JSA: Land Of The Thuggee
By Bruce Wayne
Justice Society of America created by Gardner Fox
Dedicated to ME, who has taught me more about being philosophical than anyone.
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
Chapter 4
"Who the hell are you people?" Bert Waldo demanded.
He pointed a gold-plated pen at the five oddly-dressed people who said they were members of the Justice Society of America. Waldo was a small, chubby man with a balding head and a round face. He wore horn-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. Bert Waldo looked like an accountant or a CPA tax man. He blended into crowds like a wrinkled pair of slacks, a useful trait for clandestine operations.
Bert Waldo was a case officer for the Central Intelligence Agency and had been stationed in India since 1956. Like most CIA officers, he was concerned with keeping secrets.
The five super-heroes: Hawkman, Wonder Woman, the Atom, Hourman, and Starman had shown up in front of Waldo almost by surprise. They seemed to had come out of nowhere. The CIA man had barely uttered a dozen words before he and the JSA members met with a Colonel Sangh in a conference room at the Hariana Regent Hotel in New Delhi. Then Bert Waldo erupted with righteous outrage.
"All I was told was how to recognize you five and bring you here when you arrived," Waldo continued. "By God they were right. Five people dressed very strangely. I was given no explanation. No information about who you are or who you work for ..."
"Are you familiar with the term 'need to know'?" Wonder Woman inquired. "You've been told what you need to know. When you need to know more, we'll tell you."
"I'm sure you were also told to cooperate with us, Mister Waldo," Hourman added.
"You five sure dress weird. I betcha like to go trick or treatin' back home." the CIA man said sarcastically.
"Please Mister Waldo," Colonel Bahadur Sangh began. "Let us be civil to our guests, please."
Colonel Sangh was the executive officer of the Indian Criminal Investigation Department. The sad-faced Hindu was clearly distressed by his self-appointed role as peacemaker. If these foreigners wanted to argue, why did they have to come to his country to quarrel?
"Civil?" Waldo glared at Sangh. "These mystery hotshots arrived here and I don't even know why. Do you know why they're here, Colonel Sangh?"
"I imagine they will tell us," Sangh replied.
"For crissake," Waldo groaned. "Don't you realize that these are genuine grade-A mystery men?"
"Well," Starman remarked, "we don't refer to ourselves as such."
"Have you been ordered to cooperate with us, Colonel?" Hawkman asked. "I believe your orders come directly from the office of the prime minister of India."
"Yes," Sangh admitted. "That is true, but I'm not certain the PM fully understands this situation. He is still quite new to his office and preoccupied with many important national concerns."
"Fifty-three murders with the same MO committed all over the country within less than a year isn't considered important?" Starman raised his eyebrows. "That kind of attitude could ruin your tourist trade, fella."
"Is this why you costumed nuts are here?" Waldo said. "A series of murders have been committed by some fanatics belonging to a religious cult."
"Thuggees," Hawkman stated.
"Okay," the CIA man agreed with a nod. "So you figured out that much. Well, things like this happen from time to time in India. Colonel Sangh and the CID are trying to track down the killers right now. What makes you costumed yahoos think you can do a better job than he can? You guys should go back to the States and look into some senseless homicides committed back there. I keep up with the news about what's going on in America. Fellas steal nerve gas canisters and threaten the world, that sorta thing. Crazies drive from state to state murder total strangers. Compare that to the fifty-three murders you guys are talking about."
"The murders committed in India aren't the work of a roving serial killer," Hourman told him. "It's a conspiracy to kill Americans, Britons and Western Europeans -- citizens of countries that happen to be American allies."
"And you do not regard India as an ally," Sangh said, frowning.
"Beginnin' to wonder about that," the Atom said dryly.
"This theory about a conspiracy is a presumption with no proof to back it up," Waldo snorted. "Just paranoia."
"What makes you so high and mighty?" Atom asked sharply. "You think you know everythin', but you just don't give a damn about the lives of those people who were strangled to death simply because of their nationality."
"It's a police matter," Waldo insisted. "Let Colonel Sangh do his job and you costumed characters keep out of his way. You five don't know India. I'll wager that none of you speak Hindi or Urdu. You probably don't even know the difference between the two languages."
"The spoken languages are very similar," Wonder Woman announced. "But Hindi is derived from Sanskrit, so it is written in Devanagari script, left to right -- the same as English and European languages. Urdu is written from right to left, the same as Hebrew and most Asian languages. It resembles Arabic script, and it is largely used by the Islamic population in India."
"Big deal, lady," Waldo growled. "But you don't speak either language, do you? How about Punjabi? Malayalam? Kashmiri? There are more than forty languages spoken in India. Do you speak any of them?"
"Do you?" Starman asked.
"I manage," the CIA man replied.
"This has gone far enough," Hawkman declared. "We don't want to pull rank on you fellows, but I'm afraid we have to."
"What?" Waldo scoffed. "I'm CIA. You can't pull rank on me!"
"Check with your control officer and ask him what our authority is," Hawkman told him. "You'll learn that we are acting on direct orders from the President of the United States. If you refuse to cooperate with us, you'll be replaced by someone else and probably find yourself being debriefed so the Central Intelligence Agency can kick you out of their organization."
"You can't ..." Waldo began.
"Yes, we can," Starman informed him. "In fact, I could blast a hole through your head with my Cosmic Rod," he patted the green holster that was on his hip that contained his rod. "And I could just say that you had been killed by a large hailstone. Nobody would ever question my claim, and no one would ever investigate your death."
"This sort of talk is most unseemly," Colonel Sangh declared. "I wish to remind you that this is India, not the United States. You are all guests in my country."
