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Challengers of the Unknown.
"This laser rifle you tried to use on us," Ace was asking, "where did you get it?"
"From the arsenal," replied the ambusher in a droning voice.
"Logical answer," said Prof. "Where exactly is this arsenal, old man?"
"Underground," was the answer, "at our base."
Ace Morgan asked, "Base near here?"
"Five kilometers."
"How many men there?"
"We have a staff of one hundred and eight."
"Who finances it, who's behind it?" inquired June.
"We brought the money with us."
"Where from?"
"The fatherland."
Blinking, June took a step back. "And when exactly did you arrive here from overseas?"
"I, myself, did not reach Ereguay," the small man recited, "until the summer of 1947. The underground
base itself was constructed in 1944."
"Who built it?" Ace asked.
"They're all dead."
"You mean the workmen?"
"The safest way to keep it all secret. They were shot, buried in a trench they'd dug."
"Familiar story," said Prof. "Who designed your little hideaway?"
"The chief brain behind it was Otto Wenzler."
Profs eyebrows went up. "Wenzler," he said toward Ace, "was reported killed in an air raid on Germany
in 1943."
"Is Otto Wenzler dead?" June asked the small man.
"No."
"Where is he?"
"He resides some distance from here, in a bleak territory known as Tierra Seca."
Prof snapped his fingers. "Would he be calling himself Escabar these days?"
"Yes, that's right."
"So Red and Rocky aren't on a wild-goose chase at all," observed Prof.
Ace rested one foot on the lowest rung of the chair the small man was sitting in. "What's the purpose of
all this? Why do you have hidden heaquarters?"
"To stay alive," answered the man, "and to prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"Someday it will be our turn again. Soon General
Cuerpo will effect his coup, the regime of President Chanza will topple and we will rule this country.
Others will follow." "Tomorrow the world," said Prof. June was studying the brain-controlled man's
face. "You say you came here thirty some years ago," she said. "But you appear to be a relatively young
man. How old are you?" "Sixty-one."
"You don't look your age. Why?" "It is Wenzler's Process," replied the small man. "One of many
brilliant achievements he has brought forth during his long exile."
"How does it work?" Prof asked. "I do not know the technical details; few of us besides Wenzler do.
Every three months we receive a series of injections." "That keeps you looking and feeling young?" "It
is a marvelous thing. But then Wenzler is a marvelous man."
"Comes up with a process the whole world would love to get hold of," said Prof, "and he restricts its use
to rejuvenating a clutch of over-the-hill Nazis. Some genius." Ace said, "What about the Monster of the
lake?" "We fear him."
"He's not a creation of yours, not an invention of
Wenzler's?"
"No. We know little about the creature, but if he is not stopped soon, too much attention will be drawn
to Lake Sombra."
June asked, "Are you doing anything to find the monster?" "Yes." "What?"
"At this very moment a select group is hunting him."
"What about us?" said Prof. "How'd you lads know where to set up the ambush?"
"There are only two routes into this area. We had both watched."
"Who tipped you to expect us at all?"
"I do not know. I was merely ordered to carry out a mission."
"What do you suspect, though? About where the tip came from?"
"I never speculate." ^
Ace took over. "What were your orders about us?"
"To take you to our base, if you could be captured. Question you and then kill you there."
"Very efficient," said Prof.
Morgan moved away from the truth-controlled man. "This nest of Nazis," he said, "is more important
than Zarpa. We have to check out this underground base before we do any monster hunting."
"I know that in the old World War Two movies one tough American took on a couple hundred Nazis
barehanded," said Prof. "Do you think, though, the three of us can take on this whole bunch?"
"Alternatives?" requested Ace.
"Call out the law."
Ace shook his head. "General Cuerpo is high up in the military, and he's the one planning a coup. That
rules out bringing in the troops," he said. "For all we know Cuerpo has the police in his camp, too."
"Add to that," put in June, "the fact that possibly even the local chapter of Uncle Sam's National
Espionage Agency is working for Cuerpo, too."
Prof said, "Okay, so we succumb to the Lone Ranger syndrome and go in after this crew." "That's the
Challenger way of doing things, remember?" reminded Ace. "You must have read something about it in
the National Intelligencer."
Prof nodded, fished a small notebook from his tunic and started scribbling.
"What are you doing?" June asked.
"Dividing one hundred and eight by three."
"Very spooky," remarked Rocky.
"Most likely a robot vehicle." Red nodded in the direction of the approaching truck.
"Bumping into a robot-driven truck out here in the middle of nowhere strikes me as very spooky."
"Spooky or not, my scientific curiosity doesn't need satisfying. Drive on."
Rocky had turned off the engine while they scanned the driverless truck which was rolling across the
flat, dry desert toward them. His large fist gripped the key, turned it in the ignition switch. "Here we
go."
Nothing happened.
Beyond their jeep's making a dry, asthmatic sound.
"Kee-rist. Engine's dead." Rocky twisted the key from side to side. "I better go stick my nose under the
hood."
"Got a hunch that's not going to accomplish much."
"How come? I'm a damn good mechan "
"Could be our impending visitor has something to do with this." After jerking a thumb in the direction
of the driverless car, which was now less than a half mile away, Red grabbed a knapsack out of the back
of the jeep. "What say we abandon ship?"
"Why should we?"
"Another hunch." Knapsack clutched to his chest, Red hopped out onto the twilit desert.
"You're as twitchy as an old granny."
"Come on, come on. Get off your ox and out of there."
"Okay, if it'll stop you from acting so goofy." Grumbling, the big man swung out of the driver's seat.
Red was trotting away from their stalled vehicle. "It's possible they gimmicked our jeep by remote
control," he told his partner.
"Just so's a robot truck can come over to say, 'Howdy'?"
"Could be worse, could be a fine example of the old sitting-duck gimmick." He caught hold of Rocky's
arm, urged him to trot faster and farther from their vehicle. "There's a time-honored saw about a sitting
target being easier to hit than a moving one."
"You been around Prof too long, you're commencing to sound " Blam!
Kablam!
Thurump!
Their jeep exploded, jumped high, fell to earth, shooting out fire and night-black smoke.
"Kee-rist." Rocky lifted his head from the desert where he'd flung himself. "You was one hundred
percent right, Red."
"Oncei again." He did a pushup off the gritty earth.
The robot truck was now only two hundred yards from the wreckage of their jeep. On its hood they saw
mounted a small, bazooka-like weapon.
"That's a very smart truck," observed Rocky.
"Yeah, but I hear it gets poor mileage." Red was reaching into his knapsack. "Time for a little turnabout,
I do believe." He drew a palm-size black box, roughly resembling a pocket calculator, out of the sack.
"Here's a first-rate opportunity to try out a little invention Prof and I whipped up."
"What is that gizmo?"
The robot machine had backed up some fifty feet, the front wheels turned themselves and it came
rolling ahead. Its nose was now aimed at the spot where Red and Rocky had spread out. So were the
bazooka and the two rifles built into the hood.
"Explain later." Red pushed several of the buttons on the face of his black box.
The robot truck made a gear-shifting noise.
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