listened for any further sounds from outside. He heard nothing in the soundproofed room. He had heard the shots, but not in this room. He had been upstairs with Derian when the shots split the night. The Colonel had sent him down to get the guards, to send the two guards up, and to take their place.

“This could be some attempt to rescue the woman,” Colonel Derian had said. “Be alert down there. Let no one into the room except myself. You know the signal.”

That had been ten minutes ago—ten minutes that seemed like hours to the nervous Vaslov.

The scientist was not suited for this work—which was why he had been a “sleeper” agent, a man who could pass all scrutiny in his assumed identity and work until it was time for him to become the active spy. He was a scientist who was also a spy, not a spy who was partly a scientist, and he was not happy with the demands of espionage. But it was his job, and he paced the silent room and watched the woman prisoner.

Margo, as Dr. Freda Talent, was seated on a heavy straight chair. It was a strange, macabre-looking chair: thick and heavy, with straps that held her wrists down on the heavy arms, and straps for her feet and neck. It looked like the electric chairs used in execution chambers. This chair, too, had wires attached and electronic controls. Margo, as the middle aged woman scientist, sat calmly in the chair, but small beads of sweat on her face showed that her calmness came only by an effort. Alone in the windowless and soundless room, she felt for the first time abandoned.

Vaslov paced and looked at his watch. The nervous scientist-spy held a pistol.

Margo sat in silence.

No sound came from anywhere.

The light in the room was feeble.

There was only one lamp to dispel the windowless gloom. A green-shaded bulb that hung from the ceiling and swayed hypnotically back and forth in a slow arc.

Neither Margo nor Vaslov saw or heard the outer door of the room open and close. There was a faint rush of air. Vaslov turned but saw nothing. The scientist blinked, stared, but the door was closed and he saw nothing and no one. Margo, too, had felt the sudden touch of moving air. She, too, saw nothing. But she knew who had entered the room. Her eyes were bright as she waited.

Vaslov looked at her. He saw her face. He was about to speak when the eerie laugh shattered the silence of the hidden room.

Vaslov whirled, his gun ready. “Who is it?”

The Russian scientist-spy blinked. He saw nothing. There were only the gloomy shadows in the empty and silent room.

“Who laughed? I heard a laugh!” Vaslov cried, his frantic eyes searching.

Vaslov whirled to Margo. “You heard? There was a laugh! I know someone laughed!”

Margo said nothing. Vaslov turned again, searched the gloom of the room with his frantic eyes. He turned back to Margo. He took her by the shoulders. He shook her.

“I heard it! You hear? I’m not going crazy! I heard a laugh. Someone is in this room! I’m not going crazy!”

Margo looked up coldly. “Where? Where is someone?”

Vaslov stared at her cold face. He looked all around and saw nothing. He looked back at Margo. Suddenly he reached out and slapped her face.

“Liar! You know! You… .”

The laugh of The Shadow came again, eerie and cold. The deep voice of the Avenger filled the room.

“Do you hear me, Vaslov? Or is it all a dream? Are you hearing a real voice, or are you going insane? Be sure, Vaslov!”

The small, wiry Russian crouched now, pointed his gun toward the gloomy shadows of the room. “I hear you! I hear a real voice! Don’t move or I will kill you!”

The laugh was mocking. “Can you kill what you cannot see? If I am real, why do you not see me, Vaslov?”

The Russian screamed. “I will see you! There, you are there!”

Vaslov fired into a dark corner. The bullet whined and bounced in the small room, luckily missing everyone. The laugh of The Shadow mocked the small scientist.

“I see you! I see you!” Vaslov shrieked in terror.

The scientist-spy pointed his gun at the corners of the room. He blinked and peered ahead, his gun pointing but not firing because he could still see nothing. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head that seemed to be growing thick. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand against a haze that seemed to be filling the room, a mist that rolled slowly into his brain, a cloud that fogged his vision. He could not seem to think.

“I … I … will … see you!”

Vaslov rubbed frantically at his eyes. Then his movements slowed. He shook his head, but it was a slow and weary shaking as if he knew now that he could not dissipate the cloud on his brain. He smiled as if now he did not want to escape the warm cloud that enfolded his mind.

Then, suddenly, as his will ceased to be his own, he saw the two fiery eyes that seemed to glow and burn through from the gloom of the hidden and silent room. He saw the eyes, and the hawk-nose beneath the wide brim of a black slouch hat. He saw the red fire-opal girasol on the long finger of steel, and the great black cape that flowed and blended into the dim gloom the room.

Vaslov smiled.

“I can see you!”

“Yes, Vaslov, you can now see me. But you cannot harm me. You are under my power, Vaslov, the power of The Shadow!”

Vaslov nodded. “Yes.”

“You will hand me your pistol, and you will sit on the floor,” The Shadow commanded.

Vaslov handed his pistol to the long hand of The Shadow, and sat obediently on the floor. The Shadow glided across the small room to Margo. He freed her and she stood up.

“For a moment I thought … . .” Margo began.

“I would have been here sooner, Margo, but there was much to hear upstairs,” The Shadow said.

The Avenger turned his great black shape to the seated and silent Vaslov. “Tell me what you were doing at Federal Cybernetics!”

“It was my job. They asked me to report anything unusual. I found the ledger. There was too much. I reported it.”

“Why do they want to know about anything unusual at Federal Cybernetics?” The Shadow demanded.

“Sabotage,” Vaslov said. “The project has failed many times. Derian came about the sabotage.”

“Yes, the sabotage,” The Shadow said softly. “How is it being done? How do they… .”

The cloaked Avenger stopped. His keen ears had heard the sounds far beyond the soundproofed room. Sounds that no one else could hear. Someone was walking toward the entrance down from upstairs to the cellar where the hidden room was located. The Shadow would not be trapped in the small room.

“Quick, Margo, to the door,” The Avenger snapped, and he turned his eyes toward the seated Vaslov. “You will not remember this. You will not remember me. You will say that Margo escaped by overpowering you!”

Vaslov nodded. “She overpowered me, yes. She took my pistol.”

The Shadow’s eyes glowed and without another word he turned and glided to the door. He opened the door with his powers and led Margo out into the dark cellar. The Shadow and Margo faded into the far reaches of the vast cellar. The door from above opened. Colonel Derian came down quickly and strode across the cellar to the door of the hidden room. The Colonel swore!