"You're wrong, Colonel," Hawkman stated. "We were not invited to your country. We were asked to look into the serious situation that has arisen here and to rectify it. Without your cooperation, it will be most difficult to carry out our mission. If that happens, you and your government will regret it. Because if we go home empty-handed, the President will know why we couldn't complete our mission here. Then next year's American foreign aid to India will be cut."
Sangh stared at Hawkman and the huge wings that were attached to his back. "You can't be serious."
"The President is the head of the executive branch of the American federal government," Hourman told him. "That means the man in the Oval Office can cut foreign aid or at least tie up delivery for about a year by slugging it out in Congress, which is our legislative branch. The judicial branch doesn't get involved in foreign-aid policies, so don't hope for any help from them."
"I wouldn't count on too many congressmen making an issue of cutting aid to India," Wonder Woman added. "People in the United States are getting quite upset about seeing more tax dollars spent on aid to foreign countries than on social programs in the States."
"Colonel Sangh," Hawkman continued, "we have no desire to make things difficult for you or Mister Waldo. All of us are on the same side."
"I'm not so sure about that," Waldo muttered.
"Yes," Wonder Woman commented. "I know what you mean."
"Lady and gentlemen," Hawkman said wearily, "we have a mission to carry out. Frankly, if we have to blackmail you two in order to get your cooperation, we'll do it. The mission comes first. If we have to destroy your careers or hit India in the pocketbook, we'll do that, too."
"My God," Waldo whispered. "You really are serious."
"Very serious," the JSA leader confirmed. "I would rather every man and woman in this room die carrying out our mission than utterly fail to accomplish it."
"I wonder," Sangh remarked. "if you people are this ruthless toward your allies, how do you treat your enemies?"
"Are you familiar with the passive resistance tactics of Mahatma Gandhi?" the Atom inquired.
"Of course," Sangh replied, surprised by the question.
"Well," Atom said with a chuckle, "we don't use those methods."
"Colonel Sangh," Hawkman said gently. He knew it was time to mend fences if the members of the Justice Society was to get decent cooperation from the CIA and the Indian CID. The Winged Wonder did not want his allies to feel any more resentment than they already felt toward the JSA heroes. "We don't mean to threaten or intimidate you. Or you, Mister Waldo. We really don't. You two were chosen to work with us because you're professionals, highly respected in your field."
"Oh, God," the Atom muttered with disgust.
Hawkman moved forward and managed to step on the Atom's foot without being too obvious. The diminutive hero grunted sourly, but he realized it was time to shut up and let Hawkman do the talking.
"Now," the JSA leader continued, "you gentlemen are correct. We're not familiar with India and none of us speak Hindi or Urdu. We need your help, be we don't expect you to drop other matters that may very well be more important to international safety and freedom than our mission. I don't know what you gentlemen might have on your plate right now, and I realize I'm certainly not in a need-to-know position concerning India's national security or the CIA operations in this region."
"We have to maintain top-level security about our intelligence gathering," Waldo replied proudly, unaware the costumed crimefighter was humbling himself to stroke the CIA man's ego.
"Well, your intelligence has certainly been better at gathering information and keeping secrets than anyone else in the intelligence community," Wonder Woman commented with an envious sigh. "That's why we hope you can help us with some information ... without jeopardizing any of your sources, of course."
"We'll see what we can do," Waldo said as he stared at the beautiful hero who had a body that wouldn't quit in a skimpy costume.
"We need at least one guide and a translator," Hawkman explained. "If you can spare more manpower, that would be even better."
"Where do you intend to start?" Waldo asked.
"The most recent murders by the Thuggees were committed about a week ago," Hawkman replied. "One in Calcutta and the other here in New Delhi. Checking out the scene of a crime seems a logical place to begin an investigation."
"But CID has already investigated those sites," Sangh stated. "I'm afraid the killers left no clues."
"Sometimes a lack of evidence can be a clue," Hawkman replied.
Sangh and Waldo nodded in agreement because they did not want to admit they did not know what the hell Hawkman meant.
The CID colonel cleared his throat. "You'll have the help you need," he announced.
^J^ ^S^ ^A^
Hawkman and the Atom were flying over the streets of New Delhi. Crowds of people stared up into the sky to watch the strange sight of a winged man carrying a small, well-muscled individual wearing a blue hood over his face and a blue cape flapping in the wind. Hawkman held on to the Atom's left wrist. Spectators emerged from shops and markets to get a better look at the Winged Wonder and his companion sailing through the air.
Spotting the man they were supposed to meet, Hawkman floated slowly to the ground. The Atom's feet hit the earth first, followed by the costumed character that was responsible for his mode of transportation.
People stepped back to study the men who had suddely dropped out of the sky. The stared at the huge wings attached to Hawkman's back.
"I apologize for my countrymen," Sergeant Bara Din told the American crimefighters. "They have never seen a man fly before."
"No need to apologize," Hawkman said smiling to the crowd. "Perfectly understandable."
Sergeant Din tried to convince a pair of scrawny cows to get out of the way. The animals sluggishly moved and the CID agent led the way to the Royal Suite Hotel, where Andrew Edwards had been murdered.
The hotel desk clerk spoke English, so Hawkman and the Atom questioned him while Din spoke to some of the servants on the hotel payroll. The clerk had little to say about Edwards' death. He had been quite astonished when the Briton was murdered. As far as he knew, Edwards had no enemies in India and did not appear to be in possession of anything valuable enough to kill for.
"Of course," the clerk said with a sigh, "India is a poor country and some evil persons would consider life of little value. Whoever killed him must have done so simply to claim his wallet and watch. The police told me these things had been stolen."
