Chapter 8.
EXCERPTS FROM THE DIARY OF HENRY JEKYLL, M.D.
"14 July, 1895."
"I think I might finally have found a cure for my condition! There's a chap named Abednego Danner who, during his youth, served as chief medical officer aboard that extraordinary submersible ship called 'the Nautilus'. And, when not engaged in his regular duties, he spent his spare time trying to find a way to biochemically augment the natural strength and stamina of the human body. In order to better adapt people for someday living in undersea colonies at heavy-pressure depths!"
"Well, I finally managed to track him down with the help of that consulting detective from Baker Street. The one whose exploits keep getting written up in THE STRAND. And, according to him, Herr Danner is now living and working in some gold-mining town in the American state of Colorado!"
"I'm going to wire him straight away, and tell him of. . . my problem."
* * * * *
"16 July, 1895."
"I finally heard back from him. And, he's agreed! Danner is going to mail me the formula for his wonder drug! !"
* * * * *
"31 July, 1895."
"It's finally arrived! And, enclosed with the formula (as promised) was a precise set of instructions on how to mix up a proper batch of it. I shall set to work, straight away."
* * * * *
"2 August, 1895."
"It worked! ! No longer shall I be 'Edward Hyde, homicidal dwarf'. Nor shall I ever again be my old self. From now on, Henry Jekyll shall be as gigantic of body as he is of mind!"
* * * * *
THE PENTAGON,
WASHINGTON, D.C.
(APRIL 29, 1968)
Major Wade Eiling made the introductions.
"Larry Lance? Slade Wilson."
The veteran CIA agent and the shave-tail Green Beret shook hands before sitting down.
"I'll get right to the point," said Eiling: "You two are going into Russia to get back something that was stolen from Uncle Sam nearly thirty years ago. It's called 'the Danner Formula'. And the Kremlin is trying to do for its North Vietnamese comrades what they did for their own army during World War II. Albeit, a little more successfully than that last time."
"Begging your pardon, sir," said Wilson: "But, I'm afraid you've lost me."
Eiling half-smiled and nodded in understanding. Whereupon, he lifted a remote control and pressed two buttons. The first one dimming the lights in the soundproofed office. The second one opening a secret panel that had, up until that moment, hidden a three-tier steel shelf. With a TV set on the top tier, and a videotape player on the bottom.
"What you're about to see is not some old Republic movie serial transferred to videotape. It was made from a Nazi propaganda film captured at the end of WWII."
Five minutes later, both men were slack-jawed with astonishment as they witnessed a fair-haired young man, in a gray Wehrmacht uniform, fighting with a much older man wearing a Soviet Red Army uniform. Hand-to-hand-fighting, at that. Knock-down, drag-out, and no-holds-barred boxing and wrestling. With each man landing punches on the other that should have had one of them lying on the ground, twitching in their death throes, long before this!
In the end, however, it was the older man who proved victorious. Clamping both his hands around the younger man's neck, and lifting the latter off the ground as the former strangled him to death, while simultaneously shaking him like a terrier shaking a dead rat.
Eiling shut off the videotape and re-brightened the lights.
"As far as we can piece it together, the Danner Formula was split in half (by the widow of Dr. Danner, himself) after World War I. With one half going to Walter Reed Hospital. And the other half to the League of Nations Health Organization! Unfortunately, for us, both halves wound being stolen by Nazi spies, who subsequently shared that knowledge with the Soviets. Prior to that double-crossing invasion of Russia, of course!"
"And each side used that formula to develop. . .the men in that film?" Wilson asked nervously.
Eiling nodded: "Hauptmann Ubermensch and Comrade Stalnoivolk, respectively. Fortunately, for us, neither the Ratzis nor the Commies ever had the chance to develop any more such men. After killing Ubermensch (whose real job had been to delay Stalnoivolk long enough for Hitler to kill himself), Stalnoivolk's next big mission was to kill the Emperor of Japan! But, he only made it as far as Hiroshima. . .the day the first A-bomb was dropped."
"But, now the Kremlin is at it, again," said Lance: "They're going to try to. . .Dannerize the North Vietnamese Army?"
"Not if you two can help it," replied the major.
* * * * *
GARDNER FOX PARKWAY
(JUNE 27, 2001)
The moving van had just passed the half-way point, between Gotham City and Bludhaven, when Sal Maroni's cellphone rang. Too practical to take his his eyes off the road, he put the cellphone in the drop-down coffee cup holder and hit the speaker button.
"Maroni!"
"It is me."
Sal and Deathstroke looked at each other. The former's facial expression was one of total disbelief. While the latter- -who was riding in the shotgun seat- -had his face hidden behind a hockey mask that had been painted to resemble an orange half-moon. Yet, even Deathstroke would have to admit (if only mentally) that he had not anticipated hearing from Piotr Chekhov, himself. To get a personal phone call from the head of the Russian Mob's largest East Coast apparat was like expecting a Christmas card to be personally hand-delivered by the Postmaster-General of the United States!
Yet, nowhere near as pleasant.
"Pete! Been a while. What can I do you for?"
"Fyodor told me what was done to his men, Salvatore. That was rather. . .excessive of your tovarisch. Don't you think? A case of punishment going above and beyond fitness of crime."
"I wanted to make sure the rest of your people got the message loud and clear, Chekhov," replied Deathstroke: "Don't frig with the Maronis!"
"Fyodor's actions were of his own greedy volition," countered the Russian: "And, he has been dealt with, accordingly."
A loud pistol shot was the next sound to be heard over the phone.
"But, the massacre of the men he had with him?" Chekhov resumed. "Their needless deaths will be avenged. That is promise!"
"By you and what army?" Sal demanded (in a shamelessly mocking tone).
As if in response, the van's cab suddenly developed twin gashes in its metallic roof.
tbc