The door was not locked!!

Colonel Derian tore the door open and strode into the hidden room. He did not close the door behind him. Where they stood in the darkness of the cellar Margo and The Shadow could see the tall Colonel standing over Vaslov like the swaying shape of a coiled cobra. They heard the voice of Vaslov.

“She escaped. Took my gun. She attacked me by surprise.”

Derian’s voice was as cold and hard as a glacier. “She could not! How could she escape the chair?”

There was a pause. Then Vaslov said, puzzled. “I don’t know. She… she … must have had

… help. I … she overpowered me. She took my gun. She … . .”

“Who helped her?”

“I don’t know. I … I …”

“She could not have escaped!” Derian said. “Not without help, and you are the only person here.”

“I … . .” Vaslov began. Then his voice rose high. “No! No!”

The silenced shot echoed through the cellar. Vaslov was silent. In the room Colonel Derian stood with his pistol smoking in his hand.

The Shadow touched Margo and the two agents of justice crossed the cellar and went silently up the stairs.

Five minutes later The Shadow was again at the open window of Misygyn’s office. Margo had gone to the road where Shrevvie waited in the taxi. The Shadow’s fiery eyes watched the office through the window. General Calvin Rogers sat alone in the exact spot where The Shadow had last seen him. Rogers was smoking a cigarette and calmly reading a Russian periodical.

A moment later Misygyn came back into the office. The stocky diplomat stalked to his desk and sat down facing Rogers. The General looked up at the Russian. Misygyn stared at Rogers and his face was suffused with anger.

“We found a body, General!”

Rogers seemed to tense. “A body? What about who did the shooting?”

“No, we did not find the killer. But we found the body.”

Rogers leaned forward. “Is that supposed to be some kind of threat, Excellency?”

“Yes, a threat!” Misygyn thundered. “Do you know what body we found? Out there inside our walls? On our grounds? Do you know?”

Rogers said nothing. Outside the window The Shadow was beginning to understand what the shots had been.

“Oates!” Misygyn stormed. “We found the body of Major John Oates of your Central Intelligence Agency! On our territory! Did you think we wouldn’t know?”

“Oates?” General Rogers said slowly.

“You thought I did not know Major Oates? Yes, I know the Major. Now he is dead—shot on Soviet territory! Spying! What was he spying for, General? What was he up to?”

“How should I know?” Rogers said calmly.

“Liar!” Misygyn thundered, putting on a fine act of outraged anger. “Major Oates was not out there, secretly, for the game of it! He was spying! Why? What did he want?”

“I have no idea. So you killed, eh? That… .”

“That was our right! He was trespassing! I will lodge a formal protest!”

“How will you explain the murder of Major Oates?” Rogers demanded. “That will cause trouble, Misygyn.”

“Trouble? We have his body! On our grounds! A spy! There are rules about that, Colonel, and you know it! I will lodge a very strong protest. And I will include you!”

“Me?” Rogers said.

“You think we are fools? Obviously your ridiculous visit was to create a diversion, to cover for Oates, to keep us busy while Oates sneaked onto our grounds and prepared to spy! Well, you have been caught! Oates has been killed, as he should have been, and we know your duplicity! I do not think America will want it known that they send CIA men to spy on foreign diplomats in their own houses!”

“Nor will your Government want it known what Oates was looking for—the evidence of your sabotage of Project Full Moon! If you protest, we will protest and bring your sabotage out into the glare of day, Misygyn!”

Misygyn blinked. “Our … sabotage? So, that is your idea, eh?”

“It is! And you have been warned,” Rogers snapped.

Misygyn did not answer for a moment. Then the heavy-set diplomat stood up. He motioned curtly toward the door out of his office.

“You will leave now, General. I order you from Soviet territory! You will be hearing from me concerning Major Oates when I have my instructions. Meanwhile, his body remains here! Is that clear?”

Rogers stood up angrily. “Very clear! Rest assured I will make my report, and you will be hearing from us!”

Without another word, General Rogers turned on his heel and stalked from the office. The door closed behind him. Misygyn stood there for a moment. Then the side door opened and Colonel Derian came in.

“I know why Oates was here now,” the tall Colonel said. “The woman has escaped.”

“Escaped?” Misygyn said. “From you?”

“From Vaslov. I shot him,” Derian said. “He was either a traitor or a fool. I cannot risk either.

The woman is gone, we have searched the grounds. She must have had help. Oates was probably not alone!”

“And Rogers diverted us!” Misygyn said. He looked at Derian. “What now, Colonel?”

“Now I will take charge myself. The information Vaslov got is most interesting. I think I will take a trip.”

“A trip? Where?” Misygyn asked.

Colonel Derian turned away. “That you do not need to know. You will act as my contact with Moscow. For the rest, I will handle it alone.”

Colonel Derian left Misygyn alone and staring at the door. Out in the night The Shadow glided quickly away from the window and disappeared into the darkness.

Some minutes later Lamont Cranston suddenly appeared in the road outside the walls of the Soviet mansion. He walked quickly to the official car of Rogers. He lighted a cigarette and waited, his hooded eyes impassive. Down the road in the shadows the taxi waited with Margo and Shrevvie hidden inside. Cranston had been there only seconds when the iron gate opened and General Calvin Rogers stepped out. The General was now obviously shaken and furious.

“Cranston! They killed Oates!”

Cranston pretended shock. “Oates? I heard the shots, but I had no idea! They killed him?”

“I don’t know who killed him! But he is dead,” Rogers said angrily. “Where were you?”

“At the rear of the house. I saw nothing. I tried to get inside, but the only open window was in the office you were in. I left after the shots and tried to see what had happened, but I saw nothing. Except their guards. They almost caught me, so I came out.”

Rogers nodded. “The damned bad part is that there’s little we can do! Oates knew the risks.

He must have become careless, the fool! The Russkis are within their rights, damn them. Oates was trespassing.”

“How did Misygyn take your warning?” Cranston asked. Rogers laughed bitterly. “Oh, he denied it all, but he knows something. He knew all about Full Moon, and he knows more about the sabotage than he’ll admit. No, I have no doubts now that they are behind it all.”