"No one heard anything suspicious or noticed any strangers lurking about?" Hawkman inquired.
"I'm afraid not, sir," the desk clerk answered. "It is most unfortunate, but these things happen everywhere. I understand there are many thieves and killers in America that they have different categories of criminals. Muggers, mass murderers and something called a birdwalker."
"Jaywalker," Atom corrected. "Dreadful crime, but what can you expect from us Americans?"
"Many say that Americans are very bad people with atomic bombs and such," the clerk said.
"Of course, America gives India tons of food and billions of dollars," the Atom said with a shrug. "But that's all materialistic rubbish."
"Yes indeed." The clerk nodded. "At least they tip well."
"Well," Hawkman added, "we're not all bad."
"Gentlemen," Sergeant Din began as he approached the Justice Society pair. "I spoke with a bellman who told me the late Mister Edwards was rather fond of a certain tavern of unpleasant reputation. He went there often. The bellman thinks perhaps Mister Edwards was doing some business with a notorious Sikh opium dealer known as Abdul."
"Opium?" Atom frowned. "That doesn't fit the personality profile we read about Edwards."
"Maybe there were some details about Mister Edwards that he managed to keep secret," Hawkman commented. "Or perhaps this is just a nasty rumor being spread by a Hindu or Moslem employee who hates Sikhs."
"If I may say what I think," Sergeant Din said, "we should check on this tavern. It is called the Peacock's Plume. I have heard of it before. A most unsavory place."
"Well," Hawkman said, "the Peacock's Plume appears to be the only lead we're gong to find here."
"Besides," the Atom added, "we do rather well in unsavory places."
"Speak for yourself," Hawkman muttered.
Sergeant Din knew the location of the Peacock's Plume. The tavern was a grim little building sandwiched between a curio shop and dentist's office. A legend above the tavern displayed a faded blue-and-yellow peacock with the name of the establishment written in Urdu and English. The windows were tinted dark yellow.
"These fellows may not speak Hindi," Hawkman remarked.
"Is no problem, sahib," Din assured him. "I speak Urdu and some Punjabi, as well."
"This place probably caters to Moslems and Sikhs," Atom commented. "They may not welcome a Hindu, Sergeant."
"Then I simply won't tell them what my religion is," Din said smiling. "I don't know if you gentlemen are familiar with Islamic taverns. Don't order any drinks with alcohol."
"We wouldn't dream of it while wearin' these costumes," the Atom said.
"Most of these places," Din continued, "only serve coffee or tea, although some Moslems will have some whiskey on hand for foreigners."
"We'll bear that in mind," Hawkman assured him.
"Watch yourselves when we get inside," Din warned. "Some of these taverns can be a bit rough, especially if Abdul is connected with the opium trade."
"Seems reasonable," the Atom agreed. "Let's find out about these guys firsthand."
They walked to the tavern. The door was locked. Din knocked twice, then rapped his knuckles once more. It opened and a tall bearded man with a turban bound around his head appeared. Din spoke to the man and placed an index finger to his teeth. The barman, who appeared to be a Sikh, nodded and tugged at his ear with thumb and forefinger. He looked at Hawkman and Atom, a smile barely visible amid his thick black beard.
"Welcome," he greeted. "My name is Abdul. Please, come in."
They entered the Peacock's Plume. The tavern was drab, with a bare wooden floor and crudely designed furniture. There were three tables and a few chairs that were held together with wire wound around their legs. The bar was a plain wooden counter with tin cans of different coffee and tea blends displayed on the shelves. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room.
Five patrons sat in the tavern. Three men sat at one table, solemnly sipping steaming liquid from china cups. They wore turbans similar to Abdul's headgear. Hawkman guessed the trio were also Sikhs. The other two customers, seated at a seperate table, were clad in dhotis. They were almost certainly Hindus. Whatever sins the Peacock's Plume might be guilty of, discrimination was not one of them.
"Sergeant Din tells me you oddly dressed gentlemen are here to ask me about an Englishman who was recently killed at the Royal Suite Hotel," Abdul began, strolling to the bar. "I heard about the incident. Terrible. He was strangled, correct?"
"That's right," Hawkman confirmed as he approached the Sikh. "What can you tell us about Mister Edwards?"
"I'm afraid I do not know this name," Abdul said as he turned toward Din. "Did you tell them that I knew this unfortunate Englishman, Sergeant?"
"That is what I was told," Din replied, holding splayed fingers of one hand to his chest. "A bellman at the hotel ..."
"Doesn't Abdul remind you of our close friend Degaton, Atom?" Hawkman said smiling. Emphasis was placed on the words "close friend Degaton" -- referring to their longtime arch enemy Per Degaton.
"Huh? Oh, yeah," the Atom replied with surprise.
While he was still smiling, Hawkman added, "I believe if Abdul and Degaton ever got together, they would find they had a lot in common in regards to being with us."
Abdul was not a dumb man, he knew Hawkman was on to him and he lunged at the Winged Wonder. Hawkman slashed with his arm, clubbing it across the Sikh's chest. The blow knocked Abdul backward into the bar while the two Hindus at the closest table suddenly jumped to their feet. Both men held yellow silk scarfs knotted in the middle. The Thuggees advanced.
Hawkman promptly kicked the closest attacker in the chest. The man cried out and tumbled into the table. He slid across the top and struck a chair. Man and furniture crashed to the floor.
A long wooden pole suddenly lashed out. It connected with Hawkman's left forearm. A Sikh from the other table attacked the Winged Wonder with a lathi stick. A bamboo fighting staff five feet long, the lathi is a lethal weapon in the hands of an expert, and Hawkman did not assume his opponent was a novice.
The lathi swung toward Hawkman's face. He blocked the attack with his huge arms and swiftly grabbed the stick with his left hand. The American crimefighter held on to the bamboo staff as he lifted himself slightly off the floor and whirled in midair along the length of the lathi to slash his other hand into his opponent's turban-covered head. The Sikh groaned and stumbled off balance. Hawkman quickly yanked the lathi from the man's weakened grasp and rammed the end of the stick into his aggressor's solar plexus. The Sikh uttered a breathless gasp and crumpled to the floor.
The Atom was also busy. Sergeant Din had backed away from the short American hero and held up his hands in surrender. However, the other two Sikhs at the table launched themselves at the Atom, Thuggee strangling cords in their fists.
The costumed fighting pro pivoted and kicked one Sikh in the face, cutting the bridge of his nose. The Sikh collapsed, but his fanatic comrade kept coming.
Without warning, Din seized the Atom from behind. He grabbed the hero's blue cape and yanked it forcibly. The Atom instantly responded by dropping to one knee and leaning forward. Sergeant Din was thrown off balance and tumbled over the Atom's arched back.
The other scarf-wielding Sikh closed in fast and kicked at the Atom. As the Thuggee tried to swing the silk loop of his scarf around the Atom's head, the JSA member raised his left arm and blocked the attack. The Thuggee's fists struck the leather on the Atom's forearms as the little crimefighter shot upright and shoved hard. The Sikh hurtled backward and toppled into a table.
Din picked himself up from the floor and grabbed a chair. He raised the flimsy furniture overhead and attacked the Atom. The American raised his arms to block the chair. The force of the blow struck him in the forearms, where he was well-protected by his leather armbands.
The Atom stepped to the side of his opponent. The American lashed a boot to Din's abdomen, kicking the Indian under the right rib cage before Din could swing the chair again. Din doubled up with an agonized groan.
Atom chopped the side of his hand across the back of Din's neck and the CID sergeant fell to one knee, trying to break his fall with his hands. Suddenly the Atom grabbed Din by the collar and the back of his belt. The American darted to the bar and shoved his opponent, ramming Din's head into the base of the counter. The Indian's body slumped unconscious to the floor, blood oozing from his skull.
The American caught a blur of movement out of the corner of an eye and ducked as a Sikh Thug tried to wrap his scarf garrote around the Atom's neck. The killer pulled hard, startled to find the knotted cloth had caught nothing but air.
The Atom quickly drove a shoulder into his assailant's midsection and grabbed the man's legs. He straightened his knees for leverage and scooped up the distressed Thuggee. Using his shoulder for additional leverage, Atom stood and hurled the Sikh head over heels. The strangler screamed as his back smashed into the edge of the bar. The Thuggee slumped over the counter and fell to the floor, his back broken.
Abdul and the last Hindu Thuggee were trying to launch a fresh attack on Hawkman. The Winged Warrior still held the lathi stick. Abdul appeared to be armed only with his muscular physique, and the Hindi still held his silk garrote. The killers charged, hoping to catch Hawkman off balance with a two-pronged attack.
The American super-hero feinted a roundhouse stroke with the lathi. The Hindu held up his fists, forming a silk bar with the taut scarf to try to protect his head. Hawkman immediately altered his tactics and thrust the lathi like a cue stick. The bamboo tip caught the Hindu under the jaw. The Thuggee dropped his strangler's scarf and stumbled backward, both hands clamped around his injured jaw. The man's mouth opened, spilling crimson drool across his chest. Then he wilted to the floor, unconscious.
Abdul did not care to take on Hawkman hand to hand. He suddenly scooped up a table and hurled it at the JSA chairman. Hawkman tried to block the flying furniture with the lathi, but he was not accustomed to the bamboo staff. He managed to prevent the table from delivering a crippling blow, but the impact knocked him off balance. Hawkman fell on his back, still clutching the lathi.
With a roar of victory, Abdul charged, determined to crush the American. Hawkman quickly thrust the lathi between his attacker's legs and whipped the stick upward. Abdul's battle cry became a high-pitched shriek as his testicles burst open from the ruthless tactic. He doubled up in agony.
The Atom moved behind the Sikh and clasped his both hands together. He swung a powerful blow between Abdul's shoulder blades. Abdul groaned and fell forward to receive a bamboo swat in the face as Hawkman lashed out with the lathi. As the Sikh fell on all fours, Atom seized the man's hair and yanked his head back to slam a knee under Abdul's jawbone. The Sikh sprawled on his back, unconscious.
"Are ya alright, Hawk?" the Atom asked. He did not offer to help Hawkman to his feet. The Justice Society leader would have been offended.
"I'm fine," Hawkman assured him. "Didn't take us too long to find some Thuggees, did it?"
"Didn't take 'em too long to find us, either," the little crimefighter mused. "How the hell did ya know it was a trap and Din was in league with the Thugs?"
"I did a bit of research on the Thuggees," Hawkman explained. "They used a series of secret hand signals. I was suspicious of Din when he knocked on the door by rapping twice and then a delayed third knock. Sounded like a coded signal. Then I recognized a number of hand signals used by both Din and Abdul. When Din held his hand to his chest with his fingers splayed -- the signal to kill -- I figured there was no room for further doubt."
"Sure glad you and Mid-Nite did all that research. Too bad the Doc couldn't come with us to India. Looks like we need all the help we can get," Atom said.
"Doctor Mid-Nite had another case that required his attention," reminded Hawkman. "But I think we have enough manpower to handle this mission."
The Atom said, "I don't think Colonel Sangh will be very pleased to find out one of his men was an agent for the Thugs."
"Hard to get good help these days," Hawkman said with a shrug.