“Will they stop now that they know we know?”

Rogers was thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I think so though. They won’t want it made public. And we’ll have to keep it quiet, even about Oates. I’ll report to the President, of course, but I don’t think even General Broyard should know. In a way we made a bargain—they stop and we keep quiet. The important thing is Project Full Moon. It must remain secret, and its whole fate depends on everything being kept quiet now.”

“Then you think the next shot will succeed?” Cranston said quietly.

“I hope so, Cranston. I think they’ve been warned. Now I must go and report. You can make your way back all right?”

“Of course. You go ahead,” Cranston said.

Rogers nodded and climbed into his car. Cranston stood in the shadows at the edge of the road and watched the big official car disappear. Then he turned and walked quickly to the taxi where Margo and Shrevvie waited. The small taxi driver and agent of The Shadow was excited.

“Boss, who was shot”’ Shrevvie asked.

“Major Oates, Shrevvie.” Cranston said. “Why?”

“I was on watch right after the shooting,” Shrevvie explained, “and I saw two guys come over the wall! They came real fast. They ran off into the woods over there, and I heard a car start up way back, probably on another road. I never heard it drive up, so they were probably inside all the time!”

“Russians?” Cranston snapped.

Shrevvie scratched his jaw. “Maybe, but they didn’t look like it to me. I mean, why would Russkis come running over the wall so fast to get away?”

Margo nodded. “Shrevvie has a point, Lamont.”

“Yes, he does,” Cranston said slowly.

“Besides,” Shrevvie said. “I think I recognized at least one of them. I mean, I recognized his description—he fits one of the men Harry Vincent saw in that staff car near the NASA Utah Base after the moon shot failed!”

Cranston was silent. His eyes flashed once with the fire of The Shadow. Then he climbed into the taxi beside Margo. He spoke sharply.

“There is something wrong in all this, Shrevvie. I think it is time for The Shadow to investigate that office and secret closet in the laboratory of Federal Cybernetics!”

Shrevvie nodded. The taxi drove off quickly in the night and turned back toward the west and the distant plant of Federal Cybernetics.

To Be Continued on Tuesday, at...
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THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Chapter 4

You can read the previous chapter HERE!

4

In the hazy and shifting shadows of the hidden blue-lighted room nothing seemed to move at first. A room that did not officially exist, it was one of the concealed complex of rooms behind the elegant offices of Lamont Cranston Enterprises in the Park Avenue office building high above the city of New York. The Headquarters of the organization of The Shadow, the heart of the Avenger’s far-flung battle against all evil, the complex of secret blue rooms was unknown to anyone but the immediate members of The Shadow’s small army. Now silent and empty, a space of dim blue light without walls or ceiling, it suddenly echoed to the voice of Margo Lane.

“Margo reporting. Come in Control Central. Agent Lane reporting from Federal Cybernetics.

Come in Chief.”

There was a faint sound.

The blue shadows seemed to swirl and darken.

The black-shrouded shape of The Shadow appeared as if from out of the light itself and glided in silence to a small, compact communications console that emerged from the hazy blue light.

The cloaked Avenger bent over the instrument, his piercing eyes fiery above his scythe-like nose.

The fire-opal girasol glowed blood-red on his long finger as he touched the controls of the console. His voice was low and strong.

“Report!”

The distant voice of Margo could have been in the blue room itself.

“All laboratory routine normal until some half an hour before work ended. At that time J. Wesley Bryan entered the office of Research Director Max Ernest. They talked, I could not tell exactly what about. By reading lips I gathered they discussed the failure of Full Moon; and the necessity to complete it as soon as possible. Bryan appears especially anxious to have Full Moon succeed. After they talked a few minutes, Bryan used a double key to enter a closet marked Storage. One of the keys was in Ernest’s safe, the other Bryan carried on his person. Bryan went into the closet and did not return for some time.”

The Shadow’s eyes snapped. “A closet? Could you determine what is actually behind that door?”

“No,” Margo’s voice said, “but from what I read on their lips I would guess that it is some kind of private laboratory.”

The Avenger was silent for a moment. “Bryan is a known scientific genius, it would be probable that he would have a private laboratory of his own. He would also probably keep it locked. In itself it means little, Margo. Still, we will have to investigate that secret room.

Proceed.”

Margo’s voice continued its calm report. “Soon after Bryan went through the door, Professor Stanley Farina visited Dr. Ernest. Again …”

The Shadow said, “Farina? Did you read their conversation?”

“Partly,” Margo said from the dim and silent locker room, her voice coming softly into the blue room where The Shadow listened. “They spoke mostly about the failure of the shot at Utah Base. Farina appears confused, he insists it is sabotage. Ernest is not sure. The discussed the possibility of Lamont Cranston being involved. Ernest appeared to know Cranston quite well.”

“Who suggested Cranston as a possible saboteur?” The Shadow asked.

“The first suggestion seemed to come from Dr. Ernest,” Margo said where she sat bent over her ring in the dim locker room.

“Go on,” The Shadow said.

“After a time Dr. Ernest suggested that he and Farina go to check the fuel control production line to be absolutely sure that all was well and functioning correctly. Farina agreed, and they left the office. By this time the entire laboratory had emptied and been shut for the night. I waited until the Women’s Locker Room had cleared, and then took up position at the door to observe the laboratory. After a short time, Bryan came out of the door marked Storage. He opened the safe and wrote in a book. He returned the book to the safe and left the office. He stopped to examine and adjust an experiment in the lab before he went out of the lab… .”

In the hazy blue silence of the hidden blue room high above the city, The Shadow listened closely to the report of his Number One agent. His eyes flashed as she described the appearance of the wiry scientist, and his searching actions. When she reached the part where he photographed the pages of the ledger, The Shadow interrupted again.

“He seemed excited?” The Avenger asked.

“Yes. Excited and a little puzzled. He seemed to feel that he had discovered something important but was not sure what it was.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Only that his name is Otto Reigen, he is a senior scientist. His record shows that he made a recent trip to Germany. In fact he only returned a few days ago,” Margo reported.

“He photographed the pages but did nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” Margo reported.

“And you have examined the book and the pages he photographed?” The Shadow continued.

“Yes.”

“What did you find?”

There was a short silence from the distant locker room. Then Margo’s voice again entered the blue room of The Shadow. “The book seems to be a record of the materials used in some experiments by type and quantity, and a report of various shipments made from the Hempstead laboratory and plant. I have no idea why Reigen found them interesting or important. It seems that he picked pages more or less at random to photograph.”

“You have no idea what is so important about the ledger?” The Shadow asked grimly.

“No,” Margo said. “Except for one peculiar thing. Many of the shipment entries seemed to follow the receipt of materials for experiments by exactly a week.”

In the blue room The Shadow became silent for a time. His glowing eyes were bright with thought. His black-cloaked figure was motionless in the haze of blue. At last he bent over the communications console again.

“I must look at that book myself, Margo. Also, I would like to get into that locked storage closet. I will come to join you now. While I am on my way, try to find out if the storage closet can be entered without difficulty.”

“I’ll be waiting for… “

Margo’s voice stopped. In the blue room The Shadow adjusted the controls of the console.

But there was nothing wrong with the equipment. Margo’s voice came again almost at once. Her voice was suddenly low and urgent.

“Someone is in the locker room with me! I can hear them!”

“Be careful, Margo!” The Shadow hissed softly. “Sign off and take cover. Now!”

“Right,” Margo whispered from the distant locker room. “I can hear them. I think … Too late! It’s …”

The console went silent.

In the blue room The Shadow waited.

The silence seemed to hover thick and deadly. There was no more sound from the console.

The Shadow touched a button on the communications unit. A new voice answered at once.

“Agent Shrevnitz.”

“Proceed at once to the Federal Cybernetics plant at Hempstead,” The Shadow commanded.

“You can be there in five minutes. Watch for Agent Lane disguised as a blonde woman of fifty.”

“On my way,” the new voice answered at once.

The console was silent again. For a long minute The Shadow remained motionless in the haze of the blue room, his fiery eyes glowing with anger and a certain worry. Then his great black-shrouded figure whirled and glided away across the room. The next instant the blue room was again silent and empty. The Shadow had vanished.

The highway that runs outside the fence of the Federal Cybernetics plant and laboratory in Hempstead is a dark concrete road lined on all side by thick trees and bushes. It runs straight east and west and is heavily traveled. Just after dark a New York city taxicab drove up toward the main gate, went past, and vanished from sight among the trees along the highway. As soon as it was out of sight from the gate, the taxi pulled off the road and stopped in the shadows of the tall trees. The driver got out and moved quickly toward the fence around the Federal Cybernetics plant.

The driver was a small, dark man who wore the work clothes, leather jacket, and peaked cap of the New York taxi driver. He reached a spot at the fence from where he could see the front and side doors of the main laboratory building. There he crouched hidden and waited, the plastic badge of his trade catching the faint rays of light in the night. He did not have long to wait.

Almost as soon as he crouched, a black car drove up to the side door of the main laboratory building. The car stopped. A man got out and opened the rear door. As if on signal two more men came out of the laboratory building’s side door. Between them they held the arms of a blonde older woman. The woman limped noticeably as she was walked toward the waiting car.

In the bushes outside the fence the taxi driver came alert. The woman was pushed into the rear seat and one of the two men got in with her and closed the door. The other two men got into the front seat of the black car. The car moved off toward the main gate. The taxi driver watched as the car stopped at the main gate. The guards approached the car. After a brief talk, a presentation of badges and passes, the guards waved the car through the gate. The taxi driver ran for his hidden cab.

The driver reached his taxi just as the black car came into sight on the highway heading west.

The driver jumped into his cab and, when the black car had passed far enough ahead, pulled out of the trees and fell in line behind the black car. The taxi driver was an expert at trailing—this was clear all the time during the long chase far out on Long Island to the east of New York.

Twice the black car abruptly changed direction, taking roads that brought it east and north toward the North Shore of the island. Each time the taxi maintained its contact without being seen. Once, the taxi driver saw the black car turn onto a cross-island highway and did not follow it at all! He continued on the highway to a second turn-off. There the driver turned and drove smiling until he reached a point where this road intersected another north-south road. He stopped his cab and waited. A few minutes later, as if on signal, the black car appeared and went past.

Grinning, the taxi driver again took up the chase. His detailed knowledge of the highways of Long Island had given him the certain knowledge that the black car had to pass the point where he waited. In this way, with the skills of the trained pursuer, the taxi driver followed his quarry through the night.

The black car continued to drive slowly and carefully so as not to attract any attention. It drove east and north until it reached a secondary highway that ran along the North Shore and the calm water of Long Island Sound shining in the rising moon. The taxi driver continued to follow, but fell back now and bent slightly to speak into his dashboard.

“Agent Shrevnitz reporting to Control Central.”

The crisp and neutral voice of Burbank answered from the blue light of the control room in the complex of hidden rooms high above Park Avenue. “Report, Agent Shrevnitz.”

“Picked up car with Margo in disguise at Federal Cybernetics. Three men. Now driving along coast road east of Oyster Bay in the direction of Port Jefferson. There is no major turn-off for ten miles.”

“Very good,” Burbank said simply.

The hidden radio went silent. The taxi driver, Shrevnitz, continued his careful pursuit. The black car went on at its sedate pace, attracting no attention, clearly unaware of the cab behind it.

The moon was higher now above the trees that lined the rocky coast of the North Shore, its light reaching across the placid water of the Sound like a glittering path of silver. They passed through a few small villages, and on all sides of the road there were lights in the houses were people went about their evening pleasures unaware of the silent chase going on along the road. At a point some two miles west of Port Jefferson the taxi driver suddenly cocked his head to listen and looked up into the moonlit sky. There was a noise—the sound of a helicopter engine high up. A shadow passed across the moon like a great black bird flying. Then it was gone. But the driver smiled again and nodded to himself. The chase continued through Port Jefferson. The helicopter was gone. A mile beyond Port Jefferson, on a dark and secluded section of the road where there was a deep dip and the black car ahead was, for an instant, out of sight, a tiny red light flashed once at the side of the road among a thick shadow of trees. The taxi driver slowed his cab. He passed the spot at ten miles an hour. There was a faint sound, a movement of the air inside the taxi.