To be continued ...
By Bruce Wayne
Justice Society of America created by Gardner Fox
Dedicated to ME, who has taught me more about being philosophical than anyone.
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
Chapter 4
"Who the hell are you people?" Bert Waldo demanded.
He pointed a gold-plated pen at the five oddly-dressed people who said they were members of the Justice Society of America. Waldo was a small, chubby man with a balding head and a round face. He wore horn-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. Bert Waldo looked like an accountant or a CPA tax man. He blended into crowds like a wrinkled pair of slacks, a useful trait for clandestine operations.
Bert Waldo was a case officer for the Central Intelligence Agency and had been stationed in India since 1956. Like most CIA officers, he was concerned with keeping secrets.
The five super-heroes: Hawkman, Wonder Woman, the Atom, Hourman, and Starman had shown up in front of Waldo almost by surprise. They seemed to had come out of nowhere. The CIA man had barely uttered a dozen words before he and the JSA members met with a Colonel Sangh in a conference room at the Hariana Regent Hotel in New Delhi. Then Bert Waldo erupted with righteous outrage.
"All I was told was how to recognize you five and bring you here when you arrived," Waldo continued. "By God they were right. Five people dressed very strangely. I was given no explanation. No information about who you are or who you work for ..."
"Are you familiar with the term 'need to know'?" Wonder Woman inquired. "You've been told what you need to know. When you need to know more, we'll tell you."
"I'm sure you were also told to cooperate with us, Mister Waldo," Hourman added.
"You five sure dress weird. I betcha like to go trick or treatin' back home." the CIA man said sarcastically.
"Please Mister Waldo," Colonel Bahadur Sangh began. "Let us be civil to our guests, please."
Colonel Sangh was the executive officer of the Indian Criminal Investigation Department. The sad-faced Hindu was clearly distressed by his self-appointed role as peacemaker. If these foreigners wanted to argue, why did they have to come to his country to quarrel?
"Civil?" Waldo glared at Sangh. "These mystery hotshots arrived here and I don't even know why. Do you know why they're here, Colonel Sangh?"
"I imagine they will tell us," Sangh replied.
"For crissake," Waldo groaned. "Don't you realize that these are genuine grade-A mystery men?"
"Well," Starman remarked, "we don't refer to ourselves as such."
"Have you been ordered to cooperate with us, Colonel?" Hawkman asked. "I believe your orders come directly from the office of the prime minister of India."
"Yes," Sangh admitted. "That is true, but I'm not certain the PM fully understands this situation. He is still quite new to his office and preoccupied with many important national concerns."
"Fifty-three murders with the same MO committed all over the country within less than a year isn't considered important?" Starman raised his eyebrows. "That kind of attitude could ruin your tourist trade, fella."
"Is this why you costumed nuts are here?" Waldo said. "A series of murders have been committed by some fanatics belonging to a religious cult."
"Thuggees," Hawkman stated.
"Okay," the CIA man agreed with a nod. "So you figured out that much. Well, things like this happen from time to time in India. Colonel Sangh and the CID are trying to track down the killers right now. What makes you costumed yahoos think you can do a better job than he can? You guys should go back to the States and look into some senseless homicides committed back there. I keep up with the news about what's going on in America. Fellas steal nerve gas canisters and threaten the world, that sorta thing. Crazies drive from state to state murder total strangers. Compare that to the fifty-three murders you guys are talking about."
"The murders committed in India aren't the work of a roving serial killer," Hourman told him. "It's a conspiracy to kill Americans, Britons and Western Europeans -- citizens of countries that happen to be American allies."
"And you do not regard India as an ally," Sangh said, frowning.
"Beginnin' to wonder about that," the Atom said dryly.
"This theory about a conspiracy is a presumption with no proof to back it up," Waldo snorted. "Just paranoia."
"What makes you so high and mighty?" Atom asked sharply. "You think you know everythin', but you just don't give a damn about the lives of those people who were strangled to death simply because of their nationality."
"It's a police matter," Waldo insisted. "Let Colonel Sangh do his job and you costumed characters keep out of his way. You five don't know India. I'll wager that none of you speak Hindi or Urdu. You probably don't even know the difference between the two languages."
"The spoken languages are very similar," Wonder Woman announced. "But Hindi is derived from Sanskrit, so it is written in Devanagari script, left to right -- the same as English and European languages. Urdu is written from right to left, the same as Hebrew and most Asian languages. It resembles Arabic script, and it is largely used by the Islamic population in India."
"Big deal, lady," Waldo growled. "But you don't speak either language, do you? How about Punjabi? Malayalam? Kashmiri? There are more than forty languages spoken in India. Do you speak any of them?"
"Do you?" Starman asked.
"I manage," the CIA man replied.
"This has gone far enough," Hawkman declared. "We don't want to pull rank on you fellows, but I'm afraid we have to."
"What?" Waldo scoffed. "I'm CIA. You can't pull rank on me!"
"Check with your control officer and ask him what our authority is," Hawkman told him. "You'll learn that we are acting on direct orders from the President of the United States. If you refuse to cooperate with us, you'll be replaced by someone else and probably find yourself being debriefed so the Central Intelligence Agency can kick you out of their organization."
"You can't ..." Waldo began.
"Yes, we can," Starman informed him. "In fact, I could blast a hole through your head with my Cosmic Rod," he patted the green holster that was on his hip that contained his rod. "And I could just say that you had been killed by a large hailstone. Nobody would ever question my claim, and no one would ever investigate your death."
"This sort of talk is most unseemly," Colonel Sangh declared. "I wish to remind you that this is India, not the United States. You are all guests in my country."