“Catch them, Shrevvie,” a deep voice said.

The taxi driver, Shrevvie, did not look around but stepped on his accelerator and drove fast up over the crest and out of the low spot in the road. For a time he drove with no thought but to make sure the black car did not escape. He did not look at the figure that now sat in the back seat of the cab—the black-garbed shape of The Shadow.

“There they are, Chief,” Moe Shrevnitz said.

“Good,” The Shadow said. “Continue to follow carefully.”

Shrevvie now looked back. “You made it fast. I heard the chopper go over.”

The Shadow’s eyes blazed. “I was standing by at the helicopter, Shrevvie. Margo is in danger, and I do not yet know why or who has her.”

“There was three of them, Chief. Foreign-looking types. They got out of the Federal Cybernetics place with no trouble, so they all must be known there.”

“It seems that way, Shrevvie,” The Shadow said grimly. “The question now is are they associated with Federal Cybernetics, or are they some outside unit that has infiltrated the company? From their actions it would seem that they are not part of the company. It would be more logical for members of the company to keep Margo at the plant.”

Shrevvie nodded. “Yeh, that would figure, Chief. Do you figure it’s good or bad?”

The Shadow’s eyes flashed. “If they are outside spies of some kind, it might be a break in the problem we face. It could be a good lead for us to the saboteurs. They are at Federal Cybernetics for some reason, Shrevvie.”

“Yeh, and they looked mighty anxious to get Margo out. The way I figure… .”

The Shadow’s voice was low and quick. “They are turning off, Shrevvie!”

Shrevvie immediately returned his attention to the road. The black car had turned into a narrow side road. It vanished among thick trees that lined the narrow macadam road. Shrevvie turned the taxi after the car. The small agent of The Shadow drove skillfully and carefully along the side road among the thick trees. He reached down now and pulled a small lever under the dashboard of the taxi. Instantly the sound of his engine fell almost to nothing—a faint purr that was muffled in the night and could not be heard for more than fifty yards. Even when it was heard it sounded more like the sound of wind in trees than the sound of a car engine. The taxi crept on along the narrow road.

“There, Chief,” Shrevvie said softly, and nodded ahead.

The black-top road straightened suddenly and led past a long and high stone wall. A tall iron-work gate was set in the wall. The gate opened and the black car went through.

“Stop now!” The Shadow snapped.

Shrevvie stopped.

“Drive off the road and out of sight,” The Shadow commanded.

Shrevvie drove off the road and the taxi faded into the trees and shadows. Ahead the tall gate had closed again. The Shadow, in the back seat of the taxi, concentrated his powers. He listened.

He smelled the air. His keen night sight studied the wall. His burning eyes stared ahead toward the gate.

“There are no guards on the gate,” The Shadow said softly. “It must be operated from the house. I can see the gables of a large mansion behind the wall. It is some kind of estate. There are dogs loose on the grounds, I can both hear and smell them. Otherwise all seems quiet. The car we have been trailing just parked at the rear of the mansion. They got out and have taken Margo into the house. They were expected, the door was opened for them.”

Shrevvie listened to all that his Chief could see and hear and smell while he, Shrevvie, could hear and see and smell nothing, and marveled again at the powers of the secret black-garbed Avenger. There was nothing that could escape The Shadow when he concentrated his powers.

“What do we do, Chief?”

“You remain here on guard, Shrevvie,” The Shadow said. “You can observe the road in both directions, and you can watch the gate at the same time from this spot.”

“And you?” Shrevvie asked.

The eyes of The Shadow flashed fire. “I am going over the wall, Shrevvie. I will release Margo and learn who these men are and what they are up to!”

“What about the dogs?” the small taxi driver said.

The laugh of The Shadow was low. “Dogs will not stop The Shadow, Shrevvie. Not animal dogs, nor human dogs!” The low laugh echoed in the dark night and the next instant Shrevvie was alone in the silent taxi parked among the trees outside the wall.

The Shadow was gone.

Something seemed to move in the night at the top of the wall. A vague shifting of light no one could have seen unless they were looking for it, and even then it seemed no more than a motion of the shadows of the night.

To Be Continued on Tuesday, at...
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Circle of Death
by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Chapter 1

 1
(You can read the previous chapter HERE)

On a back dirt road in the desert not far from the high fence of the NASA Base, at a time just before the discovery of the unconscious guard, a black Rolls-Royce suddenly emerged from behind a low mesa where it had been completely hidden. The car drove quickly along the road in the sun and dust
It had only one occupant—the driver who wore the grey uniform of a chauffeur.

The chauffeur drove with his eyes studying both sides of the dusty road—and a large automatic pistol on the seat beside him where he could pick it up in an instant.
He drove slowly.

He saw ahead a depression in the ground and a heavy clump of dry desert vegetation.
The Rolls passed the clump of tough, wiry growth that masked the sloping entry into a gully.

The chauffeur did not look around.
The Rolls-Royce did not slow down further from its 20 mph pace.
The clump of wiry and dry bushes passed behind—and a figure sat in the back seat of the Rolls.
A figure all in black who had appeared as if by some kind of eerie magic.
The figure was The Shadow, and he had not appeared by magic, but by the swift and silent skills learned so long ago in the Orient.

“Drive to the highway, Stanley,” The Shadow said sharply. 
“I must be on the Base within five minutes.”

The chauffeur, Stanley, nodded. One of the chief agents of The Shadow, Number Two in the far-flung organization of the cloaked avenger, Stanley did not ask questions.

What The Shadow ordered was done instantly.
The chauffeur-bodyguard-agent was always prepared, always efficient. 
He now asked only one question.

“It failed again?”

“Yes, Stanley,” The Shadow intoned. “It failed again.
There was no one, nothing. I could see no reason.
I was observed in my escape, but neither I nor any of the officials saw anything!”

Where he sat in the back seat of the now speeding Rolls, the eyes of The Shadow blazed an angry fire.
He had seen no reason for the failure of the great rocket—which meant that whatever sabotage had been done had been done long before!
And The Shadow had little doubt that it had been sabotage.

“Did you observe anything, Stanley?” The Avenger asked.
“No, Chief, nothing.”

“Make the complete check now,” The Shadow commanded.
The cloaked Avenger sat silent in the back seat as Stanley touched a button on the dashboard.
One by one the voices of The Shadow’s agents reported from their posts all around the NASA Base.
The piercing eyes of the Avenger were fiery as he listened.
A red fire-opal girasol glowed red in a ring on his long finger.

The wide brim of the slouch hat hid all but his blazing eyes and the long, sharp hawk nose.
His great black cloak seemed to blend into the interior of the car.

The reports ended.
No one had seen anything.
Then The Shadow leaned forward.
“Harry Vincent has not reported!”

Stanley shook his head. “I get no answer from Harry.”

The Shadow passed his glowing fire-opal girasol in front of a tiny instrument in the back of the front seat that looked like no more than a small tape recorder.
The instrument glowed. 
It was the private communication system used only by The Shadow himself to call his agents.

Instantly a voice seemed to be in the back seat.
“Agent Vincent. Is that you, Chief?”
“Report, Harry!”
“I’ve got a staff car.” Vincent’s voice was low.
“It is parked just outside the Base.
There’s a Colonel in the back, and two sergeants in the front.
It arrived about fifteen minutes ago.
Nothing has happened, it just sits there.
I’m in my truck out of sight.”

“They made no attempt to enter the base?” The Shadow asked.
“No, they just seemed to sit here,” Harry ‘Vincent said. “They … They’re starting up! They’re turning around!”
“Follow them!” The Shadow commanded.
“Roger. Over and out. Report later!”

The voice was silent.
The Shadow sat alone in the rear seat of the speeding Rolls-Royce.

Moments later the big car reached the highway and turned toward the gate of the NASA Base where the rocket had so recently crashed.
Stanley turned to be sure that The Shadow wanted to go straight to the gate.
But the Shadow was no longer in the back seat.

A stranger sat in the back seat now.

He was a smaller man, stockier and shorter than The Shadow.
The new man’s eyes were hooded and impassive.
Quiet eyes without the fire of The Shadow.
A thoughtful face without anger or any other emotion.
The man wore a neat and expensive business suit, his hair was grey and close-cropped, and he had all the other aspects of a successful business man—which was exactly what he was.
The man was Lamont Cranston, wealthy socialite and successful international business man who headed the wide interests of Lamont Cranston Enterprises, Inc.

He was also The Shadow!

The guise of Lamont Cranston was the major alter-ego the black-cloaked Avenger presented to the world to disguise his activities in the never-ending war against all evil.
There were other alter-egos, many of them, but it was as Cranston, the close friend and fellow member of the Cobalt Club with Police Commissioner Weston of New York, that The Shadow was best known.

But there were few who knew that the passive face of the amateur criminologist, Lamont Cranston, hid the power of The Shadow!

Only the members of the black-garbed Avenger’s far-flung secret organization, the small but powerful army of dedicated fighters for right and justice and peace, knew that their Chief and Lamont Cranston were one and the same. There was no one on earth who knew the true identity of The Shadow—who the Avenger had been before he became The Shadow. Only two people had ever known this—The Shadow himself and his master Chen T’a Tze; the great Master who had taught the Avenger all that he knew, all his skills and powers—including the ultimate power to cloud the minds of men. A power known only to one man in each generation, and given by Chen T’a Tze before he died to The Shadow.

Now, where the quiet Lamont Cranston sat in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce approaching the gate of the NASA Base, his impassive face covered all the powers of The Shadow—except the ultimate power. The power to cloud men’s minds was of the mind, but it could only be exercised when The Shadow was The Shadow—when he wore the great black cloak, the slouch hat, the fire-opal girasol ring. The garments, passed on to The Shadow by Chen T’a Tze with the secret known only to the Master and now only to The Shadow, were hidden in their secret pockets inside the simple business suit of Cranston. No search could disclose them—and they were there ready to be used at any instant. Now they would not be used. It was Lamont Cranston who would enter the Base.

“Drive straight to the gate, Stanley,” Lamont Cranston said. “They’ll wonder why I am late.

We will tell them that we had an unfortunate breakdown on the road.
You might make some simple defect and have it checked at the Base motor pool in case they check.”

“Right, Boss,” Stanley said, assuming instantly his role of chauffeur and bodyguard to Lamont Cranston.
“Do you think that car Harry is following has something to do with all this?”

“I don’t know, Stanley, but it was outside the Base for some reason.
The question is, what reason, and what could it do outside the Base?”
“Maybe some remote control,” Stanley said.

Cranston was thoughtful.
“I doubt it, Stanley.
That truck of Harry’s is equipped to detect any remote control units.
No, if they were there for any reason, it is some reason we cannot yet determine.”
“Maybe they just stayed off the Base for the firing.
Maybe it was just some curious Colonel,” Stanley said.

“Possibly, Stanley,” Cranston said.
The wealthy socialite leaned forward now as the car rounded a curve and the gate was ahead.
“All right, Stanley, we should have no trouble. I want you to observe everyone closely.
Very closely.
Be discreet, but while I’m with the officials, look around the Base as much as you can.”

“Right, Boss,” Stanley said as he slowed the big car at the gate where two Military Policemen held up their hands.
Out of sight, visible only to The Shadow, there were two more MP’s, both armed.
There was also an X-ray scanner and other electronic detection equipment.
Cranston studied all the security.
It was not possible for anyone to get into the Base unauthorized, and yet the rocket had exploded!

Harry Vincent drove his delivery truck close enough to the staff car ahead to not lose it, but not so close as to be observed.
Harry bent close over the wheel of the truck, his eves fixed ahead to keep the staff car in sight.
The staff car was driving at normal speed, neither hurrying nor going too slow.
So far Harry had no reason to suspect anything but a Colonel out with his sergeant, driver and another sergeant—and yet!

There was something about the staff car.

Something Harry could not pin down, but felt.
It was the Colonel.
The way the Colonel sat in the staff car.
Harry could not put it into words, but there was something wrong.
The Colonel did not sit right.
Somehow, the Colonel did not sit quite the way a Colonel should in his own staff car with two sergeants.
It was in the manner of the Colonel, something not quite right in the way the Colonel had talked to the two sergeants in the front seat while Harry watched from hiding when they had all been parked near the fence of the NASA Base.
Harry could not have explained what he felt, he simply felt it, and it made him alert and careful as he followed the staff car across the desert of Utah.