"You're wrong, Colonel," Hawkman stated. "We were not invited to your country. We were asked to look into the serious situation that has arisen here and to rectify it. Without your cooperation, it will be most difficult to carry out our mission. If that happens, you and your government will regret it. Because if we go home empty-handed, the President will know why we couldn't complete our mission here. Then next year's American foreign aid to India will be cut."
Sangh stared at Hawkman and the huge wings that were attached to his back. "You can't be serious."
"The President is the head of the executive branch of the American federal government," Hourman told him. "That means the man in the Oval Office can cut foreign aid or at least tie up delivery for about a year by slugging it out in Congress, which is our legislative branch. The judicial branch doesn't get involved in foreign-aid policies, so don't hope for any help from them."
"I wouldn't count on too many congressmen making an issue of cutting aid to India," Wonder Woman added. "People in the United States are getting quite upset about seeing more tax dollars spent on aid to foreign countries than on social programs in the States."
"Colonel Sangh," Hawkman continued, "we have no desire to make things difficult for you or Mister Waldo. All of us are on the same side."
"I'm not so sure about that," Waldo muttered.
"Yes," Wonder Woman commented. "I know what you mean."
"Lady and gentlemen," Hawkman said wearily, "we have a mission to carry out. Frankly, if we have to blackmail you two in order to get your cooperation, we'll do it. The mission comes first. If we have to destroy your careers or hit India in the pocketbook, we'll do that, too."
"My God," Waldo whispered. "You really are serious."
"Very serious," the JSA leader confirmed. "I would rather every man and woman in this room die carrying out our mission than utterly fail to accomplish it."
"I wonder," Sangh remarked. "if you people are this ruthless toward your allies, how do you treat your enemies?"
"Are you familiar with the passive resistance tactics of Mahatma Gandhi?" the Atom inquired.
"Of course," Sangh replied, surprised by the question.
"Well," Atom said with a chuckle, "we don't use those methods."
"Colonel Sangh," Hawkman said gently. He knew it was time to mend fences if the members of the Justice Society was to get decent cooperation from the CIA and the Indian CID. The Winged Wonder did not want his allies to feel any more resentment than they already felt toward the JSA heroes. "We don't mean to threaten or intimidate you. Or you, Mister Waldo. We really don't. You two were chosen to work with us because you're professionals, highly respected in your field."
"Oh, God," the Atom muttered with disgust.
Hawkman moved forward and managed to step on the Atom's foot without being too obvious. The diminutive hero grunted sourly, but he realized it was time to shut up and let Hawkman do the talking.
"Now," the JSA leader continued, "you gentlemen are correct. We're not familiar with India and none of us speak Hindi or Urdu. We need your help, be we don't expect you to drop other matters that may very well be more important to international safety and freedom than our mission. I don't know what you gentlemen might have on your plate right now, and I realize I'm certainly not in a need-to-know position concerning India's national security or the CIA operations in this region."
"We have to maintain top-level security about our intelligence gathering," Waldo replied proudly, unaware the costumed crimefighter was humbling himself to stroke the CIA man's ego.
"Well, your intelligence has certainly been better at gathering information and keeping secrets than anyone else in the intelligence community," Wonder Woman commented with an envious sigh. "That's why we hope you can help us with some information ... without jeopardizing any of your sources, of course."
"We'll see what we can do," Waldo said as he stared at the beautiful hero who had a body that wouldn't quit in a skimpy costume.
"We need at least one guide and a translator," Hawkman explained. "If you can spare more manpower, that would be even better."
"Where do you intend to start?" Waldo asked.
"The most recent murders by the Thuggees were committed about a week ago," Hawkman replied. "One in Calcutta and the other here in New Delhi. Checking out the scene of a crime seems a logical place to begin an investigation."
"But CID has already investigated those sites," Sangh stated. "I'm afraid the killers left no clues."
"Sometimes a lack of evidence can be a clue," Hawkman replied.
Sangh and Waldo nodded in agreement because they did not want to admit they did not know what the hell Hawkman meant.
The CID colonel cleared his throat. "You'll have the help you need," he announced.
^J^ ^S^ ^A^
Hawkman and the Atom were flying over the streets of New Delhi. Crowds of people stared up into the sky to watch the strange sight of a winged man carrying a small, well-muscled individual wearing a blue hood over his face and a blue cape flapping in the wind. Hawkman held on to the Atom's left wrist. Spectators emerged from shops and markets to get a better look at the Winged Wonder and his companion sailing through the air.
Spotting the man they were supposed to meet, Hawkman floated slowly to the ground. The Atom's feet hit the earth first, followed by the costumed character that was responsible for his mode of transportation.
People stepped back to study the men who had suddely dropped out of the sky. The stared at the huge wings attached to Hawkman's back.
"I apologize for my countrymen," Sergeant Bara Din told the American crimefighters. "They have never seen a man fly before."
"No need to apologize," Hawkman said smiling to the crowd. "Perfectly understandable."
Sergeant Din tried to convince a pair of scrawny cows to get out of the way. The animals sluggishly moved and the CID agent led the way to the Royal Suite Hotel, where Andrew Edwards had been murdered.
The hotel desk clerk spoke English, so Hawkman and the Atom questioned him while Din spoke to some of the servants on the hotel payroll. The clerk had little to say about Edwards' death. He had been quite astonished when the Briton was murdered. As far as he knew, Edwards had no enemies in India and did not appear to be in possession of anything valuable enough to kill for.
"Of course," the clerk said with a sigh, "India is a poor country and some evil persons would consider life of little value. Whoever killed him must have done so simply to claim his wallet and watch. The police told me these things had been stolen."