The staff car acted suspiciously in no way.
It drove steadily from the Base in the direction of Salt Lake City to the north and west.
The highway stretched straight as an arrow, a white road with white dotted lines that cut across the glaring yellow clay of the desert and shimmered in the heat as if it were under water.
There was little traffic, which made Harry worry that he would be spotted, but he kept a truck and a car between him and the staff car. With an occasional vehicle from the opposite direction, the four vehicles were the only traffic on the highway.

Harry was aware that the staff car up ahead could make a sudden speed-up and probably elude him before he could get around the truck and car between—but he also knew that to follow too closely was to risk almost certainly alarming them.
He had to trust to luck.
So far he felt he had succeeded.

The staff car maintained its steady pace and its position in front of the two vehicles ahead of Harry’s delivery truck.
It gave no indication of any alarm; or made any attempt to evade pursuit.
The chase went on, and the staff car continued straight toward Salt Lake City.

It happened when there were twenty miles to go until they reached Salt Lake City.

The long chase had lulled Harry. The road, coming now into the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains, had begun to wind more. The procession passed through a small town set deep in a valley of the Wasatch. Harry came alert at the sight of more traffic, houses and people. Nothing happened. They passed out of the town. Then the car between Harry and the staff car turned off into a right side road. The staff car continued on its way toward Salt Lake City, with only the truck between it and Harry’s delivery truck now. Just outside the small town the highway made a sudden sharp curve—so sharp that there were warning signs. Harry saw the staff car slow properly for the dangerous curve. He prepared to slow down in turn.

The truck between him and the staff car failed to slow.

As Harry watched the staff car slow for the curve, and prepared to slow himself, he saw almost too late the danger ahead.
The truck between him and the staff car took the curve too fast, swayed, swerved, skidded as the driver braked to keep from going off the road, and came to a shuddering stop slowed across the highway directly in Harry’s path.

Harry jammed his brakes and lurched to a halt inches from the truck.
The driver of the truck looked pale and shaken.
He, the truck driver, looked down from his cab at Harry and shrugged, waved his shaking hand in a motion of apology.
Harry backed off as quickly as possible, threw the truck into forward gear, and drove around the truck.
Once more the truck driver waved apology, and bent to restart his stalled engine.

Harry neither took notice of the apologetic wave, nor hesitated. 
He jammed his accelerator down to the floor and roared around the curve after the staff car.
The curve wound for a quarter of a mile and then suddenly debouched onto a long straightaway.
Harry smiled and peered ahead—the staff car could not have escaped out of sight yet.
Harry searched the long straight road with his eyes.

The staff car was not in sight.

Harry raced on and stared ahead.

The road was deserted except for a car coming toward him and a trailer truck plodding along a mile ahead.

Harry blinked and stared as he drove.

It was not possible.

The staff car had vanished into thin air. 
Harry slowed now and looked for side roads. 
There were none. 
Far ahead the trailer truck moved steadily on its way and the rest of the shimmering road was empty in the heat.

Harry turned back and drove very slowly observing the edge of the highway. 
There was no sign of any tire marks, and tire marks would have shown clearly in the soft dust of the shoulder of the highway.
There were no side roads all the way back to the curve.

Harry realized that, somehow, he had been outwitted.
The staff car, must have spotted him after all, and had its escape all set up.
Harry turned back again.
He had noticed that the truck that had the “accident” had not reappeared. 
Now he was sure he had been fooled. 
But how? 
He drove all the way to Salt Lake City without seeing anything more than a few trailer trucks and cars he had no interest in. 
He reached the city and stopped on the outskirts. 
It was only then that he saw in his mind the empty road and the lone trailer truck—and knew how he had been fooled.

Lamont Cranston, admitted to the Utah Base of NASA without trouble on his special pass, left his Rolls-Royce and Stanley outside the heavily-guarded main control building. 
The quiet and impassive socialite and industrialist entered the building and was conducted along the windowless halls. 
The hum of the air-conditioning conflicted with a steady hubub of voices that seemed to fill the corridors. 
Men walked quickly and with grim faces. 
There was an air of disaster, and yet not the kind of stunned aura that would have greeted a disaster so large had it been totally unexpected. 
No, the grim men of NASA moved with the purpose of men who had not been totally unprepared for what had happened.

Cranston watched and listened behind his impassive eyes. 
His guide brought him at last to an unmarked door where two gimlet-eyed MP’s were stationed outside. 
Cranston waited while his guide handed his credentials to the two guards. 
The MP’s inspected the documents with great care. 
Then they stepped aside and one of them opened the door. 
Cranston went in alone—his guide, and the two guards, were not authorized to enter this room! 
Cranston stood for a moment inside the door and surveyed the scene.
He studied the faces of the men in the room seated around the long conference table. 
Men with worried eyes and faces that showed the evidence of little sleep and less sleep to come. 
Cranston knew them all—every man of them deeply involved in the entire project. 
But he knew one man in particular—a tall, distinguished man who now looked up and saw Cranston. 
The man jumped up and came toward Cranston. 
It was Commissioner Ralph Weston of the New York City Police.

“Lamont! 
Where the devil have you been! 
Have you … . .” Weston began, his handsome face pale and drawn now.

“We had a breakdown,” Cranston said quietly. 
“I apologize.”
Weston waved a fine hand. 
“But you heard?”

Cranston nodded. “I heard. 
I heard the explosion. 
I guessed what had happened, Commissioner.”
“Again!” a tall, thin man dressed in the uniform of an Air Force General said.

“Sabotage!” a civilian said.
“It has to be sabotage.
There is no other possible explanation!”

“Damn it, but how?” A short, heavy civilian cried. “How?”

One man, a lantern-jawed and taciturn man in civilian clothes but with a distinct military bearing, had said nothing as yet.
He had sat in his seat half way down the long table and watched Cranston.

Now his grey eyes narrowed to steel points.
He spoke to Cranston.

“A breakdown?
On the road?
In your Rolls, Cranston?”
Cranston nodded.
“I’m afraid so.
My chauffeur is having it checked now.”

The man continued to watch Cranston.
“Unfortunate. 
Strange that you were the only invited observer not here at the time.”
“You can check me, Major Oates,” Cranston said evenly.
“I quite understand your concern.

It’s your job to check.
Feel free.
As a matter of fact, I wonder about a Rolls breaking down myself.
My chauffeur is abnormally efficient.”

The tall civilian rose to Cranston’s bait.
“Sabotage?
Why not.
Cranston is a trained observer and an industrialist!
He might have seen something.”

Cranston smiled.
“I doubt it, Doctor Cassill, but I am a supplier of the Project, or my companies are, and I should have been here to check out my products for you.”

It was at this point that the giant man at the head of the long table spoke for the first time.
He wore the uniform of an Army Major General, and his voice was low and rough.

“Cranston is here.
Now I suggest we get back to the point. Project Full Moon has failed again!

We have lost three of our best astronauts!
Gentlemen, we must find the cause—and the reason!

We must be first to the Moon, and there is damned little time! 
What happened out there today—and why?”

The silence in the room was as deathly as the silence of the final grave.
To Be Continued on Tuesday, at...
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Circle of Death
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THE SHADOW: DESTINATION MOON Prologue "Moon Down"

Moon Down

The great rocket stood tall in the dawn sky. A giant white pillar that towered up into the morning haze of the desert that was already burning off with the growing heat of the sun. The sun itself was still hidden below the distant flat-topped mesas. Only the top of the giant white rocket glowed in the sun. On the ground below, the group of tense officials stood in the dawn shadows.

The officials, civilian and military, stared up at the great white rocket with its space capsule blended into the nose far above. They were quiet, almost grim. The sun had almost reached them when a man in military uniform looked at his watch and spoke quietly. The officials all filed to waiting vehicles. The vehicles drove off toward the distant control building set like a pillbox on the flat surface of the desert.

At the launching pad itself nothing moved now. The area around the giant rocket and its gantry was unusually cleared. Nothing blocked a clear view of the rocket, pad, and giant gantry from all sides. Nothing and no one came near the great rocket with its capsule pointed up into the now bright sunny sky above the desert. All was silent in the growing heat.

Then the rocket began to smoke—clouds of white vapor rose as its oxygen-fueled engines began to fire.

The umbilical dropped. The gantry moved away.

Clouds of white vapor wreathed the slim white cylinder with its large spaceship capsule on the nose.

Majestically, incredibly slowly, the giant rocket began to lift.

Like some toy lifted straight up by the hand of an unseen giant, the rocket rose slowly into the air, reached a point above its gantry. It went twice as high, three times, gathered speed, began to tilt ever so slightly on its path to the stars.

The rocket never reached the stars.

Less than six hundred yards above the Earth the rocket suddenly seemed to lurch, to falter, to hesitate.

Like a silent pantomime in suspended time, the rocket seemed to stop in mid-air.

It tilted.

With a sudden lurch it tilted all the way over and fell onto its side.

Soundless, the giant rocket fell back to Earth. It struck on its side.

There was a mighty explosion. Fire and flame shot into the hot and sunny sky. Great clouds of smoke and vapor ascended into the air. The gantry toppled from the force of the mammoth explosion. The distant control buildings shook. Windows smashed. Vehicles parked in front of the buildings were hurled over.

The great rocket lay in a twisted heap of destroyed rubble, the cloud of smoke and vapor towering into the sky.

For a time nothing moved on the base.

Then men in asbestos suits, and other men in military uniforms, began to emerge from the buildings. They righted vehicles and checked to find ones still operable. When they had found vehicles that could be used, they climbed in and began to move out toward the wreckage of the rocket.

One of the vehicles suddenly stopped. A man in the uniform of a high-ranking officer in the United States Army pointed to his left. Everyone in the vehicle looked toward where he pointed.

They saw a cluster of low concrete buildings that bordered a series of low sand hills and a gully.

But it was not the buildings they stared at.

Beside one of the buildings there was a figure.

A strange, weird figure all in black.

The figure seemed to be staring toward the destroyed rocket. Even at the distance the occupants of the stopped vehicle could see that the figure wore a wide-brimmed black slouch hat.

Something glowed red in the sun from the figure. Even as they watched, the figure began to turn and float away—a shapeless figure in black that seemed to glide without feet or arms.

Two men jumped from the vehicle and raced back toward the main control building. The vehicle itself turned and drove as fast as it could toward the row of buildings where the figure had been. When they got there the figure was gone. They spread out to search the buildings and the hills and gully beyond. Those with weapons drew them. They found nothing. There was no trace of the strange black-shrouded figure.

In the control building the alarm was sent out.

For some fifteen minutes nothing more happened. The search of the hills and gully continued.

The entire security apparatus of the NASA Base was alerted. Still there was no report and no sign of the black figure.

Then a guard was found unconscious near the tall, electrified fence of the base. The guard could remember nothing but a sudden blackout. That, and a shape vanishing over the fence.

“Whoever he is, he’s out,” one of the military men said.

The Colonel who had first seen the figure looked up at the high, electric fence. “How? How did he get over that?”

The others all stared at the towering fence.

To Be Continued...

TOMORROW

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The Shadow

Circle of Death

by James Patterson and Brian Sitts

Reading Room THE SHADOW "Showdown on Gargoyle Island!"

The Shadow is Losing to the One Foe He Can't Defeat...

...an artificially-enhanced man equipped by Shiwan Khan to resist the Shadow's ability to "cloud men's minds"!

There was one more camp-classic issue of The Shadow, and we  presented it several years ago HERE, HERE, and HERE.
It's the only issue of the series without Shiwan Khan!

You can also read the somewhat less-campy first issue (by writer Robert Bernstein and artist John Rosenberger) on this blog by clicking HERE, HERE, and HERE!
We haven't done #2 yet, but we'll get to it soon!

PLUS: You can read the text feature revamping The Shadow's origin that ran through all eight issues of the comic series by clicking HERE....which leads us into...

...our presentation of the never-reprinted final "Maxwell Grant" Shadow novel from the 1960s which begins...

MONDAY!

But, before that...

Thursday, head to...

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

for another never-reprinted comic tale featuring the pulp/radio, slouch-hatted, twin .45 automatic-wielding Shadow we know and love!

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Shadow Scrapbook

by Walter B Gibson