"No one heard anything suspicious or noticed any strangers lurking about?" Hawkman inquired.
"I'm afraid not, sir," the desk clerk answered. "It is most unfortunate, but these things happen everywhere. I understand there are many thieves and killers in America that they have different categories of criminals. Muggers, mass murderers and something called a birdwalker."
"Jaywalker," Atom corrected. "Dreadful crime, but what can you expect from us Americans?"
"Many say that Americans are very bad people with atomic bombs and such," the clerk said.
"Of course, America gives India tons of food and billions of dollars," the Atom said with a shrug. "But that's all materialistic rubbish."
"Yes indeed." The clerk nodded. "At least they tip well."
"Well," Hawkman added, "we're not all bad."
"Gentlemen," Sergeant Din began as he approached the Justice Society pair. "I spoke with a bellman who told me the late Mister Edwards was rather fond of a certain tavern of unpleasant reputation. He went there often. The bellman thinks perhaps Mister Edwards was doing some business with a notorious Sikh opium dealer known as Abdul."
"Opium?" Atom frowned. "That doesn't fit the personality profile we read about Edwards."
"Maybe there were some details about Mister Edwards that he managed to keep secret," Hawkman commented. "Or perhaps this is just a nasty rumor being spread by a Hindu or Moslem employee who hates Sikhs."
"If I may say what I think," Sergeant Din said, "we should check on this tavern. It is called the Peacock's Plume. I have heard of it before. A most unsavory place."
"Well," Hawkman said, "the Peacock's Plume appears to be the only lead we're gong to find here."
"Besides," the Atom added, "we do rather well in unsavory places."
"Speak for yourself," Hawkman muttered.
Sergeant Din knew the location of the Peacock's Plume. The tavern was a grim little building sandwiched between a curio shop and dentist's office. A legend above the tavern displayed a faded blue-and-yellow peacock with the name of the establishment written in Urdu and English. The windows were tinted dark yellow.
"These fellows may not speak Hindi," Hawkman remarked.
"Is no problem, sahib," Din assured him. "I speak Urdu and some Punjabi, as well."
"This place probably caters to Moslems and Sikhs," Atom commented. "They may not welcome a Hindu, Sergeant."
"Then I simply won't tell them what my religion is," Din said smiling. "I don't know if you gentlemen are familiar with Islamic taverns. Don't order any drinks with alcohol."
"We wouldn't dream of it while wearin' these costumes," the Atom said.
"Most of these places," Din continued, "only serve coffee or tea, although some Moslems will have some whiskey on hand for foreigners."
"We'll bear that in mind," Hawkman assured him.
"Watch yourselves when we get inside," Din warned. "Some of these taverns can be a bit rough, especially if Abdul is connected with the opium trade."
"Seems reasonable," the Atom agreed. "Let's find out about these guys firsthand."
They walked to the tavern. The door was locked. Din knocked twice, then rapped his knuckles once more. It opened and a tall bearded man with a turban bound around his head appeared. Din spoke to the man and placed an index finger to his teeth. The barman, who appeared to be a Sikh, nodded and tugged at his ear with thumb and forefinger. He looked at Hawkman and Atom, a smile barely visible amid his thick black beard.
"Welcome," he greeted. "My name is Abdul. Please, come in."
They entered the Peacock's Plume. The tavern was drab, with a bare wooden floor and crudely designed furniture. There were three tables and a few chairs that were held together with wire wound around their legs. The bar was a plain wooden counter with tin cans of different coffee and tea blends displayed on the shelves. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room.
Five patrons sat in the tavern. Three men sat at one table, solemnly sipping steaming liquid from china cups. They wore turbans similar to Abdul's headgear. Hawkman guessed the trio were also Sikhs. The other two customers, seated at a seperate table, were clad in dhotis. They were almost certainly Hindus. Whatever sins the Peacock's Plume might be guilty of, discrimination was not one of them.
"Sergeant Din tells me you oddly dressed gentlemen are here to ask me about an Englishman who was recently killed at the Royal Suite Hotel," Abdul began, strolling to the bar. "I heard about the incident. Terrible. He was strangled, correct?"
"That's right," Hawkman confirmed as he approached the Sikh. "What can you tell us about Mister Edwards?"
"I'm afraid I do not know this name," Abdul said as he turned toward Din. "Did you tell them that I knew this unfortunate Englishman, Sergeant?"
"That is what I was told," Din replied, holding splayed fingers of one hand to his chest. "A bellman at the hotel ..."
"Doesn't Abdul remind you of our close friend Degaton, Atom?" Hawkman said smiling. Emphasis was placed on the words "close friend Degaton" -- referring to their longtime arch enemy Per Degaton.
"Huh? Oh, yeah," the Atom replied with surprise.
While he was still smiling, Hawkman added, "I believe if Abdul and Degaton ever got together, they would find they had a lot in common in regards to being with us."
Abdul was not a dumb man, he knew Hawkman was on to him and he lunged at the Winged Wonder. Hawkman slashed with his arm, clubbing it across the Sikh's chest. The blow knocked Abdul backward into the bar while the two Hindus at the closest table suddenly jumped to their feet. Both men held yellow silk scarfs knotted in the middle. The Thuggees advanced.
Hawkman promptly kicked the closest attacker in the chest. The man cried out and tumbled into the table. He slid across the top and struck a chair. Man and furniture crashed to the floor.
A long wooden pole suddenly lashed out. It connected with Hawkman's left forearm. A Sikh from the other table attacked the Winged Wonder with a lathi stick. A bamboo fighting staff five feet long, the lathi is a lethal weapon in the hands of an expert, and Hawkman did not assume his opponent was a novice.
The lathi swung toward Hawkman's face. He blocked the attack with his huge arms and swiftly grabbed the stick with his left hand. The American crimefighter held on to the bamboo staff as he lifted himself slightly off the floor and whirled in midair along the length of the lathi to slash his other hand into his opponent's turban-covered head. The Sikh groaned and stumbled off balance. Hawkman quickly yanked the lathi from the man's weakened grasp and rammed the end of the stick into his aggressor's solar plexus. The Sikh uttered a breathless gasp and crumpled to the floor.
The Atom was also busy. Sergeant Din had backed away from the short American hero and held up his hands in surrender. However, the other two Sikhs at the table launched themselves at the Atom, Thuggee strangling cords in their fists.
The costumed fighting pro pivoted and kicked one Sikh in the face, cutting the bridge of his nose. The Sikh collapsed, but his fanatic comrade kept coming.
Without warning, Din seized the Atom from behind. He grabbed the hero's blue cape and yanked it forcibly. The Atom instantly responded by dropping to one knee and leaning forward. Sergeant Din was thrown off balance and tumbled over the Atom's arched back.
The other scarf-wielding Sikh closed in fast and kicked at the Atom. As the Thuggee tried to swing the silk loop of his scarf around the Atom's head, the JSA member raised his left arm and blocked the attack. The Thuggee's fists struck the leather on the Atom's forearms as the little crimefighter shot upright and shoved hard. The Sikh hurtled backward and toppled into a table.
Din picked himself up from the floor and grabbed a chair. He raised the flimsy furniture overhead and attacked the Atom. The American raised his arms to block the chair. The force of the blow struck him in the forearms, where he was well-protected by his leather armbands.
The Atom stepped to the side of his opponent. The American lashed a boot to Din's abdomen, kicking the Indian under the right rib cage before Din could swing the chair again. Din doubled up with an agonized groan.
Atom chopped the side of his hand across the back of Din's neck and the CID sergeant fell to one knee, trying to break his fall with his hands. Suddenly the Atom grabbed Din by the collar and the back of his belt. The American darted to the bar and shoved his opponent, ramming Din's head into the base of the counter. The Indian's body slumped unconscious to the floor, blood oozing from his skull.
The American caught a blur of movement out of the corner of an eye and ducked as a Sikh Thug tried to wrap his scarf garrote around the Atom's neck. The killer pulled hard, startled to find the knotted cloth had caught nothing but air.
The Atom quickly drove a shoulder into his assailant's midsection and grabbed the man's legs. He straightened his knees for leverage and scooped up the distressed Thuggee. Using his shoulder for additional leverage, Atom stood and hurled the Sikh head over heels. The strangler screamed as his back smashed into the edge of the bar. The Thuggee slumped over the counter and fell to the floor, his back broken.
Abdul and the last Hindu Thuggee were trying to launch a fresh attack on Hawkman. The Winged Warrior still held the lathi stick. Abdul appeared to be armed only with his muscular physique, and the Hindi still held his silk garrote. The killers charged, hoping to catch Hawkman off balance with a two-pronged attack.
The American super-hero feinted a roundhouse stroke with the lathi. The Hindu held up his fists, forming a silk bar with the taut scarf to try to protect his head. Hawkman immediately altered his tactics and thrust the lathi like a cue stick. The bamboo tip caught the Hindu under the jaw. The Thuggee dropped his strangler's scarf and stumbled backward, both hands clamped around his injured jaw. The man's mouth opened, spilling crimson drool across his chest. Then he wilted to the floor, unconscious.
Abdul did not care to take on Hawkman hand to hand. He suddenly scooped up a table and hurled it at the JSA chairman. Hawkman tried to block the flying furniture with the lathi, but he was not accustomed to the bamboo staff. He managed to prevent the table from delivering a crippling blow, but the impact knocked him off balance. Hawkman fell on his back, still clutching the lathi.
With a roar of victory, Abdul charged, determined to crush the American. Hawkman quickly thrust the lathi between his attacker's legs and whipped the stick upward. Abdul's battle cry became a high-pitched shriek as his testicles burst open from the ruthless tactic. He doubled up in agony.
The Atom moved behind the Sikh and clasped his both hands together. He swung a powerful blow between Abdul's shoulder blades. Abdul groaned and fell forward to receive a bamboo swat in the face as Hawkman lashed out with the lathi. As the Sikh fell on all fours, Atom seized the man's hair and yanked his head back to slam a knee under Abdul's jawbone. The Sikh sprawled on his back, unconscious.
"Are ya alright, Hawk?" the Atom asked. He did not offer to help Hawkman to his feet. The Justice Society leader would have been offended.
"I'm fine," Hawkman assured him. "Didn't take us too long to find some Thuggees, did it?"
"Didn't take 'em too long to find us, either," the little crimefighter mused. "How the hell did ya know it was a trap and Din was in league with the Thugs?"
"I did a bit of research on the Thuggees," Hawkman explained. "They used a series of secret hand signals. I was suspicious of Din when he knocked on the door by rapping twice and then a delayed third knock. Sounded like a coded signal. Then I recognized a number of hand signals used by both Din and Abdul. When Din held his hand to his chest with his fingers splayed -- the signal to kill -- I figured there was no room for further doubt."
"Sure glad you and Mid-Nite did all that research. Too bad the Doc couldn't come with us to India. Looks like we need all the help we can get," Atom said.
"Doctor Mid-Nite had another case that required his attention," reminded Hawkman. "But I think we have enough manpower to handle this mission."
The Atom said, "I don't think Colonel Sangh will be very pleased to find out one of his men was an agent for the Thugs."
"Hard to get good help these days," Hawkman said with a shrug.
To be continued ...